This is a work of fiction, but some inspiration is drawn from people and places from my own life experiences.
Friday, 8 May 2009
10:47pm
Serviced apartment in the Mid-Levels, Hong Kong
The smooth, slick walls of a tight vagina gripped me as I unloaded yet another round of cum. I heard a sharp intake of breath as the woman beneath me reached her climax, albeit an unwilling one.
We were locked in an intimate embrace, yet did not face each other as we caught our breaths. I withdrew from her sex without ceremony, and knelt in between her legs. I bent down to admire my handiwork, using my fingers to spread her cunt lips wide to release the stream of spunk from her well-fucked hole.
I inserted my still-hard prick back into the married woman’s cunt, coating my meat with as much of our combined juices as possible.
Me: “Clean me up with your mouth before you go back down to your husband.”
Adeline, or “Ah-dee-leen” as she always bloody mispronounces her own damn name, made a face as she bent down to engulf my sex juice-coated rod in her mouth.
I tossed her sheer blouse and short skirt at her as she got unsteadily off the bed, the 2-hour long fuck session having given her sore hips.
Me: “You can go now. Manticore Ventures will bail your company out. For now. Go.”
Tears - of relief? of shame? - rolled down her high cheekbones as she tucked her blouse into her skirt.
Me: “I suppose that’s good news for your husband… Since he’s the one who brought you here to seal the deal.”
Adeline’s pretty face crumpled into a sob, but only for a moment. She took a deep breath and composed herself, staring daggers at me before making her way out of the apartment and slamming the door behind her. That perky ass, those long legs… God, her husband was one desperate fucker to whore her out like that.
But something about that whole scenario: about having someone beautiful and yielding her body to another person, excited me so much.
My Nokia buzzed as soon as I got out of the shower. Darren. Dude. My buddy. The reason why I got to where I was.
Me: “Dude. Whatssup?”
Darren: “So. How’d it go with ‘Ah-dee-leen’ and Ah Shing?”
Me: “Their company has potential. Actually, their design team. Fuck it. Only the 2IC of the design team. That guy’s got potential. But Adeline and Ah Shing’s arm-twisted him into signing a really fucked-up employment contract that prevents him from jumping ship to another firm in the same industry. They get to sue his pants off.”
Darren: “So like we planned: we ‘rescue’ their little outfit, cut some dead weight staff, tweak the hiring terms and then transfer the more capable design staff to our other HK ventures.”
Me: “… And then close Adeline and Ah Shing down for good. Bloody fucked-up couple. Owe their staff a few months of salary and then threaten to fire them without paying their wages.”
Darren: “Global economy went tits-up last year, remember?”
Me: “No excuse to makes slaves out of your employees.”
Darren: “Well, at least we offer fairer employment terms. To the ones we decide to keep anyway. We’re no charity. And we’re no angels either. Because…”
Me and Darren: “… Money is amoral.”
Darren: “Well, good. Thanks for the update. Hope you got a good fuck out of Adeline.”
Me: “Yeah, she was OK. Later, dude.”
Darren: “Later, dude.”
<To be continued…>
<Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Companies and entities mentioned herein are entirely fictitious. Some inspiration is drawn from people and places from my own life experiences.>
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
9:15am
Tsuen Wan Industrial Estate, HK
Change was in the air for Tak Shing Manufactory (HK) Pte Ltd. Since my first visit to Ah Shing and Adeline’s company a few weeks back with Darren, staff from all levels were wondering why there were two Singaporean guys (“bor chai” as they called us in Cantonese) sniffing around, looking through their books and taking note of company intellectual property and inventory.
I had made myself comfortable in the large office that Adeline and Ah Shing shared. Partitioned off from the rest of their poor cubicle slaves, their office was plush and spacious, decorated with souvenirs from their frequent overseas trips. They had no issues going off on holidays abroad while the company they inherited from Ah Shing’s father was facing trouble.
A shrill electronic chime rang as Adeline strode in. She was eminently fuckable, dressed in a sleeveless satin maroon blouse that bounced with each jiggle of her B-cup breasts, and a short beige flare skirt that danced seductively around her thighs. A touch of light makeup was more than enough for her angelic face. Too bad the person inside was ugly.
Adeline dumped her wet umbrella on the desk of the clerk nearest the front door.
“Go get my usual milk tea and pork chop bun,” she commanded in Cantonese, without even bothering to glance at the poor clerk whose paperwork was sodden because of the umbrella.
Adeline was one fucked-up piece of work. She needed to be taught another lesson…
I’m not kidding when I said that Darren got me to where I was.
Thursday, 19 July 1990
Geylang Serai Secondary School
Secondary 1E
Darren: “Eh, you know how to set up modem and dial up to BBS, right?”
I was taken aback. Darren, one of the class sportsmen, was talking to me.
Me.
A poor, short, fat, ugly, socially awkward boy who spends his time downloading porn GIFs and masturbating furiously in my bedroom after school when no one was at home.
Before I could say anything, else, Darren said:
“I bought a modem card but dunno how to install. People say can dial up to BBS and find, you know… Those kind of pictures. Today after school on, ah.”
So that’s how our enduring friendship started. Two horny boys on the quest for dirty pictures. Mind you, back then, one single picture could take minutes to download over a 28.8k modem connection. Ouch.
Darren’s family was well-off, his father having inherited the wealth from his own father. Darren was the typical rich kid that everyone loves to hate: good-looking and popular with the girls, does OK in school, and good at sports. Thing about Darren is that his outlook on life is extraordinary… normal. No airs like you’d expect to see from spoilt rich brats. He cleans up after himself, says “please” and “thank you” to everyone and is generally an all-round OK person.
We hung out together, reading Dragonlance novels and playing RPG games. Our favourite mythological creature was the Manticore. Go Google it. Majestic and noble, but one mean bastard when provoked.
When one day I asked Darren how it feels like to be a rich kid, he quoted his father’s favourite phrase: “Money is amoral. It’s what you do with it that determines the impact.” Spoken like Bruce-fucking Wayne.
The years passed. Darren got into a mid-tier JC and lost his virginity one evening during orientation camp. I fucked my ‘O’ Levels up and had to go to a private school.
Despite being busy with school and girls, Darren still hung out with me. Occasionally he’d bring along whichever girl he was with, and through the interactions with Darren’s girl friends, I started to lose my shyness with ladies.
The year was 1996. My first relationship had broken up. My ex had said that she wanted to be with someone better looking.
That fucking hurt. She could have just said shit like she wanted to concentrate on her studies, that we’re not compatible, or what the fuck ever.
A better looking guy. Holy fuck.
Darren: “Well, at least you both now know what you want.”
Me: “What kind of shit consolation is that?”
Darren: “Don’t be so
kuniang
about it lah. Now you know she’s a superficial girl. And you certainly don’t want a person like her in your life.”
I grunted an acknowledgement.
Darren: “And maybe… Just maybe… You wanna think about whether there’s some truth in what she said? Like, do you take care of your looks and all?”
Darren’s stream of Hokkien swearing could be heard from many HDB blocks away after I gave him a vicious flick in the balls.
What are best buddies for, right?
Sunday, 19 December 2004
3:12pm
Arcade at Basement 1, Bugis Junction
Me: “… So in short, my company’s management are a bunch of stuffed cunts. The KPIs that have been identified and the associated stretch targets are not sustainable in the medium term. What makes it worse is that the President is very sales team centric - nothing wrong per se - but he doesn’t give a shit about the guys that actually create the products: the editorial staff. Now how the hell do we meet the deadlines that the fucking sales team set for us, when we have to go out on sales pitches with those useless arseholes? Shouldn’t the sales team read up and introduce the products to prospects, and take tougher questions back to us to answer? Who the fuck covers us when we’re out there? We don’t even get any commission when a deal is closed!!”
And to emphasise my frustration, I clocked in a headshot on a zombie in the latest version of The House of the Dead.
Darren was silent. Then he spoke: “You have quite a good grasp of processes…”
Me: “Well, I bloody edit trade publications and business manuals for a living. I learn along the way.”
Darren was silent, then said, “Look, you want to come work for my Dad or not?”
Me: “Chee bye lah, like that means I sell my backside to you, issit?”
Darren: “Eh, don’t have to answer right away lah. We could use someone who can see interconnected processes and potential pitfalls. We can train you.”
I laughed. “Train me to bark woof woof and spread my butt cheeks?”
Darren smiled: “Something like that.”
A well-placed headshot for Darren.
I said yes eventually.
Darren needed a friend after losing his Dad during the Indian ocean tsunami one week later. He was only 54.
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
9:16am
Tsuen Wan Industrial Estate, HK
I watched as the poor clerk lifted the dripping wet umbrella off the stack of invoices, at loss of what to do to rescue the documents.
Adeline: “Hurry up!”
She stomped her foot in emphasis, this very action causing a huge bulge in my pants as her breasts shook tantalisingly in her sleeveless blouse. Talk about a serious case of “公主病” (princess syndrome). Seriously? How old already?
She turned towards her office, and stopped dead in her tracks for a moment as she locked eyes with me. I stood in the doorway as she composed herself and walked over. No doubt she could feel the eyes of her employees on her as she sought to enter what was her husband’s and her domain.
Proud stuck-up little bitch that she was, she pushed her way past me. I took a deep breath to inhale the smell of her hair and body scent. I noticed that she wore slippers into office, possibly because of the rain. She said nothing, and walked over to her leather bound desk. I watched as she flicked the slippers off her sexy feet.
Adeline knew I was watching her, and tried to bend down as modestly as she could to retrieve a pair of heels from under her desk. She was facing away from me. Silly girl pressed a hand down on the front of her short flared skirt, but was oblivious to the fact that bending down made the back of her skirt rise up quite immodestly to reveal the curve of her bum. I caught sight of a purple g-string covering her pussy. I so wanted to grab her ass and slip my fingers between the fabric and into her cunt.
The electronic chime sounded again, and we both turned to see Ah Shing sauntering into the office like a movie star.
Me: “Ah Shing, Adeline…” I began, emphasising the correct pronunciation of her English name, “Let’s run through the takeover details quickly and get this settled fast.”
I ran through the key points of the acquisition terms: the fact that Manticore Ventures would assume all outstanding liabilities of the company and pay off its creditors. In return, Manticore will own 75% of Tak Shing, the minority stake being shared between the husband and wife. Tak Shing will grant Manticore 90% of proceeds from all royalties earned. A team from Manticore will be assigned to see how it can turn Tak Shing around and return to profitability. All Tak Shing staff will be employees of Manticore. Including Adeline and Ah Shing.
Anyone with half a brain will protest against these fucking unfavourable takeover terms. But the end goal was getting the design team 2IC over to the Manticore Electronics Division. We were trying to get our feet wet into the smartphone boom. A prototype Darren and I saw at a design expo in Zhuhai earlier on in the year caught our eye. The designer had entered his smartphone design independently, generated some interest, but others balked at the high cost of bringing a forward vision to reality.
We sent photos of the prototype to Manticore Electronics, they were keen. And that led us to where I was now. Talking business to a man who had prostituted his lovely wife to me in the previous week. Not so much to save the company his father started, but really to maintain the lifestyle he was used to. I wondered how much of my cum had leaked out of Adeline and onto the seat of Ah Shing’s Audi TT Roadster after he picked her up from my place a few evenings ago.
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
12:05pm
Tsuen Wan Industrial Estate, HK
I have been called a fucker many times. And I have been called worse names even more than that. The truth behind that meeting would earn me more name-calling.
I’ve said that the takeover terms were fucking unfavourable. But I made it worse. The original terms of the proposal only called for a 60% stake in Tak Shing and a 70% cut of royalties. I said 75% stake in Tak Shing and a 90% cut of the royalties because, well, I’m a fucker. And that stupid couple needed to be taught a lesson and weren’t fit to run a business. Any they didn’t treat their staff fairly. This last point pissed me off big time.
In all, Manticore’s injection of cash and assumption of Tak Shing’s liabilities came up to a few million. As a contract electronics manufacturer with some design patents, some regular clients and links to mid-tier factories in mainland China, Tak Shing could still be saved. If we wanted to, and with the current dumb-ass owners out of the way. Still the end-game was to poach the design team 2IC. Quite a gamble for just one person.
Ah Shing was happy like anything. As far as he was concerned, his company was saved, he got a lump sum out of the buyout and will be guaranteed a stable income as a senior management grade employee of a Manticore Group company. His speech and gestures were animated and over-the-top as he couldn’t contain his excitement.
Adeline was subdued throughout the entire meeting. I suppose she knew that with the acquisition, she and her husband were now at our mercy. She could only squeeze out pained smiles at her husband’s inane jokes.
I, for one, had been wanting to squeeze her lovely boobs while talking business.
Ah Shing (in Cantonese): “Boss, let’s celebrate! How about we go to Tsui Wah for dim sum? My treat!”
Me (in Cantonese): “From Tsuen Wan to Central is quite far by MTR or even by car. I know that there’s a good roast meat restaurant within the Tuen Wan town centre. Why don’t you help us buy back a few lunchboxes?”
Ah Shing (in Cantonese): “Celebrate such a major deal with lunchboxes? Not fitting for the occasion, right?”
Me (in Cantonese): “I’ll have char siew and roast pork. Adeline can show me the HR files to facilitate transfer of employment to Manticore.”
Ah Shing (in Cantonese): “I can get my staff to help us buy the -”
Me (in Cantonese): “You can take your time,” I interrupted. “Adeline can show me the HR files,” I repeated. My tone of voice was final.
Ah Shing knew what I was after. Adeline look between us uncertainly, worry in her eyes.
The staff had gone off for lunch, and with Ah Shing out, Adeline would be alone in the office with me.
Ah Shing swallowed hard, and then took his car keys and left.
The office was dead silent for a brief moment after the electronic chime signalled Ah Shing’s exit.
Me (in Cantonese): “Could you please refill my tea, please Adeline.”
Adeline hesitated, but got off her seat. Her graceful movement of rising up and tilting her body forward caused the thin material of her blouse to stretch against her bosom. My eyes darted to her chest. I could see no visible bra lines that come with embroidered material. Was she wearing a seamless t-shirt bra? Or one of those full lace ones that are almost see-through?
I watched the sway of her hips as she walked to the end-table, retrieved a teapot and topped up my cup. My eyes took in the swell of her hips from her narrow waist, the curve of the top of her bum… and those long creamy legs begging to be parted… to reveal her tight pussy.
I had to have her.
As soon as she set the teapot down, I grabbed her by her arms and pulled her down onto my lap.
Adeline (in Cantonese): “Stop it!”
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Ntspannar
Constructive feedback if u can accept it…
Is there a need to add a fuck or fucking every few words or lines? Only Samuel L Jackson can pull it off without looking like a wannabe. There’s no need to sound American to be cool…
Comment is duly noted.
But do consider this: the persona narrating the story has issues. He has a pretty big chip on his shoulder about the unfairness of life and finding meaning in it. This is not apparent yet, but will eventually make itself known as the story - or stories - progress. Sounding American is something that didn’t cross my mind as I wrote.
By the same token, should the narrative then have less/no Hokkien vulgarities, lest the characters come across as wannabe Geylang ruffians?
Yes, only Samuel L Jackson can weave f-bombs beautifully in his lines. You should search for his readings of a children’s storybook parody titled “Go the F- to Sleep”. Hilarious.
Hi all, a quick background filler update…
Saturday, 19 August 2006
8:05pm
Clarke Quay
A chorus of exclamations came from my old classmates from Geylang Serai Secondary School: “Wah, what the heck happened to you? Can’t recognise you, man. Who’s your plastic surgeon? etc.”
It’s been slightly over 10 years since I met my old classmates. Been that amount of time since Sec 4. They wouldn’t have seen me go through a spurt in height, a reduction in weight and a clearing of my bad complexion. NS helped me put on some muscle, but not a lot. I did take Darren’s advice to take care of my appearance a bit after my first break up. With that came new-found confidence. And with confidence came a decent amount of attention from the fairer sex.
“You and Darren now gay partners or what?” And that sparked a roar of laughter from the gents and ladies of my Sec 4 class reunion.
Darren was back to his old self. He loved his father and his sudden death in December the year before was a shock to his system. But it’s been eight months. He took over the reins of his Dad’s company, and was making aggressive inroads into sectors that his father would not have ventured into.
I was under the employment of Manticore Ventures, basically a company spun-off from Darren’s parent company, but financially backed. Together with Nuruddin, Darren’s MBA classmate from studying in the US, we wanted to be profitable. Fast.
Asshole that I am, I suggested being what others label a “patent troll”. In a nutshell, we buy over companies in trouble, but those who have a portfolio of notable intellectual property (IP). Once we own these IPs, we send letters of demand to other companies who could be infringing on these IPs, or using derivatives of our newly-acquired IPs in their products. The message is this: pay us royalties, or we sue. Settle, and everything’s hunky-dory.
I’m not proud of it, but Manticore’s starting strategy for the first year or two was basically to be a corporate bully.
But right here, right now (as of FY2016), numerous charities are supported through the Manticore Foundation. Does it matter where the money originally came from, now that it’s buying books for kids, paying for nursing homes and driving pharmaceutical research? Money is amoral, right?
A pair of bright eyes caught my attention as I settled down at the long table. She was facing Darren and I as we poured ourselves mugs of beer. Kailing, considered one of the flowers of the class. She still deserved that honour. Back then she was teased as being a suitable match for Darren. But now her eyes were fixed on me.
“Dude, my face got pimple or not?” I whispered to Darren.
“Why? What’s up”
“Um, I think Kailing looking at me in a funny way.”
Darren looked at me like I was an idiot. “She’s interested lah, idiot. Go for it!”
A gentle reminder, ladies and gents, that this is largely a work of fiction.
The main character may be an asshole, but doesn’t mean that the author of the story is one…