There were no stars in the sky; the clouds had smothered the moon, and he could feel the weight of the sky itself pressing down on them as Wit and Paul made their way down Patpong 2 headed for Paul’s hotel. Wit’s nipples were raw and every brush of his shirt’s fabric against them caused a frisson of excitement at the thought of why, of what he’d just experienced, spiced by a degree of apprehension, even a modicum of fear. It didn’t help that he was still harder than Woody Allen at a Chinese orphanage.

He looked over at the man walking at his side, trying to make sense out of what he’d known and what he now knew of his companion. Paul was gentle. Educated. And a bit shy. Yet an hour earlier, when he fastened his ‘gift’ around Wit’s neck, his expression had immediately changed; what little benignity he had about him seemed to vanish into the murky darkness of the bar. When they hit Silom and its vendor stalls crowding the sidewalks, Wit was still preoccupied with his thoughts, he couldn’t even spare a passing glance for the heaps of merchandise on display. Although a fleeting thought briefly interrupted his contemplation, that it would be nice if Paul bought him a new T-shirt to replace the one he’d bought for Wit earlier that evening. The one he ripped from Wit’s chest back in the bar.

Their night had begun well enough, even if Paul had been anxious about getting them to his favorite place in Bangkok, a small club in a black building with the incongruous name of Bar Bar. Wit had been warmed by Paul’s familiarity with the club’s staff, a bit apprehensive of the noises floating through the main bar area from unseen rooms tucked further back in the club, and then a little of both when Paul told him he had a gift for him.

The last gift Paul had given him, a spiked, leather cock ring – for Paul to wear – had not been what Wit had expected. Or hoped for. Considering the setting, this time around his vision of a chunky gold baht chain had dissipated almost as quickly as it had appeared. And Paul had not disappointed. It seemed his idea of a gift always meant leather and spikes. As many different smiles as Wit had mastered over his lifetime, he’d had a difficult time coming up with an appropriate one when Paul fastened what looked like a dog collar around his neck. And when he’d snapped a small silver chain onto it, and then leash in hand pulled Wit further into the dark room they’d just entered, Wit was glad Paul’s back was to him and that he couldn’t see Wit’s face. When Wit got a good look at the room, his attempts at coming up with the right smile immediately came to an abrupt stop.

The massive display of candles would have been a nice, romantic touch if not for their illuminating a wide selection of medieval torture devices. All of which Wit would have written off as just odd decor if not for the leather-clad, whip wielding Thai woman whose attention was focused on the exposed, and alarmingly red buttocks of a middle-aged farang splayed out over one of two room’s spanking benches. That was when Paul had ripped the front of Wit’s new T-shirt open. And when, with a devilish smirk on his face, he’d grabbed a candle out of the rack to drip hot wax on Wit’s chest. Wit had almost been too surprised to remember to act as if that was a new experience for him. Even if usually he was buck-ass naked and on stage when hot, melting wax flowed freely over his chest. He’d flinched, convincingly enough to widen the smile on Paul’s face.

The second area Paul led him into was more secluded and better lit. And Wit, although he’d soon been proved wrong, assumed this was the draw that made Bar Bar Paul’s playground of choice in Bangkok. It looked like a doctor’s office. Complete with an examining table. And Paul was, after all, a doctor back in his home country. An attached tile-lined shower stall, large enough to be considered a room itself, caught Wit’s attention. Wit’s exposed, and now rigid nipples caught Paul’s. And when his gentle caresses quickly turned into the sharp bite of too many teeth, Wit hoped the examination room decor included a stock of bandages. But instead of some comforting first-aid, Paul tore the rest of Wit’s shirt off, leaving him naked from the waist up.

Wit barely had time to register that they’d moved into a new room before Paul grasped him by the nape of his neck and buried his tongue deep in Wit’s mouth. With a yank of the leash’s chain around his neck, Paul directed him to his knees. Wit caught a reflection of himself as he sank to the floor. The room’s walls were mirrored. And he looked pretty damn hot. Paul evidently thought so too. When he crammed Wit’s face into his crotch, Wit could feel Paul’s hard cock throbbing within the fabric. Not sure if he should, he reached up to free it from the confines of Paul’s jeans. Paul slapped his hand away, and said with a groan, “I haven’t given you permission yet.”

Wit looked up, hoping to catch some glimmer of direction in Paul’s face. There were several people staring down at him. The room’s ceiling was glass. And he and Paul were attracting quite a crowd. An even more appreciative crowd when Paul yanked him back to his feet and then just as quickly yanked his pants down to his knees exposing Wit’s throbbing cock to the spectators above. A hard slap to his ass brought Wit’s attention back to his partner. Another brought Wit back to his knees. And this time when he turned back to face Paul he got the permission he’d wanted. “Suck it,” Paul commanded as he freed his erect cock from his pants.

Wit felt a stranger’s hand on the back of his head. He turned and caught a quick glimpse of a bar girl wearing a dominatrix costume before she shoved his face back down on Paul’s erect member. And then felt the sting of her paddle on his ass. He moaned, partially in pleasure, partially in pain. Which only served to excite Paul further as he crammed his stiff cock deep into Wit’s throat, vigorously pumping again and again until with a low moan of pleasure himself he shot his full load into Wit’s mouth. A small dribble seeped from between Wit’s lips to pool amongst the hardened wax on his chest. Wit’s hand reached down to his engorged dick and he began furiously pumping, seeking release. But Paul dragged him back to his feet with the stern command, “Not yet. I haven’t said you could cum yet.” The dominatrix punctuated Paul’s words with another painful whack to Wit’s ass. He thought maybe this was when he was supposed to use his safe word, that invoking it would allow him the release his cock so desperately craved. But one look into Paul’s eyes told him that was not to be.

With Wit’s private parts still exposed to anyone who cared to look, Paul led him up a short flight of stairs to a small, private room. The dominatrix followed. Chains hung from its walls. A low, wooden bench filled the expanse along one side of the room. A strange, scary wooden contraption that Wit didn’t want to guess as to its purpose dominated another. Paul shoved him down, face first, onto a small cushioned platform. And then, having yanked his own pants down to his knees, without warning immediately entered him. Wit whimpered in pain at the sudden attack, and then moaned in pleasure as Paul’s pre-cum provided lubrication for his powerful thrusts. Looking into the mirrored wall in front of him, Wit watched the dominatrix finish belting on a strap-on, and then felt Paul’s response as she moved in behind him. Paul’s movements picked up speed, the two’s combined efforts pushed Wit over the top, and the low guttural cries escaping from Paul’s lips culminated in Wit’s gushing orgasm. Paul’s second orgasm of the night quickly followed as the dominatrix forcefully entered him for the final time.

The two men flopped down next to each other on the cushioned platform, exhausted, trying to catch their breath as the bar girl quietly left the room. Wit hoped they’d be allowed to use that shower room he’d seen downstairs. The tattered remnants of his T-shirt wouldn’t be enough to clean up either one of them. When Paul’s chest finally stopped its heaving, he turned to Wit and once again spoke those words that Wit now dreaded hearing, “I have a gift for you.”

The small box he handed to Wit held a beautifully crafted silver dragon. It was strangely shaped, elongated, holding a small, white, chatoyant ball in its claws. Wit smiled, not sure of the meaning of its odd construction, but thinking that maybe he was finally getting a present from Paul that was an actual gift. But when Paul’s cock, amazingly, began stiffening again, the intention behind the gift became clear. Wit quickly paced the cover back on the box. And told Paul they both needed a shower.

Downstairs as they prepared to leave Wit watched Paul pass a handful of baht to the bar girl who’d spent time with them. It looked like a lot. A lot more than Wit ever got tipped working as a bar boy. He wasn’t sure if it would be rude to ask how much, but then decided considering what he’d just gone through and the vivid red splotches still apparent on his ass cheeks when he’d showered, he didn’t have much to lose. Paul didn’t seem to mind the question. “We should have bought her a drink first,” Paul explained. “That’s 300 baht.”

“It’s 3,000 baht more for 90 minutes of a bar employee’s time,” he went on to explain, adding, “But if you want to take one back to your hotel that runs 4,000 baht.” Wit kept mum. He didn’t want Paul to think he was the least bit interested in offing anyone. Besides, he was trying to come to terms with the idea of a 4,000 baht bar fine. “And then there’s the tip,” Paul said. “That’s up to you, but I usually give 4 to 5,000 baht. Tonight I made it an even 10,000 since there were two of us.”

Paul misconstrued the look of pain on Wit’s face. And the old, gentle, shy, and caring Paul was back. “It doesn’t bother you that we just paid for sex, does it?” he asked. Wit answered with a quick shake of his head, not really listening to Paul’s words. He was trying to calculate what the monthly take for an employee at Bar Bar was. And wondering if they hired men too. He was still in a bit of shock as they made their way out the door. He still hurt a bit too. And was worried about his stiffening member as images of the last hour played through his head.

When they got to the hotel, Paul was his normal gregarious and gracious self, greeting the staff and asking them how they were doing. In the elevator he embraced Wit in a warm hug. The Paul that had been in his element back at the club was no longer evident. Wit wasn’t sure which of the two versions of his friend and lover he preferred more. The combination of the two, he thought, might be the biggest attraction. But when the pair entered Paul’s room, Wit knew what to do if he wanted their relationship to continue and grow. And he did. Regardless of Paul’s strange taste in gifts. So as the door swung close behind them with a gentle click, Wit sank to his knees in front of Paul again. And the look Paul beamed down at him, he was sure, was one of love.

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