Her Master's Voice (8 page)

The man had chuckled. “Oh, he’ll recover, I’m sure, and I’m sure I’m not getting the price I should. I know how you Indians take advantage of poor, ignorant Malays like me.”

“You a poor ignorant Malay? Oh, that’ll be the day. He says you’re sharp enough to cut steel. He says no one gives him as much trouble as you do.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but never mind, perhaps he’ll save himself the pain next time by giving me a proper price straight away. That’s enough business. Today is for your friend. What is her name?”

They had moved into the soulless hotel room. They were high up and Singapore lay spread out beneath them. The window faced the sea and, beyond the machines busily reclaiming the seafront, a flock of ships sat moored in the roads, waiting for charters. Sherry stood looking out, reluctant to start on her flute lesson.

“Her name is Jane, and she’s from England. She’s very shy. Come on, Jane, it’s time for your lesson.”

The man had settled himself in the single armchair, slumped well down. He watched her closely, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. Sherry let Ranji draw her towards him, and knelt beside his legs. Ranji moved behind him and sat on the bed.

“That’s it,” said Ranji. “Now take his shorts off.”

Sherry leaned over him and started to ease the running shorts down over his hips, catching his underpants with her fingertips and taking them as well. The man lifted his hips to help her. She liked this part. It always excited her to pull a stranger’s clothes off and discover what he had hidden inside them. She had played with a variety of cocks since she started her flute-playing lessons and they had all intrigued her. This one lay softly on his lap. Its shaft slim and brown, it curved as it lay over his thigh. Circumcised, and the light mauve head was wide, like the head of a mushroom. Sherry thought it looked sweet. As she watched it stretched itself, sliding up his thigh and swinging round to lie on his belly. The three of them watched as it grew until it lay hot and taut, almost reaching the man’s navel. At its hairy root, the small pouch bunched tight against the long shaft. Sherry reached out to stroke it.

The man closed his eyes as her fingertips brushed his sack. He sighed quietly. Sherry felt a rush of happiness inside her. It felt good to give such pleasure. Still stroking his balls, she spread his knees and moved between them. His sex was now in front of her, lying open to plunder. She leant forward to kiss his balls. They felt dry and furry, and he smelt clean. He shuddered at the touch of her lips. With her hands on the insides of his thighs, she spread him open further and bent lower to cover his roots with soft kisses. He trembled as she nipped him with her lips.

Deliberately tantalizing him, she let her kisses stray further and further up his shaft. The man writhed as he felt first her breath and then her lips get closer and closer to his mushroom. Finally releasing his tension, she pressed a kiss on the cleft beneath the head. “Aah!” he sighed, and Ranji murmured approval.

Sherry lifted his stem from his stomach between the fingertips of both hands. Standing up and pointing at the ceiling, it looked bigger and stronger. She brought it to her lips and paused. She breathed on it, blowing gentle air around the swollen plum. He sighed deeply and lifted his hips to her. Sherry decided to make him suffer and lowered her head so his crown was at eye level. Blinking rapidly, she caressed it with her eyelashes. She brushed the tight skin under the rim of his head and he moaned continuously. His sex grew big and swollen in her hand.

“Suck him,” whispered Ranji.

Sherry felt annoyed at her interference. Not wishing to hurry, she changed to rubbing his head with her face, from side to side, across her brow, her cheeks and finally across her lips. She looked at his face. Expressionless and his black eyes were far away. Not taking her eyes from his, she pressed the tip of his cock to her pursed lips. With slow deliberation she sucked him into her mouth and held him.

“Oh yes!” he muttered.

It thrilled her to hold him there. His swollen, leathery glans filled her mouth. She tasted—what? He was slightly tangy, spicy, exciting. Her heart expanded inside her. Cupping his balls with one hand, she started to stroke up and down his shaft with the other, sucking on him and releasing with the same rhythm. Quickly he began to tremble and lifted his hips to her in an effort to increase his pleasure.

He was eager, hurrying her on, but Sherry did not want to rush. She slowed her stimulation to a stop and soothed him by playing with his balls. She felt him relax a little. When he lay completely still, she commenced sucking and stroking again, this time very slowly. She pulled very firmly down on the skin of his shaft, and tightened it even more at the end of each stroke by twisting her fist sideways. He began panting again and groaning each time she tightened his sheath to the limit.

Sherry had become excited herself and moving slowly was increasingly difficult. Without really wishing to, she nodded her head slightly and he helped by rocking back and forth in her mouth. He was moaning loudly and trembling. She could delay no longer. Her sucking and stroking became faster and firmer and they both knew his explosion was close and unavoidable. The tension was growing, growing in his roots.

Then suddenly, he came. She quickly gripped the head of his cock between covered teeth and bit him with hard rapid bites, sucking deeply and drawing out his essence. His legs clenched around her, his hips arched up out of the chair, and he pulsed great bursts into her mouth. In her hand below him, she felt the ferocious spasms in his depths as he released his burden for her. She sucked him back into her wet mouth and held him still as the tension washed from his body.

They waited like that, joined by his stem and the pleasure they had made. His hand came up to stroke her hair and release her. He pulled himself up in his chair. “Wow! That was fantastic. Ranji, you have a very fine student. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“She has a natural talent,” Ranji answered happily. “She’s a real artist.”

Sherry felt herself blushing and looked at the floor. The man was looking at her with something in mind. “Does she, do you do more, Jane?”

Avoiding his eye, Sherry shook her head. “No,” said Ranji. “One thing at a time. First flute-playing and then we’ll see.” She moved to put her arm around Sherry. “You did very well today. I’m very, very pleased with you.”

Sherry remembered how she had cringed at Ranji’s compliments. She had not imagined being an oral sex star as part of her educational qualifications. She still did not feel comfortable about it, although she did feel much better in her yoga classes. Ranji had told Papi Bombar about all her lessons and he knew she was ready for him now. She looked forward to her chance. She would steam up his glasses for him.

What she had not planned for was meeting one of her flutes in her other life. Singapore was a big city, and all the flutes belonged to visitors anyway. She had dismissed out of hand the fear of ever meeting one, and now it had happened. Thank God Alistair did not seem to recognise her. She had almost missed him herself, but something about his eyes and his smile. He apparently knew Ranji and her father. Did business with them. I wonder what sort of business, she mused?

They enjoyed the dinner. Alistair sat Tim between Faith and Hope and devoted himself to Sherry. The food tasted exciting, the wine was good, the moon river shone silver across the sea. Sherry found herself watching the girls closely. Not teenagers, early twenties she guessed, they were small and lightly built. Narrow Indonesian hips, and small breasts. Their skin was brown. Perhaps, unlike most Indonesian girls, they did not feel the need to hide from the sun. They looked identical, dressed in the same clothes, wore the same make-up, and they were equally cheerful. They could not be persuaded to drink alcohol—they they said it made them sick—but they did not need it to be outgoing and noisy. Of course, Tim loved the fuss they made of him.

Poor Tim, thought Sherry. She knew he would like to borrow the girls for the night. Or perhaps he could join the small party at the water’s edge, if the girls performed again tonight. Perhaps she ought to feel disapproving but instead she found herself feeling, well, a little jealous. They did not look like immoral sluts. They looked normal, and they behaved normally, without shame.

They walked out to the beach after dinner. “Like to swim, Tim?” asked Alistair.

“Yeah, it would be good on a night like this.”

“I’m not going to change, no one can see anyway.” He said something to girls in Indonesian. They laughed and pretended to slap him. Then they pulled Sherry to her feet and went for their swimming costumes.

Tim and Alistair sat silently together, as only men can. The three girls came chattering back, Sherry tall between the twins. It was hard to see but Faith and Hope wore dark one-piece suits. Sherry’s black bikini stood out against her white skin.

“Look at sexy Sherry,” called the girls. “She so good, so sexy!”

“Let’s go in,” she said and, throwing her towel down, ran for the water. The three girls called and splashed as Alistair stripped to white undershorts. Tim was less fortunate. He had no underwear. He had a choice of spoiling his best shorts or nothing. He decided to sacrifice the shorts.

He was surprised at Sherry’s closeness. As they sat in the shallow water enjoying the milk-warm waves lapping past them, she came to sit between his legs.

Sherry left the girls to cuddle up to Alistair. She did not want Tim to go near them in the sea at night.

They said farewell under the palms and shook hands all round. Tim and Sherry would leave early next morning. The girls offered small limp hands. Alistair’s handshake felt more western. He leant forward to kiss Sherry’s cheek. “Say hello to Ranji for me,” he whispered.

Chapter 8

Sherry felt sad to be leaving Pulau Kelapa for Singapore. They reached the Johor Baru causeway after lunch and quickly got through the Malaysian side. For once, the Singapore checkpoint was more difficult and their car was pulled over for inspection. Immigration took their passports and they carried their bags into the Customs shed to watch as two impeccable officers in white cotton gloves rummaged through their salty beach clothes. Up to that point things had seemed a little annoying, but basically normal. What happened next made Tim realise that more was going on.

A police officer hurried into the shed with Sherry’s passport. “You may leave, Mrs Armstrong,” he said. “Mr. Armstrong will come with me.”

“What?” she said in shock.

“You may take your bags and leave,” he said a little more insistently. “Mr. Armstrong is needed in town.”

It slowly dawned on Tim that Hing must be behind this. The policeman handed their bags to Sherry. “Please to go, Mrs Armstrong,” he said, more an order than a request. Sherry was confused, lost, not wanting to leave Tim.

“It’s OK, love,” Tim said. “I think I know what this is about. I shouldn’t be with them long.”

“What is it? What have you done? Why do they want you?”

He tried to smile and look reassuring. “It’s just some idiot policeman in New Bridge Road. Chasing rainbows. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Is that right?” she asked the policeman. “What has he done?”

“Yes, yes, short time only. Now you go!” The policeman was far from calming her but one of the Customs men had taken her by the elbow and led her away. The other carried their two bags, something unheard of.

“Don’t worry, love. Drop off the car and I’ll call you at home.” The policeman led him away, out to the back of the Customs shed to the car park where a paddy wagon waited, a small Japanese pick-up with a tin box mounted on the tray. Still surprised, Tim allowed himself to be pushed into the cage and sat on a wooden bench running down the side. The door clanged shut and through the cut-out for the bolt he could see the policeman fitting an old-fashioned padlock. Then the engine started and the pick-up jerked forward.

He could see little as they crossed Singapore. The sheet metal covering the cage had small openings, but these were near the roof and showed only treetops and street lamps. The cage was clean but well used. Offenders’ bottoms had polished the wooden benches, and the coach bolt heads shone brightly. Initially the cage must have been painted navy blue, but now it was chipped and scratched, and large areas of paint had peeled from the galvanized sheet. It was a depressing way to travel, lurching backwards and forwards and bouncing on the hard bench. Most of all, Tim felt angry with Hing.

By the time the pick-up pulled into the Eu Tong Sen station, Tim had resolved to keep calm. He would gain nothing by shouting at Hing, and Hing had nothing against him. Singapore might be insufferably strict and state-controlled, but it was law abiding. He would be safe with the police.

Two policemen led him into the building, each holding him loosely by the elbow. In spite of his theoretical self-confidence, he felt intimidated. They guided him down a drab corridor and into a bare interview room. He sat at the table. One policeman stood watching him, the other locked the door and left. Tim did not try to talk.

Hing waited for half an hour before coming. Tim assumed the delay was deliberate. Probably something he had learnt at the training centre, intended to unsettle suspects.

His smile as he came through the door looked unpleasant. The policeman left, locking the door behind him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Armstrong,” he said, sitting down and opening his folder on the table. “Are you ready to tell me who sent the letter?”

Tim had already decided what he would do. “Good afternoon, I demand to see your superior officer.”

“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Armstrong. If you don’t answer me I can make your life very bad for you, and for your wife. Now tell me.” He seemed surprised at Tim’s resistance.

“I demand to see your superior officer.”

“You have to talk to me,” Hing was asking for his help now.