Malee's Apartment

You crawl into a cab after nearly a full day on a plane, worn to a frazzle. The stop at Detroit Metro was fairly short; all they did there was pick up some passengers and, you assume (and hope), refuel the plane for the trip across the Pacific. The stop at Incheon, however, was interminable, an everlasting wait in First Class Lounge purgatory while you waited for ... something. You never really did get an explanation for the delay, but the flight attendants' English seemed less than completely fluent, and your Korean is nonexistent. You vow to never again travel without picking up at least a few key phrases for every region you travel through, sayings like "Where's the bathroom?" and " I'll have a beer, please." Particularly the latter.

Malee, at least, did her best to keep the millenia-long flight interesting. She spent hours telling you about her homeland, describing its cutoms, culture and history ... but never without a question from you. Otherwise, she spent her time drawing you out, learning about your school, your small group of friends, your family and ambitions.

As the (FAR) more experienced traveler, she basically took control of the flight, telling you when it was time to eat, time to catch a nap (lots of short ones to make the time go by faster), time for some kind of entertainment (movies or music played on screens set on the backs of the seat in front of you,) time to work on your Spring Break assignments. She sometimes seemed a bit ... controlling ... but it's all for the best. Now you've got all of your homework finished so nothing will interrupt your coming vacation, Malee has given you some insights into Thai tourist attractions that have already changed and improved your plans for the week, and, though completely exhausted, you've survived an intercontinental flight and arrived in Southeast Asia.

Malee kept things "interesting" in other ways, too. You never thought it possible for a human male to remain sexually aroused for an entire day without relief, but Malee seemed ... not determined, just playfully interested ... in proving you wrong, at least insofar as the situation allowed. Being trapped in an insulated tube traveling at hundreds of miles an hour and surrounded by strangers is not, as it turns out, particularly conducive to sexual satisfaction, but she certainly tried.

Mostly she used innocent-seeming physical contact ... innocent if you and she had already been intimate, at least. Stroking the back of your hand or your thigh, especially your sensitive inner thigh, with only the occasional, "accidental" brush of her fingertips aling the lenghth of your cock. Running her hand along your chest with a rare, teasing squeeze to one nipple or another. Feather-light kisses to your lips, neck, cheek, ear ... usually with a surreptitious flick of her tongue against your skin. All were at least marginally acceptable, if a bit racy, between individuals who were already lovers, but maddeningly arousing to you and, you hope and believe, her.

Then there was the hell of the Korean Air First Class lounge at Incheon. Malee chose a booth for the two of you, a curved, cozy space with a small table and single bench seat whose view was blocked from most directions. As soon as the pair of you were seated, she moved to press against you, her thigh and hip pressed against yours. As a waiter took her drink order, her hand slid up your inner thigh. As you ordered a beer ("No more than two," she told you), she started stroking your cock, making you sputter and stammer to the waiter's immense amusement.

As the waiter walked away with your order, she said, "Don't speak, don't move. No, spread your legs. Wider. Good boy."

So you sat there, knees as far apart as you could **** them, trying to keep a straight face while the most beautiful woman who's ever paid you the slightest attention gave you a slow, over-the-pants handjob. The waiter returned with your drinks, forcing you to smile at him like an idiot rather than risk speaking, annoying Malee and ending this game, whatever it is.

And then she stopped. You were seconds away from cumming, could feel the orgasm building in your balls and cockhead, and she just .,, stopped.

Stopped cold and went back to her drink, both hands above the table. You tried to ask her what was going on, but she gave you a look that could freeze nitrogen and interrupted, "I said be silent. And keep your legs spread and your hands where I can see them."

Dammit, you had thought to get some relief playing pocket pool. Instead, you just sat there, legs spread ridiculously wide, staring out the little entryway to your booth, trying without success to hump your own zipper.

You were about at half-mast ... and feeling like you might never go soft again .., when her hand returned. Slowly ... so goddamned slowly you thought you might burst with anticipation ... she stroked you fully hard again. You tried to increase the friction, to hump her stroking palm, but every time you did, her hand immediately reappeared to take her glass again. Her message was simple and abundantly clear: this was her game, and if you wanted to play, you would play by her rules. So you stilled herself and allowed her to jack you off at her own pace.

Then she stopped again. You were seconds away from climax and she stopped AGAIN. You looked over at her pleadingly, but she wasn't even looking in your direction, instead watching a TV across the lounge. Boner aching and **** for release, you try to do the same.

The pattern repeated itself ... for the entire three hours that pass until you're allowed on the new plane, Malee leading the way tbrough the busy terminal.

"What the hell was that?" you asked once you got back to your seats, frustration making your voice rise and almost crack.

Malee smiles, but not at you, reading something on her phone. "Try to keep your voice down, my sexy little flower. I was playing a game. I like games. Didn't it make that ugly layover just fly by?"

You had to admit, it had done that. What would have been a boring, sleep-inducing delay had instead been disrupted by a continuing cycle of anticipation, arousal and ... disappointment. "But ... why didn't you finish me off? Or at least let me finish?"

She turned from her phone, then, and cocked her head. You had a sudden thought that if she wore glasses, she'd be staring at you over their rims, the very image of a sexy librarian shushing a noisy student. It makes you hard, but then again, of COURSE it makes you hard at this point. EVERYTHING makes you hard at this point ...

SHE smiles again. "Because you haven't earned it yet, baby. You have to earn your release."

You stood up then. "I have to use the bathroom."

Malee was already back to reading her phone. "Don't do what I know you want to do in there," she told you without looking up from her phone, "not if you want to earn a ... REWARD ... after we land."

The last leg of the flight seemed to last roughly a billion times longer than the other two combined. Not only were you hornier than you'd ever been before, but Malee soon continued her "innocent" teasing, no longer so innocent. Her occasionally brushing your prick with her fingertips was worst, not least because they had simultaneously become so craved and so rare, but even her touch on your wrist ... your WRIST ... shortened your breath, quickened your heartbeat, and stiffened your cock. A little. Not enough. The entire flight was ****.

So now you're sitting in the back seat of a taxi, exhausted and horny, cock stiff, balls aching and heart racing. Malee leans into the back seat, speaking Thai to the driver and displaying her cleavage to you before sliding in next to you. She lays her head on your shoulder, midnight hair spilling across your chest, neck and shoulder, and rubs your belly lightly. "I think SOMEbody has earned himself a little reward," she murmurs in your ear, voice a little husky.

You stretch your arm over her shoulder, place your hand at the very top of her ass (as low as you can reach; even she is almost as tall as you are), and kiss the top of her head. "Really?" you ask, voice fighting between hope and doubtful fear.

Malee unfolds herself from where she had dropped her head into your chest and kisses your chin. "The proper response to a gift is 'thank you'," she says flatly.

"Uhm ... Thank you?"

"Better," she says before kissing her way down your neck. "Now, grab my ass, baby. Give it a good squeeze."

The taxi ride is fairly short after that. Actually, you have no idea how long it takes; you are otherwise occupied.

The taxi stops and the driver, a wizened old man whose face resembles a dehydrated carved apple, says something in Thai. She smiles, hands him some money, and steps out, giving you a good look at what you've been squeezing for the last however many minutes.

"This ... doesn't look like a hotel ..." you say, looking over a brick five-story building whose roof gives the sugestion of a pagoda.

"It's not," Malee answers, "I thought we'd take you to your hotel after I've ... showed you around ... my apartment." She puts her arm around your waist and pulls you against her hip.

"Sh-sure," you respond, thinking, This must be what jocks and rock stars live like.

She leads you to the elevator, arm still around your waist and leg pressed against yours. As you wait for the elevator to descend, her hand descends to your ass and starts to squeeze. Your cock, which has been hard, half-hard or frustrated for hours, responds immediately. You turn to kiss her and press your hard length against her. She sighs and grabs your other ass cheek, pressing against the lump in your pants while one of her knees rises to tub between your legs from below. When the elevator arrives, you basically fall into it. Malee hits the top-floor button without even looking at it, the entire rest of her body seemingly glued to your body and all of it evidently focused on stroking your cock ... except for her nipples; those hard little nubbins are suddenly pressed hard against your chest, rubbing against your own nipples.

The elevator arrives on the top floor, and Malee manages to peel her body away from yours just long enough to get her key in the door and turn the knob before the pair of you batter it down. She turns on the lights but you notice nothing of her apartment for now, all senses focused on her. She pulls away just long enough to perform some kind of magic trick and pull her bra out from under her dress, then she's rubbing against you again while she strips off your shirt, whispering, "Show me that sexy body, little flower. Let me see those pretty titties."

You somehow manage to get your pants down with one hand and Malee's skin glued to yours, the other hand squeezing and grabbing either a breast or a butt cheek all the while. Then she spins you around with surprising strength, humping your butt cheeks while her right hand wraps around your belly and her left reaches beneath your briefs and wraps around your erection.

And that's all it takes.

You cum, explosively and far too early. The way you ... or at least your cock and balls ... feel right now, your orgasm should be accompanied by music, fireworks, atomic explosions, and major brain damage on your part.

But it's just an orgasm. A little more intense than normal, a little messier (you immediately soak the front of your jockey shorts), and accompanied by a surprised little, "Oh," from Malee, which of course you've never heard before, but overall it was not that extraordinary.

... which makes you feel cheated, because this early orgasm is why your life is obviously over ...

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you say, pulling away from Malee, but she won't let you go ... and she really is stronger than you. Must be those farm girl muscles.

"Hey," she says, oulling you closer after your attempt to pull away and withdrawing her hand from your shorts, "Don't worry. It happens." She lifts her hand and licks cum off a couple of her fingers. "Mmm, yummy. Want to try?" she asks, lifting her hand into your field of vision.

When you flinch away from your spend on her fingers, shaking your head, you feel her shrug as she says, "No accounting for taste ... but you taste GOOD." She giggles and kisses the side of your neck before guiding you over to a low couch and standing in front of you.

"Underwear, please. I don't want you leaking all over the furniture."

Suddenly shy, you press your knees together and tuck your now-flaccid unit between your thighs before handing over your briefs. Malee takes them and walks toward an interior door, saying, "I'll be right back."

She's only gone a couple of minutes, but even in that short a time you start getting sheepish over your nudity and get up to look for your clothes. You're still looking when she returns and, from the doorway, says, "VERY nice! I knew you had a sexy body."

You're not sure what she's talking about. You're not sexy; you have no particular muscle tone, you're not even wiry, just kind of average and soft. But if this beautiful girl likes what she sees ...

"Sit down here please, Aaron," Malee says, patting the couch next to her. You're not sure why, possibly her accent, but several times since you met, it's sounded like she was calling you "Erinn." You decide to ignore it for now. Calling her on it when she's being so nice your moment of shame would just be spiteful. You sit on the couch next to her, and she wraps her arm around your waist again.

"Listen, baby," she says, laying her head on your shoulder, "I'm sorry; I had NO IDEA you ... wouldn't be able to handle ... that kind of stimulation. But I want to help you with it if I can. After all, if we're going to be lovers, I'll have to."

Lovers?

You ask the question out loud before you can stop yourself. The idea that she ... still wants, well, YOU after tonight's debacle is stunning.

"Of course lovers, Little Flower. I told you I think you're sexy, didn't I? That hasn't changed. So ... do you want my help with your 'little' problem?"

Of course you do, and you tell her so.

"Okay, then. Now I need you to answer this question completely honestly: has your ahh ... stamina ... always been this low?"

You had never considered your stamina partucularly low, but maybe different cultures had different definitions of "low stamina." You confess to Malee that your stamina has really not changed much since you first became sexually "active," if you can call it that yet.

"Thank you for being honest with me," she says, running her fingernails up and down your bare spine, "I'll come up with a plan to ... assist ... you soon. Maybe have a chat with a village shaman ..."

When you object that you certainly don't want anyone ELSE knowing about your "little problem" (which is looking like a pretty fucking huge problem from where you're sitting!), Malee insists that OF COURSE she won't mention your name; she just wants the wisdom of her peoples' ancestral medicine on YOUR side. Eventually, she talks you into letting her consult the shaman of her home village.

"Now, I think it's time to get you to your hotel. We're meeting with Mister Dantanavanawong in the morning, and then your vacation starts. Here," she says, handing you a small bundle of cloth from her dress pocket, "I'll get your panties clean as soon as I can, but in the meantime you need SOMEthing to wear."

You look down, at the bundle of cloth. It's a pair of women's panties, probably Malee's.

"But ..."

"No butts! No commando! You wear these until you get home, okay?"

With a weary sigh (you already know you're not gonna win this one; you're too tired, humiliated, and ... dammit, still horny ... for the fight), you pull the panties on and start hunting for the rest of your things.