Mongkhut drove them to the gleaming skyscraper Honor had seen on the television, smoothly guiding the car into an underground garage, away from the small crowd of business reporters at the building's front entrance. Marq had kissed her lips, and then casually unbuttoned her shirt to kiss her breasts, his lips meeting each eagerly puckering nipple. Then he opened the door, grabbed his briefcase and left while she quickly tried to cover herself.

She found herself smiling as she buttoned up the shirt, amused despite herself ... and very grateful for the tinted windows and thankfully raised divider between the rear and front cabin.

Ten minutes later, they were outside Blue Dragon Guides' main office building, and a widely smiling Chailai in a crop top and jeans was slipping into the car.

"You stayed!" she squealed, reaching out to hug her.

Honor hugged her back. "I realized I hadn't seen enough of Bangkok."

Chailai gave her a naughty grin. "Or Marq?"

Honor slapped her on the shoulder.

"Ow!" Chailai laughed. "Okay, I'll keep my mouth shut."

Honor sniffed in response. Inwardly, she chastised herself, her 'playful' slap had just that tiny bit more force than the other woman deserved, no matter how close to the truth she had come. Thankfully, Chailai didn't seem to think anything was awry, and if she noticed that Honor was once again braless, she made no sign of it. It also helped that Marq's cum had dried on her belly so her top was no longer sticking awkwardly to her skin.

"So where are we going?" Honor asked.

"Wat Traimit, the Loha Prasat and the Wat Saket," Chailai answered, " ... and a few other places."

Honor smiled. "Sounds great."

________________________

Located in Chinatown, the five story Wat Traimit was also known as the Temple of the Golden Buddha - the Golden Buddha in question being an eight hundred year old five and half ton behemoth, nearly five meters tall, the world's largest solid gold statue. Chailai recounted how ancient Buddhist artisans covered up their creations in pieces of colored glass, plaster and clay to prevent them being carted away by marauding invaders, and the fateful day in 1955 when a large and mysteriously heavy clay statue of the Buddha was accidentally dropped while it was being moved. The workers were stunned to find, instead of more dull clay under the cracked plaster, the bright gleam of gold.

The rest of the plaster was quickly removed to reveal a massive statue in the Sukhothai style, along with a key that allowed it to be disassembled into nine separate pieces and transported for reassembly. To great fanfare, it was cleaned, polished and installed in its home at the Wat Traimit. After being covered up for two hundred years, hidden in plain sight for decades, the Golden Buddha - Phra Phuttha Maha Suwan Patimakon - was finally on display for all to see.

Honor had been all too conscious of her shamelessly pointing nipples and the telltale movement of her unhindered breasts under her top as they made their way through the temple grounds, but that had fallen by the wayside as soon her eyes fell on the Golden Buddha, and she had taken pictures from multiple angles - including some with the original pieces of plaster that had so faithfully protected the statue for its two centuries in hiding. She was nearly as awed by the painstakingly handpainted Wat Traimit itself, made with so much gold detailing that it was difficult to look at in the sunshine.

From the temple, Chailai next led her on a stroll through the Thai capital's infamous bustling Chinatown. The riot of color made by the hundreds of signs of all sizes hanging over the streets was unlike any Honor had ever seen. Commerce was brisk and loud, the streets lined with market stalls selling everything from electronics to antiques, countless streetside restaurants and an impressive array of gold shops.

"You need to come here at night," Chailai told her as they left a stall with large skewers of satay covered chicken and roasted crisp vegetables. "That's when the food sellers 'really' come out."

"They're not out now?" Honor asked incredulously, looking around.

Chailai laughed. "Come here at night and see for yourself."

It was only a few minutes from Chinatown to the Wat Ratchanaddaram - the Temple of the Royal Niece - home of the Loha Prasat, also known as the Metal Castle. Again, Honor found herself transfixed as Chailai explained the significance of the temple's thirty seven spires - representing the thirty-seven virtues that lead toward enlightenment, its unique concentric square architecture, and its status as the last of its kind as quarters for Buddhist monks. Honor found the surrounding Wat Ratchanaddaram itself - built on the orders of King Nangklao for the princess granddaughter - just as impressive, and she took numerous pictures of the temple's murals, including it's breathtaking ordination hall - the 'ubosoth' - and the majestic seated statue of King Nangklao - also known as Rama III - himself. The temple also hosted another statue - Phra Buddha Setthatamamunee - its own golden seated Buddha, and Honor had let out an involuntary squeal of excitement when she saw it, much to Chailai's amusement.

They left the Wat Ratchanaddram and a quick walk around the fort brought them to the Wat Saket - also known as the Golden Mount - so named for the temple's massive and iconic fifty-eight meter tall golden 'chedi', said to hold a relic of Buddha himself, brought from Sri Lanka in the Nineteenth Century. The massive golden reliquary tower was actually built on the ruins of the first attempt to build one by Rama III, Chailai informed Honor, and was completed by his son and grandson decades later. Both women mutually decided not to climb the three hundred steps to get to the top of the Golden Mount, but Honor was more than happy to see and take pictures of the temple's Viharn, Mondop and Ubosoth.

Mongkhut was there to pick them up at the gate of the temple and Honor was more than glad to be off her feet as she sat back in her seat beside Chailai.

"Where next?" she asked though, rubbing her heel.

"Siam Square."

"What are we doing there?" Honor asked, knowing it was the main shopping and entertainment center of the Thai capital.

"Marq made the arrangements," Chailai said mysteriously. "And he said it should be a surprise."

Honor frowned as her mind ran through the possibilities of what Marq Haydn would consider a surprise. Once again aware that she was without a bra and panties, she was convinced it would involve her getting naked at some point. She felt her nipples tighten, warmth invading her abdomen even as she gave Chailai her most commanding look, voice firm; "Chailai, where are we going?"

But the other woman only laughed. "I promised Marq I wouldn't say. Besides, I think you're going to love it."

Which certainly did not mean that she would not find herself naked in short order. But sensible, disciplined Honor Banet was not used to being so out of control of her own immediate destiny, so she continued to glare.

And Chailai quite happily pretended not to notice as Mongkhut drove them to their destination.

________________________

Honor wiped a tendril of sweat off her forehead as she went to her knees on the tiled floor, peering through the thick plate of heat-resistant glass.

Mongkhut had gotten them to Siam Square from the Wat Saket with his characteristic efficiency, and Chailai had led her into the glass fronted building at a fast walk, heading directly for the elevator bank. The smell had been the first thing Honor had noticed, and it only got much stronger after the elevator doors chimed open on the second floor. The hall they entered afterward was the second tell-tale clue ... a very obvious one.

The large room was lined with rows of marble topped cooking stations, each marble counter boasting a sink, cutting surfaces and a quartet of round burners and control knobs. Just as familiar was the loud whirring of running extractors and the hum from the long silver line of refrigerators on one side on the hall.

"Ah!" said a French-accented voice. "Our last students!"

Honor's mouth dropped open for an awkward moment before she recovered herself.

The tall and somewhat portly Frenchman was standing together with a shorter Thai man, facing a dozen aproned people at their cooking stations.

The Thai man, his face strangely familiar, beamed at her. "Hello, Miss ...?"

"Banet," Honor said. "Honor Banet."

He nodded and looked expectantly at Chailai.

"Chailai Kunakorn."

"Well, Miss Banet and Miss Kunakorn," the Frenchman, six time Michelin Star awardee Phillippe Dufour gestured at two unoccupied counters in the first row, "there are your stations with your aprons. Hurry up so we can begin."

Honor was excited enough to run, but her lack of a bra forced her to reduce her speed to a careful, albeit quick, walk to the indicated counter, Chalai at her heels.

"Hello again, everyone." The Thai man had a British accent. "For the benefit of our new arrivals, I will introduce myself again. My name is Somsak Kurusarttra."

The name made her look up in surprise as she tied on her apron, suddenly realizing why his face was so familiar. His picture, absent the mustache and twenty years was among the few dozen pictures of honored alumni, along with that of Phillippe Dufour, hanging on the walls she had seen every day on her way to her classes in Bordeaux. Every student for the last twenty years at L'Ecole Des Arts Culinaires had heard his name, usually spoken in tones of hushed awe.

Somsak Kurusarttra had been the best student in his class from the moment he set foot on campus, and easily the best in the entire school by his second year. He had then worked in three successive restaurants in three different European cities, and earned a Michelin star for two of them before suddenly packing up and returning to his native Thailand.

"I am the Director of the Culinary Institute of Siam," Somsak continued, gesturing at the stylized logo incorporating what appeared to be a coconut, lemongrass stalks and chilli peppers etched on the walls around them. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to this special one-day master class."

Everyone clapped, including Honor.

Somsak nodded, smiling widely. "The man to my right needs no introduction in our line of work. He has just won his sixth Michelin star, and it is our honor to have him here once again. I am sure you all know my very good friend, Monsieur Phillippe Dufour."

Everyone clapped again as Phillippe Dufour stepped forward and nodded his head.

Somsak opened his mouth to continue but Phillippe spoke up. "What Somsak is not telling you is that we, the two of us, were in the same class in Bordeaux so many years ago. And he is so much better than me. In fact, he was the best in the entire school!"

More clapping ensued, the students suitably impressed. Somsak smiled and bobbed his head, pleased but clearly bashful at the attention.

"Anyway," he continued, "before I was rudely interrupted ..."

"Am I not French?" Phillippe interrupted again.

Somsak indulgently waited for the laughter to die down before he continued. "This is a baker's master class, and it is about creating a fusion of Thai and French techniques, flavors and textures. Both sweet and savoury." He looked around the class. "To achieve true excellence in our career, in my experience, means that one must always be learning. I can honestly say that I personally have learned something new in every class we have had here."

Phillippe nodded enthusiastically in agreement. "Oui! Likewise."

"So," Somsak had continued, "please share any special tips and tricks you've learned over the years with all of us here as we go on." He grinned and brought his hands together. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, let us begin!"

Three hours and forty three minutes later, she was kneeling in front of an oven and excitedly watching something bake, hands in a pair of oven mitts.

"How is it looking?" Chailai asked from her station. Honor had been surprised and gratified to discover that Chailai was a fairly accomplished home baker.

"Another minute," Honor answered, calculating as she watched the browning edges of her creation swell and puff up against the edge of the baking dish. But it was closer to a minute and a half before she opened the oven door to extract the dish, running a critical eye over it before placing it on the counter. Then she took off the oven mitts and went to work with a square of kitchen towel to clean it up.

When she looked up, Phillippe Dufour was standing in front of her. "Ahh ..." He leaned forward to examine it visually and then took a careful sniff. "C'est bon, Mademoiselle Banet - it looks and smells very good."

"Merci, Monsieur Dufour," Honor responded, smiling back at him.

"Much like its maker." He leaned forward and took another sniff, his nose pointed as much at the swells of her breasts as on her creation, his eyes very clearly on her lips. "I wonder if it tastes as good as it looks?"

The French chef had wasted no time in proving that his philandering reputation was well earned. Quite apart from being thankful that the apron hid her lack of a bra, Honor had found herself amused by his rather blatant expressions of interest, and she had already fended off two invitations to meet with him after class. She would have been more flattered if she hadn't seen him proposition Chailai and another woman in the class soon afterward and in quick succession. At the same time, he had been unhesitating in offering advice and sharing his knowledge with every student as he circled through the class to see what they were doing, teaching them together with the much more introverted Somsak.

She decided to play along with his entendre. "Would you like to find out?"

His eyes glinted as he straightened up. "Very much."

She handed him a fork, "Here you go."

He chuckled, returning to English as he accepted the fork. "Ah ... as the Americans say, yet again, I have been shot down!"

She laughed as Kurusarttra ambled over to stand beside Dufour.

The Thai chef leaned forward, examining with both eyes and nose. "That is a beautiful looking flaugnarde, Miss Banet."

Honor beamed at him, "Thank you."

"Mango, peach and ..." Somsak sniffed again.

"... Peanuts?" Phillippe deduced.

"Satay." Honor confirmed.

Somsak's eyebrows went up. "With chilli?"

Honor nodded, nervous suddenly. "I put it in the satay."

Phillippe laughed delightedly. "Now that has got me curious, Miss Banet. I believe I will now have a taste of your flaugnarde."

"I am likewise very curious to taste it, Miss Banet," Somsak said.

Dufour cut into the flaugnarde with his fork as Honor gave another to Somsak, who cut a piece out with the same casual precision. Both chefs placed the slices of pastry into their mouths and chewed with comically similar considering expressions. As if on cue, both swallowed and turned to look at each other for a moment before turning back to her.

Somsak Kurusarttra favored her with a wide smile. "Very, very good, Ms. Banet."

Phillippe Dufour's appreciative smile was even more meaningful for its lack of any flirtation. "Magnifique. You are remarkably talented, Mademoiselle."

Honor was forced to concede that Chailai had been right - she did love Marq's 'surprise'.

________________________

The sun had just begun its descent when they exited the fragrant premises of the Culinary Institute of Siam.

Immediately, Chailai brought out her cellphone and made a call. She spoke to Mongkhut in rapid Thai for a few seconds before she turned to Honor, keeping him on the line. "Mongkhut says the fastest way to get to the car is for us to walk through and meet him on the other side. Or we could wait back inside for him to drive around and pick us up ..."

Siam Square was bustling with shoppers, tourists and students from the nearby Chulalongkorn University. Honor shook her head, wanting to see more. "Let's walk."

Chailai nodded in agreement, and informed Mongkhut of their decision before hanging up.

Despite the name, Siam Square was not a 'square' in any meaningful sense but a network of short streets hosting hundreds of restaurants, cafes, clothing boutiques, record stores, art galleries, cinemas and a number of large shopping centres. Chulalongkorn University actually owned the land, Chailai revealed, and was affiliated with many of the institutions and developments, including the Culinary Institute of Siam. Honor counted more than half a dozen 'TemPTat' studios on as many streets as they walked and looked through shop windows, Chailai setting a leisurely pace.

"'Pécheressa,'" Chailai suddenly said, reading out loud. "That's new."

Honor saw it ahead of them. It was a corner piece establishment beside yet another 'TemPTat' parlor. The sign above the shop was a simple black, the cursive lettering, one letter overlapping the other, in white. Two devilish horns arose from the 'e' after the 'P' at the beginning and the 'a' at the end ended in a very long twisted devil's tail.

It didn't look like a typical boutique. For one thing, violating every rule of high street retail, its storefront windows were dimly lit and obscurred with swirling patterns, so the mannequins and the items of clothing they were advertising were not fully visible until they came much closer. It was then that they saw that the patterning on the windows were words in tiny cursive lettering on the tinted glass - words that they could be read now that they were up close; 'Wicked', 'Nasty', 'Slutty', 'Naughty' ...

There were six of them in the window, all in burlesque masks, and all dressed in what ran the gamut from the merely risque to borderline pornographic. A teddy modeled by one mannequin was nothing but strings of lace and mesh, leaving the butt entirely bare, meant to frame and outline rather than conceal. The mannequin beside it showed off a sheer black teardrop g-string that left the bare minimum to the imagination and a matching patterned shelf bra. The gown modeled on the mannequin at the end was essentially a long toga with a plunging neckline at the front that stopped just a handspan above the belly button, and another handspan above the small of her back - sideless, it appeared to rely solely on the large jeweled belt at the waist to keep it on the mannequin's body. The swimsuit was a one-piece contraption of strings and mesh triangles, designed to cover barely more than the nipple and nothing of the bum. The next mannequin advertised clearly where the idea to cut leggings into low-riding hotpants came from, and the sheer mid-riff top with the string tie in front had clearly inspired a lot of the working girls walking by. The last mannequin wore panties alone and jewelry around ankle, thigh and wrist, the centerpiece being the body chain that connected the necklace to the three-stranded belly chain slung around the mannequin's waist.

Given what the mannequins were wearing and that the same words were patterned all over their ivory white bodies, which, Honor noticed were markedly more voluptuous than the svelte model in most women's clothing stores, the 'Adults Only' sign above the heavily tinted glass doors made a lot of sense.

Chailai face was thoughtful as she searched her memory. "This used to be a record store."

Honor read another sign over the door. "'Bad Girls Only.'"

"I'll tell Mongkhut to wait," Chailai said, straight-faced.

The two women smiled wickedly at each other, and went in.

________________________

'Pécheressa' - a play on the French word for 'sinful' - was the stage name chosen by the Thai founder when she left the go-go bars of Soi Cowboy for the clubs of Las Vegas, dancing on stage at nights, and taking classes to improve her English in the daytime.

As it turned out, and unknown to the club owner who had brought her over from Bangkok, she had previously worked in a factory producing designer lingerie in Nonthaburi, one of many women working twelve hours a day for a number of household fashion brands in the West before fate led her to the go-go bars across the river. Tired of her costumes pinching and scrunching in all the wrong places, she proceeded to customize the costumes she wore for her routines.

It wasn't long before her fellow dancers were besieging her to do the same for them, and within a few weeks, she was remaking and then, combining a newly rediscovered ocean of talent with an already thoroughly prurient imagination, completely redesigning the costumes of a substantial number of the city's exotic dancers. Her creations' ability to show the maximum amount of skin while still remaining on in what appeared to be a defiance of physics immediately made her very popular within her select market of fellow dancers ... very rapidly driving up their tips and the club owners' profits, delighting all parties in the process.

Soon, 'Pécheressa' could afford to appear on stage only when she wanted - which was more often than her colleagues expected. But she more often appeared as a name on the label of the most revealing and scandalous costumes and lingerie, on stage ... and numerous Las Vegas hotel rooms.

She opened her first store just off The Strip a few months later, rapidly expanding into swimwear, club and evening dresses and then body jewelry - all following the same principle that guided her designs for the stage; her creations were designed to reveal, display and accentuate, leaving just barely enough to the imagination ... and sometimes not. Soon, her clientele had rapidly expanded beyond her initial market of dancing girls, and she had bought a large share in Erotication, a manufacturer of adult 'items', selling their newly cross-branded products in her shops' basements and artfully done darker corners.

The store on Siam Square was her first outside America, a more than symbolic return to her roots, especially considering that a factory in Nonthaburi now produced the bulk of her products. Given the large number of women of all nationalities perusing the aisles in the store, it was obviously profitable as well.

Since it was not possible for all the types and styles of clothing and jewelry on sale to be on its own mannequin, 'Pécheressa' innovatively solved the problem by attaching a small picture card of the item on a live model wearing a matching burlesque mask, showing off what it looked like on a real woman from multiple camera angles. Killing two birds with one stone, the women also sported 'Pécheressa's' line of jewelry - necklaces, bracelets, anklets, jewelled pasties, and a line of both piercing and non-piercing nipple, belly and full body chains. Much larger display posters of masked women modeling bestsellers and new designs were clamped on and beside the numerous racks and shelves.

Chailai lifted up a filmy network of lace, strings and bows and showed it to her, smiling, eyebrows raised; the picture card attached to it showed a woman from three camera angles, brightly smiling beneath her black burlesque mask, wearing an open crotch and open bust one piece, the thin strings and stretches of lace framing her breasts along with the nipple chain connecting her swollen pink nipples, and the carefully shaven strip of hair between her legs. Honor responded by lifting up another black mass of lace and strings; an entirely backless panty and its matching shelf bra - the picture card showed a similarly masked woman, a belly chain around her waist - from the front, side and back, smiling just as widely at the camera as she posed in a bedroom.

Other women were doing the same thing around them, examining teddies, bustiers, camisoles, chemises, babydolls and every manner of bra and panty, only a few of which could be described as decent. Some were particularly exotic, like the bra that only had one full cup, and the bandeau set with the diamond shaped cut-outs where the nipples were supposed to be and a hole in the matching panty stretching from the crotch to the backside. The swim section was similarly eyebrow raising; most of the items on display were just thin stretches of material that simply covered nipples and barely covered pubic regions - the crotchless swimsuits did not do even that, while the majority of the bikinis and slingshots were so sheer or made with such a miniscule amount of material that the smiling masked women posing on beaches and by swimming pools on the picture cards attached were for all intents and purposes, nude. Honor paused to see a bestseller one-peice - a series of slashes left breasts, butt and crotch bare for public display.

The costume section was next; the nurse's costume was a sheer white wrap-around top that halted at the nipples and a sheer white micro-mini skirt that barely covered the crotch - the woman in the picture card also had on tights, a nurse's hat perched on top of her head along with her white mask and body chain. The woman featured in the next picture over, wore a sheer dark blue shrug top with the ends tied under her breasts, a thong of the same sheer material and back thigh high fuck-me boots. A sergeant's three chevrons decorated her sleeve at the shoulder and a police hat sat on her head, a foam baton in her hand and a smile on her face - her belly chain and the bracelets on her upper arms were shaped like the handcuffs dangling off her panties. The prisoner, military, school girl and other costumes were equally as varied and revealing, all displaying jewelry.

Honor paused at the harem girl costume - sheer baggy trousers slit along the outer and inner seams and cinched with bows around knees and ankles. The sheer material that made up the top could only partially cover one breast at a time. The woman in the picture modeling the costume had her hair partially covered in a head scarf, held on by pins, and she wore a see-through veil over her nose and mouth along with the burlesque mask. Her body chain started from the necklace around her neck, connecting to the nipple chain hanging off her immensely swollen nipples which then went to the belly chain resting just above her belly button. Chains from either side connected the belly chain to the two chains circling her thighs. She sat on a marble floor in a high-arched hallway, legs spread and crossed at the ankles in the yoga position, the crotchless trousers leaving her neatly trimmed bush and entire pubic region bare of any covering whatsoever.

Honor licked her parted lips, reminded of 'Ramya', and moved on - feeling a flush coming on before she ruthlessly suppressed the images of the consequences that would surely follow if Mr. Haydn were to find her waiting for him wearing 'that.'

Tops were off-the-shoulder, cropped, sheer ... a line of tanks, halters, shrugs and front-ties so short they precluded any form of stretching without exposure by any woman wearing them, others sported necklines that went well below the belly button in addition to having no backs or sides. One shelf's offerings left either one or both breasts fully exposed, including a line of boob tubes so thin they could only realistically cover nipples. Bottoms ranged from long skirts and bell bottoms to ludicrously cut hot pants and mini-skirts, riding low, off the hip and deeply cut on both the front and back. The material employed ran from denim to stretch liquid metal to sheer, filmly lace. Somehow, it didn't surprise Honor to discover that being completely see-through did not prevent an 'Pécheressa' skirt from having a slit as high as the waist, and riding below the hip did not preclude pants being crotchless or being slashed above pubic areas and butts.

However, the dresses and long evening gowns captured Honor's attention the most. Here 'Pécheressa's' clear penchant for public exposure and exhibitionism revealed itself. All featured either one or a combination of plunging necklines, naked backs, open sides, bared stomachs and slits that ran as high as the entire length of the dress - the only way a large number of the dresses and gowns could stay on a woman was through artfully hidden body harnesses made of networks of elastic and lycra straps and ribbons. The models wore their burlesque masks and jewelery but the scenery behind them were entirely public - they posed on red carpets, in high class restaurants and dancefloors, men in tuxedoes and women in gowns behind them. Honor knew the pictures were unreal - how could they be anything but? - but she was shocked nonetheless; 'Pécheressa' was clearly sending the message that she considered these creations, suitable for public outings.

The only concession to any notion of modesty, and the need to actually sell the items on display, was an element of genius. Most of the dresses could be worn more than one way, minor adjustments changing the amount of skin on display. Others came with pieces that could be attached to conceal or detached to reveal - depending on how much of her body a woman wanted seen.

'Pécheressa' clearly believed that quite a lot of her customers would want 'everything' seen.

No woman, Honor was sure, would go out to a fancy restaurant wearing a gown that left her breasts completely open, even with jeweled pasties over her nipples. Or a skirt that rode so low that a full quarter of her butt was visible, or sporting a slit in front that went all the way to her boobs. More than one dress could be worn so that it simply covered nothing; one or both breasts open to display dangling nipple chains, slits and sides high and open to show off belly, thigh, knee and ankle chains, and backlines and necklines going several inches too low. The next few pictures on the card showed that an adjustment here and a few pieces attached, coupled with the fastening of some tiny clasps and the woman would be covered enough, just barely, to be seen in public, albeit with more than a little shock at her daring.

There was little likelihood that any woman wearing any of the items on display would remain unmolested long after she shows it to any man with a pulse and a working libido - but she could not fault the quality and workmanship that went into the items displayed for sale.

"We really should be going now," Chailai said behind her.

"Where are we going anyway?"

Chailai grinned. "It's another surprise."

Honor twisted her lip, "Let me guess - Marq?"

"Yes." Chailai nodded. "And you're most definitely going to like it."

Honor made a face again but she let it go. She noticed that Chailai had three items in hand, a shelf bra and backless panty set and a babydoll, both black and the bright red cowl neck teddy they'd both stopped to look at.

She raised an eyebrow and Chailai grinned.

"Boyfriend's birthday coming up - thought I'd get him a present."

Honor smiled widely. "That's a present ... for 'him'?"

"Yes." Chailai responded, admirably straight-faced.

Honor grinned and shrugged expressively, "Just as long as 'he's' not wearing it ..."

Chailai rolled her eyes at her, grinning back, before nodding toward the racks. "Why don't you get something for Marq? His birthday is coming up too."

Honor's ears pricked up as she found out yet another thing about Marq that she didn't know. She knew it wasn't exactly difficult to figure out how they were spending most of their time together, but Chailai certainly could not know their relationship was little more than a business arrangement.

So she swallowed a sudden irrational urge to explain and turned to look at the racks, intending to make a show of looking for something for her ... employer? Lover?

Then she saw it in the nightgown section by the lingerie row. The woman modeling the nightgown was only slightly smiling at the camera, lips parted and eyes shadowed seductively behind her cream colored mask. The gown was the exact same cream color, with long flowing sleeves and nothing in front and a slit at the back that went all the way to her waist - the only thing keeping it on the model's voluptuous nude body was the small band of material with a bow in the middle camouflaging the front clasp under her naked breasts. A chain extended from the bow to each erect nipple while another went to join the chain encircling her waist.

Honor was surprised at how much she wanted that open fronted nightgown, how much she wanted Marq to see her in it. And try as she might, hungry heat suddenly roiling and spreading between her legs, nipples rising to attention and pointing through her top, she could think of no reason why it would be a bad idea.

In fact, she could suddenly see lots of things she was very curious to find out exactly what Marq Haydn's reaction would be if he saw her in them.

"Seen something?" Chailai asked needlessly, following her eyes.

"Yes," Honor answered.

________________________

Honor was once again forced to concede that Chailai was right about her liking what Marq had planned for her, despite the fact that her premonition of impending nudity had come to pass and that she was naked under the towel she had tied over her breasts.

The Sandalwood Spa, Sauna and Massage Centre occupied a massive portion of the basement floor of the five star Bangkok Margrave hotel, and true to its name, the air was permeated with the scents of sandalwood, as well as mint, rose, balsam, jasmine, lavender and coconut. The floors, shelving and furniture were made of pale golden teakwood, the walls light beige with recessed lights enlivened by the green of living plants in miniature flowerpots hanging on the walls.

After the walk through Siam Square, the novelty of being tutored by two living culinary legends and her elation at their praise of her work had rapidly lost their anaesthetic effect, and the fact that she had been on her feet for hours had finally made itself very convincingly felt. Chailai had borne a similar pained look as they got into the car and Mongkhut started out for the Bangkok Margrave.

Honor grudgingly gave Marq Haydn full marks for his skill at manipulating events; she was certainly in the mood to get off her feet, and be on the receiving end of a massage and some pampering.

A smiling middle aged woman had led into one of the centre's private massage rooms. The room was white-walled, plants hanging off the walls, smelling of incense, teakwood shelving with numerous towels and bowls and bottles of oils, masques and scrubs conveniently placed around the massage table. It also had its own ensuite shower stall, but as she began to head toward it, the woman said, rather mysteriously, "Take off clothes. But do not use shower."

Honor frowned, "Why?"

The woman nodded her head. "You use shower later." Then she left, sliding the door closed.

Signs told her that she was allowed her to leave her underwear on, but Marq had robbed her of that option - no doubt by design, she thought, wrinkling her nose as she remembered being ordered to take them off. So she could only wrap herself in just the rather short towel provided, knotting her hair up and hopping up and settling down on the massage table to wait in pleasant anticipation even as she wondered about the strange, apparently temporary, shower prohibition.

The door slid open a minute later.

But it was not the masseuse that entered the room.

Honor stared at him as he slid the door closed. "What are you doing here?"

His smile had a cruel cast to it as he closed the distance between them, eyes predatory and fixed on her, her eyes widening at the intensity of his gaze as her hands protectively went to the towel's knot where it lay over her breasts. He was wearing a towel exactly like her own, looking shorter on him as it fell from his waist to just above his knees, and like her, he was very obviously nude under it.

His hands grasped her wrists, and he leaned forward as he pulled her hands away, easily overpowering a perfunctory attempt to resist, placing them on the table. "You know exactly why I'm here, Miss Banet."

It was a stupid question, she conceded inwardly. "What about your meeting?"

He grinned. "Perk of being the man in charge. I called a break."

"But ..."

Then he kissed her, and her eyes closed as she found herself kissing him back amidst a swirling torrent of emotions. It was galling that he could so easily manipulate her and control events to place her exactly where he wanted, flattering that he would go to such lengths simply to have her, disturbing that her body had begun responding to him as soon as their eyes had met.

Her nipples had gone taut, a coiling heat erupting between her legs as her pussy flooded with liquid. She had agreed to make herself available to him whenever and wherever he wanted, and her body was proving itself to be more than happy to comply with their agreement, whatever else her mind had to say about it.

"She's going to come back," Honor whispered after he opened the knot of her towel, making no effort to stop him, her hands at her sides as he revealed her naked body, his hands touching her.

"Who?"

She looked at him, eyes wide. "The masseuse ..."

He laughed, his own towel dropping off to the teakwood floor, "No, she's not coming back. Yet."

She tried another tack, "I've been sweating all day and I'm all sticky ..."

He cupped her breasts, making her shudder, his lips on her neck, licking. "Mmmm ..."

"What if I scream?" she threatened after another kiss, one last utterly insincere nod to propriety.

His smile grew wider. "I'm counting on it."

It wasn't quite a scream that came out of her mouth when he entered her not long afterward, her vaginal walls parting easily to accept him, but it was certainly loud. He took her from behind, making her brace herself on the massage table as he slid his cock in and out of her pussy, the swells of her belly and hips gripped roughly in his hands. She moved with him, the sound of their bodies coming together accompanied by his harsh breathing, her own whimpering gasps sounding out over everything.

Honor cried out again when one hand went up to her breasts, throwing her head back and spasming as it met a swollen brown nipple, distended and sensitive. As if in response, his thrusting into her rapidly became more intense, less controlled, his grip on her body rougher, on the cusp of pain, and she knew at that moment that it was all about him, his pleasure, his need for release.

He growled out something, his hands grasping her breasts, and she arched as she felt his cum spurting into her pussy, crying out in response to him as her body hungrily accepted his liquid.

He was still inside her as her breathing returned to normal, his hands suddenly gentle and roaming her body as he got his own breathing under control. She smiled as he kissed and laved his tongue along the arch of her neck, enjoying his presence, his touch, the heady mixture of joy and pride at the pleasure he took in her body. She turned to face him when he finally exited from her, rising up on her tiptoes to run her tongue over his lips, melding her nakedness against him as he kissed her back with a growl of hunger.

Then his hands were at her waist and he was lifting her up. She looked quizzically at him, her arms tightening around his neck steadying herself as he moved and put her down on the massage table.

He kissed her once more, roughly and long, leaving her breathless. "I'll be right back."

He pressed one of a panel of buttons she had not noticed on the side of the massage table and a small hum sounded as it rose until he was satisfied. Then he stepped away, going to one of the bottle and towel laden shelves, examining and selecting items and placing them on a tray as she watched, comfortable in his nakedness.

"What are you doing ...?" she asked as he returned with two large wooden washbowls, towels and a washcloth, unable to hide her apprehension despite her teasing tone, twisting to look at him as he went behind her.

He made a sound of amusement. Then he opened one washbowl's wooden covering, the steam arising from the heated water inside infused with the heavy scents of sandalwood, jasmine and the filmy shine of bubbles and soap.

"What are you ..." Honor started.

His voice was clipped, tone commanding as he dipped the washcloth inside. "Face forward and be still, Miss Banet."

Honor found herself responding, shutting up and reminding herself of the deal she'd signed up to as she obeyed.

He started at her back, stroking the ruffle lined washcloth from her nape down the line of her spine, holding her with his hand on her rib cage, his fingers spread out beneath her breast. His hand traveled to her hips, her waist, the side of her belly, her shoulders, holding her steady as he methodically bathed her back, her stomach, her legs, her feet, her breasts, her neck, only pausing his circuit of her body with the washcloth and low-lathering soap to kiss her.

The mystery of the strange instruction that she not use the shower was solved.

She had never been subjected to a sponge bath before, something she had previously imagined was restricted only to invalids in hospital beds. She had also never imagined being given a sponge bath while sitting naked on a massage table by an equally nude man, especially one whose semen she could still feel inside her.

But she obediently remained still, her skin wet and goose-pimpled, his member swiftly returning to full mast as he stood in front of her, running the washcloth down between her breasts and over her belly, his destination clear. Wordlessly, she leaned back and spread her thighs apart, lips parting as he ran the cloth down her abdomen and over her mound, a hand on her hip to hold her in place. He took his time, dipping the washcloth in the bowl twice in the process as he 'cleaned' her, making her gasp out loud as one or two fingers inevitably made their way inside her pussy, her body shuddering as he cruelly teased her clitoris to attention.

And then he was done bathing her, carefully putting the washcloth and washbowl on the tray.

She moaned as he kissed her again, his hand running up from her hip to her rib cage, her nipples aching and erect as she placed a hand on his chest to balance herself. Her other hand had gone between her legs, moving almost of its own volition, her fingers repeatedly rubbing and pressing on the engorged nub over her slit, digits stroking into her pussy, her body arching as she abandoned all shame and modesty to continue what he had started.

He touched her breasts, and she grunted as she reached for his member, abandoning her self-ministrations to guide him toward her opening, teeth gritted in anticipation. But instead, he grabbed her wrist and returned her hand back between her legs.

"No," he said, almost a growl. "Continue."

His voice, his eyes, the sudden forcefulness of his touch that brooked no disagreement, and she suddenly realized that she was feeding another fetish, that he took more than a normal amount of pleasure in watching her pleasure herself.

So she continued; finding herself enjoying the novel experience of masturbating to an audience, especially one watching her with such rapt attention. She quickly abandoned her attempt to pretend he wasn't there, because he kept touching and kissing her, his hands traversing her skin, cruelly teasing the swollen brown tips of her breasts, his fingers running over the rough and dark bumping on her areolae, adding another dimension that was far from unpleasant. She shook as she finally curled two fingers into herself, found that springy knot of flesh on the front wall of her vagina, her body jerking as he took a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. She pressed on the knot, once, twice, shaking and crying out as she felt the sudden clamping in her abdomen, her toes curling as she gasped, crying out as liquid gushed out of her pussy before his avidly watching eyes as she came.

He silenced her with his lips, his hands on her body abruptly rough as he pulled her toward him, leaving no doubt that he had enjoyed watching her. She was perfectly placed, she realized as he spread her legs over his arms, the massage table at just the right height, the specially made mattress absorbing the water from her sponge bath and the liquid from her pussy all the same and locking it all away. Honor felt his cock touch her as he broke the kiss, stroking against her slit for a moment, barely long enough for her to prepare as her fingers' pressing down on her clit drew out another gush of cum, shuddering as she splashed him with her liquid.

He entered her with a loud grunt of pleasure, answering her own choked shriek of delight as she threw her head back, both hands thrown behind her to brace herself. His lips covered hers for a long moment, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth, faintly mimicking his member's presence in her pussy.

"I think you're trying to kill me," Honor breathed, when he broke the kiss, smiling against his lips.

He chuckled, and then he kissed her again.

He began to slide in and out of her pussy, and Honor grunted, smile forgotten, teeth gritted as she fell into the all too familiar rhythm.

She came again within only moments, and as she screamed she felt him exit from her to allow another gush of liquid to leave her body before sliding into her again. He fucked her as she rode the afterthroes of her come, past the involuntary stiffening of her body, until she returned to moving with him again, her eyes staring and locked on his, mouth open as his every thrust drew a gasping cry out of her, the impact of their bodies making her breasts jiggle on her chest. He pistoned into her pussy until she threw her head back as she orgasmed again, breasts heaving as he held and molested them in his hands. No liquid erupted from her this time, and he kept himself inside her for the duration.

He kissed her, long and softly, taking her lips when she opened her eyes, still shaking from her come, skin goosebumped, finding herself delightfully invaded still, breathless as she felt her vaginal walls spasming around the full length of him. Then he broke the kiss as he cruelly slid out of her, making her cry out loud at his exit, her eyes following a stubborn string of pre-cum stretching and glinting from the head of his penis to her slit. Then he let out a cry of his own, gasping as he spurted his cum on her body.

She found herself smiling as she watched him come, enjoying seeing his semen landing on her mound and belly, feeling the warmth and thickness of it spreading on her skin. She felt that all-too-familiar upsurge of joy and pride at the pleasure she gave him, easily overshadowing an initial surge of disquiet at her enjoyment of a man releasing on her body, her undeniable pleasure at his marking her as if she was his territory ...

She wondered at her own eagerness, how utterly natural it felt as she went off the table and knelt to 'clean' him up afterwards, seeing the glistening wetness of her fluid on his cock and tasting it as she fastidiously licked and sucked him clean, thoroughly enjoying his harsh breathing and moans of pleasure as his fingers caught in her hair.

She looked up to smile brightly at him when she was done, and she melded her body against him as he lifted her to her feet and kissed her, feeling the spattering of cum on her belly sticking to him as well. She smiled at him again when he broke the kiss before she brought his head down so she could reciprocate. She shuddered, moaning against his lips as his questing fingers went to touch her, and she lifted her leg and leaned into him, giving him access, letting him feel how wet she still was.

He broke the string of kissing and the gentle exploration of her vagina after a blissful while, and as she stared at him, breathless, he said, "I'll be back late tonight." He kissed her again. "You will wait for me. Yes?"

She nodded obediently; she was his odalisque.

He smiled before bending to kiss each nipple, making her keen quietly as he sucked on each distended brown tip, leaving them swollen and wet, and then he kissed her lips again. Then he stepped away from her, picked up his dropped towel and wrapped it around his waist, covering an already growing erection, and then he turned and left, sliding open the door and stepping out without saying another word.

The masseuse must have been waiting by the door, because she entered within a minute of his leaving, and bowed a perfectly proper and neutral faced greeting. As though finding a somewhat stunned looking client standing in the middle of the room, completely naked, nipples noticeably erect and pointing at full attention, belly liberally smeared with semen, was nothing out of the ordinary.

"You can use shower now."

________________________

She had found Chailai waiting for her when she emerged from the massage room, feeling wonderful after an hour of being carefully covered with soothing concoctions of sweet-smelling creams and oils, having heated stones expertly laid on her body, and then being thoroughly stretched and kneaded until she was moaning out loud. If the masseuse harbored any untoward opinions about what had obviously happened in the room between her client and the dark skinned man in the towel, she continued to keep it to herself, keeping up a friendly chatter in her slightly broken English as she worked.

For her part, Honor found that the expected feeling of mortification, of shame or embarrassment never materialized. Even seeing Chailai and discovering that she had been in the adjoining room all through her episode with Marq did not make her feel any different. She did not know whether she had been heard as Marq had fucked, bathed and fucked her again ... and neither did she really care.

She had not been trying to be loud, she had just been beyond worrying about keeping quiet, beyond any concern for modesty or propriety.

For her part, Chailai had acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and she had shown no surprise when Honor told her that she wanted to return to Siam Square. By herself. She had also made no comment, verbal or otherwise, about Honor deciding to leave all but one button of her shirt open, instead tying it to her body in a bow below her breasts, her mid-riff bared for all to see. The new widely opened neckline and the still stiffened swells of her nipples pushing through meant that if Chailai had previously failed to notice her lack of a bra, she would certainly not fail to notice it now.

Honor again found that she simply didn't care.

Sensible, disciplined and decent Honor Banet would never just tie on a shirt without a bra, with pants that rode so low, step outside showing so much skin. But sensible, disciplined Honor Banet had already surrendered to the Honor Banet who could sell herself to a wealthy stranger in Thailand, the Honor Banet that didn't mind if everyone in a spa heard her as she was getting mounted and ridden like a shameless whore. The Honor Banet that had allowed Marq Haydn to take so many liberties with her body that she no longer harbored any illusions of control ...

He had broken her in that massage room, she realized, in as much amusement as arousal as her mind replayed what she had allowed Marq to do to her, and where she had willingly allowed him to do it.

It disturbed her, in some distant corner of her mind, but it also made it clear to her what she needed to do ... who she needed to be - at least, for the next ten days.

His odalisque.

She looked down at herself, at the scandalous amount of skin she'd left uncovered. 'I like seeing your breasts.' he had said not so long ago. It made her smile.

It wasn't necessary for him to witness her exhibitionism, it was enough to know that he would approve.

The ride back to Siam Square, after dropping off Chailai at Blue Dragon headquarters, was thankfully short despite the traffic, Mongkhut dropping her off and driving off after she made it clear that she was dismissing him for the day.

The sun had set and Siam Square was brightly lit when she came out to find the cab driver the proprietess had arranged for her waiting outside. He bobbed a greeting, unable to stop his eyes from making a quick appreciative tour of her body as he did so.

Under normal circumstances, she would have taken the time to explore. Siam Square in the evening played host to a colorful night market selling everything from clothes and accessories to electronic gadgets and food. Instead, she only looked around, curious and yet oddly disinterested, mind occupied, as she followed the cab driver to the side street where his car was parked.

"Grand Imperial?" The driver turned to look at her and reconfirm from the driver's seat.

"Yes," Honor replied from the back seat.

He nodded and turned back, started the car, and drove.