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The House of Singing Winds
By
Sir Marc Wyld
Chapter Six
Hong Kong Liberty
I am awaken early with clear head and warm lips encasing my prick in spite the fact that last night was spent bar hopping with J.D. and Tommy from one end of Kowloon to the other. I am not sure how I find my way back to the island to wind up in the Hilton’s lounge and ultimately, in my room. I open, enter and close my door alone but soon learned that this is not the case.
* * *
At a near quickstep, I make a beeline straight to the head, unzipping as I hurry. My stream arcs the moment I come to a halt before the bowl. Standing there with my cock in my hand, letting fly a river of recycled Tiger beer with a touch of absinthe flow, my nose suddenly tells me I am not alone: there is touch of Opium in the air. Yves St. Laurent’s not the Golden Triangle’s. With fore finger and thumb, I halt the flow of piss from my cock and step up my listening skills a notch to detect sounds beyond the echoes of splashes past. The rustle of a bed sheet is followed immediately with “What happened to clear the room first, piss second?”
“One must adjust, adapt and overcome adversity as the situation demands. I had to piss like the proverbial racehorse. However, if you must know, I thought that if there were any secure place in this town, my penthouse would certainly qualify. Obviously, I’m wrong.”
I turn and standing in the door is a petite Arabian princess. She is dressed in a dark blue burka. The only visible signs a woman might be beneath this cloth are the almond shaped brown eyes peering from the eye slits and the hint of stiletto heels peeking from the below the hem. In one fluid motion, the burka disappears back into the darkened room behind her. She is dressed in the most alluring nakedness I have ever seen. A line traces an oval over her shoulders just above her collar bones to a line just above her black five inch high heels on her ankles and also extends to a line at each wrist bone. Between these lines, from collar to wrist and ankle, she is covered with an exquisite, complicated henna tattoo that is in effect, the complete text of the Kama Sutra.
Stopping a piss stream from raging torrent to dammed lake is not an easy feat but exercising a modicum of self control I am able to release the death grip on the head of the drain to my engorged bladder. I release my Johnson and four large drops of piss splash to the floor. The girl looks directly into my eyes, nods slightly and says softly, “Milord.”
With the grace of a cat, the beauty prostrates herself before me on knees and elbows and resting her forehead on the floor between my feet and says in flawless Farsi, “I thank thee for the provision of cock from which I may feed and drink.” Her tongue then darts out and lovingly laps the errant piss off the stone floor. Righting herself into an erect kneeling position, she raises her eyes to meet mine and in perfect English says, “Sir, I beg you to let me once again be your own Worthy Toilet.” I step forward two paces as her small hands land delicately to rest on my hips. She parts her lips and kneels before me with gaping mouth and pleading eyes. My left hand lightly rests atop her head and my right hand cradles my cock between fore and middle finger. I watch her eyes first glaze and the close as she goes to that place I cannot fathom as I release my torrent into the urinal that is her mouth. She swallow as much as possible and does not gag. Her skill in this area is profound but still piss cascades from her greedy mouth to run down in rivulets over the intricacy of her body art to puddle on the floor. The flow, in the beginning is strong and fast and lasts for perhaps three quarters of minute, soon slows to a trickle that is easier for her to catch and she moves closer until her lips encase my cock so that she can drink directly from the source. Her ministrations cause me to begin to harden but using my hand on her head to push her away, I see her brow furrow just before her eyes open and begin clear. I step into the shower as the tattooed girl wearing the chic heels begins the long slow process of licking my urine from the floor in order to return the floor once again to spotless, polished stone. She is still fervent at her task when go past her on my way to bed. I have one last thought before I enter that place between sleep and awake: Who tells these women where I am and how do they get in?
The next conscious sensation I have is her lips fucking my cock and bringing me refreshingly awake. As I ejaculate into the warmth of her sucking mouth, she pulls her lips away and catches the rich spurts and uses my sperm as a cream on her face and body. The whole time she has been ministering to me, three of her fingers have been busily buried in her hairless cunt and suddenly she comes wetly and violently. I leave the bed to go to the head and momentarily turn to watch as she is rubs the spoils of her clitoris over her body to combine her juices with mine. When I return, she is re-dressed in the burka and standing next to the door. In Farsi she says simply, “I thank thee for allowing me to serve.” She then switches back to English and says, “I hope I smell like a whore full of fresh sex to every one I meet the tram and ferry today.” I wish I could see the smile I know is there as she says this, but all I can gather is a mere hint of its presence at the corner of her eyes and in the sound of her voice. With that she turns and is gone from the room.
I dress, call for my driver and do my banking. I am at Wo Fat Aviation by ten and somewhat surprised that J.D. and Tommy have completed the preflight and we are ready for immediate take off. I watch Victoria Peak fall behind us and the view below us soon becomes the endless blue of the South China Sea. I close the window blind and go to sleep, a deep, heavy sleep I know I need and feel safe enough to take. Instantly, my eyes open wide as the whine of the hydraulic flap motors signal we are on final approach to Singing Winds. I am feeling better and a Dorothyism comes to mind: There is no place like home.
A jeep is waiting for me and Li is driving. She is dressed in a pastel flower print sarong tied in a simple knot at her waist. Sitting in the open jeep, it is easy to see that her clothes accentuate her slim hips and long legs and she is topless. Her small breasts are tipped with large, dark areola and her erect nipples are extremely inviting.
I notice Tommy notice her and I smile. Tommy has had a crush on her since his first meeting with her and it is a crush I try very hard to encourage. Li, however, will have none of it. I have tried many times to free her of the obligation she feels she owes me but I cannot convince her that she is free to choose. The choice she made happened in the jungles of Southeast Asia many years before.
Author’s Note: Due to circumstances beyond my control, I have not been able to access my reviews and as such cannot responds to my critics, which I very much want to do. I do apologize for my technique especially when it comes to editing. Of course, that is always the hardest part of writing. Since a story is never done till an author quits tinkering with it, I have to just quit and let it go. I know that’s wrong, but I do it anyway. So, forgive me. That does not mean I do not want criticism. This is what I most want, what you like, what you don’t and, well, you get the picture. Those of you that have written me at my regular Email, I’ve tried to answer. Thanks for your input I do appreciate it.
Sir Marc
March 4, 2010
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