Raw Silk

by Lisabet Sarai

  “Somtow,” she said. “You are so considerate, you forget your own pleasure.”

  “Oh, no,” he said, “I cannot imagine any greater delight than pleasing you.”

  “Nevertheless,” she said, “if you’ll allow me…” She raised herself up on her hands and knees in front of him. A little hesitant, she touched her tongue to the tip of his penis. Most of the chilli oil had rubbed off; there was only a mild tingling. But now she tasted the salty, slightly bitter lflavour of her own sex, new and exciting.

  She wrapped her lips around his swollen member. He moaned softly as she took him deep into her mouth, then little by little released him. Then he relaxed back into the pile of cushions and closed his eyes. She bent lower, raising her hips, spiraling her tongue down his silky rod of flesh.

  Unlike many men, he allowed her to set the pace. She started slowly, teasing him, sucking hard, then withdrawing so that her lips just grazed the glans. Gradually, she picked up the rhythm. With each stroke she felt him swell larger in her mouth. Now he was breathing heavily, in time with her as she slithered her mouth up and down his penis. At the base she sometimes paused to give a quick lick to his balls. This made him groan and writhe beneath her.

  He was getting close to orgasm. Katherine could feel it. All at once, she was very aware of her own body, her naked buttocks elevated and exposed, her breasts swinging with the exertion of her strokes. Her mind presented her with a vivid, intensely arousing image of how she must look, lavishing such indecent attention on his engorged member.

  She felt a warm breeze stir against the skin on her inner thighs, as though someone moved nearby. Her face buried in Somtow’s crotch, she had the sudden conviction that they were being watched. The thought was disturbing, and thrilling. With one hand she grasped the base of her princely lover’s cock, squeezing hard. She thrust the other between her legs, pinching her clit between thumb and forefinger.

  The rod of flesh in her mouth contracted, then swelled and overflowed. Somtow cried out in Thai. She tasted his warm, acrid fluid on her tongue, spilling out of her half-open lips. As she swallowed, she sank her fingers deep down between her lower lips, forgetting everything but the pleasure unfolding there.

  It seemed that she lost consciousness for a moment, drifted off into some separate realm of sensation. The next thing she was aware of was the tip of Somtow’s tongue. He was running it delicately around her mouth, lapping up the drops of semen that lingered there.

  Katherine was too blissfully exhausted to be surprised. She lay against him, her head on his shoulder. He stroked her tangled hair gently, eyes closed, relaxed and sated.

  They stayed in that position, their naked bodies entwined, for what seemed like a long time. When Orapin glided up the steps and began to quietly remove the dishes, Katherine hardly noticed.

  Chapter Three

  The Grotto

  Monday morning found Katherine distracted, confused and guilty. Somtow had driven her home himself, in the wee hours of Sunday morning; she had rebuffed his repeated invitations to stay the night, feeling uncomfortable sleeping in the bed that he normally shared with his wife.

  When she thought back to his sensuous, passionate lovemaking, she felt familiar warmth between her legs. But then she remembered his wife, and David, too. Somtow told her that his wife understood and approved. Meanwhile she and David had never made any pledges of exclusivity, though in fact—or at least, to her knowledge—neither of them had indulged in any outside sexual activity since they first became lovers. Until now, Katherine reminded herself. She wondered, briefly, how David was consoling himself in her absence.

  She turned her attention back to the information on her computer monitor, willing herself to pay attention to her work. She focused on screen, pushing away any other thought almost angrily.

  She was so intent on her tasks that she did not hear Malawee approach. She started at the Thai woman’s respectful voice.

  “Miss Katherine, Mr Harrison asked me to see if you were available. He’s meeting with a client, and would like you to join him.”

  “Of course,” said Katherine, stifling a surge of frustration. She turned on her screensaver, and followed Malawee to the conference room.

  She knocked, then opened the door. Edward Harrison sat at the far end of the polished table, a look of annoyance on his face. Sitting beside him was a man of unusual appearance—disquieting, thought Katherine, and then questioned the relevance of her reaction.

  The man was European or American. He was dressed casually, entirely in black: black shirt with a standup collar, tight black jeans. He had long, straight hair, also black, pulled back in a ponytail with an ornate silver barrette. Katherine thought she saw a flash of silver at his throat; his long fingers, clasped before him on the table, were similarly adorned with silver rings.

  His face was tanned, almost weathered, shaped in strong planes; broad forehead, high cheekbones, resolute chin. His mouth, at the moment, framed a smile, but Katherine thought that she caught a twist of irony in his expression.

  As Katherine entered, he turned his attention to her, and she saw his eyes: shocking, unexpected blue, under heavy black brows. Intense, piercing, and completely without restraint, any sense of politeness or etiquette. He continued to hold her gaze with his, for an awkward moment. Then Edward broke in, clearing his throat.

  “Ah, Katherine. Thank you for taking the time to join us. We need your technical expertise.”

  “Of course, Edward,” she said softly, seating herself several chairs away from the man in black. She was aware that he was still staring at her, and still smiling.

  “Katherine, this is Gregory Marshall, one of our clients.” The man in black rose and bowed, a polite gesture, yet somehow unconvincing. Katherine realised that he was very tall, well over six feet. “Mr Marshall, Katherine O’Neill, our new director of software development.”

  “My pleasure,” said the man, perfectly civilly. So why did Katherine feel he was mocking her?

  “Mr Marshall is the proprietor of one of the foremost establishments in Patpong.”

  “The red-light district?,” Katherine blurted out, then nearly bit her tongue in embarrassment.

  “The entertainment district,” countered the man in black smoothly. “The Grotto is just a go-go bar, offering the same types of entertainment available many places in the city. However, I am trying to make it more distinctive, more creative, more—interesting. That’s where DigiThai comes in.”

  “Yes,” said Edward Harrison, trying to recapture the conversational initiative. “Six months ago we designed and installed a custom multimedia system for Mr Marshall’s bar, The Grotto. Video-walls and cameras, a simulated aquarium with computer-graphic inhabitants, acoustically-driven digital kaleidoscopes—very elaborate.”

  “And very successful,” said Gregory Marshall, with a broad smile that bared his straight, white teeth. “I’m very happy with your work. It’s just that now I want to go further.”

  “Mr Marshall has some novel ideas, but as I have been telling him, they are barely feasible, technically. And certainly not for the money that we have been discussing.”

  Always attracted by a technical challenge, Kate found herself interested. “What do you have in mind, Mr Marshall,” she asked, in her most professional tone of voice.

  “Well, now…” The man’s voice was melodious, controlled, expressive. The voice of an actor, thought Katherine. He riveted her with his gaze again. She stared back at him, proudly, rebelliously, not willing to be cowed. Eventually, he continued his sentence, without looking away from her.

  “Three-dimensional imagery is what I am looking for. Something like the holograms one sees in science fiction movies. My girls are already fantastic, but I’d like to project more fantastic images still, images from people’s dreams and nightmares, mysterious, evocative, disturbing, erotic. Furthermore, I would like to somehow link these images to the music, so that my customers will see, projected before their eyes, reflections or e
choes of the emotions aroused by the beat and the melody.”

  Katherine was silent for a moment. As she gathered her thoughts, Gregory Marshall watched her attentively. Finally, she spoke, choosing her words carefully.

  “Three-dimensional imagery on a two-dimensional screen has now become inexpensive and commonplace. Projected 3D, though, still requires costly hardware, and custom software—the sort of thing available only to Disney or Spielberg.”

  She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “I do have some familiarity with this area, though. I did some related research when I was in grad school.”

  “Would you be willing to work on this for me?,” interrupted Marshall, clearly excited. “I believe that I can make you understand exactly what I want.” He paused dramatically. “What do you say, Kate?”

  Part of her bristled at the liberties he took, using her name so familiarly on such short acquaintance. Part of her warmed in response to that very familiarity, the tone of persuasive intimacy. Meanwhile, she was undeniably eager for the opportunity to pursue her ideas on the problem.

  As for the chance to work for Gregory Marshall—well, that notion filled her with equal measures of excitement and dread. She could not deny that, despite his brashness and poor manners, she found him intriguing.

  “That decision is for Mr Harrison to make, Mr Marshall.” Katherine responded as coolly as she could. “If the two of you can resolve the financial issues, I’d be very happy to continue my research in this area. However, we can’t promise you success; the work is in too early a stage for that.”

  “I want no promises from you—now,” said the man in black softly. “And I am patient.” As his eyes bore down on her, Kate felt suddenly confused. Thankfully, he shifted his attention back to Harrison once again.

  “Edward, let me consider my financial position and get back to you on this question. I’ll call you in the next day or two, and make you an offer.”

  “Meanwhile, Miss O’Neill”—the extra emphasis on the honourific was unmistakable—“I hope that you will think about our conversation.” He stood up, apparently ready to leave. Kate and Harrison rose also. Gregory Marshall shook her boss’s hand briefly, then reached for Kate’s. He towered over her.

  “I enjoyed meeting you, and I look forward to working with you.” He paused, but Kate found herself unable to respond. His skin felt hot, as if he had a fever. Kate herself felt a little faint.

  “Come visit The Grotto sometime soon. I’ll give you the grand tour. Until then, goodbye.”

  Kate stood aside, clearing a path to the door so that he could leave. There was plenty of room, though Marshall was a big man. Still, as he passed her, he brushed his body against hers, and worse, she could swear that she felt her backside pinched, hard, through her linen skirt. Before she could protest or call out, he was gone.

  She sank back down into her chair, indignant, marvelling at the man’s impudence. How outrageous! She wondered if she should mention the incident to Edward. However, her boss was already grumbling about their recent visitor.

  “That man! He’s impossible. I never know how to deal with him; he always seems to get the better of me. I hope you didn’t find him too offensive, Katherine.”

  “Oh, I’m used to dealing with obnoxious boors,” she said lightly. “The world is full of men who think that women’s only appropriate place in software is as models for the scantily-clad heroines in computer games.”

  “He knows how to bargain, though,” Harrison continued. “Probably the result of his background. His father was American and his mother was Australian, but he grew up in Thailand. I have always suspected that his father was involved in intelligence work, during the Vietnam war. In any case, he’s fluent in Thai, and has a Thai’s facility for getting as much as he can for as little money as possible.”

  Kate considered this. She did not see much influence of Thai culture or aesthetics on Gregory Marshall. How different his behaviour was from the considerate, refined, and gracious manner of Somtow Rajchitraprasong! Gregory Marshall was raw, crude, unfinished; full of uncontrolled energy, with few traces of the civilised demeanour she had come to associate with Thais.

  That wasn’t quite true, though. He did have control; he exercised control over himself, and over others. He used his voice, his eyes, his stature, to intimidate and influence. Looking back over the brief meeting, she recalled nuances, inflections, and gestures that he had used to steer the discussion in the direction that he wanted, or to arouse particular emotions in his audience. She remembered her notion that he had a theatrical background.

  She turned her attention back to her superior. “By the way, Katherine, you definitely should not take him up on his invitation to visit The Grotto. It wouldn’t be appropriate for you to be seen there. I will not have you jeopardising the reputation of DigiThai.”

  Katherine found herself irritated. She was an adult; she would make her own decisions about what she did in her private life.

  “If you will excuse me, Edward, I’ve got to get back to work.” She stood up resolutely. “I’ll be thinking about the problem that Mr Marshall has posed us, just in case he manages to make a financial proposal that meets your requirements.”

  “You realise, I hope,” she said, “that if we did succeed in developing a relatively inexpensive technology for projected 3D, the sales potential would be tremendous. Not just here in Thailand, but worldwide.”

  “Excellent, Katherine, excellent!” Harrison was smiling again. “It would of course be a coup for DigiThai to develop this kind of new technology. So go ahead and work on it, when you get the chance.”

  When Katherine returned to her computer, she discovered that she had incoming email, from an address she did not recognise. She double-clicked on the message icon to read the text.

  Kate,

  I heartily enjoyed our first encounter.

  I hope that you did, too.

  I am waiting for you.

  Gregory

  Kate was amazed. The man had left their offices no more than fifteen minutes ago. How had he sent the message so quickly? For that matter, how did he know her email address? She had deliberately chosen a somewhat obscure pseudonym—dancer99@digithai.co.th—to avoid the floods of junk mail that usually followed setting up a new account.

  The arrogant and mocking tone of the message made her fume. His on-line persona was certainly in keeping with his face-to-face personality, she thought. She moved to click on the Delete icon, then changed her mind, saving the message in a new folder labelled ‘3D’.

  Kate found it harder than ever to concentrate on her work. She kept thinking that she heard Gregory Marshall’s soft, provocative voice in her ear. Damn him. She chided herself for her own lack of control and resolutely pushed all images of him from her mind. Still, it was already dark outside by the time she was fully engaged again in the problems that had been occupying her before the meeting.

  She was just getting ready to leave the office when her computer beeped, notifying her of incoming mail. This time the originating address was familiar.

  Kate,

  Night is falling.

  Time to act on your darkest desires.

  I know what you need.

  Come to me.

  Gregory

  Kate swallowed hard. She read the missive again, finding it disturbing. The tone was different from his previous message, she realised: less humourous, more seductive. Still, there was that same annoying self-confidence, bordering on conceit. He was so sure of himself.

  Brusquely, she flipped the switch to turn off her computer. The hell with him, she thought. What did he know? She shouldn’t waste her mental energy on him.

  When Katherine arrived home, she found a gorgeous bouquet waiting on her breakfast bar. Sprays of orchids, in shades from cream to rich purple, tumbled in profusion from a basket of deep green foliage. Katherine sighed in relief and delight as she read the card.

  The flowers were from Somtow. In an elegant, slightly o
ld-fashioned hand, he thanked her for her company the previous weekend. He asked if she would do him the honour of joining him on a trip upriver the following Saturday, to visit the ruins of Ayuthaya.

  Katherine’s spirits rose at the prospect. In contrast with Gregory Marshall, Somtow seemed even more appealing. Not wanting to risk telephoning, she penned a note of acceptance, trying to convey the warmth and excitement she felt.

  “Ae?” she called, wanting the maid to mail the letter.

  “Yes, Madam?” The maid appeared almost immediately; she must have been in the next room, though Katherine had not heard her.

  “Would you please mail this tomorrow morning, when you go to the market?”

  “Of course, Madam. Will there be anything else?”

  “No, thank you, Ae.”

  “Beautiful flowers, Madam,” the young woman commented. She stood smiling sweetly, her hands clasped in front of her. She seemed to expect Katherine to give her more information.

  “From a new friend,” replied Katherine. She was reluctant to share more details with the woman. After an awkward moment of silence, Ae took the letter and left the room. Katherine sat back and allowed herself to daydream about her Thai lover.

  When Kate arrived at DigiThai the next morning, she found another message from Gregory Marshall.

  Kate,

  Why deny yourself?

  Do not deny me.

  I am the one you seek.

  Gregory

  The nerve, thought Kate. Still, the message brought a little self-satisfaction. Let him beg, she thought smugly; let him pretend that he can control me. She set to work with a lighter heart.

  He sent another email around noon, and still another as she was getting ready to leave.

  Kate,

  I know you.

  I see you.

  Kneeling before me.

  Trembling beneath me.

  Do not keep me waiting.

  Gregory

  This time she caught a hint of anger or impatience in his style. It scared her, a bit. She considered whether she should reply to the message, to tell him to leave her alone, but decided that would just add fuel to his strange fire.