Other Places, Other Faces: The Pearl free porn video

Other Places, Other Faces: The Pearl by Raven Part I: The Pearl "Me sol hohny, Mister," cried the beautiful Thai girl. She couldn't have been more than 18 years old, but she had the breast development of a more mature woman. In fact, she had the largest, firmest, and juiciest tits that I ever saw on an oriental girl. It only added to her exotic air. It was a shame that the girl, Kiki, couldn't speak any English other than the few garbled words given to her by her employers. They were words given to entice American male tourists into spending their cash on prostitutes. I looked her up and down with a critical eye. There were not that many flaws to scrutinize. The girl was probably about 5'5" or 5'6". That was the perfect height because with flats she could be short, and with heels, she could be tall. She was naturally slender, except for her larger breasts, with long willowy legs and narrow waist. Kiki's hips flared out just enough to give her lean, lithe curves. However, it was her face that was truly impressive. She was the most beautiful Oriental woman that I have ever seen. Even from this distance, her almond eyes, with the black on black, irises on pupils, penetrated down to the depths of my soul. It was hard to believe that such an innocent face, with the cute upturned nose and cupid's bow lips, was that of a prostitute. Mimi had this long thick, straight black hair that tickled the shapely swell of her fanny. It was the kind of hair that you just wanted to wrap yourself up in. Her handler, much like a carnival barker, brought me out of my trance like swoon. "Well Mister? You want to be with Kiki or not? I ain't got all night." Her handler spoke English like he was born and raised in the cradle of the United States. If I wasn't staring at a greasy middle aged man from Thailand, I would have sworn that he was from Brooklyn! "Just let me think for a second, will you?" I snapped back at the pimp. Our tour guide said you had to forceful with these guys to get their respect. Otherwise, they'll talk you out of your underwear. Fortunately, it appeared to be working. I looked back at the object of my affection, who was gazing at me with a sad, pleading expression. I couldn't blame her. I didn't have to understand Thai to know that she desperately wanted to get away from this creep. I couldn't help but wonder what circumstances brought this innocent into his clutches? She certainly didn't deserve this kind of a life. Wan, our guide, told us that often times poor families out in the country actually sold their pretty daughters into prostitution on the streets of Bangkok, in order to feed the rest of the family. It was a very sorry states of affairs, and unfortunately why horny American men can to Bangkok in droves. Seeing her made me sorry that I agreed to go on this trip with my best friend, David. I looked around the street life for some sign of David and Wan. Where had they gotten off to now? Wan, or his full name Wan Lee, was a resident of Bangkok, and wanted to show David some of they out of the way, more exotic places. David was only too happy to agree. Me? I more than happy with the more mainstream action. Not that I'd actually taken a prostitute up on her offer yet. David was constantly indulging himself, and in fact, I rarely saw him. This had to like Heaven itself for him because he always did have this fetish for Oriental women. I had to admit that some of them, like Kiki, were stunning. Kiki was by a large factor the most gorgeous of the women that we'd seen . . . and at this point, I think we'd seen them all. None of that helped me now, as neither David or Wan were around to help me. Johnny, the pimp, spoke up again. "Minute's up Mister. What chu gonna do? You like Kiki?" There was no denying my attraction. "Yes. Very much." "She's a good girl . . . very clean. No diseases to take home like other places up the street. She will love you real good." I didn't know whether l could actually bring myself to having sex with Kiki, but I knew that I had to spend more time with her. I didn't want to have to pay her to love me. Somehow I thought if I could just be with her, hold her, she would see the real me despite the language barrier. I thought that if I could just hold her she would want to love me . . . for me. "How much?" "Kiki the most beautiful girl in all of Thailand. She is the pearl of Bangkok. We give her drugs that make her want sex all of the time. She'll cost you 500 American dollars for the night." I laughed. I understood the concept of starting high in a negotiation, but this was ludicrous. This was highway robbery! Turnabout was fair play. "I'll give you 50 American dollars . . . for the night." Johnny was appalled, and carried on like I was trying to rob HIM. Eventually, he calmed down so that we could return to the business at hand. Through the art of negotiation, we settled on 150 American dollars for the night. It was a little high for Bangkok, from my knowledge of what David had been paying, but I wanted to be with Kiki. Johnny told me that Kiki would take me to her private bungalow where I would have the best night of sex in my entire life. After Johnny finished with me, he gave Kiki her instructions in their native tongue. She kept on looking over at me with a pleasant smile on her face, happy that this American knight in shining armor had come to her rescue. She came over to me, stood up on her tip toes, and kissed me on the cheek. Kiki forced out in her best English. "Me . . . so . . . happy!" She giggled, her voice sounding like music to my ears. God, she was so beautiful and sexy. Without warning, Kiki gently tugged upon my hand to lead me away to her bungalow. I swear that we skipped through the streets of Bangkok, hand in hand, like two giddy teenagers in love . . . . ********** We got to Kiki's bungalow straightaway. There was no way that I could have found it on my own, as she literally lead me through a maze of side streets, cul-de-sacs, and narrow alley ways. Her place was little more than a shack in one of those cul-de-sacs. Nevertheless, she pulled me into her hideaway without shame. I was ashamed enough for the both of us. Her furnishings were very spare, consisting of a bed, a chair, and a dresser. I had no idea where she bathed or even went to the toilet. It made me very sad, for nobody deserved to live like this. All of the while, Kiki wore the nicest, carefree smile. She spoke something to me in her native tongue, which of course, I could not understand. It was soft, and melodic . . . very soothing. She lit some sweet smelling incense on the dresser that filled the air. I noticed an old wooden full length mirror on the far wall of the bungalow. I walked slowly toward it as my strange surroundings suddenly created a need for introspection. I have always found that staring a yourself in the mirror during those time to be very helpful . . . almost like confronting yourself. One question formed in my mind as I looked at myself in the mirror. How did I get here? How did I get to this point? I wasn't bad looking for a 40 year old man! I wasn't. At 6'2" and 185 lbs, I was in good shape. I didn't have rippling muscles or a washboard stomach, but I wasn't bad. I considered my face. It was one of those kind of faces that everybody thought they knew, one of those kind of faces that people felt they could tell things to. I had the kind of looks that could be considered rugged one moment, and yet boyish the next. The longish sandy blonde hair was a remnant of the 80's. Oh, I knew that shorter hair was in nowadays, even shaved heads. However, I just couldn't bring myself to do it, even though I was beginning to fewer and fewer strands as the years went by. That didn't bother me as much as the touch of gray at the temples. I raked my fingers through that hair. You would think that somebody with my looks, some money in the bank, and a law degree, would be married to a lovely woman, and have a few great kids. Not so. So far that prize had eluded my grasp. After my last break up with Angelica, the one who I thought was THE one, I just haven't brought myself to dating again. The truth is . . . I voluntarily put myself up on the shelf. I haven't had the courage to crawl back down, and get back into the "game" as they say. That wasn't the worst part of it. At 40 years old, I was just waiting to die . . . just passing my time until the Grim Reaper claimed me. After Angelica I convinced myself that I would never have what everybody else had. I would never have the thing that I wanted above all else, a wife and family. So . . . here I am. My career, which once seemed promising and bright, is going nowhere. Some would even say that I was a legal genius. Only nowadays I am so unmotivated. Nothing seemed worth it without Angelica. Finally, after 4 years, David demanded that I go on vacation with him. The vacation spot only had to have one requirement, namely women. "Shock therapy" I believe David called it. Anyway, he gave me a choice of three destinations: Iceland, where the world's most beautiful women are supposed to reside, Amsterdam, which speaks for itself, and Bangkok, which was reputed to be completely out of bounds. I chose Bangkok because I knew of David's attraction to Oriental women. There was no sense in both of us being miserable. Still, after all this time, all I can see is Angelica's face. I see it in every cloud, in every painting or picture, or in any other person's face. Yes . . . I am hopeless. I am a true lost soul, for I truly believe that it is my destiny to walk the path of life alone. Kiki spoke softly in her own language. It was almost a whisper, and, again, I didn't understand a word of it. Still, it was enough to encourage me to look away from the mirror to her. A sweet haze filled the air. It made me a little lightheaded, and it occurred to me that it must contain some type of opiate. David told me that the use the native narcotic to create an atmosphere for love making. Indeed, I saw Kiki, quite naked, kneeling submissively in the middle of the bed. Her olive skin glowed in the candle light of the shack. Her generous breasts rose and fell temptingly with each breath. Now that she had shed her clothing, I could see the dark wide areolae of those breasts, and the very large nipples. This girl was a true beauty . . . and in truth I wanted her more than words could say. How could I tell her that I didn't want to love her? How could I tell her that I only wanted to get her away from that disgusting pimp, and maybe to hold her? She was expecting more, more than I could give right now. There was just no way that I could communicate with her. I must have looked very sad at that moment because she titled her head to one side and studied me. She had a soft pleading look in her dark eyes that just melted my heart. Kiki reached out to me with her slender arm and tiny hand. The Thai girl beckoned for me to come to her. I did. My heart was beating like a trip hammer. I knelt in front of Kiki, but did not remove my clothes. I was so close to her that I could feel the heat of her radiating from that young nubile body. I desired to touch her so badly, yet forced myself to hold back. Kiki touched my cheek with the soft skin of her fingertips. I could feel the tips of her long nails tracing the lines of my face. I closed my eyes for a second to enjoy the sensation of so lovely a woman touching me, and despite my self control could feel my manhood begin to harden. When I opened my eyes, she was staring right into them. In that moment, there was that instant of recognition that occurs between two people that transcends words. I could see that she was truly an innocent. I just hoped that she could see that I wasn't some sex crazed tourist, but a good person. Kiki handed me something. I looked down at her other hand to notice a piece of paper. It was folded in half, however, I could see some type of writing through the paper. My eyes found hers again. I could see her struggling to find a word, or words, that I would understand. She tried so hard to remember words that were give to her by another to say. Kiki opened her mouth to say three simple words. "Prease . . . you . . . lead?" Despite the thick accent, I understood what she wanted. She was asking me to read the piece of paper within her hand. Kiki handed it to me again, and this time I accepted it from her. Whilst I unfolded the paper to discern the contents, the Pearl of Bangkok, as Johnny called her sat back on her haunches. The note was obviously written by somebody who understood English and Thai. It communicated her personal message to me: Please excuse me. I not know much English. My family sell me to Johnny. He not good man. He make me do things I not like. I ask for you to take me from this place. You take me to America to be your bride. I make good wife. I cook and clean for you. I love you long time, and give you many children. Please have pity on me. Take me from this bad place. I promise to love you always. Forever. I not give this note to everybody. I wait for man with strong and kind face. Kiki choose you. I was flattered. I was floored. I didn't know what to say. I looked back into Kiki's eyes, and she smiled at me. It was a hopeful, yearning smile that said, "Well?" She was offering me everything that I wanted. I didn't love her, but I could tell that in time I would. Here was my whole life being handed to me on a silver platter, yet something made me hesitate. Perhaps it was my stupid American upbringing, maybe it was fear, and maybe it was just plain old prejudice. I just couldn't bring home a prostitute as a bride no matter how good and innocent she appeared to be. What would my friends, family, and colleagues say? I wanted to . . . but couldn't. I couldn't return her smile. I sadly shook my head in the negative. Then Kiki's smile disappeared as if it had never been, and my heart sank. A single tear sprung from her tear duct to flow down her soft cheek. She looked at me as if she were somehow . . . sorry? The Pearl of Bangkok said something aloud in her native tongue. I was sorry that I could not understand her, for I only wanted to tell her how sorry I was that I couldn't do as she asked. I thought perhaps if I embraced her, I could nonverbally express how I felt. However, when I tried to move, I found that my muscles, tendons and sinews were frozen into place. I tried to speak, but could not. It was if I had become a living, kneeling statue. I tried to move again, and again it was no use. I was quite paralyzed! I started to panic, to only see Kiki rise from her position. She arose so that she was again kneeling directly in front of me. All of the while she was speaking something in a language that I could not understand. As she continued to speak, it became almost a chant. Now I was really frightened. I thought that she had paralyzed me with some drug, and was going to steal my belongings . . . or worse. How could I have been so wrong about her? Still, she had the look of sorrow in her eyes for what she was doing to me. Then I felt both of her small hands on either side of my cheeks. She pursed her lips to kiss me, and drew me to her. Was this some sort of sex game, I wondered. I felt her plump lips upon mine, and closed my eyes. I fell into her . . . into those lips. I fell into darkness. ********** Each morning, as I drift in that ethereal limbo that lies between wakefulness and sleep, I go through the same litany. Old people, fat people, rude or unkind people, and even ugly people all have somebody. They all have and deserve a chance for happiness. I have been gracious. Every time that I see another find somebody to love, no matter whether they deserve it or not, I am not jealous or envious. I always think the same thing, they deserve their chance at happiness. Then I wonder, don't I too deserve that chance? When will somebody say that about me? Haven't I earned that chance? Every night I dream of Angelica. After all of this time, I still dream about Angelica. Not tonight . . . there was only blackness. Even before I open my eyes I know that something is terribly . . . wrong. The things which differ from my last memories of the night come more in flashes of recognition rather than a cohesive thought. Cool air is blowing across my body. It caresses every inch of my exposed flesh, yet I do not remember taking my clothes off. There is the familiar sensation of a full bladder that needed to be discharge. I latch on to that, as if an anchor, expanding my awareness outward. Something is missing . . . but I can't tell what it is. Like a word that lingers at the tip of your tongue, but won't come, I know there is some sensation that I should be feeling. I am assaulted by a blinding headache, a wave of nausea, and the torpor of dizziness all at the same time. God, I have never felt so bad in my entire life! What did Kiki do to me last night? The last thing that I remember is kissing her. Then there is . . . nothing. Perhaps it is the side affect of the drug that I thought she gave me. Awareness of the rest of my body, and my positioning, slowly filter down to me. I can't ever recall being this sluggish or slow to wake in the morning. I am usually so full of energy that I jump right out of bed into a flurry of activity. Not this morning. Something, perhaps again the drug, makes me want to linger in bed with my eyes closed. It is a vacation after all. I am lying on my back. I can sense that my legs are slightly akimbo. One of my arms is at my side, myright arm, while the left is lying across somebody's torso. For some reason, this doesn't make geometric sense. However, it is morning . . . much to early to contemplate such things. Just go with it, I tell myself. The other person's skin is smooth and silky against the underside of my forearm. Such petal soft skin could only belong to one person. Kiki! Indeed, I sense that my hand rests upon the swell of a very large breast. Instinctively, I move my finger to locate the nipple, only to be rewarded by a jolt of incredible pleasure across my own chest. What the Hell? My eyes flutter open as I rise into full wakefulness. My mouth utters the one word that comes to mind, "Kiki?" Only then do I get a taste of just how wrong things were! The voice is not my own, but is soft, high and very melodious. I clear my throat in an attempt to dislodge whatever it is that has effected my ability to speak properly. At the same time I lick my lips, finding them to be dry, but also at the same time strangely thicker. I can see that I am still in Kiki's bungalow, and that it is morning. However, things appear to be shade darker than I remember them. My vision is very acute, which it has not been for almost 10 years. Now I know for certain that something is tragically wrong. I call out for my host again in a bit of a panic, and I can feel my heartbeat racing. "Kiki? Are you there?" The voice is recognizable now . . . hers, but with my words. That cannot be right, for she does not know English, and the few words that she does know is laced with a heavy Thai accent. Her voice just spoke perfect English, without the slightest hint of an accent. A cold thrill of fright grips my already fibrillating heart. The missing sensation and obtuse geometry of the positioning of my arm become all too clear in but a scant second. There is only one impossible conclusion. Desperately, and instinctively, I reach for were my morning erection should be. There is nothing there but a flat void punctuated by the moistening sex of a young woman. The upper part of my arm can feel the pliant swell of a large breast that is flattened somewhat under its own weight, and protruding slightly to the side. I hold my breath, trying hard to believe that my manhood is not gone . . . that I am now a she. I cannot deny the evidence of my hands. I cannot look . . . not yet. Still my one hand probes my nether regions for some clue of my former self. My other hand, seemingly of its own volition, has traveled from my side to find one of the large breasts that now rest upon my chest. It squeezes the mammary experimentally before locating a big wide nipple. The action of my fingers upon that nipple produces an indescribable tension of pleasure across both breasts. I feel the nipple swell to hardness, like some miniature erection, under my fingertips. An urgent, alien need grows from the area near my other probing fingers. What am I doing, my mind screams in violent protest? My hands reject this new reality, and I jerk them away with surprisingly quick movements. Even those movements betray my denial as the breasts upon my chest shift in response to the inertia. "No. Please don't let this be true," I whisper, but the feminine voice issuing from my lips tell me that it is so. It's best to sit up and face this, and the worst will be over, I tell myself. The calmness and control of the thought is merely a facade for the terror I feel. There are larger questions, such as what am I going to do now and how did this happen, gnawing at the back of my mind. They are mysteries which would only wait so long. The instant that I try to sit up, I receive thousands of pinpoint sensations of pain along the back of my scalp. My hands fly to my head to find a mass of long thick hair. It is pulled taut under some type of massive strain, and it dawns upon me that I am lying upon it. In order to get the worst over with, I rolled to one side, and reach behind me with trembling hands to liberate the long hair. The feeling of nausea grows in the pit of my stomach when I feel to big breasts roll to that side under the effect of gravity. It takes every ounce of strength in this foreign body to choke down the reflux rising in my throat. Nevertheless, I free the long tresses from their prison, and pull them around my back and over one shoulder. The unfortunate lack of obstacles free me to sit up and face the awful truth. Would that I could have lay there forever . . . unmoving. That was just as improbable as this dilemma! The first thing that I noticed was the sensation of weight pulling down upon the things on my chest. Say it, I tell myself mentally. Call them by what they are, breasts, boobs, tits, hooters, melons, gazoongas . . . whatever, for you have them now. That is when I felt a torrent of sad tears begin to flow down what I knew to be an unfamiliar face. The emotion of my plight can be contained no longer! When I reach up to brush away the salty tears, which tickle the skin of my face as they descend, my upper arms and forearms again brush the bulging secondary sexual characteristics of a woman. Does every movement and every gesture have to remind me that they are there . . . that they are mine? I know the answer to the question before it is even completed. They are just as omnipresent as the penis between my legs used to be. Another sensation which is omnipresent by its absence. I fight my way through the tidal wave a strange new feeling that assault me all at once. My hands stop only from their appointed task to brush away the long hair from my face, eyes, and mouth. It only succeeds in adding another sensation to a growing list of things that I would have to deal with. The extremely long hair pulls constantly at my scalp and the back of my neck. Its sheer weight must be tremendous. Morbid curiosity made me stare at the hands in front of my eyes. I turned them over, and over again, studying how they were so much different than my own. Part of me believed that by immersing myself in minutiae would somehow insulate me from the trauma of the discoveries that were to come. The fingers were so slender and fine, that tapered down to long fingernails. The fingernails were not manicured or painted, but were exquisite and shapely, nonetheless. I could tell from a mere visual inspection that these hands were soft and smooth. They belonged to a beautiful woman. The hands were unadorned by any type of rings, bangles or bracelets, but then again, they didn't have to be. Those hands were minor works of art, in and of themselves! The skin, of course,was much darker than I remembered my own to be. Those hands . . . my hands . . . found my face once more. This time, the fingertips explored the landscape of my new image. I could barely breath as I touched smooth, flawless skin, high cheekbones, fleshy lips, small thin nose, arched eyebrows, and tiny ears. Still, the sound of my rapid heartbeat thundered in my ears. My touch traveled down my soft cheeks, down the sides of an even softer neck, down the top of my chest, to the source of the sensation of weight upon my chest. I grasped them with hands that suddenly resumed their quaking. One of my hands got tangled in the long hair which was draped over my over my shoulder. I looked down at myself without thinking, and the long dark hair acted like a shroud for one half of my new body. It was fanned out across my shoulder, and one half of my torso and chest. However, that left the other half of this alien body for me to see. That hand held one very large breast in its palm. Get through this, I forced my self to act mentally, not wanted to speak aloud once more. With one awkward motion, I grabbed the tresses into my free hand, to flip them back over my shoulder. I felt the tickle of the hair brush my neck, shoulders, and back. The pull of the dense hair returned to my scalp and neck. Her hair . . . now my hair. I couldn't look away from the female breasts on my chest. The hand returned to mirror the other now that its impromptu task was completed. It took the other mammary gland into its grasp. I fondled them in disbelief, alternately testing their impressive weight and their firmness. Wide dark areolae met my eyes. The big nipples started to grow stiff under the ministrations of my fingertips and to my thoughts. The feeling that of hands, even my own hands, on those . . . say it . . . tits was . . . fantastic. It was too much for me. I can't do this . . . I can't react as woman would react to the touch of her breasts! I dropped my hands to my sides limply in denial of the obvious. I looked away from the topography of my anatomy. Between the deep valley of the cleavage that I down possessed was a flat, trim stomach, and beyond that the small rise of a mons venus. Instead, I focused on the full length mirror upon the wall at the foot of the bed. I moved, even though I didn't want to. My breasts . . . her breasts swayed, just as I remembered them to as she moved. Soft, hairless thighs rubbed against each other, unencumbered as they were without an obstruction between them. The tips of the ultra long hair brushed against the flesh of my bottom. Everything was . . . wrong. It all moved, and moved with me so differently. It was maddening. The world around me had grown overnight. While I recognized the sparse furnishings of Kiki's bungalow, they were much taller and bigger and bigger than they were before. The windows, with their bamboo blinds, and the very mirror that I eased toward, were higher up on the wall than I knew them to be. They hadn't grown, of course. Intellectually, I knew that I was shorter than I was only hours ago. The world is a much different place from a smaller perspective, even though it was only by 7 inches. I stepped in front of the mirror to behold the image I already knew that I would see. Her reflection stared back at me, except she was crying again. I felt the trickle of liquid upon my cheek. "No. This is impossible. I c-can't be her," I sobbed with her voice with my words. The pretty mouth in the mirror moved as I spoke. The warm rush of liquid ran down my sleek inner thighs to pool at my tiny feet. In the shock and dismay of discovery, my new overtaxed bladder finally let loose. The reflection said it all. I was her . . . I was now Kiki. I was a beautiful Thai prostitute. I was the Pearl of Bangkok. to be continued