My Thai life 2

My life story from 18 after school into thai sex industry

Part 2 – Tuesday, second week

The first seven days passed in a blur of hot plastic smell, conveyor belts, and aching feets. I learned to keep my head down, smile when the line leader shouted, and never be the last one to clock out. Khun Chaiyadi acted like nothing happened. He walked past my station twice a day, eyes sliding over me the way men look at machines, not people.
Then Tuesday morning the loudspeaker crackeled:
“Fern, line 4, report to the manager’s office immediately.”
My stomach droped. The other girls glanced at me, curious. I removed my gloves and walked the long hallway that smelled of bleach and fear.
His office door was already open. He was sitting behind the big teak desk, air-con blowing cold, gold watch catching the light. He didn’t tell me to sit.
“Close the door.”
I did.
“Lock it.”
I hesitated half a second. He raised one eyebrow. I turned the little knob until it click.
He leaned back, fingers laced over his belly.
“You’ve been talking.”
My heart stoped.
“I—I haven’t, Khun Chaiyadi.”
“Don’t lie to me, Fern. May on line 3 says you were in the bathroom a long time yesterday and told her the manager ‘touched you wrong.’”
I only went to splash water on my face because the memory of his tongue came back too strong and I felt dizzy. But someone saw me come out pale and made up the rest.
He stood up slowly, walked around the desk until he was right infront of me. He smelled the same, sweat, cologne, and something sour.
“You think you can ruin nineteen years of my reputation with village gossip?”
His voice was soft, almost kind. That made it worse.
He reached out and pinched my chin hard between thumb and finger, forcing me to look up.
“I can fire you today. No pay for the week. No reference. Your mother will be very sad.”
I swallowed hard.
“I didn’t say anything, I swear.”
He studied my face like he was deciding whether to believe me. Then he let go and walked to the window. Pulled the blinds closed with one sharp tug.
“Take off your shirt.”
My hands shake so badly I couldn’t undo the buttons. He waited, patient. I got the uniform shirt off, stood there in the thin white bra we all wear because the factory shirts are see-through.
He stepped close again, reached behind me, unhooked the bra in one motions. My breasts are small, but the nipples was already hard from the cold air and from fear. He looked at them the way men look at meat in the market.
“You want to keep this job?”
I nodded.
“Then you will do exactly what I say, when I say it, every time I say it. Starting now.”
He pushed me down until my knees hit the carpet. The floor was rough, little bits of plastic stick to my skin. He unzipped slowly, took himself out already half-hard, stroked once, twice, watching my face.
“Open.”
I did. He slid in deeper than last time, hitting the back of my throat until my eyes watered. He held my ponytail like a handle and moved my head the speed he wanted. The desk phone rang twice; he ignored it. It lasted maybe 10 minutes. When he finished he kept himself in my mouth until I swallowed everything, then wiped the corner of my lip with his thumb and pushed the thumb inside so I tasted him again.
He zipped up, sat back down, opened a drawer, and took out a single sheet of paper.
“This is a warning letter. It says you were late three times this week and you damaged company property. Sign it.”
I was never late.
I signed anyway. My hand left a sweaty print on the page.
He folded the paper, put it in a yellow envelope, wrote something on the front.
“This goes to HR at the end of the month unless you stay a very, very good girl.”
He pressed the intercom. “Send Fern back to her line.”
I put my bra and shirt on with my back to him, fingers fumbling. I could feel his eyes the whole time.
Walking back through the factory, the noise of machines felt far away. My mouth tasted like bleach and shame. One of the older women caught my arm as I passed.
“You okay,?”
I forced the brightest smile I could. “Okay ka, just hot in the office.”
That night I stood under the cold shower behind our house until my skin hurt, trying to wash the day off. But I could still feel his hand in my hair, still taste him when I swallow.
I told myself: just a little longer. Send money home. Save enough to run far away.
But every morning when the alarm rang at 5:30, I felt the yellow envelope waiting for me like a snake under the bed.

Part 3 soon