Best of Asian Erotica, Volume 1

“Yes, Doctor, yes-s-s?”

“Well, let’s explore the territory in question.”

As Narain said this, two skilled fingers were already slipping inside Michelle, testing pleasure spots Michelle herself had somehow always neglected until Narain had taught her a month and a half ago. The very willing patient rose slightly and began swivelling on these two fingers as Narain, now repositioned, eased the same two fingers from the other hand in and began rotating vigorously in close rhythm to Michelle’s gyrations.

Her eyes shut tightly, fingers squeezed into Narain’s shoulders, Michelle thrust herself on and around the fingers until, within maybe twenty seconds, she came. Then, clutching the doctor’s wrists, she pushed down, intensifying the pleasure as she swelled into a second orgasm. Oh God, I always come with Dr Narain, she thought-even those crazy times in the office, where it was so cold and rushed, with a pack of other patients waiting impatiently outside.

Always came. She told herself it was simply because Narain was a doctor, a surgeon trained in handling those most intricate-and intimate-

parts of the body that she could… She didn’t dare to try on any other explanation for Narain’s unfailing success at bringing her to orgasm. After another few moments, Michelle opened her eyes and peered with a swirl of love-lust at this highly skilled healer.

“And your husband wants this lovely passage tightened?” The doctor’s brow furrowed in mock bewilderment. “I don’t know. It certainly works for me.” The fingers started churning around again energetically. “And most important, Michelle darling, it clearly works for you. Oh yes: definitely.” The fingers still there inside the patient, Narain bent over to kiss Michelle gently on the lips. As their lips brushed against each other, Michelle grabbed the back of the doctor’s head, pulled it in closer and turned that gentle kiss into a long, urgent, passionate embrace.

At the end of the kiss, Narain rose off Michelle slightly, pulling the fingers back until just the tips were still inside. As those tips started rotating gently, Michelle was filled with a fierce urge to give the doctor as much pleasure as she had just taken, more if possible… yes, more and more-for both of them. More.

In high arousal, she pulled herself up slightly and reached out-reached out to take Dr Narain’s breasts, pulling at those gorgeous tits, much larger than her own, then rose and, while still massaging the breasts, started sucking desperately at one dark nipple, then the other. As she sucked, she also moved her left hand to the doctor’s own vagina and started stroking along the moist slit, caressing its cushion of tightly whorled hair.

As Michelle pulled back to see the mounting rapture on her physician’s face, she managed to push this larger woman down on her back and whispered,

“So, Dr Narain, do you like the taste of your own medicine?” The doctor put her hand over Michelle’s and started pressing hard against it. “Oh yes, yes indeed. I think I’d even enjoy a little overdose, if you don’t mind.”

By now, Michelle had slipped her own fingers into Narain. She bowed lower and before starting to trace her tongue along the sweet curve of the doctor’s lovely left breast, she replied, “Well, we’ll give it all we can. But you’ll have to tell me if I’m doing everything right. After all, you’re the doctor, Dr Narain.”

“Please,” she murmured, “call me Vivien.”

Michelle looked up from the robust mound of the doctor’s breasts.

“Alright then… Vivien. You know, Vivien, I’m beginning to see just what you mean about the fun of taking body drafts.”

EDUARDO’S HONEYMOON Annabel Pagunsan, Philippines

Eduardo Cendrars Queral paid little attention to the usual landing announcements made by the flight crew as the Cebu Pacific Air jet began its descent over Mactan Island, its colourful yellow-and-orange livery flashing brightly in the tropical sunshine.

The Spaniard was more interested in watching Mi-chan’s reactions to the sea of green that was becoming visible as the plane began to descend below the clouds. Her hand was resting on his thigh, hidden by the salmon- pink newsprint of the financial paper which he had lowered rather quickly over his lap when, at 25,000 feet, she had begun to worry and tease the head of his batuta with her elegant fingers.

His feet in their dark socks were still locked discreetly around one of her ankles; a delicate bare sole was pressed against his instep, exciting him even more than her pretty toes, which were curling softly as she caressed his foot lazily with them.

They were not the only couple on the flight in that kind of mood. After all, Cebu was a popular honeymoon destination, and the flight from Singapore was carrying the usual numbers of foreign newlyweds in every row.

However, Eduardo’s honeymoon in Cebu was not going to be a typical tourist’s luna de miel, either. For the first time in his life, he was bringing a wife to meet the Filipino side of the family. He was well into his forties, lean, and worldly; Mi-chan was only 23, and even more worldly than he was.

He was proud of her, and not only on account of her exotic Eurasian features and her pornographic curves; she had been educated well by the cousin who had raised her after she was orphaned. However, he had been thinking of the Filipino saying may tainga ang lupa, may pakpak ang balita even before they boarded the aircraft. ‘The earth itself has ears, and gossip has wings.’

For his bride was gloriously and healthily pregnant, already in her second trimester, and the first time the family had ever heard of her was approximately three weeks previously, when he had telephoned his grandfather in Cebu to inform him that he was about to enter into a civil marriage with a young Frenchwoman who lived in Singapore.

Acting on a gut feeling, Eduardo had taken a deep breath and mentioned to his lolo that Mi-chan was very young, and was rather obviously embarazada; at least four months along, to be precise.

The grandfather they were going to visit in Cebu was a tisoy, the local term for a mestizo of European descent. Although the Filipino side of the family did not import their brides from Spain by design, a family tradition of sending the sons to the Old World for their education had meant that most of the men-including Eduardo’s father and even the grandfather in Cebu-had chosen their wives from good Castilian, Basque or Catalan families in Spain.

Eduardo was a Spanish Filipino whose eyes were such a deep shade of blue that they looked almost violet; his looks were utterly Castilian. Although he still thought and dreamed in Spanish, and did most of his business in English or Japanese, his fluency in Cebuano and Ilonggo was well appreciated in the Philippines, where most of his workforce was based. His core business trained and employed dozens of talented local illustrators who worked on the animated feature films he produced with his Japanese partner.

Mi-chan had never visited the Philippines before, despite the fact that she had been living in Southeast Asia for nearly three years. After the prim efficiency of her adopted city of Singapore, she found herself enjoying the untidy bustle of Cebu-Mactan International Airport. Eduardo used his burgundy EU passport, instead of the maroon one issued by the Republika ng Pilipinas, so that he could be in the same queue as his wife.

Most of the passengers who had been on their flight were met by hotel staff in the airport terminal and herded into minibuses and hotel cars within a matter of minutes. Eduardo was queuing up patiently at the car rental booth when he was approached by a cheerful young Filipino who addressed him by name.

The man’s name was Fidel. Smiling, Fidel greeted Mi-chan politely before saying, ‘Sir Eduardo, your lolo wants me to drive you and Ma’am Ayumi to the house. He said to tell you that he doesn’t trust your driving.’

Eduardo was bewildered, but understood perfectly when the driver continued, ‘And he also asked me to tell you that your brother Juan Carlos and Ma’am Christine arrived the day before yesterday.’

The Spaniard shot a sympathetic look at Fidel, and asked him a pithy question in the Cebuano dialect, ‘I suppose my brother’s wife is in… the usual form?’