Chapter 2 - The Roof below their Heads
Three weeks ago, I had met Quyen, a young woman who was working at the HR department at the large International School in our small, nondescript town here, in the center of Vietnam. Hesitatingly, I had applied there last September, as the school didn't have a great reputation and seemed to be on a downward slope.
I had still been curious to check out the facilities and the classrooms on the campus, which resembled a fortress, but my impressions weren't favorable: Everything was much too grand and, more importantly, too cold. Said Quyen had been the only ray of light among the rather inhospitable, lifeless, and clinical environment.
Well, at least I had met her
. The young, 23- or 24-year-old lady had shown me around a bit, before the interview and had remained a positive memory for months. In the end, the International School didn't even bother to turn me down properly, and so, I had already filed the whole ordeal in my head.
Until Quyen had contacted me again to ask if I wouldn't be willing to, at least, work part-time for the school. Which was tempting, as the hourly wage would have been high, and they would have scrapped some of the annoying dress-code requirements. But, every time I met teachers in town, who were working there, they strongly advised me to stay away from the place.
Since I had saved money and could live off interest and other miscellaneous sources of income, for the time being, I eventually even declined working at the school part-time, which prompted Quyen to meet with me for coffee; just the two of us, across the street from her workplace.
Perhaps she was curious as to why I hadn't accepted the highest hourly wage they had ever offered to anyone. Or her boss had coaxed her into meeting me again, thinking - rightfully so - that I was a sucker for young Asian women. Or Quyen would receive a nice commission if she procured a new foreign teacher.
So I thought
.
But things had turned out completely different: Precisely because I wasn't going to work for the International School, Quyen had felt free to offer herself. She had had a boyfriend at university, who desperately wanted to study in Australia and thus had left her, while her two young female colleagues in the office often talked about sex.
In the end, it looked like she felt too young to be left behind and was ready for an adventure.
Or two
. And so, we bought fresh summer rolls for lunch, after the half-an-hour at the café. We had wanted to eat at the park across from the older, vacant hotel where our orgy troupe had been meeting for almost three years but, when Quyen learned that I had the keys to the hotel in my pocket, nothing could stop her.
Quyen had been to said hotel about 15 years prior, as a child, when relatives had been visiting town, and she remembered the large, beautiful chandelier hanging in the atrium. The icing on the proverbial cake was, however, when she proposed we go up to the roof for our picnic.
No one of our orgy posse had ever thought of going up there.
Luckily, we found a hatch that we could open, since - as Quyen later admitted - the unusual location proved to be the catalyst to her offering herself completely that day. Initially, our meeting for coffee and lunch had been meant to be some sort of
feeling each other out
, she told me afterward, but the view and the breeze had simply left her breathless and overwhelmed her.
Are we going to do it quickly?
Quyen asked, after we had finished our lunch; like it would have been a waste if two sexually active people had come all the way up to the roof of the hotel and then not twirled their loins. So, she spread herself on the two gray, thick army blankets, which we had found in the maid's chamber on the sixth floor.
After which, Quyen had removed her panties, folded her skirt up onto her belly, and spread her legs. She had left her clothes on,
since it wasn't too warm,
which I had found hot; especially, since Quyen had opened her bra and pulled up her HR polo-shirt with the logo of the International School on the front.
Right when we were getting ready to fuck, she already promised to present herself completely naked, the next time - on the roof of the old vacant hotel, of course - which turned out to be difficult, though: First, it had rained for a few days, but then it was too cold and rather windy.
The following week then, Quyen was ovulating, she had told me. Apparently, she was familiar with the purpose of menstruation and how it was connected to her fertility cycle, so she urged me to do it this week, before she would get her period again. I would have banged her unctuous sheath, too, but then, with no shower in sight, it would have been a mess. Neither did she need to know that I was into period sex.
But Quyen was right: the weather was supposed to be colder again the following week. Enticing me further, she told me that she had started masturbating under her desk at work and, one evening, she even sent me a photo of her beautiful pussy boat hull in panties, under her grey office skirt.
Which had been taken in her bedroom, though, it seemed.
Anyway, as I was eager not to waste the invitation to such an enthralling project, I asked her if Monday would work. Quyen suggested to skip coffee but promised to get fresh summer rolls again. She was right, again: we didn't need much foreplay, as we both already knew what our meeting would be all about.
Quyen also told me that she definitely wanted to do it twice, this time. She then sent me a picture of her substantial naked boobs, before she managed to take a selfie of her dazzling naked snatch, too. Quyen knew how stunning I found her pussy, which, in many ways, I found more beautiful than her face, as strange and callous as that might sound.
Quyen's face was just oval and plain, with a stubby nose. Yes, her mouth was lovely, but her teeth were slightly crooked. She had dimples, though, which was a plus, and an endearing smile. Her snatch, on the other hand, was an elegantly elongated boat hull with perfect, hazelnut outer lips, on which there was just the right amount of pitch-black hair.
Her straight - barely crinkled - and naturally protruding inner labia, however, were of an intense mauve, forming an almost four-inch-long line at the bottom of her torso, which one was able to spot if she was standing upright or walking naked, although her bush was actually quite substantial.
The last time, I had only been able to see this most beautiful pair of inner labia for like a minute or two and not licked it, either. Like I said, it had been a tad nippy up on the roof on that fine yet grey day in early December. I had kept my thick, long-sleeved shirt on for the fuck, while she had remained fully dressed during the act.
Apart from her awesome snatch, the second-best part was when Quyen sat down on the low wall to pee: still fully dressed, with her panties around her left thigh. She had giggled and blushed, of course, and urged me not to watch her, but there was nothing I could do. Her cheeky act of cheerful urination had tickled me to no end.
Of course, I wanted her to pee on me, this time, and also lick her silly. I was glad that she was as eager as I was to revel in our urges and bodily fluids and promised myself to really take my time to ensure she would never forget that lunch hour - for which she would even bring
clothes to change and towels in a gym bag
, as she told me around ten that morning.
Sweet
.
