Fourteen-year-old Johan woke near dawn in the barely basic Krungthep Hotel room near the Patpong red-light district of Bangkok, Thailand. There were no curtains on the single window, which was oriented to the east, so enough light was coming in for him to see that the Thai boy in bed with him had his eyes open, staring at Johan, in somewhat bewilderment. Johan was lying on his back, free to move, but the Thai boy was under the snoring Bruno Schmidt, Johan’s forty-eight-year-old master, and wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The boy was on his belly. Schmidt was stretched out on top of him and probably was inside him. Schmidt had gone to sleep fucking the boy. When they picked him up in the Patpong bar known to feature Thai boys, the boy probably had thought it was the fourteen-year-old, willowy, blond Johan who was picking him up. It wasn’t. When they got back to the hotel, with Schmidt following them, the older German fucked them both on the hotel room bed.

Schmidt and Johan had come from Hamburg, Germany, on a sex vacation, Schmidt having brought his sex partner with him. The two had been together for three months, Schmidt having rescued the boy, Johan, from under a bridge as cold weather was setting in in Germany. Johan had gone with him because he had no trouble with gay sex or with an older man and it was getting cold under the bridge. Johan wasn’t a rent-boy. He hadn’t done it all that much before Schmidt picked him up from under the Hamburg bridge—just for meals and an occasional night in a bed. He’d never developed a commitment with the beefy German plumber, and it was while they’d been here in Bangkok, that Schmidt had learned he was much more attracted to Asian boys than German ones.

He’d been a fucking machine through the night, but, although he’d done Johan once in a missionary, it was the Thai boy who got most of Schmidt’s thrusts and cum.

Johan could tell that both the vacation and the relationship, such as it had been, was over. He wanted to get back to Germany. He wanted to start anew there before Schmidt abandoned him here. Johan didn’t know what he’d do if Schmidt did that to him.

He quietly got up, the concerned eyes of the Thai boy following him to the tiny en suite bathroom, did his morning cleanup in there, and returned and dressed in his jeans and T-shirt. The Thai’s eyes picked him up at the door of the bathroom and followed him until he’d changed and left. Johan didn’t have more than fit in his backpack, so there wasn’t much to do before he was ready to leave. He checked his funds. He hoped he had enough for the airfare back to Germany. Schmidt had been doling out money to him, and Johan had been saving up. He knew how to get to the train station that ran a service to Suvarnabhumi International Airport.

At the train station, he saw there was a Thai International Airways kiosk where he could check the flight schedules and prices. He didn’t have enough for an airplane flight. There wasn’t even any reason to go out to the airport. He’d have to go back to the hotel and see if he could stick it out with Schmidt long enough to get the money he needed.

Or, he could go into Patpong and see what he could earn on his back. It isn’t like he wasn’t giving it out. He wasn’t really a rent-boy, but he could see whether he could get the extra money he needed to get home without going back to Schmidt. He wasn’t a rent-boy, though, he kept telling himself.

As a willowy, blue-eyed fourteen-year-old, Johan wouldn’t have to pose long against a wall in Patpong to attract business, especially as a blond, young farang—Westerner—in an Asian city, and he didn’t have to today.

“Hallo, du bist Deutscher oder nicht?—Hello, you are German, are you not? Are you looking for a friend? May I take you for a drink?” The voice had a heavy Germanic accent to it. The “from-home” language and accent made Johan comfortable. The man was a muscular thug—beefed up and covered with tattoos. He was wearing shorts on gigantically muscled thighs, sneakers without socks, and a filled-out mesh T-shirt that revealed the all-over tattooing on a body-builder’s torso.

Johan shuddered, but Johan needed another meal and some money to get him through the next night and then to help get him home to Germany. “I’d like something from that noodle stand over there more than a drink,” he answered.

“I pay for a meal and then a drink in that gay bar over there and then they have rooms upstairs. I take you up there and give you a workout, Ja? We see what you can do, Ja? How much?”

Johan had no idea what to charge men for sex in Bangkok and it showed in that the price he quoted was immediately accepted. It seemed high to him and would, he thought, last him a couple of days while he planned out his next move better.

On stools at the noodle stand, where Deter—the German claiming to be a tourist himself, but he wasn’t—joined Johan in a bowl of noodles, Johan pretty much spilled the beans on his predicament.

“Traveling alone and you’ve run out of money?” the German asked. “Nicht gut—not good. Perhaps I can help. But let’s have a drink and then go upstairs and we’ll see what is what.”

In a small room with little more than a bed above the gay bar, Deter fucked the stuffing out of Johan such as Johan had never had happened before. Deter was a pro. Johan was much smaller than Deter and still a willowy boy, with narrow hips. His passage was tight at first, but Bruno had been stretching it, so Johan managed the thickness of Deter. Johan was flexible enough to go with the man through the initial bent-over-the-bed doggy fuck, with the German crouched over the young man’s hips, riding him high like a jockey would, and holding Johan’s wrists over his head and pressed to the mattress while Deter rode him hard with a thick, if not appreciably long cock. And Johan stayed with the man through a missionary, where he lay on his back, holding his own legs extended and raised, while Deter clutched his throat with one hand, controlling the young man’s breathing, and stroked Johan off with the other while he was vigorously thrust hard up into him.

But, after that, Johan said he thought that was enough, gathered up his clothes and headed for the door.

“I decide when it’s enough,” Deter growled. He lashed out, slapping Johan across the face with an open palm and, with a surprised grunt, Johan went down. Deter hauled him up by the hair, gave him a mild punch in the face, more to surprise and to cow than the damage, and slammed him up against the wall next to the door to the corridor. Much the stronger of the two, the German pulled Johan up, back to wall, hooked the young man’s knees on his hips, put his erection in place, penetrated, and fucked Johan against the wall. When he was done, he once again let Johan sink to the floor.

“As I said, we’re done when I’m done.”

Johan answered with a moan.

“Say it. Tell me I’m done when I’m done.”

“You’re done when you’re done,” Johan answered, weakly.

They weren’t done for another hour. Deter took the young blond sitting on the side of the bed, with Johan in his lap, facing him, Deter pulling him on and off the cock with a strong hand pressing on the young man’s tailbone. And Deter took Johan, with Johan on his back and Deter’s knees and beefy thighs pushed far under the young man’s buttocks, lifting Johan’s hips high, Johan’s arms raised over his head, his hands clutching the rungs of the bed’s headboard to help steady himself from the bouncing of the German’s deep thrusting as Deter pressed Johan down with one hand on his sternum and the other hand stroking Johan off for the second time.

After this, Deter barked, “Stay exactly like that. I want to check something out. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He left the room and Johan heard him stomp down the stairs into the gay bar.

When he came back, he brought another guy with him—somebody European in his forties, a little chunky, and muttering about his good fortune. Deter pointed to Johan and said, “Fuck him if you want.” To Johan, he said, “Ja, I’ll pay extra.”

Johan was too wiped out to object. He just lay there on his back, legs spread, feet flat on the mattress, panting, arms flung out from his sides.

“Lift your tail for him,” Deter commanded, and the other guy, his trousers and briefs off, climbed up on the bed between Johan’s thighs. With a low moan, Johan did as directed, elevating his pelvis with leverage from his feet. The other guy put himself into position, mounted, and penetrated Johan’s channel, and fucked him to an ejaculation, which didn’t take long as revved up as he was by having been given the opportunity. Johan just lay there, docilely, letting the guy fuck him.

When the other dude was finished and gone, Deter said, “I wanted see how you’d take two guys in a row. You did good.”

Johan had never had sex like this before and was wiped out, totally exhausted, at the end of the two hours. During the last fuck he just lay there, open and vulnerable, taking the thrusts of the thick strokes and the lust in the eyes of the heavily tattooed and muscular man looking down into his face to enjoy the young man’s mixed expressions of suffering and of being fucked better than he ever had before. There was no fight left in Johan. He had surrendered. He was conquered.

Deter fucked on for several more minutes before releasing his seed. He had barebacked Johan.

Deter’s comment was, “Ja, you take it well. You’re a good lay. Strong enough to take dick. And such a pretty boy. The Thai will love laying you.”

“Is that ... can I have my money now and we’re done.”

“Ja, we’re done now, you and I. But there’s someone I want you to see. I’ll give you your money when we’ve gone to see him.”

“This is Pichai,” Deter said when he’d taken Johan to the Relax Massage Parlor, which was, more functionally described, a gay nightclub with an all-male brothel above it, on Thanon Rama III on the banks of the Chao Phraya River across from Wat Arun. Having said that, Deter withdrew and Johan didn’t see him ever again. The young German still hadn’t been paid for the fuck by the procurer Deter and friend.

Deter wasn’t a German tourist in Bangkok. He obviously was a procurer for an all-male brothel, run by this Pichai guy. Pichai was a no-nonsense, solidly built, if going a bit to the heavy, Thai pushing fifty. His hair was going to gray, and within a few years his waistline would go to pot, but for now he strong and capable, every inch the calculating manager in charge.

“So, you are need of some ready cash, I’m told,” he said to Johan as they sat in the sparsely attended nightclub during the afternoon hours. The place would be packed at night, but now, at least downstairs, it was being attended by a stripped-down crew. Included in those stripping down were two young, Thai pole dancers, who were receiving most of the attention of the few men sitting at the tables below the platforms. Some attention was being directed to Johan as well, with several patrons considering him more worthy of their interest than the Thai pole dancers were. In any event, all who came to this club were into the boy fetish. All talent available here was really young. A good-looking, blond farang—Western foreigner—especially one found in a gay nightclub and brothel, would always garner attention Bangkok.

Johan was small of stature and slim of body, especially in the hips, which men who sought boys found particularly enticing. He was more pretty than handsome, with a blond, blue-eyed, “I’m so innocent” aura, but with a “maybe I’m not so innocent” smile to share with any man who paid attention to him. But he wasn’t really innocent anymore. He’d done what he had to do to stay alive, having been abandoned at a younger age, and when a man lay with him and ran his hands up the boy’s inner thighs, Johan opened his smooth, shapely legs and managed to sheath whatever size cock penetrated him. He was lithe and willowy and flexible. He took what he had to but he certainly didn’t consider himself a pro.

“I haven’t been paid by the German who brought me here,” Johan said. “If I can get that money, I should be OK for a few days.”

“You’ll want to be OK for more than a few days in Bangkok. You’ve come so far from Germany already. You’ll want to be in Bangkok for a while to enjoy the delights of Asia. And, in terms of delights, you could do real well here. See how the men look at you. How much does Deter owe you?”