The rest of the day the two women occupied themselves by sitting on my face, a position which brought no fucking complaints from me, but they insisted that I keep my hands away from my cock. This was difficult – if I'm not fucking some gorgeous pussy, then I like to be stroking the salami, but Ming insisted.
"I've never seen a man throw his spunk so it hits his throat, but if you're that good I want to see you go for your face," the lush-breasted, part-Chinese 23-year-old informed me, when I moaned about the sex being "all one-way traffic".
"And anyway, now I know you prefer girls with a tinge of the Asian about them, you're going to be my slave," she told me, "which means you do as you're told, tiger."
"Hey," I said, warning bells ringing, "I ain't one of those limp-wristed fuckers who lets women fuck with him, tie him up, whip his ass, none of that shit for Bradley, I can tell you, Miss Ming, don't care whether you are the sexiest-looking part-Asian I've ever laid eyes on."
The art student grinned, and fuck she had a great grin! "Don't be so naive, Brad," she said. "Sex slaves aren't all limp-wristed, some of them are hunks. And the term 'sex slave' doesn't just refer to men who like to be dominated, you know."
"No," I snapped, "I don't know. I know what a sex slave is."
"Listen, Brad," Ming snapped back at me, as she lay naked on her poolside recliner, "I'm telling you what a sex slave is – it's a guy who fucks me when I want it, how I want it. A sex slave is a man who, when I click my fingers, when I arch my eyebrow, he's on his knees worshipping me.
"He's a man who, when I say 'Fuck me', gets his cock into gear and fucks me. In short, he's a guy who when I say 'Jump' doesn't dare ask 'How high?" he just fucking gets on with his jumping.
"Now if you don't like that, fine. Gina and me here will just withdraw all fuck rights if you don't like it, we'll go to Gina's bedroom and play 'strum the guitar' with each others pussies all day and leave you down here playing with your pud. Make up your mind!"
Well, she had me, didn't she? I nodded and mumbled "OK, Ming, OK for cryin' out loud", but I knew I wanted her, and she knew I knew. And Gina, who was watching all this from her lounger, naked as a jaybird, too, knew it all as well. Fuck, if push came to shove, I'd even be seen driving a fuckin' foreign car if it meant I could play hide the sausage with 'em.
"Great, I'm glad we've got that sorted," said Ming, "now get into the kitchen, fetch me a nice cold beer, and when you've done that you can go down on me and give me a
really
Big O, goddit?"
I sure did. Although the thought of being regarded as merely a piece of meat with an eight-and-a-half cock attached didn't thrill me, I realised that I wasn't one to talk. Pieces of meat were often how I'd looked on women in the mags I bought. So I guess Ming and Gina had me by the short and curlies – although, since I shave down there, I haven't exactly got any short and curlies.
Later in the afternoon, Ming decided it was time I went for what she termed a "PB".
"What the fuck's a 'PB?'" I snarled, knowing that I was now merely a piece of putty – or prick – in their hands.
"Oh Brad, you're such a typical American," said Ming, in an exasperated tone. "Take some time off from that silly rounders game and that crap where they all get padded up like gorillas. PB stands for personal best, as many athletes will tell you."
I grunted: "Never fuckin' heard of it."
Ming grinned: "Well you're an athlete, aren't you Brad? A sexual fucking athlete, maybe, but an athlete?"
"Yeah, sure thing," I said, starting to stroke my hard-on, "whatever."
"OK, then go for a PB, Mr Hunk," she taunted me.
My hand really got work now, and I didn't need much encouragement because standing in front of my position on the sun lounger were two of the most glorious looking women I'd ever seen, bare-butt naked save for their high heels, their breasts glistening with sun screen, their shaved pussies with their lovely sex lips peeping at me.
