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Please note that this content is sexually explicit. We recommend that you should not read this content if you are offended by sexually explicit material.

He’s got his head in my lap, resting on a scarf I always wear.
‘It stinks, sorry.’
‘It smells like you,’ he says, eyes closed, letting me mess up his stick-up-straight hair. I look out the window, palm trees and bright green rice fields zooming past under a soggy grey sky. How did this happen? We’re heading back to Bangkok from a holiday weekend, and I’m sandy-toed and love-bruised from some old guy I hardly know. I’m supposed to be a mild-mannered lesbian. He likes to poke fun at that. I’m not in it for a beautiful emotional connection, but it was quite the time we had.


Our journey to the tiny paradise island of Koh Tao, its dense jungle, bathwater-warm sea, and the setting of our perverse adventures, is two days on buses, ferries and a near-death experience in the dark skidding on steep hairpin bends on the crumbling island roads in a pickup truck taxi. We sit opposite a pudgy French family who are clinging on to their luggage rattling in the back of the cab, and he and I are trying to keep our hands out of each other’s laps. We get dinner in the first place we find, push sodden noodles onto spoons, drink Chang beer warm.

We are shown to our hut, concrete porch, fluorescent light, the crash of the ocean in the dark. We drop luggage, shower off the travel dust (I’ve been backpacking for a month, feet armpits teeth and tongue unwashed and undercared for), He stands in front of the hard Thai-style bed and I hook my legs around his hips.

‘Fuck darling, it’s been a while, it’s been a good long while for you,’ he says as he moves a finger inside me, then another, fitting each one in slowly until his whole hand is dripping.
‘Your poor pussy was lonely without attention, wasn’t it?’

I shove my hips forward, taking his hand in up to the thumb joint, the sound of me pushing against him turning me on more because I know I’m going to come soon and I might never stop. “That’s it baby, you can come for me, come for daddy.”

My dad is a respectable business owner in rural southern England, thank you actually, and I am not so pleased to have parallels drawn at just this moment. But he has me howling and writhing and the sheets are soaked and we’ve only been in the room for twenty minutes. He leans over me and puts his fingers in my mouth. I suck and bite them, tasting myself hot and salty.

He empties the bag of toys onto the bed and picks up the chain. He runs the cold thick links over my tummy, tits, neck, over and around my thigh, then up against me where I’m still burning.
‘You gunna turn around for me?’ he says.

I’m not much of a talker in moments like these, my brain compacts down to lizard mode. Language moves over for pleasurepain, makes room for hands mouths cocks clips ties cables and whatever else my dear friend can dream up for us. So my reply is to obey his direction, planting my knees square at the edge of the bed.

The click of the catch and I’m collared just how we like it. He’s pulling the chain underneath me, pulling my head down, pressing it tight down my body and hard on my pussy, pulling my ass up to his mouth. His stubble tickles me and he’s right in there; I know he’s getting off on hearing me squeal, watching me squirm. He replaces tongue with thumb, muttering encouragement and enthusiasm into my slowly opening hole, his words dripping like oil all over my body heels to head, lubing me up.

‘You’re such a good girl, such a good little slut, look how wet you are for me.’

That chain was what started this whole thing, browsing the classics section in a bookshop on Sukhumvit Road back in Bangkok, the shine catching my eye at his hip. Fumbling for a line, I said “Is that for your wallet?”

He turned his to face me completely, a fresh tobacco smell rising from him. “I don’t carry a wallet.”
There was a silence as I tried to think up something else to say and he looked me over, watching me fidget.

‘So what do you use that chain for then?’

‘I’ve lost a dog, I’m looking for a new one,’ he said, steadily meeting my eye. The fucking nerve! What an arrogant degrading shit talking asshole. I left the shop in disgust.

I walked down the street a ways, furiously analysing the encounter. But something stuck in my side like a stitch from running. I came back. He was still there, paying for a sealed copy of Tropic of Cancer. I walked up behind him just as he turned to leave and he crashed into me with his whole body, making me stumble back. He caught me by the shoulder and we stood there frozen, his fingers digging into me.
In this city a guesthouse with a decent bathroom is only $15 for an afternoon.

Tonight, two months or two centuries later, he moves the chain over my back, tugging it like a leash. He pushes his cock inside my ass and I draw a sharp breath over the rushing noise of the sea outside the hut, a prickling shiver running up my spine exploding in my skull. Alarms are screaming in me, get it out, whatever it is get it out, but I know that if I just take it and wait it will probably be really, really good. So we stay there for a while, my body getting used to accommodating his.

As we start to move he tightens his hold on the chain and the restriction of air makes my vision pop like champagne, sparkling and fizzing black and silver. His hands move to my hips and he’s pushing harder and I don’t have physical dimensions anymore, just a bundle of nerves made for fucking. The only thing that keeps me in the room is the animal heat sounds squeezing out of my throat and bouncing off the walls.

‘Turn around.’

The order snaps me back to attention. He pulls out slowly and groans low as I contract around the tip of his cock. I turn around clumsily to face him again, my limbs heavy with dopamine. We grin at each other glassy eyed for a second and he undoes the clasp around my neck then pushes my bum up so I’m face to face with my own swollen cunt.

Hello pussy, how are you?

Pussy takes a drag of a Vogue Slim cigarette and breathes, ooh, I’m just perfect, thank you sweetheart.

Anything I can get for you?

She blushes pink and twirls a ginger curl. Well, I wouldn’t say no to a whiskey sour on the rocks, thanks honey.

He’s saying something faraway, like a radio between stations. He’s drained out a bottle of coconut oil onto what’s between my legs and is working on finding the best angle back into my asshole. “Put your hand in your pussy. I want you to feel what I’m doing inside you.” I curl a couple fingers in, feeling the head of his cock slide down behind the thick wall of flesh, and give him a little hand job with two fingers.

‘God it’s just so romantic.’

His eyes flutter and he wets his lips, pouting like a girl. I’m getting screwed slowly by a girl with a perfectly proportioned strap-on. She’s taking her time to push deep into me, giving me the warm fuzzies. I’m swallowed by the sensation of losing physicality again.

There’s a knock at the paper door. ‘Hello?’ The shrill nasal voice of the guesthouse owner pierces and deflates the trip.

‘What, what the fuck do you want?’ he shouts back at the door.

‘Your change for you, sir, for the room.’

‘Fuck Christ, I’ll get it in the morning.’

‘You geddit in the morning?’

‘Yes, morning, change, thank you. Can you go away please, thank you?’

‘Okay, okay, sorry sorry.’

The sound of slippers shuffling off the porch.

‘Seriously, is it worth that much to interrupt us for 40 baht?’

‘He wanted to give you your change,’ I laugh.

‘Ok, but what the hell did he think we were doing in here, arranging flowers?’

‘Discussing politics.’

‘Yeah, discussing the politics of your fine fuckable body. C’mere.’

I shift myself back to the edge and he goes in and he’s slamming me back across the bed, rucking up the gritty sheet. He pulls me back to the edge by my legs and puts my feet up on his chest so my toes work his nipples, the slack skin pushing up in woodgrain lines.

‘You can go harder if you want.’ I manage to say as he pushes the breath out of me.

‘Are you going to come inside me? You can do it, I know you can.’

He picks up the chain, slick from oil and cum, and fastens it around my waist, yanking it in rhythm.

‘Ooh fuck it feels so fucking good, fuck,’ I say, delirious from the ride, from all of it, because this is what I’d talked about when he’d asked what I wanted. This is what I’d laid out in hair-splitting detail as we walked away from the bookshop before he’d slapped my ass purple and red.

Somewhere in the beginning blues of morning, we sit propped against the wall, sharing a smoke. The floor is littered with lengths of rope and cord, used cable ties snipped to free up raw wrists, and toys every colour of the rainbow.

‘It’s going to be hard, finding someone else with enough conviction to get me like this.’

‘Get you like…’ I pass the ashtray.

‘Get me all dressed up, talk nice to me, take all of me for what it is, my psychology, my humanity, my biology.’

‘You get me too, darling, the way you just take it and take it, laughing and easy. Yes, this is a rare thing; this doesn’t just happen all the time.’

Once he’s asleep I walk out into the warm sea and lie in the surf, my body rolling with the push and pull.

And now, splashing through the rain in a bumpy mini bus somewhere between the Big Dirty Dirty and our slice of paradise, we try to get a little sleep. The chain sits snug above my hips, barely showing through the thin fabric of my dress. You wouldn’t notice it at all unless you were looking for it.

© Izzy Squid 2012

Image: Susie Showers

Image: Susie Showers

Izzy Squid has just moved to Melbourne after living in Thailand for a spell. The story Click of the Catch is her first dip into the filmy pond of erotic fiction, but she has a fair amount of experience getting girls and boys wet between the ears. She will do pretty much whatever you ask for, if you say it right.

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