Chapter 1

Coroners Court Victoria, Australia
Graham Martin Case; 061221/03
Unattended Death 06/12/21
Sunnyside Aged Care, Melton

Reference 061221/03-004: Copy of documentation deceased was apparently working on when the body was discovered by employee Blessica Manalo.

I plunged my cock slowly into the slim-bodied, attractive forty-year-old Vietnamese woman’s cunt. God, she was tight: so tight that if she wasn’t so wet, friction would have grabbed my cunt stabber like a vice. I bottomed deep inside her, and she groaned her appreciation. I began the withdrawal of my ten inches of swollen meat. As I pulled out the tightness pulled her sex chute out as far as it would go, before it released its grip and reluctantly let the final inches up to the cock head slide free.

I was taking her doggystyle with her kneeling on the bed and she was also managing, despite the intense fucking she was receiving, to eat the wailing, writhing middle-aged Filipina lying legs spread wide on her back on the bed. Looking down I could see a similarly aged, thin Chinese woman lying on her back on the floor sucking my swollen nut sack interspersing it with clit sucking of the Vietnamese I was fucking. She too was doing a great job despite the distractions she encountered as a naked, middle-aged Thai woman was lying face down on the bed, arms extended over the end of the bed to finger the Chinese’s cunt. The Filipina was using a dildo efficiently on the Thai despite the distraction caused by the Vietnamese’s eating her. We had been going at it all day and all four women had received my cum.

I awoke and knew instantly it was a dream. Ten inches: I was lucky to get it up to six on a good day. Women moaning as I fucked them. Well, they sometimes did if I paid a lot of money. No, it was a dream, but it made me reflect on my life: a long life devoted to chasing Asian pussy and I decided as I was close to approaching the maker and having my life analysed by St Peter at the Golden Gates (it would only take him a short time to decide to shut the golden gates and send me down below) to write my memoirs. I hope that someone will read it and carry the torch forward.

My name is Dr Graham Martin M.A (Monash) followed by a longer list of degrees (purchased online from the USA or Europe) than a Dictator of some small country has medals on his military uniform and former head of Asian Studies Monash University in Melbourne. I reside, or should I say imprisoned, in an Aged Care Facility where the Filipina carers mindlessly shovel me from my small, sparsely furnished dungeon-like bedroom to the overheated common room. A room deliberately overheated and stuffy to sedate the elderly residents, and where I cheat at scrabble or cards with dementia-riddled fellow residents. For variety, we silently eat our soft mash of overboiled vegetables at a boarding school-like, crowded dining area. It is a far cry from the Asian delicacies I once partook of and the exotic Asian cities both large and small I spent so much time in.

Yet my mind is still active and as my Filipina carer washes me I both fantasise about the present and reminisce about the past. Yes, the mind is strong, but unfortunately, the body is not, and nothing happens with her. I have decided to record my conclusions of a life devoted to the study of Asian women, and in particular, Asian sexfighting. I hope this treatise may be of some value to those who have similar interests.

I was born in Melbourne just after World War 2, which meant I was of Anglo-Saxon heredity and was loyal to the British Empire and its culture, which we were completely unaware was about to fall apart, and the Queen. There were two sports: Cricket and Australian football. For the others who did not participate in those there was Tennis, Swimming or Athletics and for the pooftas, sheilas or the relatively few Wogs, there was soccer and gymnastics. Some weirdos in the northern states played rugby. Things were defined simply in those days. Being physically underdeveloped I was the perfect scorer or team manager for the team thus enabling me to be called “mate” by the real men, probably because they did not recall my name, and be part of, even though on the periphery, of the male-dominated Aussie society.

Oh yes, I lived through the swinging sixties, the time of the sexual revolution: free sex, miniskirts, hippies and drugs. I experienced it too, if only via the second-hand recollections and boastings of others. I attended the second university established in Melbourne, the then recently opened University of Monash, as my marks did not get me into the prestigious Melbourne University. I studied Arts as my Maths was inadequate for any Science course, and a business career seemed like too much work and future uncertainty for the financial rewards. I had my eyes set on an easy, cushy Government job with its automatic, annual wage hikes and promotion.

My luck was in as I caught the Dean of Arts in flagrante delicto with his secretary one Sunday evening at 5pm when I was using my stolen key to get in to alter my student records. Yes, this was before the time of PCs, networks, passwords and the internet and records were meticulously recorded on indexed cards. She was bent over the desk as the conservative, bible-quoting, married dean hammered her doggystyle with his trousers down at his ankles. Even more fortuitously, because it was well before today’s mobile phones, I had an early Polaroid camera and therefore instant prints of the event. As a result, I not only annually topped my year but also my Master’s degree with honours, and was employed as a tutor after graduating. A job for which I was suited temperamentally but not academically as my progress had been assisted by the Dean’s influence.

From that lowly position, I used my natural skills. I cheated, plagiarised, rode on the coattails of others, backstabbed rivals and climbed over shoulders in my rapid rise. Senior Tutor, Lecturer, Head lecturer, and Head of Asian Studies all fell into my lap. I was no fool, and I didn’t challenge the Dean of Arts for his position. I had my original control over him, strengthened by his illegal help in my ascendancy, and he knew he had my support of him in any intradepartmental fight. Plus, more importantly, his job involved real work, while I received my overhigh Government salary for doing virtually nothing, as underlings whom I favoured did the work.

Then even more luck came into the equation. The White Australia policy had been rescinded. No longer must an Asian wishing to emigrate to Australia sit a test that most university graduates would fail, I know that I would have, while primary school-educated European peasants were financially assisted to settle in the land we call Oz. Then things changed further. First Japan, followed by China emerged as economies that supplied the Australian consumer with goods. No longer did a child want British-made Meccano sets, Dinky toy cars, and Hornby Electric train sets. Finally, we experienced the Malaysian communist insurgency, the Australian-Indonesian Spotfire conflicts in West Papua and Timor, the decline of the British Empire and of course the Vietnam war and its flood of Boat Refugees to Australia.

Australia’s world had changed. Asia was important and suddenly just as in the land of the blind a one-eyed man is a king, I was that king. My department was now important and Government money poured in. My personal staff, all female, all Asian, all personally selected by me grew rapidly. The number of Asian students increased dramatically both those from overseas who were trying to qualify for permanent residence and local Vietnamese high achievers. As a result, I, at first warily and cautiously, then without restraint and addicted, fucked the proliferation of varying Asian pussy on offer.

I knew it wasn’t my body or charm. My employees wanted a high-paying, secure job at a time when there was still prejudice against Asians by most employers, while the students wanted marks their English skills denied them, or in the case of the Vietnamese a score of 100 rather than 97. I delivered in both areas, secure, cushy jobs or high marks, but there was a price to pay, and they knew and accepted it.

I needed variety, so I introduced a policy of KPIs, Key Performance Indicators, in the office. Every month the staff member, and remember all were female, whose KPI was the lowest over the past two months had her employment terminated and a fresh newcomer replaced her. For the students, I surveyed the mid-term results and interviewed students from two groups: those who were close to failing and those just below the Honours 1 grade. I explained the terms and 100% accepted their reward for their performance at their residence, on the floor in a locked empty lecture hall, in my office, in fact anywhere.

The epiphany come about eighteen months into this new system, and I still remember it like it was yesterday. Thuyet, a forty-year-old Vietnamese who had been a university lecturer in physics back in Saigon before arriving by refugee boat via Malaysia, was one of my clerical staff. She was very sensual and attractive and not only for her age. Furthermore, she was definitely one of the top three fucks in my staff, which now numbered twenty. However, it must have been a bad two months because for some reason she had the lowest KPI for the period. Rules were rules, no matter what, otherwise my system would break down if I played favourites. Similarly, no matter how good the student fuck I received, and some of their efforts made female porn stars look like beginners, I couldn’t raise that student from a fail to an honour; only from fail to pass.

Thuyet came into my office in tears as she had just read the KPI list posted on the notice board. She pleaded, promising to do anything I wanted but I shook my head. She refused to listen, stripping to her thong. Being small and firm titted she wore no bra and her thick stubby nipples, as always, caught my eye. A personal aside. One of the things I have noticed about Asian women is the greater percentage when compared to Europeans, who have large nipples. It is even more surprising when you consider most have smaller tits. With no scientific data, I have speculated it is because even up to very recent times they had a large number of children whom they breastfed, and that somehow larger nipples become part of their genes. For example, a Vietnamese born in the 60s, especially in the countryside would usually have eight or more siblings.

But back to my saga. Thuyet removed her thong. Not one of those high-waisted, high-cut 70s thongs you see in old porn, but the then modern, skimpy style that was just appearing in the shops. The next thing I knew was she was on her knees undoing my zip and my cock was being taken inside her mouth where her tongue worked magic. There was no reluctance on her part, and although I am only average in size, the harder and bigger I became, the deeper in her mouth and then throat she took me. I lay on the floor and guided her, so her bony hips straddled my face. A straight, not curly, haired, pussy, as shaved cunts were unheard of at that time, was inches from me and I used my fingers to explore her. She quickly became wetter as I slid my fingers along her slit to find her prominent clit bursting from its hood before I entered her fuck tube and felt the strong cunt grip my finger inside her. A good way to say goodbye, I thought and pulled her lower and used my tongue on her now pulsating clit. She came long and noisily just before my cum hit the back of her throat, which she swallowed completely without the slightest sign of revulsion.

She fingered her slit, withdrew her cum covered fingers, licked them dry and then walked to the side of my large, antique, very expensive walnut desk (it matched the size of my ego), gripped it and bent over. The hero of my novel reading was Harry Flashman, the main character of The Flashman Papers, a humorous twelve-book series by George MacDonald Fraser which traces a self-confessed cowardly British soldier who toadied to his superiors to gain favour. He had a false reputation for bravery, earned at the expense of others, despite trying to avoid personal danger at all costs. He was a rake and cad placed in a series of real historical incidents between 1839 and 1894 who by the tenth book had bedded 480 women. The books are well worth reading. What would he do?

This was before Viagra, and luckily, I had just received and tried a new supply of dried seahorse, the ancient Chinese remedy. I left my seat and just like the Dean I had blackmailed years before had done with his secretary I took Thuyet doggystyle for what Flashman would describe as a good rogering. I have said she was one of the top three fucks on my staff, but that afternoon she was on another level.

I wanted her to remember what she would be missing and I piledrove her with my cock, burying it fully, hearing my balls slap on her arse. But she thrust back harder, somehow managing to massage my moving, thrusting prick with her cunt muscles as both she and I banged in opposite directions. She rested one of her shoulders on the desk and reached back. One hand played with her clit, and the other played with my ball sack. We came together but I think I was louder. Luckily my office was soundproofed.

As I recovered, I made sense of what she was earnestly saying over and over, trying to make me listen. “Sirikit was second last. Let me sexfight her and the loser be retrenched.” Sexfight? What was that? Remember this was before the internet as we know it. God, I was still using punch cards and Fortran on the Monash mainframe computer. She explained and this was something I had to see.

I got on the intercom and Sirikit entered the room. She was the second last on the KPI list and was a twenty-five-year-old Thai bar girl tricked and brought here on an illegal holiday visa to work in a brothel as a virtual prisoner. It had been raided by the police, and luckily for her, saving slave women was the flavour of the month with the political progressive left plus it was election time, so she was granted probationary permanent residency. Sirikit had a typical Bangkok face, more Chinese featured than the darker almost Indian northern Thais. She was a little shorter than Thuyet and her body was slightly thicker with 33B tits versus the Vietnamese’s 32A.

In a bored disinterested manner, Sirikit said “You know the rates for my extras. Hand job $50, Sex or blow job $100, no condom $150. 30 minutes.”

I put $1000 on the table before her. It still left plenty in my university entertainment petty cash safe. “This is for you if you do what I ask.” Her eyes widened. I put another $1000 on the table in a separate pile and said, “This could all be yours.

No longer bored she eagerly asked, “What do I have to do?”

“Sexfight me, if you know what that is, and try to make me cum more times than you and you get one pile and keep your job. Lose, and you, not me is retrenched,” Thuyet said, having re-entered my office. She tossed a black strap-on with a wide leather belt and crotch strap onto the table. “Agree to the winner using this and you get the second $1000.”

“What do you think we women did in the bar back in Patpong when it was quiet. I was undefeated in 6 years.” For those few readers not versed in sex in Asia, Patpong is one of the top districts for sex in Bangkok. “I will enjoy fucking a stuck-up Vietnamese bitch like you,” Sirikit boasted. “You think you are better than all the rest of the staff. I will show you that you aren’t and get rid of you as a bonus.” Of course, her English wasn’t as eloquent as what I have written, but I want you to understand.

Feeling the width of the dildo she smiled at me and asked, “Bonus if I fuck her arse?”

I put another $1,000 on the table. I was getting to like her attitude and getting very, very hard again. Sirikit stripped and flaunted her youthful body. “This is what a horny Thai looks like. You’re lucky you old hag, it’s a privilege to be fucked by a body like this.”

Thuyet was not intimidated. She faced the younger Sirikit and opened her cunt, the wet pink gash contrasting to her Vietnamese skin and pulled aside her hood to reveal her large clit. “Match that you whore, if you can,” and stepped up to Sirikit “69 or any way you want. Most cums dragged from the other in three hours wins.”
The two lay on their sides on my expensive, antique, government-paid-for, 17th Century, Chinese Fu Dogs Rug and intertwined their bodies with their heads between the other’s legs. Tongues extended and then teased cunt lips apart searching for a responsive clit. A couple of minutes passed in preliminary licking before Thuyet reached up and aroused the hard nipples of her rival, while Sirikit’s long arm encircled Thuyet to explore her arse and cunt while still eating her slit. The Vietnamese followed suit, but she was playing catch up. Watching, I saw Thuyet’s thigh muscles tremble and twitch involuntarily, obviously out of her control. Suddenly her heels drummed the floor and a huge howl of orgasm poured forth from her. It was matched by Sirikit’s non cumming scream as the intensity of Thuyet’s cum had caused her teeth to rake Sirikit’s clit.

Sirikit looked up triumphantly, her face covered with the thick white mucous of Thuyet’s cum and spat out some of the straight pubic hair from her mouth before attacking the forty-year-old Vietnamese again. Five minutes later Thuyet noisily came again her body thrashing out of control, but two minutes later Sirikit went rigid and drew her body away from Thuyet as she screamed her release, “I’mmmmmm cuuuuummiiiiing.”

Almost as soon as that orgasm finished, Sirikit shook uncontrollably as Thuyet had taken advantage of the break in her Thai opponent’s self-control. She had seized the opportunity when Sirikit was orgasming to shift her position and finger fuck the Thai both in the cunt and arse. Two all and I was in seventh heaven. It was new. It was great. It was what I wanted to watch for the rest of my life.

They reunited their bodies again and their tongues sought their aroused prey: the others woman’s throbbing clit. During the next hour, Sirikit gained a distinct ascendancy. The timing between Thuyet’s orgasms shortened, and the intensity of her writhing and cries increased, but more importantly, the strength of her attacks on Sirikit had decreased into spasmodic non-sustained efforts. So confident was Sirikit that she seemed to relish her few orgasms when they came looking proudly at me. She led eight to four, with the winner to be the woman who had drawn the most cums from the other after three hours of sex fighting.
“Another two hours you Vietnamese bitch, if you don’t have a heart attack first,” she gloated.

When the next orgasm thundered through Thuyet, Sirikit broke her mouth’s contact with the Vietnamese woman’s love box and seized the already large, engorged, visibly throbbing, red, raw clit between her fingers and rapidly teased it. One orgasm rolled into another as Thuyet shook uncontrollably, an animal-like howl issuing from her. For ten minutes Sirikit kept up her frenzied attack before her hands tired and she stood up to admire her handiwork.

She looked at the dazed Thuyet, who lay prostrate and drained on the floor. The Vietnamese’s eyes were glazed, distorted and large, rolling so the whites could be seen. Her huge clit was still erect and visibly throbbing, her thin, shapely thighs were covered with her dried and caked love juice but twitched uncontrollably, her belly still heaved from the physical and sexual exertion she had endured, and her slit was soaked with her cum. Her breaths came in short, laboured gasps.

Sirikit felt a different wetness in her loins and uncontrolled dribbles of piss rolled down her thighs. Her body was telling her what was to come. She walked to the sofa and deliberately put on the thick, black, menacing strap-on dildo. Her back faced Thuyet as she arranged the strap-on. Suddenly her face changed from pride to surprise as her feet were pulled from under her and she fell face forward. In a matter of seconds, Thuyet had her trapped helplessly. Her body was arched U shape with her thighs on the Vietnamese’s shoulders and the Vietnamese’s arms wrapped around them, while her belly was buried into the sofa unable to move due to Thuyet’s legs pressing her shoulders into the sofa.

The forty-year-old turned and smiled at me. Her long almost prehensile tongue extended its tip lightly tracing the length of Sirikit’s cunt positioned immobile just in front of her face. Each pass of the tongue opened the cunt lips and further exposed the Thai’s clit. Sirikit’s body shivered from the slow sensual licking. Thuyet increased the speed of her tonguing enjoying the feeling as Sirikit unsuccessfully tried not to respond. Deep guttural grunts announced Sirikit’s coming, and as it had done previously Thuyet’s long skilled fingers invaded her trapped opponent’s slit to drag a follow-up strong orgasm from her.

From my vantage point, it was bizarre. When she came Sirikit’s body shook uncontrollably and the black strap-on she still wore fucked the sofa as her body contorted and thrashed, controlled like a puppet by Thuyet. She came regularly, reaching, then surpassing the number of times that she had made Thuyet cum. The Vietnamese didn’t stop even when I told her three hours had passed and she had won. She didn’t even stop when Sirikit convulsed and slid into unconsciousness but simply drew another orgasm from the inert body.

It was worth my money. Well not my money, the universities, but you know what I mean.

Finally, she stopped and removed the strap-on off the crumpled body that lay on the floor and put it on. She draped Sirikit over the sofa armpiece and slowly, relentlessly, triumphantly fucked the arse of the continually moaning, sobbing, semi-orgasming Thai woman, every so often reaching with one hand to play with Sirikit’s nipples or clit till she came another time. Tiring, she spread the younger woman’s legs wider so she could drive the weapon deeper, then reached to stimulate her clit so Sirikit orgasmed as Thuyet’s weapon continually assaulted her arse.

When Sirikit recovered it was to see the older Vietnamese opening her cunt lips and unleashing a torrent of victory piss on her. The final words she heard as Thuyet and I left the room was Thuyet saying, “Close the building door on the way out, loser.”

I was hooked for life. I had never seen anything like this and showered financial favours on Thuyet, not my money of course but that hidden in various Department spending accounts. I introduced a sexfight between the last two on the KPI monthly list to determine who was to be retrenched. Thuyet responded by deliberately finishing last or second last so that she could sexfight in front of me, and then suggesting that the best two replacement candidates should be tested by her while I watched, with the best getting the job.

It was inevitable. Within six months Thuyet was my PA at work and live-in partner, and I started to learn about Vietnamese culture. I had always had the gift for picking up languages, and I discovered I agreed with my favourite novel book character Harry Flashman when he said about the Indian servant he had purchased, “However, I put her to other good uses. In between bouts, we would talk, for she was a great chatterbox, and I learned more of the refinements of Hindi from her than I would have done from any teacher. I give the advice for what it is worth: if you wish to learn a foreign tongue properly, study it in bed with a native girl.”

I was introduced to a new world. I found that Vietnamese women placed a great emphasis on sensuality, femininity and being proud in being judged as a better woman. Even factory workers or women sewing at home on low piece rates were fashion-proud and would not even go to the supermarket without wearing full makeup, painted nails, high heels, and modern clothes. They thought nothing of spending to look good.

An invitation to a wedding was a chance to show off to other women, and most would be wearing revealing halter necks or translucent tops and dresses with the most exaggerated slits that the other Asian ‘normal housewives’ would be too embarrassed to wear in public. Older women did everything to maintain their sexuality, before reluctantly finally accepting and dressing as a respected elder. One woman may be doing manual labour picking vegetables at a market garden, the other a brain surgeon, but if at a function the first mentioned looked better she was the better woman.
I attended gambling nights held in disused warehouses where both men and women gambled on the contests. I remember my first such event which began with warm-up events to allow the crowd to enter and settle. Thai bargirls brought over for the event used their cunts to swallow and regurgitate razorblades, smoke cigarettes, and drain full cans of beer through straws. Next, the preliminary events began with a four-woman round-robin sexfight that was surprisingly won by a North Vietnamese Hanoi import who used her short muscular body and powerful legs to trib and finally sexually humiliate a local Vietnamese champion in the final, much to the crowd’s anguish. A forty-one-year-old Vietnamese, TuThoa, won a dildo contest against five others coming first, second, first and first in the four sections for length and thickness in both cunt and arse. After a thirty-minute break, the main event, a sexfight for a title began, and the half-hour gave time for final bets to be laid. I can’t recall the names or the winner, but I remember I loved it.

I learnt that sexfighting origins lay in the betting that occurred at many Vietnamese parties where couples competed at the same time with each wife attempting to make the other’s husband cum first. Because of their lack of English, the Vietnamese boat refugees could not participate in gambling at the races or TAB yet still needed to gamble. After some drinks, sexfights between women would be arranged, and bets would be laid. Apart from these betting matches, I have watched sisters compete for a boyfriend, women fight for a job, or settle insults or putdowns. Sometimes these were held behind closed doors, but the vast majority would be settled in a crowded lounge room.

I was told sexfighting was prevalent here in Oz after the first boat arrivals as although there were more men than women, there were more women than rich Vietnamese men. Only the best would get a rich man. Later men who had left their families in Vietnam to make the dangerous boat trip had become settled. They wanted to bring their family here but had acquired a woman here. To bring their kids they had to bring the whole family including the wife, so the wife and mistress fought for a new home or Government housing. Unfortunately, we are now in the third generation of Australian Vietnamese and western culture has diminished the latest generation’s love of sexfighting.

But I digress, so back to my life story. For four years Thuyet held sway, undefeated by any staff or student, as she had suggested to me and I readily agreed, that once a month she sexfight the best student challenger with the student being guaranteed a university job after their degree if they won. But time waits for no man, or in this case, Vietnamese woman. A twenty-year-old Chinese, Fu Jie, studying for an interpreter’s job qualification defeated her. To make sure of the results I wanted eventuating, I had given Thuyet extra chances in case of an upset or bad luck, by making the contest a best of three events. Furthermore, the likelihood of a Thuyet win was bolstered by the fact that overseas students 99% of the time had never sexfought.

The first event was a standard first-to-three cum contest and despite it being her first sexfight the Chinese won it three cums to two. The result could easily have gone the other way since she came five seconds after Thuyet’s losing third. I put it down to luck as they started the second bout, an eating contest, again first to extract three cums. Fu Jie was incredible: she absorbed Thuyet’s tonguing and in fact, seemed to be enjoying it while her snake-like tongue probed deeply into the Vietnamese’s slit as her teeth teased her clit. Three times Thuyet shuddered, groaned and came. She had lost so badly that I couldn’t cheat and use my discretionary powers. She had been comprehensively beaten two zip, and there was no need for a third contest.

Fu Jie looked at me. “If I beat the bitch in the third, then can I stop my studies and take her PA job? If she wins then she wins the entire contest.” I threw her a double dildo. Both women arranged their legs in a V and inserted their part of the double dildo. Thuyet’s face was filled with hope. It was soon dashed. Fu Jie treated her like a beginner. She easily overpowered Thuyet’s cunt muscle grip on her half of the double dildo and drove it in and out of the Vietnamese effortlessly. She could have ended it any time but prolonged it and prolonged it just to break Thuyet mentally. Finally, she drove the double dong deep, relaxed her vaginal muscles, moved her hips back regripped the dong further back on its shaft and then drove the newly exposed section into Thuyet. She repeated the manoeuvre and slid off leaving three-quarters of the double dong embedded in Thuyet’s cunt.

She knelt astride Thuyet with her cunt over the loser’s face and raised her hips and gestured to me. I knew what she wanted. As Harry Flashman said in the novels I mentioned earlier, “Unless you are the kind who falls in love – which I’ve never been - you take your tumbles when you have the chance, and the more the better.” Thuyet was getting older, and Fu Jie was the future. I took the Chinese student doggystyle inches above Thuyet’s face with Fu Jie holding the Vietnamese’s face so she had to watch. Aroused by the events in my office I came very strong and long as did Fu Jie.