My wife and I had moved to Hong Kong for work. Well, we moved there for her work really. Between myself and her, she was definitely the breadwinner. Having worked her way up the banking and investment ladder she had won herself a very well-paid position based in China's World City.
Hong Kong is fantastic if you can afford it, and with the cash that Melanie was raking in, we could certainly afford it. Not to say I was entirely living off of her earnings like a bum of course, I had my own web business which was successful enough to allow me to work from home.
Working from home made me happy. We had a two-bedroom Mid-Level apartment on Hong Kong Island with a view overlooking Victoria Harbour from the living room and an eastern facing bedroom overlooking the city. At night, when the city lights lit up the skies, it was incredible.
We were there for about two years before she kicked me out.
I guess we had grown apart. After six years of marriage, changing circumstances, neither of us were the same people we were when we tied the knot. Melanie had become entirely focused on her work, which was of course understandable given how well they paid her. But she was gone for weeks at a time. Shanghai, Beijing, Tokyo, Seoul, Jakarta, Kuala Lumpur. Sometimes even New York.
It got to the point where I was surprised when she actually came home. We also got to the stage where we didn't really miss having each other around. Once that happens, it's over for sure. Affairs, one-night stands became common for both of us, but I guess I went one step too far when I began regularly fucking our Indonesian domestic helper, Diah.
Hong Kong has a large population of domestic helpers. Mainly from Indonesia or the Philippines. Probably about 99.99% female, young and old. Sometime they come over as young as twenty and stay until they're as old as sixty. The salary is low. Benefits are few. No time off for good behaviour. Most domestic helpers will live in with their employers, sometimes in tiny little bedrooms no bigger than a cupboard. The salary they receive is so low that on their only day off, Sunday, they can't afford to go to restaurants, bars, cinemas or clubs so they all just get together in large groups and sit around in parks, pedestrian bridges, streets. Anywhere they're not asked to move from. When we first arrived, I assumed the city had a massive homeless problem. So why do they work for this pitiful wage when it doesn't afford them luxury on their time off? Well, in comparison to their domestic currency in Indonesia and the Philippines, the HK dollar has much greater value. Therefore, if they work for two years in Hong Kong, they can go home and the money they earned will go far. Or in some cases they send the money home to support their children or families.
Diah was our second helper; she was twenty-two years old from a small town in Java. She was a natural beauty. 5'6". Slim, long dark silky hair, large sparkling brown eyes with long lashes. A small petite nose, and a dashing smile with perfect white teeth. Long, slender athletic perfectly tanned legs with a shapely little ass sitting on top of them. Watching her bend over was always a treat. Her breasts were a good size, more than a handful and on occasions when she wasn't wearing a bra, her large nipples would poke through her t-shirt. Which, of course, turned me on greatly.
As domestic helpers lived, Diah had it pretty good with us. She had her own decent sized bedroom with a great view to the west of the city. We gave her her own gym pass, paid her more than the average salary and best of all, for her, we allowed her to stay out as late as she wished on Saturday night. No 10pm curfew for Diah which was common for the industry.
Her duties were simple. Clean the apartment, laundry, cook, shop. Pretty easy. No kids and no animals to look after. Plenty of time for her to waste on Instagram, Facebook etc.
I managed a quick peak at her Instagram handle over her shoulder one evening and spent a lot of time thereafter scrolling through her account pictures. She had countless followers and no surprises why. Most of her pics were of her in short skirts and tight t-shirts posing seductively in numerous areas of the city. I guess this was what she did at the weekends. I was always keen to see what she would be wearing when she went out on a Saturday night and I recognised a lot of the outfits from the pictures. Normally, at home she would wear a sweater and pyjama like trousers or baggy shorts.
She was a Javanese princess, she had a wonderful complexion and without makeup she looked sweet and innocent, maybe almost naïve. But when she added makeup for the weekend, there was an added raw, smouldering sexy sassiness about her. Her Instagram pics seemed to magnify this alluring sexuality and gradually I became more and more interested in sneaking a peak at her latest posts.
I thought that was as far as things would go. I was very wrong.
After a week or two I began following her on Instagram. I barely posted anything on this platform and didn't expect Diah to notice or care who was following her. My handle was random, the profile pic was a glass of beer. You would have to scroll down through my fairly innocuous pics and read any comments to find out who I was exactly, so I expected Diah to completely ignore the fact that some beer glass profiler had started following her, after all, most of her followers were clearly male.
Young, good-looking males. I was almost forty by this time.
I got an absolute shock when she messaged me direct on Instagram:
'Mr Jason, do you want me to go shopping today? We are low on milk and bread ;)'
Normally she would message on WhatsApp.
She knew. This was her way of telling me she knew. Fuck. How embarrassing.
'Yes, thanks Diah.' I replied.
From the kitchen I heard her collect a few bags and seconds later the front door click shut.
I wonder how this will affect things around here, I thought. I really hoped it wouldn't change anything but perhaps she was creeped out and was considering leaving. I really hoped she wouldn't, she had been great. No problems. Works hard, keeps the place immaculate, makes good Asian food and of course she was great to look at. Or drool over when Melanie was away. Christ, maybe she'd tell my wife. They were kind of close, almost like best friends. Well, my wife was in Beijing and wasn't due back for another week. Hopefully the air will be clear by then, I hoped.
It was Saturday, I was getting ready to go out and meet a friend for a few beers when Diah returned from the shops. She had bought much more than milk and bread it seemed.
'Hi Mr Jason, I got you some of that beer you liked, I thought you might like a drink before you go out?'
I was so relieved, she wasn't pissed or creeped out. She seemed pretty happy and was beaming a smile at me. Her usual bubbly, smiling self.
'Aww great, terima kasih, Diah!'
'No problem, Mr Jason!'
She blew her hair from her face as she set down the bags and began unloading foodstuffs and cartons into the cupboards and fridge.
'Are you heading out soon also Diah?' I asked whilst glancing at her ass every time she bent down to pick up the goods.
'Ah, yes Mr Jason, I will meet my boyfriend tonight.'
Her boyfriend, Jack, a total douchebag from Australia. He would comment on every picture she posted on Instagram. His pics were all of cars or selfies of him in cars or on the beach, always topless showing off his stupid tattoos. One of those twats that have Chinese script tattooed on their bodies without having any connection to the culture at all. I guess he was good looking, and obviously pretty comfortable financially, assuming those sports cars were his. That's what the Indonesian and Filipina girl were looking for here. A rich Westerner to sweep them off their feet and change their lives for the better. For some, the dream would come true, but for most they would be fucked and dumped as soon as it was time to leave for home.
Sad but true.
Two beers later whilst watching crap on the television, Diah comes through asking my opinion on her lipsticks.
'Which one do you prefer?' she asks me, her bottom lip painted a rosy red, her top lip a darker shade of scarlet. She pouted her lips and pointed as she did so.
'I'm not sure Diah, they're both nice, maybe the darker one, I like redder lips I guess.'
I sounded like a total grandad. She just sniggered and ran back to her room.
Minutes later she swept past me towards the front door, wearing the usual short skirt, heels and a blue silky blouse, hair dancing behind her as she left.
'Byyeeeee.' she called and the door clicked shut before I could respond.
Jack, that lucky fucker. I thought.
It was around 11pm when I checked my phone at the bar, my friend having left me to finish my final beer alone.
After scrolling through irrelevant crap on Facebook, I clicked on the Instagram icon and was greeted immediately with an incredibly sultry pic of Diah kneeling on a bed wearing only a silky white negligée, cut low and tight around the bosom and high above her knees, staring into the camera, almost straight at me, pointing to her bright red lips with the caption: 'do you like this colour, Sir?'
Fuck.
After our earlier conversation I had to assume this message was for me, personally.
This picture was the most revealing and by far the sexiest pic she'd posted so far. There were countless heart and goggle-eye comment posts by her horny male followers and already hundreds of 'likes'.
She was teasing me for sure. She knew I was following her online, and now this.
I didn't see her again till late Sunday night when she said a brief 'Hi' before going straight to her room. The next day Melanie was back home.
For the next month Melanie and Diah were back into 'best friends forever' mode and I was essentially ignored. Every week however, Diah would post more sexy pics on Instagram. Bikini poses on the beach, bra and panties on the bed. Always looking straight at the camera with red lipstick, mascara, eye liner. Her hair blowing wild behind her. The pics were good, too good for that douche Jack to have taken them. Clearly someone else was involved.
Sex with Melanie just wasn't happening, and I began visiting prostitutes and massage parlours in Kowloon and Wan Chai to relieve some sexual tension. I was fantasizing about Diah regularly.
Melanie left again for Beijing leaving me and Diah alone at home again. The next weekend there was fireworks.
I was out on Saturday night as usual for a few beers, Diah had told me she was staying at home to watch a movie. Surprising, as this was probably the first time she'd ever decided to stay home.
Around 10pm I was making way home on the MTR when 'ping' I received a WhatsApp message. It was from Diah:
'Please, Mr Jason, I am sorry I hope you don't mind, I watch your TV, my TV not working.'
'Ok, no problem.' I replied.
Then a picture message with the caption 'Maybe you can keep me company and watch the movie with me, it is scary aaah.' The TV screen was there with what looked like one of the Alien movies but also in the pic were her thighs. Her naked thighs with her left hand on her left leg. Bright red nail varnish accentuating her beautifully natural tanned skin.
