by M. E. Hydra
There were theories on how it had come about. Some said she was of mixed parentage and the Western side of her genetic makeup had risen to the fore. Others theorised she was a backpacker who’d come unstuck and was trying to raise funds for a flight home. Another conjecture was that she was a spoilt heiress wallowing in the filth of the city for kicks.
No-one seemed to know where she worked. Harrison trawled Patpong and asked at all the usual haunts without any success. He was beginning to think she might be a myth until an American GI overheard him asking at the bar.
“I know her,” he said. “Number 66. Blonde bitch. Turned me down. Wouldn’t even look at me. You get used to that from the local girls, they think we’ve all got Godzilla stashed in our pants, but her... She was tall and busty, looked just like an all-American Playboy playmate.”
The GI glowered into his drink.
“Didn’t matter. Bitch wouldn’t look at me at all. Racism, man, can’t ever get away from it. Went with number 9 in the end. Now she was a real sweetie.”
Harrison asked him if he remembered where the place was.
“Yeah, but it’s not where you’d expect. It’s out in Pom Prap Sattru Phai, right on the edge of the temple district.”
The soldier wrote the address on the underside of a beer mat and passed it to Harrison.
“I wouldn’t bother with that blonde bitch. You’re better off with number 9.”
Harrison took a taxi. The GI was right; it wasn’t where he’d expected it to be. Pom Prap Sattru Phai was off the beaten path for the degenerate expat set. This was where the normal tourists came to take pictures of old Buddhist temples. Harrison thought the man might have the wrong street. He arrived there and saw a plain narrow alley. It was only when he walked down its length he found the massage parlour discreetly tucked away. The signs and neon lights were as gaudy as any down Soi Cowboy, but positioned in such a way they couldn’t be seen from the main thoroughfare. Harrison wondered how they did any business hidden away like this.
A shrunken mama met him at the door.
“American?”
“English,” he corrected.
She led him down a stairway festooned with tinsel and flashing pink Christmas lights. At the bottom he was shown into the infamous fishbowl room. Fifteen girls sat in three rows of five behind a big glass window in the far wall. They were dressed in skimpy bikinis and each had a white disc with a number on it attached to their right hip.
And there she was—number 66.
She was impossible to miss. She was tall, leggy, busty, blonde... totally unlike the other girls sitting behind the glass. She was clearly a foreigner and Harrison wondered what she was doing here, working as a common hooker amongst the local girls, especially with a body like that. She was as good as any glamour model Harrison had seen in lads’ mags and those models had the advantage of Photoshop to brush up their appearance. It made no sense at all. Why was the girl here when she could be doing the exact same thing for fifty times the price out in the expensive hotels by the airport? It must be as they said—she was a rich heiress playing around for kicks. She certainly had an aloof air about her.
The other girls were a much of a muchness. Harrison saw plenty like them every night in the clubs in Patpong, apart from maybe the girl sitting in the centre of the front row. She looked a real sweetie. It was something in her eyes and smile. There was an infectious sense of fun about her. Her figure wasn’t bad either. She couldn’t compete with the blonde girl, obviously, but at least she had some curves beneath her bikini top. Smiling enthusiastically, she beckoned to Harrison, urging him to pick her.
From the disc at her waist he saw she was number 9. She was the girl both Murray and the GI had recommended. He could see why. She looked cute.
Under normal circumstances Harrison might have picked her. That wasn’t why he was here though. Number 66 was why he was here and that was the number he whispered into the shrunken madam’s ear.
The madam made eye contact with Number 66 and the blonde girl looked Harrison over. For a brief horrible moment Harrison thought she might reject him, but instead she gave a curt little nod and got off her chair. She met Harrison in the corridor outside and took him all the way down to a door at the end.
The room on the other side was a surprise. When he’d visited establishments like this before, the girl usually led him to a small cramped bathroom with a narrow inflatable lilo squashed up against an equally narrow bath. The room he walked into was palatial by comparison. A big jacuzzi bath stood in one corner. A patterned screen hid the other. On the floor in the centre was a king-size air mattress. Even as big as it was there was still space on the floor to walk around it.
Harrison looked at the lush designs of ancient debauchery painted on the tiles covering the walls. “This is fancier than I was expecting,” he commented.
Number 66 didn’t answer, instead motioning for him to go behind the screen and take his clothes off.
Before he did he asked her for her name.
She smiled and pointed to the white disc attached to her hip.
“Number 66 isn’t a name,” Harrison said.
“It will do for here,” she said, giving him an enigmatic smile.
She didn’t ask him for his name and Harrison didn’t offer it. That was how he liked it. Being perfect strangers added a frisson of the exotic.
He took off his clothes and hung them over the elegant silk screen. When he returned, naked, he saw Number 66 had only removed her panties. She’d saved the unveiling of her best part until she had an audience.
A surge of arousal rushed to Harrison’s groin as Number 66 unhooked the back and slowly pulled off her pink bikini top. She revealed a stunning pair of boobs. They didn’t sag, even without the support of her bra. They stood in place, big and round, and had the same gorgeous tanned copper colouration as the rest of her body. At the centre of each, like cherries on top of a delectable dessert, were the pale discs of her areolae and the erect little nubs of her nipples.
“Those are some stupendous tits,” Harrison said in awe.
It wasn’t empty flattery. He was amazed to find a girl with a body like this in an ordinary little Bangkok massage parlour.
“Can I?” he asked, holding out his hands.
“Of course,” Number 66 smiled.
She stepped forwards and allowed Harrison to grope her breasts. He gave them a light squeeze, then a harder one. He felt her soft flesh deform and then spring back. He marvelled at the silky-smoothness of her skin as he ran his fingers over her breasts. They were so big and squeezable he could happily stand there and do this all night.
Number 66 reached down and lightly stroked a hand up and down his erection. Her other hand joined the first and she moved both up and down his lengthening shaft, giving him a little twist as she reached the top.
“Careful,” Harrison said. “He hasn’t seen action in a while.”
“Then we’ll go straight to the mattress,” Number 66 said.
She gave the swollen head of his cock a little squeeze that almost had him depositing the contents of his balls into her hand.
She took him to the king-size airbed.
“Lie face down in the centre.”
The vinyl surface of the mattress squeaked as Harrison lay on top of it. It sagged a little in the middle with his weight but was otherwise comfortable. The airbed sagged a little more as Number 66’s weight joined his. He felt the heat of her body as she sat down on his buttocks. She hooked her legs over Harrison’s so her whole weight was pressing down on his midsection. Then she ground his erection up against the yielding surface of the mattress with a teasing little bounce.
“You know what I really like doing with these big soft boobs of mine?”
Number 66 shifted position on top of Harrison, each movement sending a pleasurable throb through his cock as it was pressed up against the mattress.
“I like rubbing them all over a man until he melts with pleasure.”
“I’
d like that,” Harrison said.
And he did.
Number 66 lowered her body until the big soft cushions of her tits were squashed against his back. Her spine became a bow and she slid up his back. He felt a wet, slippery sensation as Number 66 seemed to glide, frictionless, over him on a thin layer of lubricant.
“Nuru gel?” Harrison queried.
He’d heard about that from some of the more experienced expats. It was a seaweed extract. The Japanese used it in their soaplands for erotic body-to-body massage. You could get it in some of the Bangkok soapies as well, but it was rare. Good messy fun was how one expat had described the experience. A sentiment Harrison agreed with as Number 66’s heavy boobs slid up and down his back. He wondered where the lubricant had come from. He didn’t think he’d seen a bowl lying next to the mattress.
Number 66 lay down until her body covered him like a warm, luxurious duvet. She leant over and blew warm air against his ear.
“I’m going to rub my big tits all over your body and then fuck you inside out,” she whispered huskily. Her hands, slick with lubricating gel, slid up and down his arms.
She wriggled up further until her boobs formed two heavy pillows on either side of the back of his head. She used her hands to squeeze her soft flesh up against his head. She pressed down, mashing Harrison’s face into the mattress and then pushing it from side to side as she wriggled her large chest. Harrison didn’t mind. He was excited by the prospect of her doing the same once she’d turned him onto his back. The thought of his face wedged between those big fluffy tits sent a flood of arousal down to his crotch.
Wriggling like an eel she slid down his back. He shivered as he felt the tip of her tongue dab against the nape of his neck and then trace a wavy line down his spine. She slid back up, this time veering to the right and travelling further. She took his arm and slid it through the slick groove of her cleavage. Tongue tickling against his back, she bobbed back down and then returned to do the same with his other arm.
Number 66’s touch was too light for this to be a proper massage. Instead Harrison felt a crackle of erotic energy that caused his hairs to prickle.
“Why are you here?” Harrison asked. “You’re far too talented to be working in a dive like this.”
Her warm hands kneaded the meat of his shoulders. His back was sodden with slippery lubricant. He suspected her breasts were as well. Good messy fun indeed.
“It suits my needs,” Number 66 replied.
He wondered what her needs were. She was definitely not Thai. He didn’t think she’d been coerced or was trying to save up for a plane ticket either. The heiress explanation was the most likely. She was a rich kid with an extremely odd hobby. It was strange, but then so were people.
He asked her if his theory was correct.
She laughed and refused to confirm or deny.
“I don’t think you want to know the real story,” she said. “For you mysteries are exotic, and the exotic turns you on.”
She dropped her weight on him and mashed her squeezable boobs against his back. And so does that, Harrison thought, closing his eyes and emitting a little grunt of pleasure.
Number 66 slithered around and started to slide over his buttocks and then down the back of his thighs. She lifted up his left foot and ran first his calf and then his ankles through her cleavage. He wiggled his toes, relishing the sensation as they nudged against the elastic sides of her breasts. Number 66 pressed her tits together, sandwiching Harrison’s foot between warm flesh.
“Time to turn you over,” Number 66 said after she’d massaged his other leg.
Harrison was happy to oblige. He was eager to see her chest all wet and shiny and glistening.
Except he couldn’t. It felt like a warm fog had spread throughout him and the nerve impulses from his brain to his limbs were getting lost in it. He couldn’t move his arms and legs. Number 66 had to turn him over onto his back.
Number 66 sat astride his abdomen. Her big round tits were indeed gorgeously wet and shiny and glistening. Harrison couldn’t fully appreciate them. Panic surged through him as he realised none of his limbs were obeying his commands.
“I can’t move,” he said.
What had happened? Had she accidentally done something during the massage, maybe knocked a vertebrae out of position. Fuck. Was he paralysed?
Number 66’s sensuous lips, painted red like blood, turned up at the corners in an enigmatic little smile.
“That will be my paralysing slime,” she said.
Her what?
A chill ran through Harrison as Number 66 cupped a hand under her left breast. Her nipple was moving in a way no nipple should move. It opened up into an orifice like the blind head of a worm and expelled transparent gel into the palm of her hand. She caressed Harrison’s cheek with the same hand and a pleasant tingling sensation followed the wetness into his skin.
“I need you nice and relaxed and still for when I start to feed,” the thing that looked like a big-titted blonde girl said.
She lowered her body on top of him and squashed her glistening tits against his chest. He felt a weird vibrating sensation against his nipples as her big breasts squirted wet slime across the front of his body. Number 66 trailed glistening strands of slime from her tits to his chest as she sat back up. A constant stream of clear fluid dribbled from her nipples.
Harrison concentrated hard and tried to move his hands. The best he managed was to curl a couple of his fingers. Number 66 glanced as his efforts in contemptuous amusement. She picked up his hand, pressed it flat against her right breast and held it there as her nipple squirted enough clear slime into his palm that it overflowed and oozed out between his fingers.
Harrison’s hand and whole arm went loose and floppy. They were unplugged—no longer under the control of his brain. Only for movement; he could still feel sensation. Number 66 did the same to his other arm and afterwards Harrison lay motionless on the mattress like a beached porpoise.
“What are you?” Harrison’s voice was little more than a quiet rasp.
Number 66 smiled. “That would spoil the mystery,” she said.
She slithered down his body, her weight now resting on his unresponsive legs with her swollen tits lying on top of his upper thighs. Harrison noticed one part of him didn’t feel floppy—a burgeoning erection rose up out of his crotch. Number 66 coaxed it higher with strokes of her lubricant-slick hand.
This was just a precursor as she moved up and wrapped her considerable boobs around his cock. She turned her nipples inwards and squeezed her breasts tight against his hard-on. A gasp of pleasure slipped from Harrison’s lips as she squirted slippery lubricant over his cock until it was covered in a thin layer.
Number 66 pulled her breasts apart and wasn’t satisfied with what she saw. She enveloped his erection back in her cleavage and squirted and squirted and squirted until clear fluids were leaking out. Harrison’s mouth fell open in surprise as his cock was flooded with what felt like concentrated pleasure.
Number 66 put a hand around his shaft and moved her body up further.
“I feed off bodily fluids,” she said.
He hadn’t noticed it before because he’d been too entranced by her tits, but Number 66 didn’t have a vagina between her legs. There was an orifice there that resembled a vagina, but it wasn’t. The lips were different—thicker, plusher, more muscular.
“It’s an extremely pleasant sensation,” Number 66. “Almost like sex.”
She positioned her body above him and manoeuvred his cock between her legs in what looked like a usual precursor to insertion. And when she lowered her hips down on him it did feel like fucking as his twitching erection pushed up into the orifice between her legs and was engulfed by her warm flesh. And it definitely felt a lot like sex as she pumped her hips up and down and his cock slid back and forth in a warm, tight channel.
Harrison wondered if he’d suffered some kind of weird, drug-induced flashback. A brief moment of WTF followed by actual f
ucking as proper reality resumed. Now he was back in a high-class soapie, lying back while his cock got a good clean from a big-titted blonde whore. She was sighing and making all the usual noises of sexual pleasure. Harrison couldn’t move but didn’t have to. Number 66 bounced up and down and stroked him to higher and higher peaks of pleasure. Her enormous breasts, shiny and glistening with lubricant, swayed up and down with her movements.
Harrison’s little man had been out of action for a while. It didn’t take much to tip him over the edge, though he doubted he’d have held on much longer had he been fucking a girl every night of the week leading up to this. He felt his balls tighten and gave a satisfied grunt as he ejaculated inside her.
The girl dropped all the way down. Her pussy fluttered around him, then clenched, and then he knew it wasn’t a pussy—that he hadn’t been hallucinating earlier—as it began to suck on him. It felt like his semen was being sucked out of his body with the same force as his ejaculating cock was trying to expel it. It drew the orgasm out longer than Harrison had ever experienced, long enough that he was starting to worry whether his heart could withstand it, but then Number 66’s buttocks stopped shivering and her pussy stopped sucking and his ejaculation subsided.
Harrison let his head fall back on the bed and let out a sigh that was both relief and erotic satisfaction.
“You had me worried for a moment,” he said. “I thought you were going to pop fangs and suck out my blood.”
She sucked semen. That’s the bodily fluid she was talking about. Harrison didn’t know what kind of weird alien creature she was, but he did know that no-one ever died from having all their semen sucked out.
Number 66 smiled down at him. Her hands still pinned his shoulders to the mattress.
“I haven’t finished yet,” she said.
Her pussy clenched around his cock. He felt a muscular pulse roll up his shaft. His penis spat another, smaller, load of semen into her. The pleasure wasn’t as great this time.
Number 66’s slime-slick hands roamed over his chest. Her plush lips pouted with ravenous lust.
