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.
When I left Simon Tung's suite that night to return to a snoring Peter Chau in his room, I managed to smuggle the glass Tung had been drinking his Glenlivet scotch from and handed it to the room attendant waiting in the corridor who was my contact to my on-site controller.
* * * *
The escort agency in Los Angeles was one that specialized in the sort of international gig that I was on in Singapore, the arrangements having been made in convoluted ways that I didn't have to worry about. I was told how far from pure modeling I was to go. The gigs were special and sometimes were dangerous, but I didn't have to set them up, nor did I have to find the escort agency myself. Some of the clients could prove to be quite interesting. I wasn't sure initially that this one would, but it did. Being covered by hung men who were partly Asian was a new experience for me.
Ostensibly, and in the eyes of the puritanical authorities in Singapore, I was just here for the weekend to stand by the driver's door, with a gorgeous blonde woman standing by the passenger door, of a flashy big, new sedan, being introduced to the world as a break into the international auto manufacture world at the top by a Hong Kong manufacturing consortium, ST Enterprises. I had been hired as the male counterpart of the gorgeous blonde model, under the theory that Asians loved blondes and that there were Asians who preferred males to ogle over women. I was just eye candy, the Singaporeans letting a foreigner in to just stand there next to a new luxury car model revolving on a platform in a hotel convention center—in this case the Singapore Mandarin Oriental—where auto distributers from all over the world had been brought in to help ST Enterprises get their Bentley-like cars on all of the best avenues on the globe.
I didn't ask why a firm with headquarters in Hong Kong but presumably factories in China—and maybe fronting for China as well—was launching their new car in Singapore. Singapore, of course, was a very Chinese city, but I had no idea why luxury auto dealers from around the world would prefer to come there rather than Hong Kong, other than that there had been some unrest in Hong Kong in recent months over China's control there. Regardless, it was no part of my brief to figure that angle out.
What I knew, though, that the puritanical authorities in Singapore didn't, was that there were lucrative deals and "greasing the wheels with candy" issues involved in all of this that I, as male candy, and the other model, as female candy, were being brought in to help with. In short, I was supposed to sleep with dealers ST Enterprises deemed such candy was necessary to swing their sales deals. For this, a big, fat fee was levied.
In my case, the chief officer of ST Enterprises in Singapore also was into men. I had been hired to sleep with him when he wanted me to. By the time I had mounted the revolving platform for the first time in the lobby outside the Singapore Mandarin Oriental Hotel convention center, I'd been on the job for two days and had been fucked by a Greek, an Arab, and Peter Chau, the CEO of ST Enterprises Singapore.
In less than an hour trying not to get dizzy on the platform and working on maintaining a smile and a handwave, I met the cock of an even bigger ST Enterprises daddy than Chau, although I didn't know his name or his importance until the following day when I was rousted out to play handball with him.
I was coming onto my first break, when a thuggish-looking Asian—but thuggish in a rather arousing way—approached me with an envelope in a card that gave me a hotel room key card, a time, and a note from Peter Chau to "be there and do whatever was needed."
