Pattaya is the Thai city where morality goes to die. The first time I stepped off the Baht Bus into that sleaze-slicked gomorah of flashing neon, cat-calling hookers, petrol fumes, and cheap perfume, my sleazy cunt clenched so hard I nearly doubled over.
Seriously, you could smell the sheer fuck in the air. Not metaphorically, literally. Cheap hotel cum stains being rehydrated by sweat and humidity. Sticky hookers’ thongs are discarded in alleyways, and used condoms float like jellyfish wilting in gutters.
This was a pilgrimage. I’d been edging on this idea for months in my Belfast home, marathon gooning sessions where I’d edge to grainy amateur clips of Black Bulls with donkey dicks splitting open tiny, tight Asian girls in squalid little hotel rooms. Something about the transactional nature of it. The absolute filth of everyone knowing exactly what they were there for. And I wanted in.
The Hunt For Live Interracial
I made myself a little nightly routine. My blonde hair was slicked back into a high, sweat-proof ponytail. Lips red like a warning. A black mini-dress that stuck to my tits and ass like a second skin, and beneath it? Fuck all. No panties. Just a vibrating G-spot toy, a delicate film of slit juice, and the buzz of porn-fuelled anticipation.
I’d start on Soi 6, Thailand’s own street of sin. Rows and rows of girlie bars. The bar girls perched like vultures, legs splayed and topped off with pleaser heels, pussies barely hidden behind cheap cotton hot pants. They’d try to reel me in too, but on these nights, I wasn’t there to be served; I was there to hunt.
”I’d suck the cheap hooker grool off their BBCs and swallow it all whole or even swap it with the worn-out mouths of the tiny Thai whores whose cunt had been changed beyond all recognition.”
I’d nurse a local Sangsom whiskey, watching, waiting. And soon enough, they’d arrive. The black sex tourists from the U.S. Muscled, cocky, swaggering through the filth with that confident grin of a man who knows he can buy anything and everything he wants. A Queen of Spades like me? Fuck, I’d spot them a mile off. Sleeveless tops, basketball shorts, sliders. And always hungry for cheap and easy Thai pussy.
They’d slide onto a bar stool, order a beer, and within minutes, there’d be a tiny Thai girl draped over them like a cheap curtain. And that’s when my cunt would start drooling.
I watched the whole dance like a hawk. The back-and-forth, the whisper into the girl’s ear, the flash of a few banknotes, the grope under the table. And when I saw them start to rise, arm around her shoulders, eyes already raging with sexual anticipation, I struck.
“Sorry,” I’d purr in a low, Irish accent that seemed to shock them more than my offer. “How about I pay for the room, and in exchange, I get to watch? That’s it. Just me, in the corner, soaking it all in.”
You’d be surprised how many said yes. Or maybe you wouldn’t. Some were baffled. A few thought it was a prank or, even worse, a scam. But when I showed them the cash, and they saw the raw hunger in my eyes, they knew I was dead serious.
We’d head to some grotty short-time love hotel, the kind with cum-drenched vinyl mattresses, dodgy air-con, and bathroom walls streaked with old lube and spunk stains.
I’d set myself up in the corner with my sleazy legs spread, clit slippery and raw already from hours of edging earlier in the day. My Hitachi wand? Always in my bag. Charged and ready. And then I’d watch.
These big black lads would strip off, and every time, the same reaction from the girl. Shock. Then a giggle. Then, a little fake gasp as they saw what was coming. Some of them didn’t fake it. Some of them genuinely winced as they opened their legs and took the first thrust. One girl cried and moaned at the same time as he stretched her out like a living latex sleeve.
And me? I sat there vibrating like a beast, dripping down the side of the chair, biting into my own wrist to keep from screaming and distracting them from their own debauchery.
I Became a Fixture
Soon enough, the word got around. A few of the lads recognized me from the bars, or maybe from the shadows of hotel room mirrors. I started getting approached. Some of them wanted me to join.
A few offered their cocks to me, too. But I refused. I was there to watch. To goon. To become something obscene and shameless in the corner, frantically edging to the rawest porn on earth: live, interracial, transactional fucking in the dark heart of Pattaya.
Sometimes I filmed it. Grainy, handheld, just for me. I’d rewatch those clips back in my hotel room, pausing to zoom in on the girl’s tiny body wrapped around that thick, veiny black cock, her mascara running as he pinned her wrists and jackhammered her into the sagging mattress.
I’d squirt onto the bedsheets like a deranged animal. No shame or guilt. Just raw, primal satisfaction. Other times, I’d suck the cheap hooker grool off their BBCs and swallow it all whole or even swap it with the worn-out mouths of the tiny Thai whores whose cunt had been changed beyond all recognition.
I’ll Be Back
I only took a break when I ran out of clean clothes, clean sheets, and enough pain tolerance to keep edging for twelve hours straight. My thighs were bruised. My clit was half-numb. My mind was gone.
But Pattaya unlocked something in me. A hunger that no studio porn or cam site can match. Oh, and if you think that all I did was watch, then you can think again. Stay tuned because I plan to deliver more of my Thailand confessions over the next few weeks, and they’re not for the easily offended or the faint of heart.
Booking my tickets as we read this , trans girls cheap sluts the whore we want, thank you Catherine