He was introduced to me as Simon Tung when Peter brought me down in the elevator at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in downtown Singapore, both of us dressed for handball. He hadn't been identified to me the previous day when he'd fucked me. That had been a simple rent-boy tension-reliever encounter; I was just a hole he wanted to fill. But I now figured that he was someone higher up in the ST Enterprises hierarchy than Peter Chau, who had hired me as a model for this launching of the Silver Tiger luxury sedan. I hadn't just been brought in off the street for Tung to fuck; they were paying big bucks for me to come in and do PR model work with their automobile launch. They'd paid extra for me to lay down for some bigwig—in this case, Simon Tung. Standing behind him was the same thuggish Asian guy, introduced merely as Bao, who had fetched me to Tung the previous day. Both Tung and Bao were dressed for handball too, so I assumed that was who Peter and I were going to be playing.
It wasn't an unusual arrangement—the model's ass going with the PR modeling—and my high-end escort agency liked it because it put the fee structure up front rather than someone trying to get the model to open his or her legs outside of the deal. I didn't have much to say in the arrangement. I was employed to let clients fuck me.
Tung was not a chore to go under. He was a tall, muscular, handsome, and commanding figure. And, being partly Asian, he was something different from the usual for me. I could well imagine that he was senior in the business to Peter Chau, who was no slouch either in the presentable body sweepstakes. Both were half Asian and half something else. Peter told me later that Tung was from Macao and that his father was Chinese and his mother hailed from White Russian stock, many of the royal Russians having come down into China in the early twentieth century to escape the communist revolution there. Peter said his mother was Australian, his father Singapore Chinese. They both carried the mix well, although it was the taller, older, silver-haired Simon Tung who was the most commanding. He certainly had commanded me in his Mandarin Oriental Hotel suite the previous day. Tung had shown that he had much experience in using male prostitutes. Both men were hung, and I needed to be stretched to be in the mood, so that was fine. I'll have to admit I wouldn't have thought of Asians as being as well-endowed as these two men were.
A sleek, black hotel limousine took the four of us to a nearby club with handball courts, Peter and I sitting across from Simon and his bodyguard, with Tung's eyes boring into me, undressing me again as he'd done before, devouring me fully—as he had done fully, efficiently, and without any chatter the previous day. It had been as if sex with a man—on a man—was just part of his daily exercise. When he'd fucked me before, there was no chit-chat or niceties express. He commanded what he wanted me to do and he took me quickly and boldly.
I easily went hard for him. I should have been put off by the cold, clinical way Tung had fucked me, but I wasn't. He had completely dominated me, speaking only in terse tones of how to position myself for his maximum penetration and pleasure, and I was a submissive for that. Sitting next to me, Peter, who had fucked me last night after I had returned from servicing Tung and had every reason to think I was here for him, sat, looking out at the pristine downtown area of the city state, apparently oblivious that I wasn't meeting his boss for the first time.
"If you know how to play, as you say you do," Peter had said up in his room before we'd come down in the elevator, "play convincingly, but lose."
That's when I knew we were off to meet someone who dominated Peter Chau, supposedly the chief of the ST Enterprise operations here in Singapore, just as he had dominated me in sex in the night.
So, here in the limousine, I was set to wondering if Peter, in fact, knew Tung had fucked me—and would fuck me again—and that I'd been hired as a model and brought to Singapore from L.A. just to stand beside his fucking new car for a few hours while he launched it in front of a motley group of Asians, Westerners, South Asians, and Arabs. It appeared that ST Enterprises intended to produce its knock-off, but hand-built Bentley lookalike limos worldwide.
The handball was high level, all of us playing like our lives were on the line and, even though I, in fact, was very, very good at the sport, Simon Tung and bodyguard Bao edged a win. They did so honestly. I sensed Tung wouldn't take well to anyone throwing a game of anything for him. Tung insisted we all play bare-chested and we all were quite impressive that way. We all were noticeably hard from ogling and bouncing off each other, and we drew quite a crowd to the glass walls around the court of onlookers ogling us and some of them, in this men-only exclusive gym, going hard as well.
When we got back to the hotel, Tung asserted I would be going clubbing with him that night, and Chau showed his subservience by not objecting. He asserted a bit of his own position, though, by immediately taking me up to his room—which had become our room when I'd arrived, sent from his specifications by my L.A. escort agency, and he'd seen me—and fucked the stuffing out of me. Chau, very well built in his mid-forties, was athletic and esthetic in his fucking—and, as I've already noted, surprisingly well hung.
He claimed to be a practitioner of the male Kama Sutra. That afternoon, he took me several ways: the lotus position, facing each other with me sitting in his lap and him deep inside me; moving to the Arch position, in the same penetration position, but me reclining away from him, with my shoulder blades pressed to the mattress; to the Crab position, with me raising my torso up, my palms on his knees. In all positions, he was mining me deep. He had little trouble keeping himself sheathed even in transitions between the positions.
Tung did take me clubbing that night, chauffeured by Bao, who drove one of the ST Enterprises new Silver Tiger sedans, which got as much, if not more, attention than the two of us did. He took me to a leather bar, where he gave me to three Russian studs to work over while he watched. He hadn't asked if I could take two cocks in my ass and one in my mouth simultaneously, but I could and I did. Then he took me back to his suite at the Mandarin Oriental and fucked me doggy and missionary style that had none of the finesse and art but more of the power and testing than Peter Chau had displayed that afternoon.
To get the effect of what he'd watched the Russians do with me, he went between stretching me with just his huge cock. He got a thick dildo into the act as well. I was trained to take it, and take it I did. After the first fuck, I took his fist up to the wrist as well. He hovered over me in the dimly lit room and looked down into my eyes with his, showing that it was this fetish he enjoyed most—and he fucked me and fucked me and fucked me with his fist well beyond when I gave him my load and collapsed, panting and whimpering, into his full control.
If I wasn't an experienced international call boy, the night would have, at the least, exhausted me, and, at the most, ruined me. But I
was
an experienced international call boy—of somewhat a unique, specialized nature—and I reveled in the attention from the two half-Asian hunks. I wouldn't have been in this business if I wasn't—or, rather, I wouldn't have put myself into a position to be maneuvered into this business if I wasn't randy for men like Tung and Chau. Each, in his own way, was quite satisfying to a trained and needy submissive.
They also both were paying well—and I was operating on higher orders than either one of them gave.
