TWENTY-SEVEN
The plane touched down in Bangkok shortly after 4 o'clock local time, having made up some time owing to favourable winds. As Sophia emerged into the Arrivals Hall, she was approached by a smiling man of medium build, who looked neither young nor old in the way that many Thais seem to manage.
'Miss Sophia?' he said simply, with a slight raising of the eyebrows.
It turned out that Sukhorn had arranged a driver to take Sophia from Suvarnabhumi Airport to her five-star hotel, which was situated by the Chao Phraya river. Not only that, the man, called Ananda, gave her his card and told her that he would be at her disposal for her entire trip. She need only call him or message him and he would be with her in a matter of minutes.
That evening, a welcoming dinner had been organised for her in the hotel by her hosts, an agricultural agency representing some of the major producers of rice, tuna and shrimp in the country. Sophia's bank had been a natural choice for the agency to approach, since Japan was Thailand's number one export market for such products. The majority of her hosts, who numbered around twenty in total, were ethnic Chinese, and there were only two women among them. Sophia was welcomed with not one but three speeches by different interests within the association, and made a short speech of her own in response, making all the right noises and - having been well prepped by colleagues in London - being careful to make mention of all the major players.
Pleading fatigue after the journey - not entirely untruthfully - she declined the opportunity to attend a cultural show of some sort and retired to her room. On one of the upper floors, this afforded fine views over the city, with the river dominating the foreground and middle distance, as it lazed its way towards the interior. Once she had changed, she phoned Sukhorn to see when they might arrange a meeting. The Thai woman appeared delighted to hear from her and deflected Sophia's expression of gratitude for providing Ananda to look after her.
'You will find that in Thailand everybody is keen to serve you and see that you have a good time,' said Sukhorn earnestly. 'When might you be free for your first taste of the local culture?'
Sophia had used her time productively at that evening's dinner to clear time the following evening for herself. Rather than being greeted with disappointment, her suggestion to consolidate the schedule and structure the day's visits and meetings around lunch had been met with a degree of enthusiasm that suggested her hosts had better things to do in the evening. When she told Sukhorn that she would be free the following evening, the other woman told her that they would eat at Bangkok's best restaurant and then go on to a private club, where the entertainment was second to none.
That night, Sophia slept somewhat fitfully despite her tiredness owing to jetlag and had to drag herself into the shower at half past seven in order to make breakfast at eight. The day passed well enough, with trips to a tuna processing factory and a rice mill interspersed with several small group meetings. She managed to get back to hotel by five o'clock in time for a snooze before her date with Sukhorn, which was scheduled for eight o' clock. Ananda left her at the door right on time and Sophia, dressed in an ivory coloured satin jacquard mini dress with a bamboo and cherry blossom design and a traditional Mandarin collar and wearing her hair up, was guided by the maître d' to a table towards the rear of the restaurant. Seated there was a woman in perhaps her mid-forties wearing a grey organza sleeveless midi dress with a round collar. Unlike most Thai women, she wore her hair short and bore an uncanny resemblance to Joan Chen. She took Sophia's hand in her own delicate hand and welcomed her to Bangkok.
The restaurant did not disappoint, with the two women sharing a raft of dishes, including tom yum noodle soup, crab vermicelli, oyster and mussel omelette and, of course, pad thai. Sukhorn drank only mineral water, but recommended for her guest a Cervaro della Sala from Umbria, which her foreign friends typically enjoyed.
As the meal drew to a close, Sophia asked Sukhorn about the entertainment that she had planned. The older woman told her that it was a ladies' only club, which featured live music. Tonight a jazz ensemble would be performing. There was a spa, where one could receive massages, a gym, a yoga club with instructors and a reading room, as well as floor shows by popular and highly talented artistes. They set off for the club at around 9.30, Ananda taking them to their destination via back streets in around twenty minutes - no mean feat, Sophia thought, given the confusion of motorbikes, tuk tuks and taxis coming at you from all directions.
The club was located in a three-storey ochre-coloured neo-classical mansion, which had been built in the early twentieth century for use as a department store. The women entered by an imposing arched doorway, which was set off by rectangular windows with arched fanlights. Sukhorn signed Sophia in at the reception desk, which was adorned by a stunning Thai girl in traditional dress, with an orchid in her hair. Responding to something Sukhorn said, she lowered her head and made a remark that caused the older woman to smile and speak something in a mock scolding tone. As they moved away from the desk to the staircase to the next floor, Sophia asked what had transpired. She was told that the girl, Kamlai by name, had commented on Sophia's beauty and her hair in particular. Sophia responded that she had felt a little intimidated herself by the girl's radiance.
'Perhaps you will meet again,' said Sukhorn cryptically.
They entered a room on the first floor where a jazz trio were playing and took a table for two near the slightly raised stage on the same side of the room as that by which they had entered. They ordered drinks from the waitress, who wore a white spaghetti strap mini dress with a deep V-shaped decolletage and impractical four-inch heels. Well, impractical for serving tables, Sophia thought, but not for other duties she might be called upon to perform. While Sophia and Sukhorn were chatting about this and that, Sophia noticed that the room was filling up with women - some in pairs, others in groups of three or four. After perhaps an hour, the band departed and the lighting was dimmed. Curtains were pulled across the stage and low noises could be heard coming from behind them. After a brief interval, the curtains were drawn and a spotlight lit up two Thai women - one perhaps in her thirties (Sophia found it so difficult to tell) and the other considerably younger. The older one was wearing a faux short one-piece flight attendant's uniform in pink and purple, together with a retro military style hat worn at a rakish angle, while the other (presumably a passenger in the scenario they were acting out) was wearing a petite white jersey bandeau, low-slung torn denim jeans and sneakers. Slow sensuous music provided the backing track to their performance.
The air hostess, whose long dark hair was neatly tied up as appropriate for work, took a stool from an assistant in the wings and placed it centre and front of stage. She motioned for her passenger to sit down, which she did with something of a teenage pout; a pout that matched her hair, which struck Sophia as what a Clara Bow bob might look like if it was given a punk treatment with purple streaks. The hostess shook her finger in disapproval of her attitude, or perhaps her appearance - or both - and moved behind the girl. Smiling conspiratorially to the audience, she ran her hands down the girl's arms, causing her to turn and glare at her. The older woman showed no emotion whatsoever and proceeded to repeat the treatment. The girl bridled but did not turn round or show any obvious aggression. The hostess then ran her hands down the girl's sides, causing her boob tube to ripple but not disturbing it overly. This time the girl attempted to stand up, but the hostess was too quick for her, pushing her back down onto her seat. Before she had time to consider her next move, her tormentor ran her hand down the front of her body, this time pushing the flimsy garment down so that one nipple was showing. The girl instinctively moved to straighten her garment, but the older woman was too quick for her, disabling her hands. The girl struggled for a moment or two, then resumed her position, sitting with a straight back on the stool.
Still standing at the rear - so the audience could see the action unfold - the hostess yanked the bandeau down to reveal the petite girl's equally petite titties. One swipe of a mere fingernail later, and the dark brown nipples were standing erect. The girl attempted to defend what was left of her modesty by crossing her legs. Stepping round the stool and off the stage onto the main floor, the older woman bent down and untied the girl's shoelaces. She discarded the shoes in a manner that would find no entry in customer care manuals. Without missing a beat, the woman pulled the punk girl's legs apart and made for the button of her jeans. The girl was too slow - her hands ending up on top of her nemesis's. The lower pair of hands made quick work of the button and the zip, and, taking advantage of the girl's attempt to escape, tugged at the tight fabric, bringing the denims down to her knees. Confronted by a lavender lace heart G string, the hostess shook her head in disgust, before pulling the jeans off and tossing them aside. She reached for the bandeau and pulled it down from the girl's midriff over her feet to join the untidy pile on the floor.
This left only the sad excuse for a pair of panties, which the hostess looked at with fresh disdain. She seemed to debate what to do with them before leaving the stage briefly and returning with a pair of scissors. She cut through the fabric at the hip without compunction and cast the gossamer material aside as if it were tainted. The girl attempted to cover her shame with her hands, but the harridan would have none of it. She gestured to her to get off the stool and in its place a stagehand put a good size easy chair without any arms. She signalled to the girl to get on the chair and to sit back with her legs in the air and her hands around her ankles. The woman turned the chair round so that the girl was facing the side of the room and zeroed in on her defenceless private parts. With little tenderness, she prised open her tight folds and drove her tongue inside her. The girl gritted her teeth in an attempt to remain unmoved by the predatory action, but the cougar had her measure. Pushing a finger inside her rapidly moistening vulva, she brought her tongue expertly and with greater sensitivity onto the girl's clitoris. Losing the battle to retain control of the situation, her victim appeared to beg in her native tongue. Gratified, the woman increased the rate of her tongue-lashing and slid an extra finger into the all too accommodating hole.
