The Bench

The lift drops me at the ground floor with a soft bell sound. I walk into the heat of a beautiful Bangkok day.

The reception area of the condo is nicely shaded, and comfortable chairs have been provided to make my wait more pleasant. I sink into the cushions and check your progress on my phone.

About half an hour ago, I instructed you to stop the work you were doing, go to the bathroom of the trendy cafe you'd been sitting in most of the day, remove your panties and slide in your buttplug. I might also have sent you some very dirty animated gifs to get you in the mood. The fact that they popped up unannounced on your laptop screen when anyone in the cafe could have seen is only bonus. After all, it's good to keep you on your toes.

As I bask in the mellow warmth of my favorite city, I enjoy replaying in my head what you must have felt like in that public bathroom. Of course you don't carry lube around, but luckily for you the training I have imposed on you has been fruitful, and inserting your medium size purple silicon plug in yourself no longer requires either a very long time or artificial slickening. Still, I know that in the public setting, with perhaps other girls waiting on the other side of the door to use the restroom, your anus will be tenser than usual and it will require more of an effort on your part to carry out my command. I like that, also.

The phone notifies me that indeed you have messaged me on Line. You typed that the walk was challenging. What with the heat - Songkran is just around the corner - and the feeling of being so exposed, in a city you don't know as well as I do. Particularly, you mention that walking across the domed bridge over the khlong was a challenge, given how short your skirt is today. I know that the mototaxi men will have taken a good look as you walked past, already crimson in the face, trying to keep your diminutive garment from riding up further and revealing the toy deep inside you - and you uncovered waxed pussy.

How can I get you even more embarrassed? Probably by sending you the picture of the 6 large bottles of water I bought this morning in order to give you a long series of enemas later today and explaining what they're for. Sent. "I'm flustered. And hot." says your reply. Little one, that is just the beginning, believe me...

A few minutes later, you walk through the gate of the condominium grounds. You do look quite red in the face. I know you're going to try and pretend that's from the heat. I know it will be a lie.

I grab your handbag, and we make way towards the elevator in silence. The large metal doors spread to let us through, and then I say my first words to you: "Go to your corner."

You know very well what that means. This particular elevator has a blind spot in its security camera if you stand at the far right. You know that every time we ride in it together, you are to go to that position, and lift your skirt so I can play with you on the ride. After all, it's important that your Fox be entertained. Oftentimes, I've played around with how quickly I can make you cum in the lift. Your standing record of only 12 floors did draw disbelieving comments from your girlfriends. But most of the time, you just melt down with a frustrated groan when the doors open again whilst you were only seconds from your orgasm.

Today's lift time is not about making you cum. Yes, my hand does snake between your naked thighs as my teeth go to your soft neck. But my movements are not the energetic back and forth that makes you explode so easily. This time my touch is tentative - by design - and only teasing and slow. You can't help but let out loud sighs as I play with you thus. The area is already very wet, and it's not sweat that is doing it.

The lift deposits us much too swiftly on our floor, and I bolt for our door without leaving you time to regroup. The lightheaded feeling and the growing yearning you are displaying should be cultivated, and that comes with keeping the momentum going. I unlock the door and, immediately grabbing you quite tightly by the hair at the back of your skull, march you towards the large white sofa that makes up most of the living room.

Safe in the knowledge that the cushioning on the piece of furniture is very generous, I throw you on it in a move calculated to look reckless. You sprawl in a visually pleasing fashion, quite disoriented. Still working fast before you can get your bearings, I flip you onto your back and spread your legs as far as they will go with my powerful hands.

My face comes dangerously close to your pussy. Your hands fly to cover your face. "Maybe you could let me take a shower?" You are embarrassed that I can smell all of your smells, and see all the pinkness and wetness that you've been harboring since my words showed up on your computer screen a little while ago.

Some of my native compatriots might prefer to only touch a woman when she's straight out of the shower, and tastes of nothing but soap. But my predilections are quite different from theirs, and I very much like my women to taste of woman. I plunge face first between your inviting pale thighs.

You tense immediately as my tongue makes contact with your drenched folds. I lick all around your labia, while my right hand teases the silicon in your ass, ignoring your clit for now. It seems like you are ready to let go of an onslaught of sexual tension of geological proportions. The kind that made mountains pop out of the earth. But we have all afternoon ... why rush?

Now my tongue circles your clit ever so slowly. Then stops. Then starts again, for maybe ... 10 seconds? And stops once more. I repeat this little exercise half a dozen time. Every time I halt, I see, hear, feel you cringe.

"What's wrong, little one?" I enquire.

"Could ... could I have one of my little cums, Sir?" you reply in a pleading voice.

"Well ... you haven't been here for 10 minutes. You can't possibly be wanting it that badly."

"But Sir ... It's my pussy. It's very needy."

"You should learn patience, little one. It's an important quality. I'm not ready to let you cum just yet."

"Sir!" your voice goes to the register of outrage immediately. "I can't take it! I need a cum!"

You're like a teenage boy with blue balls. Except, with more urgency.

"Alright, little one. Here's my proposal to you. I think we should go for a swim. You seem to be quite hot, and the refreshing water would do you a lot of good."

"Oh. Would you fuck me in the pool, Sir?"

"No little one. We can relax in the pool for say, an hour, then come back up and then I'll make you cum."

"But Sir ..." You are back to pleading now. "An hour is such a long time..."

"We can go to the pool for an hour, then you cum. Or, we could go to your bench instead, and then you can cum right now."

Your eyes shoot wide open at the mention of the bench. I see a fleeting expression of dread on your face. But the fact your pussy somehow immediately got even wetter does not escape me.

You know the bench quite well. You both hate it and love it so much. This condo is on the top floor of the building, and from our corridor we can access a giant balcony that overlooks my beautiful city of angels. The view is quite breathtaking, as you can see millions of souls from it ... as well as be seen by them. It's usually a rather quiet area, as the denizens of the building are mostly bored with it already - plus they don't love to spend time in the sun, and the place offers no shade whatsoever. Nevertheless, we do have the occasional random tourist walking through trying to find to door to their airbnb.

And on the far side of that spanning terrace, next to the secondary elevator, is the bench in question. The one I often tease you with. The one that I'm sure you sometimes see in your dreams. It's a simple 3 persons bench made of dark wood that sits on top of a decked platform. Honestly, it looks like it's just been forgotten here. There are no other benches anywhere nearby. No one ever sits on it.

Even we have never sat on it. But you have crouched on it, quite a few times. The procedure is as follows: I have you take off your shoes, then put your feet flat on the seat of the bench spread about shoulder width, grabbing onto the backrest ... then crouch all the way down.

The consequences of this invariant set of movements are quite dramatic: in this position, you are so open, so vulnerable, so accessible. Your anatomy stretches in all the right places, and all is splayed wide to my hands, and my eyes ... and the eyes of any Bangkokian that might happen to be looking in our direction. And at the same time, you are facing the wall, not seeing any of it. Alone with the feeling of the burning redness on your cheeks.

I know the effect that the combination of the humiliating crouching position and feeding your exhibitionist streak has on you. Within seconds, a rivulet of pussy juice is running down your leg. You are more than ready. You are dying to cum.

I kneel behind you. My face inches from your open, fragant holes. I snap a quick picture, better to torture you with from a distance later. Then I get on with it.

As my teeth get to work on the cheeks of your ass, my index and middle fingers find your clit again. You let out a growl that sounds like the prelude to an avalanche. I know you need a vehicule to your orgasm that is aligned with the magnitude of your buildup. So, I'm just going to put my hand in you.

I start with three fingers, curled forward to be worked into your gspot. It's like a furnace inside of you. This might be the wettest I've ever seen you. Within moments, your juices are running down my arm. It's a little ridiculous. The position makes you completely open to the intrusion. There's no way for you to run away from my hand as gravity is pulling you down directly onto it. And the more tired your legs get, the further down my hand you are going to slide.

Aided by how drenched you are, I add a fourth finger inside of you - I will later tease you by showing you how wet you have made my hand, but for now I'm laser focused on managing the ramp up to your devastating orgasm. I can still feel very well the buttplug in your other hole. Four fingers, plus the plug, you must feel quite full. Yet this is only the beginning. Your legs begin to shake visibly.

By the time I being to work my knuckles in you, and the fingers of my other hand have flown to your clit and are alternatively pleasuring it and pinching it painfully, you are no longer a coherent human. You have checked out and are off in your own little space. But your body is still very much with me, clenching around my hand and around the plug with all it's got.

Finally, I decide I have toyed with you enough. I add the thumb, and rotate my hand so that my knuckles grind into your gspot. Stretching you beyond reason, filling you up to an extreme. It's a miracle your whitened fingers don't just punch through the wood of the backrest given how hard you're grasping it. My left hand fingers are a blur on your clit. My right hand slams up into you, into your most sensitive spot. Once. Twice. Three times. And on the fourth push up, it happens. An explosion of searing white light. A silent scream as your whole body tenses. Then you crumble into nothingness as I catch you with my arm.

And to think, this is only your first orgasm - and we have all night together.