The Indian Doctor

It had been weeks since I'd seen the Indian doctor. I'd been propositioned by my boss, a Swede fifteen years older than me. And, basking in the new world the doctor had opened up for me, I'd let him fuck me in his room and then on his boat off the beach in Phattaya, a seaside resort for the super rich Thai and expatriates not more than a two-hour drive from Bangkok. He was my boss. Boy, was he my boss. He made good use of the nylon rope on his boat to tie me up before he fucked me. He said he liked to control. I could have told him that from the way he ran the Bangkok branch of the business.

I'd never have laid down for him—I might not even have noticed that he was propositioning me—if I hadn't had that initiation session with the Indian doctor. My boss had been surprised when I realized he was making leading comments and I responded in the same vein. His comments became more explicit and I followed him down that path. I realized he'd made overtures before but I'd never stayed with him in the spiral down to where I let him pull me into his hotel room in Phattaya and kiss me and then to feel me up.

"I want to fuck you," he whispered in my ear. "I've wanted to fuck you since you took on this job. I thought you were playing hard to get."

"I'm not hard to get," I responded, on a high from my session with the Indian doctor. "Make it happen when no one knows about it, and I'll lie under you."

He moved me to the bed right there and then, pinning me down with a leg across my thigh. He had me unzipped and a hand on my cock. I would have let him fuck me there, but we heard voices in the hallway of my wife and children returning to the room next door, and I whispered, "I can't. Not when my families right next door."

"We'll be quiet," he said, covering my mouth with his hand. "I can't wait. You've made me wait too long."

And then he fucked me. He stripped my shorts and briefs off and his too. He was hard. He rolled over on top of me and did it quickly, still holding his hand over my mouth and pushing his knees under my buttocks to lift my ass too him. I struggled a bit and gave him some muffled groans as he worked his cock inside me, but I settled down while he moved in me, coming quickly. I'm not even sure if he'd gotten fully erect. He wasn't as big inside me as the Indian doctor had been. But he'd done it. I'd let my boss get his cock inside me.

"Was that . . . was I OK?" I asked.

"It wasn't you. I've been dreaming of it too long," he said. He rolled over and sat beside me, saying, "I was anxious. I'll do better next time. I've gotten my cock in you now, though. That's a start." So, we were of the same mind on that point. The hard part was done. We'd fucked and could fuck again. Just like that I'd been fucked by another man than the Indian doctor. I'd let him do it, and I was looking forward to the next time, hoping he was right, that he'd take longer with it, spend longer inside me, fuck me deeper the next time, be more of a lover than just a boss I was accommodating.

The next time came in a boat off the beach, later that day. While my wife and children built sand castles on the beach, he and I were in the well of his boat close enough that they were specks I could identify as mine. I sat on the bench in the fantail, my wrists tied together, and he crouched over me, with hands on the gunwales on either side of me. I sucked a slightly less than normal sized cock to a slightly larger than normal sized hard on. He was a hairy one, a strawberry blond.

When he was hard, he wishboned my legs, tying them off roughly with rope to the posts of the overhead canopy frame and crouched and fucked me head on. He masturbated me as he fucked. Both his proposition and his fucking were matter of fact, as if, as a male model, I should expect to receive the demand and to give the service. He even offered me money, which I turned down. For my part, I was grateful that the Indian doctor had opened my eyes to life in Bangkok and had prepared me for this.

I wondered if I should be shocked that I enjoyed both the fucking and the bondage.

When my boss asked me whether I liked it, I told him it was unusual but that I had never been fucked before I came to Bangkok. He chose to take that as meaning that he was the first and he backed off, saying he was sorry he had taken too much for granted—and that he wouldn't do it again like that. That he wouldn't bind me. We'd start again, with more conventional sex. I told him he was the boss—that if he wanted me again, he could fuck me again as long as we could be discreet about it. That put a gleam in his eye. It wasn't the sort of boss I meant, but being the boss obviously was his turn on.

It was sort of awkward with my boss, though, not meltingly arousing. I realized that I probably needed more indoctrination by the Indian doctor. I had resolved not to go back to him, but my resolve was crumbling. I wanted sex with a man to be special if I took the risk of having sex with a man.

* * * *

I knew now that I liked men, but I was still struggling with myself. Before I saw the Indian doctor again, though, I had acquired a regular male lover—or dominating sex partner, if not lover—and I was on my way to promiscuity. He was a Thai general I met at on the courts of the Royal Military Academy on Wireless Road, near the American embassy. Tennis had always been my sport of choice and I was good at it. After a Saturday session on the academy courts when I beat the Thai general because no one on his staff would dare do so, he invited me to his apartment inside the academy for a drink. Several rounds of beer ended with him, no doubt in a pride adjustment maneuver, fucking me doggy style on the floor in front of his desk. He did it the first time because he had to equalize having lost at tennis and because, as a Thai general in a country then ruled by a junta of the generals, he could. And because, curious and revved up by the experience with the Indian doctor, I let him.

He took the simple approach, "I like the look of you. I know you have seen how I look at you and you look at me like you want to be under me. You have come to this office with me because you want me on top of you. Strip please and go down on all fours here on the floor. I will do you well."

I stripped, went down on my hands and knees on the floor, and he did me well.

It was a straightforward fuck, done because he wanted to get it off and he was a general. It was for his sport and his exercise and his alone. I was just a good-looking, fit young American, providing a body and a hole for him to fill for his release and pleasure—an American who had beaten him at tennis and needed to accept who had the power here. That didn't put me off. I didn't risk showing how little expertise I had in coupling with a man. He took full control and took what he wanted. And he apparently was satisfied, because he did it again . . . and again in the coming months.

He did it well—very well indeed, holding and covering me close, eating me out before mounting me, but only long enough to open my hole for him. He always remained in firm control, and, when he mounted me, holding me steady so I didn't even have to work at holding position, working his way in quickly and then moving in a steady, fast beat inside me, pulling groans and moans out of me and panting declarations of "Yes, do me like that," which he, in great physical shape, gave me in vigorous thrusts. He didn't do it because I took pleasure from it, though. It was about him and his pleasure—his sport, his exercise, his need to subjugate.

He didn't take long with it, but when he came I was at the height of my satisfaction, being held tightly in place, trembling, moaning, whispering, "Yes, yes, yes," as, fit and virile, his buried cock jerking and throbbing, he pumped me full of his cum. Drained dry, he pulled out, stood up from me, and slapped me on the buttocks.

"Was it . . . was I . . .?" I stammered, fearful.

"I like fucking America," he said, with a laugh. and went to the showers.

I knew I'd been fucked. For the first time, I knew how it could be—beyond the Indian doctors indoctrination and my boss's fumblings. I would remain there, on all fours, for a long moment, quaking and panting, the general's cum dribbling down my inner thighs, and doing an inventory of the muscles of my body before risking rising, with a sigh of satisfaction. I had to wait until he was finished in the shower before I could go there, and he'd always be dressed and gone when I had dressed. There would be an orderly at the door to drive me wherever I wanted to go. He had been standing just outside of the door while the general was doggy fucking me, and I was a moaner, so he knew what had gone on in the room. I wondered if someday he too would ask to ride me—and if he did, I would have said yes; he was handsome and squared away—but I obviously was the property of the general and the soldier never asked.

He didn't have to ask, though. After months of being the personal property of the general, he asked me whether the orderly aroused me, and I didn't lie. By then I was well into the gay sex scene in Bangkok. He laughed, telling me that the orderly wanted me, and quipped, "I see no reason why I should be the only one getting to fuck America."

After the general finished with me that day, he went to the showers, having let the orderly in. He fucked me on the desk. After that, the orderlies changed and sometimes there were more than one. But after the general had gotten his rocks off, he left the rest of us to it.

The general was a Thai-Chinese, taller than I was, solidly built, with a disciplined military build. He had a beautiful, muscular body, especially for his age. That aroused me—having a hard body. If what he did with me was what it usually was like, I was going to be happy being covered by men. It also led to a longstanding Saturday afternoon cool-down ritual after the tennis session I attended whenever I was in town.

I never stopped trying to beat him at tennis, though, and I usually did, which gave him an opportunity to bring me back down afterward. His cock was normal sized too, so thus far no one had taxed me any worse than the Indian doctor had done. The general fucked more forcefully on the days I beat him at tennis than he did on the days he won. And he, too, was surprised when I told him that he was one of my first, that I was a male model and not young, I hadn't had a lot of experience. He admitted that he assumed I knew I'd be fucked the moment I agreed to go to his office with him. Again a lesson in Bangkok being Bangkok—and, I suppose, generals being generals.

He was very militaristic in his fucking. Fast in, engage and conquer, give no quarter, no dithering, fuck fuck, you shoot, I shoot, I win, fast out, take no prisoners, leaving you in defeat. The only satisfaction that the general required was his own.

At this time of my sexual development, that actually helped. I could pretend I was given no other choice. I could leave everything up to the general, and learn from what he did. He was a powerful man in Thailand—he must be if he was a general—and I was here on Thai sufferance. When he just took it from me, I could play like I wasn't asking for it from him—that it was his right to take what he did.

For some time when I went with men, which I increasingly did, I found I used the Thai general as the standard I was looking for in a top.

* * * *

The next time I saw the Indian doctor, shockingly, was at a Parent Teachers Organization meeting in the auditorium-gymnasium of the Bangkok International School. My children were too young to be going to the school, but I was trying to become established in the international community here and I'd volunteered to be the school's media spokesman—to do radio and TV commercials for them. I had been called forth to the microphone to be introduced and to say a few words on the school's media marketing plan when I saw him—sitting in the front row.

People were being differential to him, patting him on the back and greeting him with smiles. He obviously was a fixture in the community. He saw me too, of course, but he was maintaining the typical Indian mystical inscrutability. However, afterward, as he was talking with various PTO board members and walking down the center aisle, he brushed by me and dropped a slip of paper in my lap. "Tuesday at 7:00 p.m." it said in elegant script.

I had no intention of going to his apartment at 7:00 p.m. on Tuesday. That was my regular time at the gym—I had changed gyms after that first encounter with him. The new gym was not as good as the first one, though, and later, after I had resigned myself to the routine he and I slipped into, I returned to the original one. This was when I was able to observe his technique of seduction with my eyes wide open to who he was and what he did. I had been such a fool myself to have gone under his spell so easily and so completely—although I still didn't know what "completely" meant with him.

At 7:00 p.m. the following Tuesday, I was standing at his apartment door, with the little Thai man peeking at me from behind the maid's door curtain. I did not know it then, but what then transpired set a usually acted-out routine for the nearly year I remained under his spell in Bangkok.

The door opened and the Indian doctor greeted me as if he knew I'd come—and perhaps he did, although his words were more an admonishment.

"You haven't called me," he said.

"No," I answered. "I've been confused. I wasn't sure."

"But you have been with other men since you were here." It wasn't a question. That was one of the aspects of him that had me mesmerized. He appeared to be all knowing.

"Yes."

"With General Krit. And your boss at work."

"Yes."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

"Come in. We will resume the training."

In all likelihood he knew how mystical and total his control was over those he selected for special attention. He stood there, just with one of those ankle-length sarongs around his waist. He unknotted and dropped the sarong. His upcurved cock almost reached to his sternum, and I started to hyperventilate. He had a thick ring in the glans of the cock this time. It must be something he could insert upon whim. I didn't know; I knew nothing of such things until he'd pulled me across the beaded curtain into an entirely new life. He put his hand on my arm and gently pulled me into the apartment and closed the door.

"Does my cock arouse you?" he asked as he shut the door.

"Yes."

"Do you want it inside you?"

"Yes."

"First the preparation. You will want the experience to be glorious."

I felt like shrinking from him inside, but he knelt in front of me and slowly undressed me—the two of us standing only several paces inside his living room. I blushed when I heard his intake of breath when he discovered I'd worn no underwear. I had never before in my life gone out without underwear. I had no idea why I'd come here without any. But, then, yes, of course I knew why.

Kneeling in front of me, he took my hands in his far stronger ones and held them at my side while he began to suck my cock hard. My experience in this was so slight that he quickly had me panting. He continued sucking until my knees got weak and I collapsed on the floor. Following me to the floor and maintaining his grip on my hands and my cock in his mouth, he sucked me to a groaning ejaculation. He stood over me, looking down, and I saw that he was hard then, too. I moaned at the length of him, and how evilly it curved up—and at the thick ring in the glans. He hadn't had a cock ring that last time I was with him, I didn't think. Surely I would have noticed if he'd had one then.

He leaned over and gathered me in his arms, me draped in front him, with his arms under my knees and my chest, my arms and head draped down in recognition of how exhausting a perfect blow job could be. He was taller and more wiry than I was, but I was amazed at his ability to handle me like I was a baby. He was, I am sure, playing on the fetish he correctly perceived in me that I wanted to be controlled by an older daddy. At this point he understood this better than I did. Although I did subsequently fuck with young muscle men, it was the older, mastering men I gravitated to. I'm sure I have the Indian doctor to credit that to or blame for—along with everything else he trained me to do.

He carried me into his examining room and laid me down on my back on that raised, padded table he used both for massage and whatever examinations he gave as a doctor. All of the examinations he gave me on that table were well outside the usual practice of a doctor. There was a pillow wedge on the table that he positioned under the small of my back, to raise my pelvis to him. I mostly just dumbly watched his preparations, but at his direction by touching me, I raised my feet flat on the surface of the table and bent my knees and spread my legs. He moved around the table, pulling my arms down off the table at each side and securing my wrists to some sort of restraints. He brought restraints up from the sides and secured my ankles in place too. All of the time I laid there, watching and breathing hard—knowing he was going to fuck me now. I was both afraid and screaming inside for him to get on with it. He rubbed a salve into my hole, and I felt myself slacken down there.

He came up on the table between my thighs. His curved, hard, long cock jutted out over my belly and I shuddered and trembled in anticipation. When he'd first taken me, I had been drugged. It was all his decision, none of mine—at least that's how I rationalized it, leaving out all of the process that had brought me into his apartment. This time I had come to him, knowing he was going to fully possess me. This was going to be an entirely different, more intense fuck than I had gotten from him before.

But it had become all his decision now too. I was restrained. I'm sure he realized that it was still important to me that I be controlled and that it be taken from me.

His torso hovered over me, the pulsating cock suspended between my trembling belly and his hard, lean, berry-brown chest. His hooded, jet-black eyes stared down into mine, trying to capture my attention and acquiescence—seeing in the look I gave back to him that he could do anything he wanted to me.

"I will be gentle again," he murmured. "Maybe not as much as last time; we will progress to where your edge is—eventually. But no anesthetizing ointment. The ointment I used was just to open you to me. You will feel it all. You will love it, I promise."

"Please," I murmured.

"Please what?"

"Please do it. I want to learn. I want to learn . . . from you."

How could I tell him that, because of him—what he had opened in me—I'd already been fucked by my boss and taken on a Thai sex partner? He knew I had, but not that I would not have if he hadn't initiated me. But what he did sense was that what I'd now experience, while I was moved by the new experiences, hadn't been enough. There was more for the Indian doctor to give me. I just didn't realize then how much more.

I didn't care about the ointment. Neither of the men who had fucked me since I last was here had used any magic ointment—I was amused that even under these circumstances he was using medical terms. And neither of them had been gentle with me, either.

"You are already a masterpiece, but I have so much to do with you. I think you will enjoy what we will begin with. We often will start with this. You will want to come. Let it flow. I can always make you come again."

He placed the palm of his hands in the hollow of my shoulders on either side, holding me down with the weight of his suspended torso. I watched his cock dip away from my belly and then saw his torso arch back up and felt the head of his cock slide inside me—easily. But he only went in a short distance, searched for, and, assured by my lurch and grunt, found my prostate with the cock ring. He began to drag the ring across the prostate, again and again. I became animated for the first time—and I started to babble and to cry out. I burbled requests left and right at him, all of which he ignored. I pleaded with him to stop, begged him to continue; to fuck deep; to continue exactly what he was doing; to give me a moment's rest. I used every dirty word I could think of to show him how closely I connected with what he was doing.