Precious Purchase - Illustrated
Copyright© 2025 by CreepyUnclePete - by Limnophile
Chapter 2
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2 - A tall burly American hires tiny hooker sisters in Southeast Asia. All characters age 18+, and all females are under 40kg. (90 pounds)
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Incest Sister Group Sex Interracial White Male Oriental Female Exhibitionism Petting Safe Sex Voyeurism Water Sports Size Prostitution Illustrated
When pretty and petite Sri finished washing her body and hair, her even tinier sister Azizi took her place under the shower head. While Azizi soaked her hair, Sri toweled herself off. Little Azizi leaned against the shower wall and I stared at her tiny pussy intently as she pissed. The last of her golden pee left her body as redheaded Sri held my cock in her hand. She marveled, “Hmm! So big!”
“And you’re both so beautiful! Such pretty blue eyes, even if they’re contacts. Most Asian redheads are obvious, but with your blue eyes I almost believe it.”
She pulled one of my hands to her chest, and smiled as she slowly stroked my stiffening cock. “Dick so big, so nice!”
“I like your boobs a lot. They’re average size, but on you two, they look huge! Move over and sit in my lap.”
“Wash first. Come.” She led me to the shower by the penis, then Azizi gently rubbed soap on it as warm water sprayed on us. Azizi took my testicles in her little hands and fondled them. The pleasant rubbing had me fully hard and very aroused. She moved her hands away and instructed, “Lean down, I wash hair.”
I needed to cum! I wanted to just jam my rod into one of them and squirt, but they were great at their ‘job’. One shampooed my hair gently as the other washed my ass and back. I played with the tiny brunette’s wonderful big breasts, but my staff still softened a little. Sri rolled a condom onto me and said, “Pick her up. Use her like rubber pussy.”
When I turned around, Sri jumped into my arms and wrapped her legs around me. Her sister reached under my crotch from behind, and guided my rod into her small pretty sister’s fuzzy poon. Sri was the tightest woman I’d ever penetrated, by far! Even the two virgins I’d been with hadn’t squeezed my cock so much! By the time I was halfway in, she called out, “Ow! Ow! Lube!” I set her down a moment and little redhead Sri smeared KY on the condom, then her sister’s labia.
I picked tiny Azizi up and stuffed over half of my cock inside. She moaned and exclaimed, “Mmmm! So big! So good! Yuh!” She wrapped her arms around the back of my neck, and locked her ankles together as she rested them on my buttocks. I held her ass cheeks and started bouncing her up and down. I’d done the same with a college girlfriend once, but Azizi was only half her weight and much easier to lift. Her little pussy squashing my cock tightly felt amazing!
I leaned my paid little lover against the tile wall and thrust into her repeatedly, relentlessly! Sri reached under me and cupped my nuts, making things even better! Azizi rocked her hips from side to side as I continued thrusting, making more room inside herself. Eventually my whole rod entered her.
I wanted to spray deep into her tiny little twat! I wanted her to be mine! I wanted to fuck her over and over, forever! I stopped thrusting and rocked my hips, pulling about halfway out before re-entering forcefully. Azizi’s eyes rolled back into her head as she called out, “YUH! YUH! EEEEEN!”
I felt my climax approaching, but Sri pushed us apart and stopped me with a lusty, “Fuck me! Please! Please fuck me!” She was an excellent whore, and wanted to maximize my pleasure before I finished. She grabbed a towel and pulled me toward the bed. She laid on her back on the fuzzy towel and spread her knees.
I was desperate for a climax and quickly climbed atop her. She pushed me downward, ordering, “NO! Not yet! Play with boobs! Not cum yet!”
Orgasm only would have taken me a dozen or so strokes in her smooth bald pussy, but I obeyed.
I backed off, my weight hovering over Sri, and went to work on those breasts. I gripped them both, kneading the firm, coconut-sized flesh like dough. I wanted to see how far they’d stretch, so I pinched her nipples hard, twisting them until she let out a sharp, jagged moan. I shifted my attention to Azizi, pulling her tiny frame against my side and sucking on her nipple while my hand worked the other. The sheer contrast, their doll-like bodies against my massive frame, was a trip. But as I focused on their chests, the frantic pace slowed. My cock, which had been a steel rod minutes ago, began to soften, retreating an inch or two as the rush of adrenaline leveled off.
“Oh no,” Azizi whispered, her voice a playful rasp. She didn’t wait for me to recover. She slid beneath me, her small, nimble hands gripping the base of my shaft, and wrapped her lips around the head.
She didn’t just suck; she devoured. She used her tongue to swirl around the rim, creating a vacuum that pulsed against my skin, then slid the whole length of me into her mouth, gagging slightly on the size. The wet, hot pressure of her throat sent a jolt of electricity straight to my balls. Suddenly, I was rock hard again, pulsing with a need that felt like a physical ache. She looked up at me, her dark eyes wide and predatory, then slid off and guided me back toward her own soaking wet slit.
“Now,” she gasped. “Fuck me now!”
I didn’t need telling twice. I grabbed her by the hips, lifting her legs high and slamming into her with everything I had. God, she was tight, like a vice grip made of velvet. Every thrust felt like I was trying to push through a wall of muscle. The friction was intense, raw, and unfiltered. I could hear the wet, slapping sound of my pelvis hitting her tiny backside, a rhythmic percussion that echoed in the small room.
Azizi’s breath came in ragged, high-pitched hitches. She was shaking under me, her small hands clawing at my shoulders as I drove deeper and deeper, filling every single millimeter of her. I felt her internal muscles clench around me in a series of wild, rhythmic spasms.
“Now! Now! Now!” she screamed, her voice breaking.
I let out a guttural roar, my back arching as I slammed into her one last time, burying myself to the hilt. I felt the surge build and then explode, a hot, pulsing torrent that filled the condom and left us both gasping for air in the sudden silence of the room.
As the adrenaline ebbed, I collapsed beside them, my chest heaving. I looked at the two of them, small, fragile-looking things, yet possessed of a grit that most people my age had never known. I reached over and pulled them both close, their small frames fitting into the curves of my body like missing puzzle pieces. The room smelled of sex, cheap soap, and the lingering scent of the monsoon outside.
Azizi rested her head on my shoulder, her dark eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “You think we just ... play?” she asked, her British accent softening into something more vulnerable. “Sri, she not just sister. She is ... everything.”
She shifted, her small hand finding Sri’s and squeezing tight. “We have no mama, no papa. Orphaned long time. When Sri turn nineteen, she see me small, see I have brain. She tell me, ‘Azizi, you go school. You learn English, you read book, you be something.’ Then she go to house of red light. She take all the big man, all the hard work, so I can have book and pen.”
Sri looked at me, her aqua contacts shimmering. She didn’t have the words in English, but the way she looked at Azizi, with a mixture of fierce protection and a heartbreaking sort of longing, spoke volumes. She had traded her own youth and her own body to buy Azizi a future.
“I want be nurse,” Azizi whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “Real nurse. Not the kind who wear costume and take money for sucky. I want help people, fix them. Sri, she cannot read, cannot write, not even name. She give all for me. She tell me, ‘Azizi, go school and make proud’.”
I looked at the red-haired woman, the one who had just been a “rubber pussy” and a professional tease, and saw the exhaustion etched into the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t just a streetwalker; she was her sister’s provider, her shield.
“You’ve got a hell of a sister, Azizi,” I murmured, kissing the top of her head.
For a moment, the lust was gone, replaced by a heavy, grounding sense of respect. They weren’t just cheap thrills in a tropical hellhole; they were survivors. I felt a sudden, sharp desire to do more than just pay for a weekend of pleasure. I wanted to make sure that when Azizi finally got that nursing degree, Sri would be the one sitting in the front row, finally free from the red miniskirts and the scent of cheap cigarettes.
The scent of galangal and fish sauce fought for dominance in the room, a pungent battle of aromatics that made my mouth water as the delivery guy plopped a bag with three plastic containers of traditional Thai goodness onto the small hotel table. I tore into the Som Tum, that spicy, sour green papaya salad that hits the back of your throat like a lightning bolt, while Sri and Azizi dove into the Pad Thai and Tom Yom soup with a feral intensity. We ate with our hands and plastic forks, a messy, glistening heap of noodles and shrimp, the kind of meal that leaves your fingers sticky and your stomach humming. I watched them, these two tiny dynamos, as they practically inhaled the food, their small frames suddenly buzzing with the sugar and spice of the local feast.
Suddenly, my phone vibred violently against the faux-wood grain of the table. I glanced down; it was David. My brother’s voice sounded like he’d been chewing on glass and washing it down with cheap scotch. “Luke? Are you still in that humid shithole?” he groaned, the sound of a packing tape dispenser screeching in the background. “It’s over, man. Sarah’s out. The lawyers are carving me up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and I can’t stand to be in this house for another ten minutes without wanting to put my head through a wall. I need a place to crash, somewhere far the hell away from the suburbs. Tell me you’ve got a spare bed.”
I looked over at the girls. Sri was currently licking a smudge of peanut sauce off her thumb, her aqua eyes gleaming with a mixture of mischief and exhaustion, while Azizi leaned against my thigh, her small hand tracing circles on my calf. The image of David, stuffy, heartbroken, and miserable in a beige office, contrasted sharply with the raw, electric energy in this room.
“Forget the spare bed, Dave,” I said, a slow grin spreading across my face. “Get your ass to the airport. I’m in Southeast Asia, and let me tell you, the scenery is breathtaking. I’ve got two local guides who are ... well, let’s just say they’re experts in ‘hospitality.’ You come here, we’ll drink some local brew and get you laid. Trust me, it’s a Hell of a lot better than a divorce lawyer’s office.”