*
Total-e-bound
www.total-e-bound.com
Copyright ©2007 by Lisabet Sarai
First published in 2007, 2007
*
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
*
A Total-e-bound Publication
www.totalebound.com
Raw Silk
ISBN # 978-1-906328-22-1
©Copyright Lisabet Sarai 2007
Cover Art by Anne Cain ©Copyright July 2007
Edited by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Total-e-bound books
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-e-bound eBooks.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-e-bound eBooks. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork
Published in 2007 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.
Warning:
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-melting.
RAW SILK
Lisabet Sarai
Dedication
To KTR, my partner and co-conspirator
and
GCS, my master, mentor and muse
Chapter One
Bangkok Moon
Breathe … Moist, ripe, heavy, laced with the scents of jasmine, garlic, diesel fuel, the tropical air was strange but welcome after the stale atmosphere of the airplane cabin. Kate O’Neill stepped off the jetway and filled her lungs gratefully. Even in business class, the twenty hour flight had been gruelling. Kate ran her fingers through her tangled auburn curls and tried to smooth the wrinkles from her practical cotton skirt as she joined the crowds queuing at Immigration.
She felt a bit dazed. Only a month ago, she had answered the advertisement in the Boston Globe and now here she was, half a world away, surrounded by foreign faces, buoyed by the musical rise and fall of Thai and a half-dozen other Asian languages.
It was nearly midnight, noontime in Boston. David would be headed out to lunch soon, perhaps to their favourite falafel place in Harvard Square. She remembered telling him of her decision to take the job, as they sat there nursing their espressos. His stricken face, the tears welling in his brown eyes: it was painful to recall.
Why had she chosen this course, so sudden and so radical? She was happy in her work, a senior engineer at a relaxed, progressive software company. Her family, her friends, her Back Bay condo, her dance classes, her volunteer work, all tied her to New England. And then there was David, her lover of nearly three years, since they had met in graduate school. David was bright, funny, creative, gentle, strong. He shared her love of the outdoors, her interest in film, her enjoyment of exotic cuisines. David was her best friend as well as her partner in the bedroom.
A clear image of David came to her: lush, wavy brown hair, compact, wiry body, deft hands, and eager manhood. On their last night, he had sunk to his knees before her, weeping, begging her to reconsider. Then, the next morning, he had taken her, unexpectedly, in the airport parking garage.
Partially hidden by the open trunk of the car, he began by kissing her hard, backing her up against a concrete support pillar. As their tongues entwined, he raised her skirt, pushed aside the fabric of her panties, and stroked her clitoris, lightly at first, then with greater force. Even as she worried about their exposed position, she could not help but respond, rubbing against his hand as he inserted one, two, then three fingers into her, all the while continuing to stroke with his thumb. His whole hand was inside her underwear, stretching the elastic, as she bore down, trying to work him even deeper into her.
Then, without warning, he stopped. Gently he turned her around to face the pillar. He pushed her skirt up to her waist and pulled her knickers down around her knees. Kate had been only too willing to spread her legs wide, holding on to the rough concrete with both hands. A car drove past, seeking a parking spot, as David eased his cock into her hungry depths.
“Next, please.” She started, embarrassed, as a young man in uniform beckoned her forward to the counter. As he examined her passport, for what seemed like hours, she wondered whether she had made a mistake, leaving David and her home for this land of strangers. David, though always enthusiastic, was not usually so daring and inventive, but perhaps he was changing. Her vague dissatisfaction and the sharp pang of wanderlust that had seized her when she first spotted the advertisement, were these realistic justifications for committing herself to a year in a foreign culture?
Finally, the inspector stamped her passport, with great ceremony, half a dozen times. Then the serious youth surprised her by breaking into a brilliant smile. “Welcome to Thailand, Miss O’Neill. I hope you enjoy your stay here.”
Kate smiled back. “Thank you.” She suddenly knew that she had chosen well. However this year turned out, it would be an adventure, a welcome variation in her well-ordered life.
She followed the stream of people to the baggage carousel and retrieved her luggage without incident. Trailing the cart behind her, she emerged from the international arrival area, into the confusion of the general concourse.
The area outside the gates swarmed with noisy humanity, faces everywhere, waving hands, shouting voices. Here and there, signs on sticks bobbed above the crowd, with hotel logos or the names of individuals. Kate scanned the scene nervously. She located the placard inscribed “Katherine O’Neill,” just as its bearer, a balding Thai with a drooping black moustache, noticed her. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd.
“Miss O’Neill?” The man grinned at her as she nodded, his lively black eyes taking her in at a glance: her petite frame, unruly curls, rumpled clothing. “Welcome to Bangkok—City of Angels!”
“I am Chaiwat, Mr Harrison’s driver. Mr Harrison has sent his own car, to take you to your house. Please follow me.”
Without waiting for her reply, he took charge of the luggage cart and started through the crowd toward the exit. Kate struggled to keep up, watching his back recede, worried at having lost control of her bags, trying to make progress through the press of bodies without seeming impolite.
Chaiwat was waiting for her on the curb, still grinning. “Stay here, please. I’ll go for the car.” He disappeared into the humid night.
Kate leaned wearily against her largest suitcase. She had never met Edward Harrison, the Managing Director of DigiThai, Ltd., her new employer, although they had spoken several times by telephone. Clearly, he was considerate, to offer her the services of his personal car and driver. Of course, he was an American—from Chicago, she recalled—and no doubt understood from personal experience how exhausted she would be after the trans-Pacific flight.
A sleek white Mercedes sedan slid up to the curb, and almost before it stopped, it seemed, energet
ic Chaiwat was loading her cases into the trunk. He held open the back door, and she sank down onto the leather-upholstered seat with a grateful sigh. She drifted in and out of a half-sleep as Chaiwat drove out of the airport and turned onto the highway toward the city.
From under heavy eyelids, she watched the roadside sights fly by. Garish neon signs, in English, Thai and Chinese, lit up the night with the names of multinational corporations. Gleaming, modern buildings two dozen stories high alternated with stunted blocks of grimy concrete, weak fluorescent light visible through their open windows. Every now and again, she would glimpse the peaked, layered roofs and delicate spires of a Buddhist temple, rising incongruously from the middle of a residential or industrial district.
The full moon rendered the scene even more alien. High above the horizon by now, it lent a silvery sheen to the buildings, while creating sharp black shadows between and behind them. Brighter than any manmade illumination, it reminded Kate of an old-fashioned flashbulb. Each tableau seemed frozen in meticulous detail, captured by the moon like a surrealistic snapshot.
The car was silent, seeming to float over the road. The slight hiss of the air conditioning soothed her. Kate tried to stay alert, to pay attention to her new surroundings, but drowsiness was irresistible.
She found her mind drawn back to David and the scene in the parking garage. The recollection, on the edge of sleep, was vivid, almost hallucinogenic. She could feel his hands, grasping her hips, positioning her for his thrusts. Despite their exposure, he did not hurry. His cock stretched her deliciously as he slid in, practically in slow motion, as if he were savouring every centimetre. He was deep inside her, but only for a moment before he started to withdraw. It was as if he were trying to memorise her body, imprint it upon his senses; he lingered at each stage, focused on each motion, constriction, texture.
Her own body was afire, but her urgency did not seem to communicate itself to him. Her nipples, hard as little pebbles, brushed against the smooth cotton of her blouse, raising a little gasp that she tried to suppress. David made no sound, breathed deeply but smoothly, in rhythm with his strokes, while she found herself panting, smothering her moans. She writhed against him, rubbing her bottom against him. The rough curls of his pubic hair against her bare skin made her wild.
She reached behind her and grasped the base of his penis with one hand. The other hand found its way between her own legs, working its way among the slick folds to find her aching clitoris. She squeezed David and massaged herself, both hands moving together. David responded, drawn out of his reverie, catching fire from her. He began thrusting harder, faster, deeper, just as she craved. Now he was panting too. She had to stop her self caresses in order to hold the concrete support in front of her with both hands. Otherwise, the force of his thrusts would have knocked her over.
David made an animal noise, deep in his throat. He dug his nails into her flesh, pulling the mounds of her buttocks apart to have better access to the juicy cleft of her sex. Kate arched her back, opening herself wider, aching for total penetration. Again and again David plunged into her, riding her with a ferocity he had never shown her before.
She loved this position, the feral quality of being taken from behind. She loved the danger, too, she admitted to herself, the chance of being discovered with her panties down and her private parts glistening with moisture. The thought of this, of how they would look to some passerby, was the final stroke. That image, added to the furious friction of David’s cock, the tingling in her nipples, the brush of his pubic hair on her thighs, his fingernails marking her ass, finally pushed her to edge and beyond.
David felt her spasms, and matched them. He collapsed forward onto her, both of them leaning against the pillar. As their breathing gradually slowed to normal, David caressed her breasts, left tiny, precise kisses at the back of her neck.
Kate started, suddenly alert. Her real environment reasserted itself, the supple leather beneath her, the artificially refreshing breeze from the air-conditioning vents. She realised that Chaiwat was watching her in the rear view mirror, at the same time as she found she had both hands in between her legs. Her sex ached with imagined or new hunger; she could not tell which. Casually, she moved her hands to her sides, sat up a bit straighter, tried to ignore the grin she saw reflected towards her.
The car had left the highway now, and was cruising through nearly deserted city boulevards. Then Chaiwat turned sharply right and began winding through a maze of narrow lanes, lined with stucco and cement walls broken by an occasional wrought iron gate. Finally, he brought the Mercedes to a halt in front of one such gate, got out and rang a bell. The grille slid open. Chaiwat was already back in the drivers seat guiding the car into the compound.
“Here we are, Miss. Your house. Mr Harrison hopes that you will find it satisfactory.”
Kate extricated herself from the car’s comfortable embrace. The house was small, almost a cottage, but had two stories, and was surrounded by lush gardens. A huge tree with gnarled, contorted limbs stood before the building, bearing drooping masses of vines and creepers. She breathed deep, savouring the sweetness of flowers she could not name. The humid air caressed the bare skin on her arms. She heard the chittering of insects, and softly, the music of flowing water. There must be a pool or fountain, she thought, smiling to herself. She noted a balcony on the second floor, overlooking the garden.
The front door was open; a feminine figure was silhouetted in the light. As Kate approached, the woman glided forward to meet her, barefoot, the bright colours of her sarong vivid even in the semi-darkness. The woman placed her palms together at breast level, and bowed slightly, bringing her fingertips to her brow. “Welcome, Madame. I am Ae, your maid. Please be at home.”
“Hello, Ae. I’m pleased to meet you,” Kate began, but the young woman had already picked up one of the bags that Chaiwat had unloaded, and was carrying it into the house.
Kate followed, marvelling at the maid’s grace, even when she was lugging a heavy suitcase. The woman’s jet-black hair hung down her back to her waist. Her diminutive stature made Kate, barely five feet two herself, feel huge by comparison. Ae turned back to make sure Kate was following, an innocent, joy-filled smile on her lovely features. “Please remove your shoes,” she reminded Kate.
Kate left her slip-off pumps in the foyer, and entered the living room. Polished teak floors under her feet, whitewashed walls, floor-to-ceiling drapes across sliding doors that led to the garden; simple, comfortable-looking furniture of some blond wood, a spiral staircase of wrought iron in the corner, leading to the second floor: Kate surveyed her new abode with pleasure.
There was a well-equipped kitchen and dining alcove, plus a breakfast bar with rattan stools. On the counter stood an enormous basket of exotic fruit, elaborately decorated with ribbons and coloured foil. She read the card; it was another welcoming message, signed ‘Warmest wishes, Edward Harrison’.
Once more Kate wondered about her new boss. He seemed very concerned about her comfort and welfare. Well, she would meet him soon enough. Today was Saturday—Sunday, by now, she corrected herself—and she planned to start work on Monday.
Ae glided down the stairs and stood quietly, waiting to be acknowledged. “Your bags are upstairs in the bedroom, Madame, and there are towels laid out in the bathroom for your shower. Can I do anything more for you tonight?”
The notions of a shower and a bed were overwhelmingly appealing. “No, thank you, Ae.” She turned to thank Chaiwat and say goodnight, but the driver was nowhere to be seen. A strange man, she thought, remembering his almost lustful stare in the mirror.
“Then goodnight, Madame.” The lovely creature made another half bow, which Kate recognised from her reading as the traditional wai of respect. “If you need anything, please call. My room is just outside the back door.”
“Goodnight, Ae.” Kate watched the maid check the lock, then close the door firmly. Were all Thai women so exquisite? Looking at Ae, Kate felt an odd pressure in her ches
t, like a sob trapped, tears unshed. Like catching a glimpse of a deer motionless along the roadside, or finding a single, fragile ladyslipper half buried in the mould of the forest floor.
Kate shook her head to clear it, and slowly pulled herself up the stairs to the bedroom. Soon hot water was streaming over her, incredibly delicious, sluicing away the grime of her journey and easing her aching muscles. As she rubbed herself dry, she could not help but approve of her own body. Her creamy skin spoke of her Irish background; her muscular thighs and calves, of her years of ballet and modern dance classes. Her breasts were not large, but they had a pleasing symmetry, with plump nipples that stayed erect regardless of her state of arousal. Her hips and buttocks were surprisingly full, contrasting with the general impression of petiteness and delicacy she conveyed to the casual observer.
She brushed the towel lightly over the reddish curls below her navel, and felt a faint electric thrill, echo of her earlier desire. With a sigh, she turned out the light, climbed into bed, pulled a sheet over her nakedness—she generally slept in the nude, a habit she had acquired while in college—and tried to relax.
The room stayed bright with moonlight, filtering in through the translucent curtains. The sliding door to the balcony was open. Through the screen the gentle breeze brought the garden scents into the room.
Despite her exhaustion, Kate found it difficult to sleep. After all, it was the middle of the day back in her normal time zone. The moon made patterns on her closed eyelids; she tried the strategy of focusing on them, watching them ebb and flow like wavelets on a beach. She began to drift a little along with the moon-tides.
Then, she heard a sound, or thought she did, a human sound like a cry or moan. Silently she rose, and went over to the balcony door, peering between the curtains. Was there someone there, perhaps hidden in the deep shadows under the twining tree? Then she heard the noise again, from the left, the far corner of the garden, where the moon shone full on an intricate sculpture of a Thai temple.
Raw Silk Page 1
