Writer's note: This story contains dominance, submission, gay-for-pay, spanking, and some humiliation in public places. Just a heads up in case that is not your cup of tea.
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I took Prasang shopping in Central Bangkok, in the area known as Siam. Everything is cheaper in Thailand and I stocked up, buying myself beach Ts, long, flowing cargo shorts, and a wide-brimmed hat for the sun.
I bought Prasang new clothes, as well. Unfortunately, he could not be naked at all times, so I chose outfits that were the next best thing.
I bought him tight t-shirts with high midriffs. Loose-fitting tank tops with arm holes that yawned all the way down to his waist, exposing his sides and much of his chest and back. These went well with high, skin-tight shorts, the kind of shorts you often see on Asian men. They catch the eye with their fluorescent yellow, pink, or orange.
The bright colors absolutely ignited Prasang's copper skin. They not only showed off his sexy, hairless legs, but framed and accentuated his perfect butt. There was also the fact that his hefty manhood could just barely squeeze into them, making for an especially impressive bulge.
My personal favorite, however, was a pair of porous trainer shorts with hundreds of tiny holes that were all but see-through.
I got Prasang a pair of shimmering emerald green. They were looser than his other shorts, yet left nothing to the imagination. They swished around his thighs and buttocks as he walked. The material was so silky smooth as it caressed him that it wouldn't be long before he sported a nice, big half-chub. I don't think it could be helped, but if we were in a public place it was noticeable to everyone and Prasang brushed profusely.
It would come highly recommended to wear underwear beneath shorts like these. But I had, of course, forbidden my boy from wearing undergarments, so there was nothing much to be done about it.
Prasang became my personal ken doll. I loved to take him into fashionable clothing stores, lead him back to the dressing stalls, strip him naked and dress him in whatever sexy men's wear they had to offer.
I never gave him any privacy, nor did I allow him to try on anything himself. I was always right there with him in the stall, helping him in and out of shirts and shorts. Fitting new outfits over the curves of his body, then peeling them off again was incredibly erotic and got me rock hard.
Once naked, he knew to immediately assume my favorite pose: Legs spread wide, biceps flexed taut. The stance that put both his virility and submissiveness on display. He stood like a living, breathing Greek statue at an arcade; my own personal sex object to do with as I pleased. I insisted he stand this way whenever I was not helping him into or out of clothes.
Upon exiting the dressing rooms to browse for more clothes, I would tap his bare thigh: The signal to start swaying his naked, exposed buns back and forth, slowly, sensually, the way I liked it. I wanted his beautifully muscled posterior moving and his cock hard for when I returned. The movement of his body was so hypnotic that sometimes I just stood there and watched, squeezing and rubbing my own cock through my baggy shorts.
Wonderful as he looked in the outfits I picked out for him, you simply could not beat how good he looked naked. I would come up behind him and run my hands over his swaying body. I trailed the tips of my fingers over his stomach and ribcage until his skin erupted in gooseflesh.
I would watch the two of us in the mirror as I squeezed his hard biceps and stroked his growing cock. He a beautifully proportioned, muscled Asian god with thick, shiny black hair and caramel skin. Me a taller, pale white guy a bit on the husky side who was frankly nowhere near his league. But that made my control over him all the more triumphant...and delicious.
Prasang could have any girl of his choosing, the most gorgeous Thai girls you could imagine. Instead, for those three weeks, his body, his cock, everything, belonged to me.
"Just look at us, Prasang," I said to our reflections in the mirror, "We make such a perfect couple, wouldn't you say?" I trailed my fingers over the chocolate-bar dimples of his abs. I probed a finger into his deep, oval-shaped navel. He drew in his breath, chest swelling beneath my touch. "Yes," he exhaled, "Yes, we look very good together, master...I think so."
"You do enjoy being my boyfriend, don't you, Prasang?" I asked, giving his nipples a hard pinch.
"MMF," he bit his lip, trying hard to keep those biceps raised and flexing. It was fun watching him struggle to show me that winning smile and turn on his infallible charm, even in his discomfort. "Yes, of course, master," he breathed, "Yes, I like it very much."
