Dr. Martin's Treatise on Asian Women

My cock spewed forth cum as I masturbated furiously. What a read it had been. Who was this bloke Dr. Graham Martin? Was it for real? I had to know more.

I had been employed to write up a booklet about the history of Monash University and especially how the current Chancellor of the University had revolutionised education. It was a real fluff piece with of course nothing bad about him in it and full of exaggerations and half-truths in order that he could get an Australia Day Honours award: possibly an Order of Australia medal as I was a good writer. It was a university-funded contract, so the pay was good, and I am sure the Chancellor had also ensured I was well paid because he wanted OA after his name.

Anyway, they shunted me into some vacant room, the smell of which suggested it had housed their cleaning supplies before they had outsourced the cleaning. I was dispatched to Maintenance to obtain a desk and filing cabinet. I looked around and selected a matching desk and damaged filing cabinet made by Taylor Llorente of London, and very exclusive it was, purchased with taxpayer funds. One of the filing cabinet drawers was locked and the key was lost, but YouTube came to my aid, and I found it was filled with files.

Out of curiosity I picked up a file and read it. It was supposedly written by some past department head, Dr Graham Martin, purportedly a former head of Asian studies and who moonlighted for the Government, and the files were the record of his activities. I say supposedly as it was pure porn and couldn't be true. As were all the rest of the files. It was better than Literotica, ASSTR or any sites on the web for sex stories. I had to know more.

I approached records, presented my letter from the Chancellor, told them I was researching for the Chancellor's book and asked for the information on Dr Graham Martin, whom I understood used to be an employee. I got that sneering response that all Public Servants have, "Sorry, that's impossible now or for a few months," meaning "Fuck off. Don't make me do some actual work."

I nodded my acceptance and received that superior, condescending victory smile they must practice every morning and then, turning as if I had a second thought said, "Seeing that I am here I may as well not waste my time and do the other part of my job: investigating University Admin fraud and inefficiency." It was of course a non-existent role, but they assumed the worst.

I had a good look at the tight dress stretched across her arse as she practically ran across the open workspace to the big man's office because there is always a big man who is above the open office space. Through the glass panels, I saw a lot of arm waving, had a bit of a wait, and finally, a thick file, accompanied by a surly glare was thrust under the glass that separated the unwashed from the elite. I gave my best smile, thanked her for her help and enquired if they had an email address where I could send my appreciation for her efforts. I heard her swearing as she stormed off.

Back in my cupboard/office, I went through the file I had obtained on Dr. Graham Martin. The latest item filed was a copy of the coroner's report which contained his self-penned diary of his career. All of it more porn which you can read in Chp. 1 if you want the background. However, I am a scholar so I did further diligent research.

An app showed a 97.89% correlation between the writing style of that diary, 'A Treatise on Asian Women - A life devoted to fucking Asian women and watching their sex fights, (See chapter 1) and that of the files I had discovered in the cabinet. The University files I researched matched his career progression as detailed in his treatise and his exam results confirmed that on academic qualifications, he should not have received the promotions he obtained, giving some validity to his claim of catching the Chancellor of Arts in flagrante delicto with his secretary one Sunday evening at 5pm when a young Graham Martin was using a stolen key to get in to alter his student records. The files also contained references to Government fund transfers to the University for unnamed services by Dr Martin. Finally, both the treatise and files gave the same insight into Dr Martin's character. He did not try to make himself look grand and important as the Chancellor was now trying to do but almost seemed proud of his depravity, misuse of funds, preying on women, lechery and falsehoods to achieve what he wanted.

Overall, I was convinced that the documents I had found in the filing cabinet were written by the same person who wrote the Treatise attached to the coroner's report. I should mention that someone had written in pencil on that copy, 'Glad the pervert is dead and hope he had a painful death. Signed one of many, but that is neither here nor there. I will be posting at regular intervals these files I discovered, and it is up to the reader to determine if they think the tales themselves are true.

The first file I am posting is about Cita Daratista, and Dr. Martin had it classified as Indonesian Sambal; sambal being Indonesia's ubiquitous hot chilli sauce. I am, as I said, very diligent, and my investigation showed that Dr. Martin was in Indonesia for a longer than expected time at the date of this file. So here it is, as told by Dr. Graham Martin.

INDONESIAN SAMBAL: Cita Daratista

I checked my attire one last time, self-consciously adjusting my collar and cuffs. I was going for a particular look: as if I'd had money but had to work for it so the clothes were good quality and classic, not the latest fashion gimmick. This was crucial to my act as in the same way as a master angler, I would select just the right bait and present it in just the right spot. All I needed now was the trout.

And in she came. Retno Indrawati glanced around the deserted, vacant shops on the sixth floor of the Manga Duo shopping centre in Jakarta. China's industrial surge as the world's clothing manufacturer had hit Indonesia hard and only the first four floors had shops that were being used and the lighting on this floor was minimal. Her eyes were wide and fearful as she normally shopped at the Grand Indonesia Shopping Town, Jakarta's most exclusive mall. In her fine European designer clothes, and with her painted face and her glittering jewels, she was clearly unused to being in this part of Jakarta.

"Retno," I breathed, "I cannot thank you enough for coming and you look so beautiful, so young."

She turned with a jangle of jewellery, a sound that never failed to excite me and rushed into my arms. "Oh, Greg, how could I ever stay away?" Greg was the name she knew me as.

I embraced her, holding her close, making her feel safe, feel wanted. An easy act, at which I was well practised. Hell, I'd done this so many times with different women I could do it in my sleep. "Every moment apart is torture to me," I whispered into her ear. She shuddered at the nearness of my lips, and I felt her hold me tighter as I continued. "What started as business is far more than that to me."

I paused for a second, my lips hovering near hers, letting the expectation build. Then I kissed her. She responded vigorously: a truly passionate kiss, I had to give her that, but then Retno Indrawati was a passionate woman. Just a shame such passion was wrapped in a body so clearly fond of doughnuts and ice cream. Luckily, I wasn't seducing the woman for her looks, but rather for her seemingly endless money supply, plus, as a bonus, her willingness in bed.

My thoughts turned back to our last encounter when I sucked Retno 's huge tits and nipples as she moaned in ecstasy before reaching down and pulling her thong aside to push two of my fingers into her cunt. I thrust my hand in and out. She humped her hips into my fingers until I stopped and pulled her in between my legs, and she gasped in pleasure when she saw the size of my cock inches in front of her round face. Even only semi-erect it already measured nine inches. It's my story and that's what I say it is. She bent down and took the semi-hard cock in her mouth and began to breathe life into this sex monster. I closed my eyes as I felt her lips wrap themselves around it.

I added a third finger to her hungry pussy and continued to fingerfuck her feverishly. She brushed her hair aside so I could watch her as she attempted to deep throated my cock. I didn't think that she would be able to manage such a feat, but I let her try. My cock grew to its full six twelve inches from her blowjob. I wanted to impale her on my iron-hard tool, so I guided her cunt to my cock. Retno settled herself on my lap, trying to get all six twelve inches inside of her. It took a few tries, but she finally managed to sit herself on my lap, taking all six twelve inches into her snatch. She settled down for a few seconds before she started lifting herself up off me until only its huge head was still encased by her pussylips.

I came back to the present and looked down and her eyes were still closed, her body still reeling from the pleasure of my kiss. I held her close, feeling her tremble in my grasp. She had fallen for me, as most did, like a suicide victim off a cliff. I was not handsome and was selfish in bed, but I listened and tapped into women's emotions, paid attention to their prattling thoughts and pretended interest. Perhaps I should have felt guilty for that. Then again, I was providing a service: I was giving her everything she wanted: the passion, taboo and excitement missing from her life. And what did I ask in return? Some Bitcoin transactions. Was that too much to ask?

It wasn't as if she couldn't afford it, and plainly my need was the greater. A penchant for the gambling tables and a taste for things above my salary had to be financed. So what if I'd told her my name was Greg Masters, a ghost employee at Monash whom I had digitally created and who was more real to any check than 60% of the Australian population. So what if I'd told her that I could get her lazy, stupid unqualified daughter into Monash University. Or that we needed to meet here in seclusion so we could hide the method of her entrance. I was there for the money and any sex I could get.

"You are too good for me," I said, pulling away. "I am not worthy of you." I turned as though to leave. When she grabbed hold of me once again, I could barely contain my grin. It was just like landing a fish. Let out the line, wait for the bite, and then reel it in.

"Don't say that Greg. I am so happy to have met you through this business of my daughter."

I turned to her, my eyes projecting just the right degree of concern and gratitude. When the kissing was done and she had gathered herself, I spoke, remembering not to glance at the myriad jewelled chains that hung about her neck. "Though it pains me to even say it, my love, might I ask you for the crypto balance? My contact at Immigration goes on holiday tomorrow, and I need his work on your daughter's file completed before I can arrange things at the University for your daughter's entry. You know I have tried to beat down his exorbitant price, but he will not budge and no one else there is corruptible. And after this, there will only be one final payment and then your daughter can study in Australia, and you accompany her." Never let the mark think the sting is over.

She smiled back at me, as she had done three times before, just the small amounts I had asked for to show I was not just after her money. Three times we had processed the crypto transaction to me and then sealed it with a kiss and more. As I would never be seen again after this transaction there would probably be no more tumbles in the hay.

This time, however, she didn't move. "This has been most pleasant, Greg, if that's even your real name, but I am afraid, as with most pleasurable things, it has come to an end."

My brow furrowed. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. She was supposed to complete the crypto transaction and then disappear with the money. What the fuck was....

"I am afraid, Ms. Indrawati, that your suspicions were correct. His name is not Greg," said a strong voice that echoed through the vacant shopping mall floor as a woman emerged from the shadows.

Even though I sensed trouble and even worse, trouble for me, my brain automatically entered the woman into my data bank. She was Indonesian. about 35 years old, 5ft 3, 138 pounds, had a solid 38C 33 40 figure, and a very pretty round face surrounded by softly permed shoulder-length hair. As with some Asians who are solid, her lower legs were shapely and not thick tree trunks. She was dressed in a board-tight, almost black, above-the-knee, skirt which was stretched across her powerful, solid, thick thighs. A light grey blazer buttoned so tight that the size and shape of her breasts could be seen straining against the material, and a red neckerchief completed her uniform. That of the Indonesian police.

I prepared to run but three male uniformed policemen materialised. Escorted away I saw Retno give me a very unladylike and I felt unnecessary 'up yours' gesture. Two hours later I was at a small Police station somewhere near Bogor in the hills 60 km from Jakarta, close to Retno's exclusive villa.

When I thought about it, I felt reasonably safe. Yes, it was the police but money talks. Far better than if Retno had hired some thugs. Plus, the crypto transactions in Greg Master's name were untraceable and I had used Tor browser and the dark web. I would be free soon. In the office of District Commander Cita Daratista, as the gold lettering on the door stated, I waited, ready to deal my way out. She entered and I began negotiating. I had travelled extensively in Asia and knew the process and luckily, she spoke English, or at least American. We settled on about AUD3,000 and I stood to leave.

"Sit," she commanded, and I put on my most bewildered expression saying the amount was already in her account. She nodded her agreement and said, "The minor fraud charge is withdrawn, let us say a procedural error by a junior officer. Now we look at the serious charge of...."

She was interrupted by the noise of the front door opening and she peered through the Venetian blind and then rushed out. I heard raised voices, insults, ripping clothes, the sound of flesh being slapped, and screams of pain and I risked a peek through the open Venetian blinds of her palatial office. A young Indonesian female officer, her eyes awash with tears and holding her torn blouse over her scratched tits and with her skirt around her ankles limped by as I watched.

Cita returned looking like the cat who had got the cream. "Here in my district, I settle things myself. That new recruit complained to the Region office that I was too authoritarian, and other matters. Next month she can fight me for the chance to be raised back to her old salary. Now where were we?"

"Your bank account had received the money and I was about to leave."

She smiled and it wasn't a nice smile. Then she removed it, and it was even worse. "Ah, the serious charge. Attempting to corrupt Indonesian Muslim women's morals and degrade them like animals with perverse, extreme sex acts." I didn't have to act to look at her uncomprehendingly. She must have noticed because she pressed a button on her desk and an officer brought in three suitcases: my suitcases.

She flung them open. All were crammed with exclusive, expensive, European lingerie. I had come to Indonesia on university matters to establish a feeder college, and as a sideline, I was going to have good quality lingerie knockoffs, not the Alibaba stuff, made to sell in Oz at huge profits. Not many know that before China became the powerhouse it is now; Adidas and Nike made their garments in Indonesia. All musing quality Japanese Juki machines and Taiwan thread. The quality was superb and with quality packaging it would pass any counterfeit test. My university paid for the first club air ticket which gave far more luggage allowance than those who sat at the back, thus the three large suitcases.

She waved random thongs, sheer bras etc. before my eyes. "You hoped to seduce honest Indonesian women with these, turn them into sluts who would worship your cock," she hissed. Of course, I protested my innocence and revealed my plans. "Money was my sole aim. I only treat women with respect, especially Indonesian women." I almost claimed I went to a mosque daily.

"Treat with respect. Explain this." She held up my phone to show me Retno driving herself down hard cowgirl style taking all my cock inside of her. She fast-forwarded to me doggystyle fucking a kneeling Retno anally as she ate her daughter, then the two of them in 69 as I alternated fucking both. Next time don't use your birthdate as a security pin number, I thought. I offered a limp smile of surprise. My nicety was not returned. She motioned and there was movement behind me, and I felt a prick in my arm.

When I awoke, I tried to move but I was strapped to a chair. As my senses returned, I realized I was only wearing boxers and a TV was flickering in front of me. I focussed and it was Tia Ling, my favourite porn actress, being gang banged by five negroes, almost as well-endowed as me, and enjoying it. Yes, I know, but it's my story. Over 1,500 Tia scenes at ixxx dot com, and a lot of them were on my phone protected by its useless pin. Despite my predicament, I couldn't take my eyes off the screen and as usual with Tia, I felt the stirrings of arousal.

I felt hands reach from behind me, release my cock from my boxers and grasp my cock. Then one hand moved down, stroking my rod from the top to bottom. When it reached the end of its long journey, we have already discussed that it is huge, it was released but the other was starting its journey from the cock head. The combination of being trapped, Tia enjoying black cock on the TV and the expert hand job proved I was human because my cock stiffened and grew.

One of the hands started stroking my helmet, a very sensitive part of my cock, and the fingers tightly clasped the purple skin. Soon foam formed at the tip of my cockhead as my cumslit vomited a thick trail of clear pre-cum. I was close to cumming but the fingers deftly applied pressure to several points at the base of my hard-on. I moaned and gasped, and made a feeble attempt to not cum. But it was to no avail as an orgasm rocked me. But there was no release of cum. To my utter surprise, no seed had spilled from my cock, which was still rock hard. And the restrained climax hadn't diminished my arousal in the least. I was still horny.

The combination of Tia's videos, the handjob, and the pressure points causing me to not ejaculate continued accompanied by requests to sign my confession continued until the needle prick sent me into oblivion.

Again I awoke strapped to the chair. I heard the clatter of high heels behind me, then beside me and the view of Tia now being fucked in a private club, (my mind registered Tia Ling, The Training of O Day 4 or was it Tia Ling, Public Disgrace; they had the same male line up), was obscured by District Commander Cita Daratista. She pulled a chair in front of me and settled her 5ft 3, 134 pound, 38C 33 40 body on it. I couldn't help but notice how short and tight was her uniform skirt and that her shirt was two sizes small and unbuttoned to below her tits.

She glanced over her shoulder at Tia. "I see you like to see all Asian women degraded, not just chaste Muslim Indonesians." As she spoke, she extended her legs to rest her high heels on my thighs and rocked back on her chair. I was presented with the sight of her naked pussy oozing juice. And not just any pussy. This was prime tipple AAA quality; prominent and rounded, a wide gash with thick lips, long hanging inners, huge exposed clit, and oozing juice. "In your mind, you want to degrade me. Admit it," she hissed.