He wasn’t just a massive, big-bellied, middle-aged Indian. Gay sex DeWitt would have a suite of rooms on the second floor—the first floor, to the Brits—overlooking the sea. I whimpered and cried and begged him for mercy as he took his time filling me. Already I was learning from Patel, a master. It was the increasing uncertainty of my power over men—even middle-aged men. He was working me in four ways—with his mouth, on my cock, in my ass—and mentally. Patel—he owns Rivenhall—wishes you to come to his bedroom,” the messenger said.“Tonight?”“No. Was I losing my touch? If they leave, they leave trained to earn more. He was a sexual mystic, a master cocksman.“Remember what I told you in taking a cock my size. Maybe this was standard sex play in India.My wrists were tied, my arms raised above my head and tethered to restraint buckles he’d pulled up onto the mattress from between the edge of the mattress and the headboard. I was on my back on his bed, my legs spread—my left ankle hooked on his shoulder, my right leg bent, as he reclined on the bed by my left hip and alternated between thumping and thrumming my hole, kissing and tonguing it, and penetrating it with his fingers.
