‘Age before beauty,’ I said, waving for him to go first.
‘Pearls before swine,’ he said, stepping back. He had a Man-chester accent and sounded a bit like Noel Gallagher from Oasis.
I grinned and got onto the bed. Bill’s wife grinned and moved over to suck me, still holding on to the Scotsman’s dick with her right hand. Her nails were long and painted blood red. I gasped as she took me into her mouth. She was good. My God, she was good.
It went on for hours. Hours and hours. Thank God for the Viagra. She was insatiable and so were we. She took us one at a time, two at a time, three at a time, and at one point she was on top of me while the Scotsman was in her arse, she was pleasuring Wolfman with her mouth while she had a hand on two other guys as if she was using ski poles. I don’t know where the sixth guy was, but I know where Bill was, standing on the bed with his video camera, capturing it all for posterity.
There wasn’t a single thing that she refused to do. Guys came inside her, over her, in her hair, up her arse, in her mouth. She begged for more, she wanted it harder, faster, longer. She mewed like a cat, yelped like a puppy in pain, and bellowed like an angry bull.
Pretty much every hour, Bill would stop and change the memory card in his camera and by midnight, there were four cards on the cupboard by the door.
We started taking breaks. The Scotsman kept going out on the balcony for a cigarette, the Frenchman kept taking showers, Wolfman did a line of cocaine once every thirty minutes, as regular as clockwork. I took another Viagra and four lines of coke and drank half a dozen beers. One of the guys, the one in the dog mask, gave up before midnight. He was having trouble breathing and said he was having chest pains. He’d taken two Viagra and it was a laugh seeing him trying to pull his trousers on over an erection the size of a policeman’s truncheon. I don’t remember him leaving because by then, I was doing Bill’s wife from behind, pounding into her and grunting like a pig while the Scotsman slapped her backside and called her a whore and the Hairy Guy was thrusting in and out of her soft, wet mouth.
There was a lot of name-calling going on, I remember that. We were bastards, we were shits, we were rapists, we were swine. She was a bitch and a cow, a whore and worse.
She was bathed in sweat like a racehorse that had been ridden too hard, and by midnight her eyes were glazed and her mouth wide open, but she wouldn’t stop, she wanted more and more and more and wouldn’t let us stop even if we’d wanted to.
At one point, just after midnight, she went out onto the balcony and stood looking out over the sea as we took it in turns to screw her from behind.
She wailed like a banshee all the time and I was sure that anyone walking down Beach Road must have been able to hear her. When the last guy had finished, I thought that would be the end of it, but she went back into the room and gave her husband a long, slow, blow job while he filmed her and then she lay on the bed again and started swearing at us, telling us all that we were babies and that if we were real men we’d rape her and make her beg for us to stop. We took her at her word and for the next hour, she was raped in every way that a man can rape a woman.
I left about two o’clock in the morning. I was exhausted, I was drained, and I was sore. By then it was just the Scotsman, the Frenchman and the Hairy Guy still at it, and she was taking everything they could throw at her.
No one said goodbye or God bless; in fact, no one even looked at me, they were too busy banging Bill’s wife. On the way out, I helped myself to one of the memory cards. I know it was wrong, I know it was stealing, but I figured what the helclass="underline" I was one of the stars, so I deserved a memento. And I figured that Bill had more than enough video to look at over the coming years.
I took the mask off as I went into the lift, dropped it into a garbage bin on the street, and five minutes later, I was back in my taxi heading towards Bangkok, barely able to keep my eyes open.
The following week, I started my new job in Singapore. I worked long hours and put everything into the job, knowing that it’s vital to give a good impression from day one. Other than the occasional visit to Orchard Towers-known locally as the Four Floors Of Whores-to pick up some paid-for company, I was practically a born-again virgin. After a week, I found myself checking Craigslist to see if Bill would tout his wife again. I used to watch the video, too, and it was almost as exciting as being there. In fact, it became a regular thing-I’d get home at midnight, after the London Stock Exchange had closed, open a bottle of beer, lie on the sofa and watch it on my big screen TV. I have to admit that I tried calling Bill’s mobile number, but it had been disconnected and I sent him an email asking if he’d thought of arranging a rematch, but it went unanswered.
To be honest, and like I said, everything I’m telling you is God’s own truth, I couldn’t get that night out of my head. It was the best sex I’ve ever had, bar none. I don’t know if it was the masks, the cocaine, the fact that I was there with strangers, or because Bill’s wife was so enthusiastic, but nothing I’d ever done before or after came close. The memory, and the video, began to torment me, reminding me of what I’d never be able to have again. I realized that no matter what I did in the future, nothing would come close to the sexual experience that I’d had with Bill’s wife. And then, two months after I’d started work in Singapore, they came back into my life, Bill and his wife, in a way that I’d never have expected.
The company arranged to fly over its top clients for a two-day presentation in Singapore-putting them up at the five-star Fullerton Hotel by the mouth of the Singapore River and taking them to the city’s best bars and restaurants while promoting what we thought were the best investments in the region. We’d arranged company visits and interviews with government officials and economists and had several presentations and demonstrations.
It’s something most brokers do; the clients get an all expenses-paid holiday and we get to pitch sales to them face to face.
The presentation started on Thursday which gave our guests the option of extending their holidays over the weekend if they so wished-at our company’s expense, of course. The guests arrived during the day and our first official get-together was in the evening in a suite at the Fullerton. Elegant waiters glided around with trays of canapes and vintage champagne flowed.
I was munching on a piece of smoked salmon on a miniature bagel when I saw them.
I didn’t recognise Bill at first because the last time I’d met him, he’d been wearing a stocking over his face, but there was no mistaking his drop-dead gorgeous wife. She was wearing a black dress, low cut to show off her amazing breasts and cut several inches above the knees to accentuate her fabulous legs. She had on stiletto heels and was carrying a tiny gold handbag; around her neck was a thin gold chain with a very large diamond and on her wrist was a diamond-studded Rolex. Pretty much every man turned to look at her as she walked into the room on Bill’s arm. Bill was wearing a matching Rolex and a black Hugo Boss suit. He was in his late fifties and without the stocking, he was a good-looking guy in an Alec Baldwin sort of way, though with more grey at his temples.
He strode over to one of our company’s top executives and shook his hand, then introduced his wife. She shook his hand, too, and smiled with her soft, warm mouth. I felt myself grow hard as the memories flooded back. Her standing on the balcony, moaning into the wind as we pounded into her from behind. I shivered.
‘She’s something, isn’t she?’
I turned to see Robert Tam smiling at me. ‘Bloody lovely,’ I said. ‘Who’s the guy?’