Affairs/singapr5
                                     Friar Dave
                                 Singapore Girl - 5
                      Things went along quite nicely for the next few weeks -- and 
                quite a bit more conventionally. As the weather turned warmer with 
                  the onset of spring, we settled into a very comfortable rhythm. 
                   June had communicated her desire to keep the big dildo and a 
                 vibrator handy and both got used pretty regularly as part of our 
                foreplay. On one occasion, June decided to make use of a cucumber, 
                                 but the damn thing kept slipping.
                     She started inviting me to various Jaycee get-togethers. I fit 
                 in really well -- bearded, casual (usually jeans) and absolutely 
                zero tolerance for bullshit. I was reminded of all the reasons I'd 
                 dropped out of advertising five years before. Still -- they were 
                   not only networking; they were actually doing things for the 
                 community ... and that was more than I could say. All were civil, 
                 some were polite, a few were friendly and a couple were downright 
                 charming. I in turn invited her to the annual awards banquet held 
                by my writer's organization, which shall rename nameless. (Hint: If 
                   you've read The Hugo Winners, you could have met most of the 
                authors there.) Bless her heart, June understood the importance of 
                   the event -- hell, I even got a haircut and wore a tie -- and 
                                     decided to do me up proud.
                      When I called for her, she was wearing different makeup than 
                usual. It made her seem a bit older and far more polished. She was 
                wearing high heels, something she normally avoided. And she wore a 
                cheong-sam, the traditional sheath-like dress with the slit up the 
                 side. It was jet black, clingy, and tied about her neck, leaving 
                   her back and shoulders bare. With her pale flesh and flawless 
                complexion, her slinky dress and a flash of long, shapely leg right 
                    up to mid-thigh with each graceful step, she looked utterly 
                                            scrumptious.
                     Our arrival at the pre-banquet cocktail party sent a ripple of 
                  silence from the doorway through the large room in the Waldorf. 
                  Heads turned and eyes widened. I was noticed only because I was 
                 with her. She brought all of her Jaycee and ex-im skills to bear 
                and by the time we were seated for the actual awards banquet, about 
                 a half-dozen editors were introducing themselves to me and asking 
                 if I had any novel-length material (I had already published some 
                                          short stories). 
                       When we got back to her place, she was quite tired and we 
                    slept, snuggling close. I went out the next morning and did 
                 something I had never before done: I bought a ring for the woman. 
                     Not only was she bright, sweet, dedicated, beautiful and 
                unbelievably sexy, she was willing to back up -- all the way -- her 
                  man. I put the ring in my dresser and began thinking the whole 
                  matter through and trying to determine the right time. And that 
                time wouldn't be too long: Her visa was expiring and she would have 
                     to leave America ... unless she qualified for accelerated 
                  naturalization, say, as a relative of a citizen. And I knew she 
                   wanted to stay. But I had to be careful. It mustn't seem like 
                gratitude or a payoff for this proud, tough woman who'd worked and 
                           thought her way out of the slums of Singapore.
                       A couple of days later, as I was leaving her place after a 
                 deliciously languorous night of intermittent fucking and dozing, 
                                   June stopped me at the door: 
                                           "About tonight -- "
                                                 "Yes?"
                                          "I have a fantasy..."
                                         Oh, goody! I thought. 
                                       "I want you to tie me up."
                           I paused, regaining compsure and then delivered my 
                                    brilliant repiposte: "Huh?"
                     "Well -- " Abruptly, she seemed almost shy. "You told me once 
                 you always wanted to make a woman cum so hard she would pass out. 
                 And sometimes when it becomes very intense for me I make you stop 
                               what you're doing until I calm down."
                      "And what would you like me to be doing to you while you're 
                                             tied up?"
                      "Whatever you want to do that will make me cum like that. I 
                  have wanted to try this for a long time, but you are the first 
                                    person I ever would trust."
                          "It's not somethig I'm exactly keen to do, you know."
                               "That is one reason I trust you to do it."
                                  "You're not afraid I would hurt you?"
                      She smiled and slithered into my arms. "You would never hurt 
                anyone, least of all me." She fumbled at my belt. "I want you to do 
                 whatever you want with me and tell me what you are doing and what 
                  you are thinking and imagining -- " She opened my pants and was 
                 fumbling around inside.  "It makes me itchy just to think of it."
                         I disengaged her hand -- carefully, I might add -- and 
                  repaired my attire. (That sounds so damned proper, doesn't it? 
                        "Repaired my attire." Faded jeans and a sweatshirt.)
                                  "So you're leaving it up to me, eh?"
                        "No one knows how to make me cum better -- not even me."
                           I nodded. "Alright, June -- I'll be here at nine."
                                    "What would you like for dinner?"
                     "I'll have eaten. You will, too -- no later than seven-thirty. 
                  I want you to be showered and dried off and warm. I want you to 
                wear that old blue nightdress, the one that's worn through near the 
                  shoulder. I will call you at eight-thirty. Take my call on the 
                  phone by the bed. Have the answering machine hooked up for the 
                                          office phones."
                        She looked at me strangely. "What have you got in mind?"
                       I stepped to the other side of the vestibule door. She was 
                  wearing jeans and a cableknit blue v-neck sweater. She'd pulled 
                them on only to see me to the door and there was nothing underneath 
                 except June. But even through the thick strands of the sweater, I 
                 could see that her nipples were hugely swollen and her chest and 
                                    neck were brightly flushed.
                     "June, this is your idea. Go along with it," I said, "and you 
                        will cum as you have never imagined you could cum."
                     Halfway down the block to my house I was wondering if I'd let 
                 my mouth run away with itself. That was a tall order I'd promised 
                                   to fill for this short woman.
                     But by the time I'd reached my place, I was already analyzing 
                  the situation and the outlines of what would do the trick were 
                                        forming in my head.
                     The first thing I did was stop at Rudy's. I had a good working 
                  arrangement with Rudy, the semi-competent superintendent for my 
                apartment building. When I needed the use of his workshop, I'd spot 
                him ten bucks. He'd long since learned that I took good care of the 
                tools -- better than he did, in fact. He even let me store some of 
                  my stuff there. I checked through the pile of scrap lumber and 
                found some pieces of three-quarter inch CDX that were workable and 
                        enough odds and ends of one-by and two-by to serve. 
                          I took the BMT to 23rd Street and bought some thick, 
                industrial grade gray carpet remnants at ABC -- another five bucks 
                -- and then walked home. Along the way, I stopped at Paterson Silks 
                 at University and Fourteenth. To my knowledge, Paterson has never 
                 sold silk bolts. Their specialty is good, serviceable fabrics for 
                  the thousands of working poor and welfare recipients who try to 
                make a few bucks stretch farther by doing their own sewing. If you 
                  want to meet some young, stunningly beautiful and irrepressibly 
                 vital Puerto Rican single mothers, Paterson Silks is a good place 
                    to go. But be forewarned -- they can steal your heart away.
                     I bought what I needed in Paterson, walked the rest of the way 
                  home, dropped the hardgoods in the shop, stored the rest in my 
                place, then headed for the Pink Pussy Cat over on West Fourth near 
                 Jones Street. It was almost ten-thirty and they would be opening. 
                     The Pink Pussy Cat is an adult toystore. There are others, to 
                 be sure -- but the PPC staff makes it special. They seems to have 
                  this basic attitude problem: When people work up the courage to 
                   walk down the five steps to the entrance of the well (but not 
                garishly) lit emporium, the staff for some reason assumes these are 
                  people who think sex should be fun and have a sense of joy and 
                  humor.  When I had entered the PPC to buy a vibrator for Annie, 
                  they'd asked me what kind. I'd said, Hell, what've you got? To 
                      which the pimply young woman had said, We've got these. 
                     She'd proceeded to take one of each and every vibrator in the 
                store and set it on the counter. Those that could stand up on their 
                 bases were so arranged. Then she activated every one of them. The 
                standing ones moved around in little circles, the pumping ones spun 
                 and pumped, the squirming ones writhed and wriggled, etc. One of 
                   the other clerks switched the radio from Lite Rock to a disco 
                 station and the staff that weren't busy stood around and voted on 
                which vibrator won the Dance Fever contest and someone hug a tinsel 
                  garland around it as an award. We are not talking pretentious, 
                                 superior, overbearing fools here.
                     Indeed, they had just opened and the on-duty clerk asked what 
                                             I wanted.
                                        "I want a dildo -- big."
                      "Long or thick?" he asked, a tad on the fey side, and every 
                              bit as professional as any of them were.
                       "Both. This is for someone who wants that stuffed feeling."
                       "Woman or -- " He grins broadly and infectiously. "-- man?"
                               "Woman. Good definition of woman, in fact."
                                       "Vaginal, then -- or -- ?"
                                               "Vaginal."
                                                "Color?"
                     "Her color's got nothing to do -- " His expression stopped me. 
                             "Sorry. Flesh, black, latex -- whatever."
                     He located a half dozen, ranging in size from the biggest that 
                I already owned to something he called "Big Fred," which was about 
                     fifteen inches long and had to be six inches in diameter.
                                  "I just got an inferiority complex."
                                     "I know the feeling," he said.
                     "Do people use this for a coat rack or do they really use this 
                                            for, uh --"
                     "Mostly gay men into fistfucking and pain, I think." He made a 
                face. "A great deal of pain." He shrugged. "Also, we have a catalog 
                                   and you can special order -- "
                                     "No. I found just the ticket." 
                      And I had. It was called, I think, "California Reaming." It 
                    was about eighteen inches long. It made no attempt at being 
                     lifelike. It was as if someone had put pieces of fruit of 
                increasing size -- smallest first -- into a latex tube. The result 
                 was a knob of latex about an inch and a half thick, followed by a 
                slight depression, then another knob, a bit thicker, and so forth. 
                  The knob at the base had to be five inches thick. The base was 
                 flattened and there was a hollow opening about a half inch thick.

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                       The salesman opened a drawer and took out a length of slim 
                metal rod that was terminated with a three quarter inch pipethread. 
                He carefully inserted the stiffener's blunted end -- "For safety," 
                   he said -- into the latex tube. "We also sell a pedestal -- "
                                  I shook my head. "How much for this?"
                      It was close to a hundred bucks -- Yikes! -- but I figured, 
                What the hell? I took my purchase home -- along with the salesman's 
                    wise (if unnecessary) cautions to use PLENTY of lubricant. 
                     Next, I headed for Canal Street. The border between Chinatown 
                  and Little Italy is lined with hardware and electronics stores. 
                Most of them have merchandise overflowing onto boxes and makeshift 
                     shelves on the sidewalk and many also offer used "as is" 
                miscellany. I found an "as is" Skil orbital sander that lacked the 
                lockdown clamps that hold the sandpaper and was missing most of the 
                  handle. No problem -- five bucks. At an open-air electrical and 
                  electronics parts supply store I found a perfectly serviceable 
                rheostat for another fiver. At the plumbing supply outlet I bought 
                 an coupling that would adapt the base of the dildo's stiffener to 
                 the plate screw on the sander. I picked up a couple of hinges and 
                 headed for the workshop. It was a bit past noon when my shopping 
                                             was done.
                      June was right about me, of course: I did know what made her 
                 cum most. I knew that massive head gave her screaming orgasms too 
                 excruciating for her to bear for very long -- and made her always 
                      juicy and hungry cunt downright voracious for stuffing. 
                        I used the plywood to build a cube about on each side. I 
                   drilled appropriate holes and mounted the sander inside, then 
                 mounted the rheostat so the lead to the control dial poked (heh!) 
                   through the opposite side of the box. I hooked up the wiring, 
                  plugged it in, turned it on. With the sander set to its slowest 
                setting and the rheostat thumbed to the lowest gauge, it made for a 
                wonderfully variable vibration. I installed the adapter couplings, 
                then covered the whole thing with the carpet remnants. Then I slid 
                the dildo onto the stiffener, screwed the stiffener onto the sander 
                 coupling and -- presto! -- the world's biggest and most luxurious 
                                          vibrating dildo.
                       Of course, the whole thing weighed about forty pounds. The 
                   weight of the sander, box and rheostat seemed to be enough to 
                             counter the extended weight of the latex. 
                     I had to make one more shopping trip for two extensions -- one 
                 to lead to the rheostat from the outlet and one so I could be as 
                much as ten feet from the box and still control it -- batteries and 
                    plenty of K-Y lubricant. I also bought two bottles of wine. 
                       I threw a tarp over the whole affair and stopped by Rudy's 
                apartment to tell him I'd be picking up my creation at a quarter to 
                 nine. I gave him another five for the extra trouble. I went up to 
                  my place and fixed a big plate of linguini with clam source and 
                 purposely overate. As I expected, I felt drowsy. I set the alarm 
                                  and lay down to nap for a while.
                      I woke at eight and showered and trimmed my beard. I thought 
                 carefully about what I would say and at eight-thirty I picked up 
                 the phone and prepared to begin June's night of fantasy fulfilled.
                          I dialed the number. She answered on the second ring.
                                         "What re you wearing?"
                                       "What are you going to -- "
                                                "Listen."
                                             She hesitated.
                      "Do you like it when I suck your clitoris? When I stick that 
                big rubber cock in you? When I jam my hand up your cunt and move it 
                                              around?"
                            I could hear her breathing, short, shallow pants.
                                               "Tell me!"
                                       "Ooooo, I am so itchy -- "
                                         "What are you wearing?"
                                            "I'm wearing -- "
                            "Take it off, all of it, then pick up the phone."
                      When she picked up the phone, she giggled, nervously. "Now I 
                                   want you to touch your clit."
                                                "But -- "
                                                "Do it."
                        I heard her little gasp; that was all the confirmation I 
                                              needed. 
                     "Keep doing it -- go on -- that's it -- rub and press and rub 
                            ... and now stick one fingr in your cunt..."
                        She gasped again. Then: "Oooo, I am so wet and horny -- "
                       "Now go downstairs and unlock the door to your place, then 
                 come back up. Light one candle and turn out all the lights. Then 
                 lay down on the bed and masturbate and keep masturbating until I 
                                            arrive -- "
                                              She groaned.
                               "I will be there exactly at nine o'clock."
                                            "But I am naked!"
                     "Yes. That's your problem. Maybe someone will get a glimpse of 
                 your sweet tits or your lovely cunt or your tight Chinese ass -- "
                                           She groaned again.
                     "You wanted to put yourself completely in my fucking control. 
                  Do it -- and if you don't do what I say, this night is over and 
                someone else will enjoy the treats I have planned for your hot, wet 
                                               cunt."
                     I hung up and checked the clock. Eight-thirty-eight. I put out 
                  food for the cat, took my supplies and a clean pillowcase, then 
                locked up the place and left. I went to the workshop and dismantled 
                 my contraption, then put the parts into the pillow case and threw 
                                 it into a canvas carpenter's bag. 
                      I got to her door at five to nine. My cock was like a bar of 
                  iron in my pants. One of the waitresses from the espresso house 
                occupying the second floor of her building -- the first floor was a 
                  retail space -- saw me standing there with the bag and smiled. 
                                          "What's in the bag?"
                                                 "Tool."
                       She looked directly at my bulging crotch and grinned. "Uh-
                   huh," she said, and shimmied through the entrance to the cafe.
                      At two minutes to nine I entered June's vestibule and locked 
                 the door behind me. I climbed the long, carpeted stairway to the 
                 first floor -- where her offices were -- and glanced inside. The 
                    telex was on STORE and the answering machine was turned on.
                                                So was I.
                        I climbed the second long flight of stairs to her living 
                                quarters. All the lights were out. 
                                                "David?"
                       Her voice echoed through the silent -- but for the distant 
                             sound of music from the cafe -- apartment.
                                   "Are you doing what I told you -- "
                                                 "I -- "
                                                "Do it!"
                     I heard the bed creak and as I listened to her pant faster and 
                    more urgently and the bed begin creaking, I ducked into the 
                bathroom. In the linen closet were bath sheets -- enormous towels. 
                I took two of them. I stepped into the bedroom and reached into my 
                 bag of tricks. I withdrew the vibrator, opened it, loaded it with 
                              two D-Cells and tossed it onto the bed.
                     "Use it on your clit," I ordered and stepped out of the room. 
                  I went through the darkened hallway to her living room. There I 
                got two of the bolsters from her sectional. I rolled them the long 
                 way and wrapped them in the towel, then tied the whole thing with 
                two of the lengths of silk ribbon I'd bought at Paterson. I carried 
                         the makeshift cushion and my bag into her bedroom.
                     She was writhing wildly on top of the bedcovers, plunging the 
                              vibrator in and out of her cunt and -- 
                                           "Stop!" I snapped.
                                           She almost stopped.
                             "I said use it on your clit, not in your cunt!"
                                         "But I am so itchy -- "
                                           "That's the idea."
                      She complied, but only after a loud, almost pitiful, groan. 
                      I put my bag on the floor and next to it, the tightly rolled 
                                             cushions. 
                                   My cock was trying to rip my jeans.
                       I screwed the base thread of the dildo stiffener into its 
                            slot and carried the whole thing to the bed.
                      Even in the darkness, I could see her eyes widen. "What -- "
                     I didn't answer yet. I opened the K-Y and smeared it all over 
                  the end of the dildo. I used most of one tube. Then I took the 
                 lead cord and plugged it in to the outlet. Next, I put the bound 
                  billows on the bed and retrieved my other silk ribbons from the 
                  bag. June kept pumping her clit and arching her hips as I bound 
                 her wrists. Then I tied a ribbon about each slender angle. I put 
                the rolled-up bolsters lengthwise on her belly and breasts and then 
                  tied her with the ribbons from her wrists together around it -- 
                 strapping her to the bolsters. Then I did the same with the ankle 
                  ribbons. Next, I rolled her onto all fours -- the "fours" being 
                   tied around the bolster. And all the time, she never stopped 
                               working the vibrator around her cunt.
                     Finally, I took two long ribbons and fed them around and under 
                 the mattress -- between the lumpy mattress and the boxsprings, to 
                  be precise. When I was done, she was on all fours, bound to the 
                     rolled-up bolsters and immobilized by the ties to the bed.
                      At some point, the vibrator had slipped from her fingers -- 
                 but no matter. I had begun muttering random, vague dirty words to 
                 her and her juices had already dampened the pillowcase containing 
                                           the bolsters.
                          "What are you going to do to me???" she cried softly.
                     "Whatever the fuck I want," I answered. I stripped quickly nd 
                                     then paused, taking stock.
                      Before me was a gorgeous Chinese girl from Singapore who, at 
                 her request, I had tied up and rendered utterly helpless. She had 
                  begged me to do with her as I wished and make her cum till she 
                              literally was unconscious with pleasure.
                       I stepped to the side of the bed and look down at her. Her 
                 legs were forced apart by her position and beautiful little cunt 
                 was exposed -- but her position also tautened and emphasized the 
                 perfection of her sweet, tight little ass; the narrowness of her 
                 hips; the superb proportions of her back, and the perfect line of 
                                             her legs.
                        She had begged me to do with her as I wished -- and as I 
                   looked at her naked form, as I inhaled the heady aroma of her 
                  copious juice and her unmistakable arousal, I anticipated doing 
                   just that -- fucking her and making her cum till she -- and I 
                             -- had reached another plane of reality. 
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