Message-ID: <3716eli$9709041805@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/3716.txt>
From: gentclub@hotmail.com (Stroker Ace)
Subject: Beyond Chiang Mai - A Bangkok slaver story - Chap 5 - NC, mf
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
X-No-Archive: yes
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <3412e8b6.13154923@news.gate.net>
Beyond Chiang Mai
A Bangkok Slaver Story
WARNING!
Contains sex and violence forced upon a woman by both male
and females. The story is for mature adults who can
maintain a distinction no matter how vague, between reality
and fiction. It is intense. You have been warned.
(c) 1997, Stroker Ace
Beyond Chiang Mai
Chapter -- 5, Human Vipers
We kept to the small trails, heading up one mountain
after another. After the first day we stopped complaining.
We just followed completely blind to the jungle all around.
My steps never more than feet behind Slash. The thought of
being lost behind in this wilderness too real and
frightening. Tiny trails crossed at every angle yet Slash
never hesitated, following no course that I could perceive.
Once in a while there was a tug at my waist but Colleen was
quick to get more slack to her chain. I wore it around my
wait to keep my hands free. Like the monkey whose chain she
wore, Colleen, quite at last, followed on her tether.
A curious sight, she tagged along in an outfit that would
make a bar girl blush. Sanya had provided it, perhaps she
saw yet another chance to humiliation the Western beauty.
Colleen wore a thin white top now stained with four days
sweat and dirt over a tiny pink skirt. She wore the same
tire sandals as me, but carried a pair of heels around her
neck. Slung over her back was a pack as big as mine.
All day, Slash had been driving us at a relentless pace,
pushing us down smaller paths, always deeper into the
jungle. The going was rough. We climbed over fallen trees,
over roots high as our waist. There was no sun, only a
canopy of green. Once in a while the sound of a helicopter
or small plane would pierce where sunlight could not.
The brush rustled. I looked up. We were surrounded by
men with rifles. Just that quickly. Dressed in loincloths
or the remnants of military pants, they carried old US Army
rifles and sinister looking communist weapons.
"Khmer Rouge. Follow me, and shut her up!" Without a
word, the ring of men parted to let us through. A little
further and we were crossing a runaway lined with private
planes. Gulfstreams and Lear Jets were parked between sleek
helicopters. These guys did not have to hump four days
through the jungle. They traveled in style. As we walked a
golf cart speed past carrying two bearded men, in white
flowing robes holding their turbans against the wind.
"What is this place?," I asked. The cart left a cloud of
dust as it sped to the stone gate. Flanked by carvings of
giant Buddhas, their stone bellies chipped by gunfire, the
gate was guarded by more armed Khmer Rouge. Orange clad
men, their heads shaven, milled around with hands cupped
together.
"A pagoda. Of sorts," he added quickly. "It's sponsored
by the monks. Like everyone else, they need the money."
With a bow, the monk in orange robe and basketball
shoes, took Slash's pistol and knife at the gate. Colleen's
eyes fixed on spot in the distance as the grinning guard
felt her down for weapons.
Inside the walled compound a large camouflage tent stood,
the sides rolled up to let in what little breeze there was.
Two Arabs were seated under an overhead fan. A group of men
passed, their conversation in German interrupted to whistle
at Colleen as she followed, still leashed.
"Over there. Lets get her cleaned up."
In the shade, a smaller tent was set up overhanging the
river. Women in orange sarongs scurried about. Slash gave
an elderly woman some money and the three of us collapsed in
chairs set in the shallow water. "Take care of her first,"
Slash told the women. And they swarmed over Colleen. Three
native girls, straight raven black hair flowing, picked her
chair up, placing her deeper in the shaded water. Her
clothes came off, the collar unlocked, tossed on the bank.
It was not as private as Colleen was use too but she was
enjoying it. The native women swarmed over her. Soaping
her, shampooing her, massaging her tired legs. As the women
finished they turned their attentions to Slash and I. Soon
we too were naked, a smiling Cambodian beauty gently soaping
my balls and cock.
I awoke to a sweet scent, a perfume of some sort. Musky,
but so very feminine. My eyes opened to Slash's finger
wagging under my nose and a beautiful local with her sarong
pulled up, in his arms.
"Nothing like the smell of pussy to wake a man up. Get
dressed, Romeo, we got to raise some money."
"Why? You already cashed all my travelers checks."
Still drowsy, I lay nude on a massage table.
"Listen, do you want a chance of seeing Roxanne and Sarah
again, or not? Now, how can we raise some money?"
I pulled a towel around my waist. The girls were
attending to a well-built blonde. One girl did her nails
while another shaved her legs. Two men their hair slicked
back, shinning in the afternoon light and speaking in
Spanish looked on. "Colleen gives good head.." I froze. I
had said that. What was happening to me, that I would offer
my wife for blow jobs in some dusty hell hole in the middle
of a damn jungle.
"I didn't mean that. Really. Its the fucking heat. I
am tired. Four days on the trail.."
"Yes you did. And you know it. But don't worry she
won't have to suck anyone off. The men around here already
have a mouth waiting. These bastards are hard-core. They
are looking for something more."
I looked again at the blonde. She looked like a Madison
Avenue model. Tall and sleek, Scandinavian straight blonde
hair. Her breast could be silicone or she was just lucky.
Full and round, not a hint of sag, but then she was 22, 25
at the most. What was she doing with those two greasy scum-
bags? She spoke in short phrases as if speaking to herself.
It could be Swedish but the women around her took their
direction from the men.
I had my pants on. "More?" But Slash had turned away,
he called for Colleen. She was furious, happy and
beautiful, her expressions changing by the second. Two
monks, their heads shaven and in orange robes led her by her
arms. A flash of a smile crossed her face when she saw me
then the anger again. Her hair had been washed and
professionally styled but she wore a robe like the monks,
only in black.
"Why the plain robe, Slash? That not the way you like
your women."
"Dam it, Reginald! I am not his woman. Not yours, not
anyone's." She glared at me. "I just want to go. Let me
go!" She threw her arms out, breaking free of the monks
only to fall into Slash's firm grip.
"Come. We are already late."
They were waiting for us. A tent , similar to the main
one, the sides rolled up. Chairs around a boxing ring
without the ropes. Monks were busy hanging mosquito netting
and lighting lanterns. Girls carried frosty cold beers on
little round trays to seated men. The few western women
were in the were flanked by men. They looked down at hands
folded in their laps, ignoring the woman hanging in the
ring. A nice body, smallish tits but with long shapely
legs that Asian men just die for. Two monks were laboring
to take her down, stooping to undoing the bar at her legs,
lowering her nude form before freeing her hands. A small
Thai man came on stage to claim the woman. He slapped his
leg and the tall brunette got to her feet. Obviously sore
and in discomfort she hurried to followed him, her hands
crossed over her tiny bare tits, down the steps.
Monks sitting by the boxing ring typed madly at a
portable computer. Slash slowly spelled Colleen, while
another monk measured her as if for a good suit. Her
height, waist, inseams and a dozen more numbers were typed
into the little box. "Making a profile," was all Slash
said, to my questions. The monk motioned and I gently pried
my wife's mouth open for his inspection. Another clipped a
bracelet marked with lines around her ankle.
A murmur went through the tent. I saw all were huddled
around portable computers their fingers tracing lines on
tiny folding screens. Prices flashed across the monk's
computer. Colleen pushed me aside to get a better view of
the small screen as the numbers went higher still. She
realized it, before me! Screaming she tore at the men but
the monks were experienced. In a moment her hands were
pinned to her side, her voice fading as she realized that it
was inescapable. She was watching herself being sold!
The monk was pointing to an old man wearing an even older
military jacket. He grinned showing gold teeth as we
approached. "You no speak Vietnamese? You should learn.
Ahh. She much pretty. Jap computer no show how pretty. I
take." He signed the monk's clipboard in two places. "Take
her to stage. I Thong, Commander in Peoples Third North
Vietnamese Army. I beat French. I beat you. Make Yankee
dog run with ass in air. Haa. Haa. Now Thong fuck your
woman. But first she sing for Thong. Haa haaa."
"You better follow the rules you old. or I will.."
The monk, his face blank of any emotion, interrupted,
Slash, "Rules here strictly enforced. Have no worry."
But the old man had the last word, "American cunt sing
well and sing loud for Commander Thong."
Colleen looked back over her shoulder as the monks led
her to the stage. The orange robes flurried around stunned
Colleen as we took a seat by the ring. A slim girl brought
an ice cold beer. I looked up to see Colleen stripped and
spread eagled . Strips of red cloth tied her feet and hands
to bamboo sticks. Two orange clad monks pulled with all
their weight, until her feet left the canvas. All the while
the old Commander grinned and watched. Their work done, the
monks bowed and withdrew leaving a little table at his side.
My seat was too low to see if anything was there but the
sight of it made Colleen dance in mid air. God she is
beautiful creature!
Thong must has thought so too, for he took off his shirt
revealing a body surprisingly strong for such an old man.
His hands went to her body. She threw her head back in
desperation but her body betrayed her. Despite her cries,
her hips shimmering in air, her nipples hardened at his
touch. The monk's adjusted the spotlight, leaving twin gray
shadows under her stiff nipples. He turned his attention to
her center, his hands diving deep into her defenseless
pussy. He withdrew a hand drawing a finger under her nose
until she was forced to breathe her own scent. Then he
plunged his finger into her mouth. The crowd watched
talking quietly among themselves or busied themselves with
the computer inventory. Thong made tiny circular motions
over her pussy with one hand while steadying the small of
her back with the other. A rhythm was slowly developing to
Colleen's hips, the wild dancing turning into a push then a
thrusting motion. The long legged beauty across from us,
still naked from her turn on stage, had raised her head to
look. A moan, low and breathy, welling in from somewhere
deep inside, escaped Colleen's lips. She was dancing again,
her tummy muscles rippling with contractions, firm thighs
quivering as she came for Thong's wrinkled fingers. Her
gasps, louder now, had caught the audience's attention. All
eyes were on her, dangling open in every way, her eyes
glassy, face neck and chest beet red. Colleen sucked at
Thong's fingers.
Thong was just getting ready. NVA green trousers feel to
the floor. He stood, turning for all to see in green
jockey shorts a growing erection sticking out. He grinned
his gold grin, proud as a peacock. Fuck her and get it over
with, I thought, resigning myself to the inevitable. Even
Colleen looked eager for her rape. And he did. Bracing
himself he bore into her, holding deep, then withdrawing
completely to enter her again. For a moment her eyes
scanned the room she could no longer deny it to herself.
Her red blush spread even further down. Thong was holding
deep in her, reaching for the little table. Her breasts, my
source of pleasure, were at his eye level. His hands took
the breast over her heart capturing her nipple between thumb
and forefinger. He held a long sinister looking needle for
her to see. For minutes he teased her, listening to her
deep breathy pleas to the man fucking her. Bargaining with
her then declining but appearing interested in her next
desperate but pitiful offer. Thong patiently explained to
her that he could and was already was fucking her and her
painted mouth was only good for drinking his piss, but still
she offered. I moved to stand but Slash stopped me. Then
he did it. Ever so slowly he pushed that long needle al the
way through her nipple. She screamed and squirmed on the
bastards prick. He enjoying the torment of the American
lovely. Leaving the needling piercing her tit, he moved to
the other breast. Colleen steeled herself, and paid for it.
The needle went in but he made her pay. She screamed, head
back mouth open wide, not words just a scream from the back
of her throat as Thong pumped into her faster ad faster till
he just stopped. When he withdrew his cum seeped down her
thigh. He left her like that. Hanging, her chest and tits
heaving with each breath. Arms and legs in giant V's, a
needle flat through each nipple.
The monks were busy typing in information on a petite
brunette that looked like she should be on a beach in
Hawaii, so we had to sit and wait for them to take her down.
Thong came by, still in his underwear. "American hussy
dance and sing for Thong. American pussy not trained well.
No muscle control. Flabby. Thong like French woman best.
American cunt fat like Marines. Fat, slow, turn chicken and
cry like pig. Haa. Haa. Thong see new American. Little
brown hair girl. Me like. Thong make her sing. Long time.
Haa. Haa." With that, he strolled off to bid with the
monks.
The monks apologized for keeping her hanging for so long.
They offered a pair of hoops to make amends. Slash showed
me how to do it. Colleen was told to spread her legs and
place her hands on her head. Just push the needle through
with the ring. Thrilling but painful for her. And like
that she followed. Somehow perceiving that protesting was
futile. Naked cupping sore breasts in her hands she walked
between us to the jungle's edge.
Women waited for us, on their table another portable
computer lit by an ancient lantern. One girl knelt to scan
the bracelet on Colleen's leg while the other snapped a
braided wire to her neck. Slash was speaking in Thai, I
made out the names Roxanne and Sarah. A Cambodian girl
dressed in green silk bowed saying "Ahh, yes," and picking
up a lantern, gestured for us to follow. But they had
different plans for Colleen. By the steel necklace she was
pulled off in the other direction.
They were in a row, sheltered from the tropical sun by
the overhanging trees. A straight row as identical as hand
made units can be. Some were empty others had an overturned
bowl, one stunk with waste. But most were clean with a
woman laying on the narrow cot or reaching out for us
through the bamboo bars. All were western and pretty. Some
gorgeous, others just nice. Naked and vulnerable behind
bars and mosquito netting, in light from kerosene lanterns,
they called, it seemed like all had at least some English.
I looked back at the row of narrow cages, slender arms
reaching out waving in the dark.
Our guide stopped, raising the lantern high. Another arm
was waving for our attention, but she was younger than the
others. It was Sarah.
"Buy me, Mister. I will be good to you. Anything you
want, I do. You and your friend look better than the
others. I know you will treat a woman right. Buy me and my
friend she will love you good and long."
"Don't bother, dear." The voice came from the next cage.
"Look at that one. He is going to do what he wants. If he
wants us, he will take us." The voice sounded older, more
resigned. The girl shone the light into the cage. Laying
on her cot was Roxanne Bodwell. Sr. Flight attendant on the
prestigious London to Tokyo run. But she did not look so
prestigious now. Nude her breast cris-crossed with whip
marks a necklace of steel cords, like the others she wore a
bar-code on her ankle.
"Mumsy, we have to try," Sarah pleaded. "Anything is
better than ending up in some Arab dungeon. Please
mister.."
Slash put a heavy hand on my shoulder. I knew he wanted
me quiet.
"Just remember that, Sarah."
"My name. Its been so long." She started to cry. "Did
you hear that, Mumsy, he called me by my name!"
"How do you know her name?" Roxanne asked.
"If I buy you, either of you," Slash strolled by,
examining the women in their cages. "I will demand total
obedience."
"You got it Mister. I have been in training for 13
months now. Anything you want, Master. I will be your
footstool. Here, come closer, feel me. I will make you
happy."
"Come we go now." The other captives were shouting their
own offers. Our guide wanted us to leave.
---
continued in chapter 6
Stroker Ace
gentclub@hotmail.com
--
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /