Bangkok hits you the moment you step out of Suvarnabhumi.The heat is like a living thing — wraps around your shoulders, seeps into your lungs, coats your skin in damp promise.Taxis crawl past in neon stripes, drivers smoking, the scent of gasoline and street food tangling together.
You sling your bag over your shoulder. Inside: your laptop, two high-end cameras, spare batteries, business cards that say "Creative Director / Photographer — Events, Fashion, Private Shoots."Outside: your pulse quickening, because you already know exactly what this city means.
No one back home needs to know who you'll become here.
You catch a cab into Sukhumvit.Bangkok slides by outside the window: temples crowding between malls, tuk-tuks cutting across traffic like angry beetles, lanterns swinging above night market stalls.Your hotel isn't much — minimalist, clean, a bed to fuck in and WiFi fast enough for editing. That's all you need.
An hour later, you meet Kieran at a rooftop bar.He's an Australian you met online in a digital nomad forum — big smile, snake tattoo on his collarbone, here six months longer than you.
"Bangkok's the best, mate. Cheap, easy, endless girls. They all come here thinking it's safe — makes it so much easier to twist 'em."
He clinks your glass.You look out over the skyline. Towers of glass knife up through the smog. Somewhere below, music thumps. You can almost smell sweat and spilled cocktails.Your cock stirs just thinking about it.
Later, he leads you down a side street — bright with LED signs, girls perched on stools calling out, "Hello handsome! Where you go? Sit with me!"Their skirts barely cover their asses. Their giggles are sweet poison.
You duck into a bar.Inside it's cool, lights low.A stage in the back where girls dance lazily, but your eyes lock on a table in the corner. Three men sit there with half-empty towers of beer, laughing. A girl kneels between them.
She's young, slender, hair in a neat ponytail.Her mouth moves slowly — then you realize it's wrapped around one of their cocks.
You suck in a breath.Kieran just laughs. "Get used to it. This is Bangkok, mate."
A waitress appears. Tall, long black hair, slit skirt that flashes bare thigh. She takes your order — two whiskeys, neat — and gives you a look that's all practice but still sends a jolt to your balls.
When she comes back, she lingers."You new here?" she says in accented English.Her hand trails across your shoulder, then lower, brushing your chest.
Kieran grins. "Go on, man. Treat yourself."
Before you can answer, she slides to her knees right beside your chair. Her hands work your belt open like it's nothing, and then warm, wet heat envelopes you.
Your head snaps back.Her tongue circles the tip, then she takes you deeper, humming low in her throat.You look around — no one cares. The men at the next table are cheering on their own girl. A bartender glances over and just smirks.
Her hands are delicate, nails painted pale pink, pumping you slow.Then she pulls back, eyes meeting yours — and spits a line of drool onto your shaft before licking it up again.
"You taste… very strong," she breathes, voice husky.Then she sucks you all the way in until her nose brushes your belly.
Kieran leans back in his chair, laughing. "Told you Bangkok would change your fucking life."
You groan.You can't help it — your hand finds the back of her head, guiding her pace. Her throat tightens around you, swallowing again and again. She moans around your length, vibrations shooting straight up your spine.
It builds too fast — the sight of her, the easy way she lets you use her mouth. The knowledge that you're in public and no one gives a damn.
"Fuck… I'm gonna—"
She pulls back just enough to wrap her lips around your head, eyes fluttering closed. When you spill, she drinks every drop, throat working. Then she pulls off, opens her mouth to show you your cum on her tongue before swallowing it with a naughty smile.
She wipes the corner of her lip with one delicate finger, then pushes it into her own mouth, sucking it clean.
She stands, smooths her skirt, and gives you a little bow.Like nothing happened.She's off to the next table.
You sit there, catching your breath, cock still twitching.Kieran downs his drink in one go.
"That," he says, "was Bangkok's version of hello. Wait till tomorrow. I've got us into a private party — real money, real spoiled little princesses. They think it's all glamorous, but it's just another hunting ground. You'll see."
Your mouth is dry.Not from fear — from excitement.
You lean back, heart pounding.Out on the street, music swells, girls laugh, a scooter honks.Bangkok waits.
And you're so ready to ruin every last pretty thing that crosses your path.