It had been six months since my first encounter with Rosy Chan. Over that time we had got into a regular schedule of meetings, and the triptych of hard spanking, aftercare cuddles and languorous oil massage was something we both enjoyed. Sometimes there was rough sex and a bit of humiliation, sometimes not. The real delight for me (although I would never say it, because it would likely have scared her) was to get to know her fully as a person. I became used to the wrinkled nose and tip of the head when she was unsure of herself - which in vanilla life was quite often. And her guarded nature was often betrayed by her delightfully expressive face, across which every thought or mood would reveal itself, like one of those speeded-up weather films.
Rosy remained vague on many of the topics that ordinary couples would talk about. ("My aunty tells me I'm secretive, like it's a bad thing" she complained once, in all seriousness). But we weren't an ordinary couple, just a particularly well-suited daddy and babygirl. I couldn't work out what it was about her that made me periodically want to humiliate and smack her - she certainly wasn't bratty. I found that I had an instinctive sense of my role for her, which was to constrain and restrain her quite severely when I thought that she needed it, but otherwise to let her run free, with support and encouragement.
Now Rosy had taken leave from London and returned to her family home in Melaka for a couple of months to look after her sick mother. I'd learned more about her family since our first meeting, and whilst I was impressed by their wealth and connections, I had privately come to the conclusion that her parents were careless, self-absorbed people. Rosy spent a lot of her time and emotional energy trying to be the family diplomat and peacemaker, as well as dutiful daughter. It dawned on me that a big part of the attraction of our meetings, for her, was a complete release from all responsibilities for a couple of hours - she was not permitted to think, only to feel, and she had no option but to surrender totally to her feelings. The desire for harsh punishment came from an altogether darker place though, and I was nowhere nearer to understanding that.
Since she had been away from London Rosy had changed. She became prone to dark moods, self-doubt and occasional sarcasm. We messaged one another frequently, and we still had our strong intimate connection, but I could tell she was desperately missing physical contact... and so was I. So when a chance came out of the blue to visit her, I was energised by the thought of all the things I could do to her.
I told Rosy that I was making one of my periodic tours of Asia to buy Buddhist art; however that was somewhat wide of the mark. In truth, I had a new commission to buy occult amulets - the darker and more illegal the better - for a discreet buyer in London, who would pay top dollar for something rare and unusual. Nowadays, a good trip could net me between ten and twenty thousand dollars, a useful if irregular source of income. I also had a very trustworthy source - an elderly Thai lady called Nok, whose house I had rented many years back when I had first taken up work in Northern Thailand.
It was only after I found myself a long way behind with my rent that Nok revealed a hitherto unsuspected sideline in the darker arts. My debt repayment plan took an unexpected turn, and I found myself squatting in a disused graveyard after midnight as Nok exhumed some nameless horror to fashion into her latest amulets, while her Ajarn muttered chants in ancient Pali and candles flickered. Until that point I hadn't taken spirits very seriously, although they are ever-present just below the surface in Thailand; but I couldn't avoid the menacing shapes flitting across the shadows out of the corner of my eye, no matter how hard I tried to pretend they weren't there. I was compromised and fully owned, and Nok knew it.
Thai people are known to be fun loving, and I could see that Nok was highly amused by the idea of having a tame farang lawyer with rusty Khmer on call to negotiate her more sensitive amulet trades across the Cambodian border, where for some reason she had always refused to set foot. But on this occasion, after two days of hard bargaining, I really struggled to see the funny side. After I had concluded a deal and returned to Nok's home town, I selected a number of amulets for my buyer and headed for Kuala Lumpur. It was late afternoon when I checked in to the Mandarin Oriental feeling distinctly frayed, spiky and untogether. Khmer magic is notable for being particularly dark, and in my imagination the six amulets hidden in my suitcase seemed to sizzle like some malevolent isotope.
On the plus side, I had big plans for Rosy Chan. I hoped that I would be able to work out my frustrations by pushing her boundaries to new levels, and at the same time give her the release she desperately craved. I was interested to see how she would respond to some very public humiliation. But obviously I didn't tell her that. I just hoped that things wouldn't get out of hand.
I'd arranged for us to meet in the MO, the most exclusive bar of the hotel itself, and I had instructed Rosy to dress completely inappropriately for the occasion, in as short and tight a dress as she could purchase, fuck-me shoes, loud jewellery and the kind of make up you might buy at a market stall in Patpong. Not surprisingly, she was initially very resistant. "I don't mind meeting you in the Federal dressed like a hooker" she had complained, "but not the Oriental, please... My parents' friends go there. God, I might meet someone I was at school with." I told her I didn't really care, and if she wouldn't comply we wouldn't meet. That scared her (as I'd hoped it would). She eventually agreed with ill grace, and I mentally added another layer of humiliation to her scorecard for the evening.
When I came down to the bar she was already there, perched on a barstool as instructed and trying to look inconspicuous. The lighting was low and a live piano tinkled in the background. It gave me butterflies just to see her again - I had forgotten how achingly pretty she was, and I badly wanted to run my fingers through her tousled hair and pull her face close to kiss. "Ohhh daddy" she breathed in relief, and we had the kind of long reunion hug in which time stands still. Gently I disengaged, and she started to pick up her handbag, assuming that we would leave right then, but I put my hand on her arm. "I've got something for you" I said. "A present from Nok." I handed her a small antique silver vial.
She looked puzzled and wrinkled her nose. "I think Nok is a witch" she said, and I thought - Jesus, you don't know the half of it. But I merely smiled and said "Put some on.. a dab behind each ear, that kind of thing". Once she had complied, I put a few more drops on my fingers, gently parted her legs on the barstool and rubbed them through the fabric of her panties, soaking her pussy. Her eyes widened. I gave her a "Just do as you are told" look. She flushed but said nothing.
