Message-ID: <3717eli$9709041806@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/3717.txt>
From: gentclub@hotmail.com (Stroker Ace)
Subject: Beyond Chiang Mai - A Bangkok slaver story - Chap 6 - 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: <3413e8fb.13224113@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 -- 6, Arc Light
"Its run by the monks. Some renegade military officers
provide the security," for once Slash was in a talkative
mood. "They fly in from around the world. Last of the
great white slavery sales for western women. They wouldn't
miss it for anything." He laughed. "Round eyes are so
popular over here. They love `em all but the blondes and
redheads are hot tickets. Some are looking for some new
pussy others to trade up. But they are all looking."
It was mid-morning in the jungle but there was an
electricity in the air. Like Times Square on new year's eve
or Carnival in Rio. Native girls topless in their prettiest
flowered sarongs and monks in orange robes hustled around.
The guest, mostly men emerged from their tents to follow the
scent of bacon and coffee to the large food tent. Pretty
girls directed well-fed men of all nationalities to the main
gathering.
The girl gave us badges, stating simply: `owner' and
directed us to the captives cages at the treeline.
Colleen. It was the first time, this morning, that I
thought of my wife. The place was a nightmare of activity.
Monks shepherded two and three girls one way and the other
all the while hollering in Thai and Cambodian. Some girls
were nude others with hair wrapped in white towels. Native
women escorted the taller western girls in exquisite
costumes. A stunning Dallas Cheerleader, her costume
perfect down to the white go-go boots and little v in her
waist band, passed, led by two Cambodian girls. Another ran
behind the taller woman, brushing at the blonde's hair as
she walked. We found Colleen with her escorts by the
costumes. The dirty pack mule had been transformed into a
vision of beauty. Bathed and rosy pink, her hair wrapped in
a towel wearing only white mules. My shinny silver rings
hung from puffy erect nipples. They were gorgeous matching
exactly to her auroras. She was nude but relaxed, feeling
the material of the costumes, holding them against her body
as she turned striking a pose.
"Do you like? How about this one? I doesn't hide much
does it? Oh, look at this one."
It looked like Macys. Racks of clothing had been set up.
Monks with tape measures around their necks, scissors in
hand were fitting skin tight gowns. We steeped aside for
what must be the sexiest nun ever to wear a habit go by at
the end of a leash. The sexual energy was contagious.
Amazingly women who had been kept in a cage all night,
eagerly turned around, giving a little shimmy, to see how
they looked in a mirror.
"You hurry. Hurry. Computer say she 1:13. Must do
hair. No much time." She was as excited as the rest. As
if to make her point she ran a hand through Colleen's damp
red hair. But Slash was not to be hurried. He picked a
dress making her try it on. Even the monks stopped to watch
as with arms up, the dress falling over her head, she
wiggled her nude body until it fell in place. She stepped
in and out of cowgirl boots, a school girl outfit, two types
of nurse costumes. Then he saw it. An off-white gown, of
lace and embroidery that hung limp on the rack. Two tailors
ran over when he touched it. With the greatest of care
they eased it over Colleen, tenderly smoothing the flimsy
fabric over her breasts. It was a vision.
"She get hair done now. I must have her ready for 1:13.
Hurry bitch." One lady was not impressed.
++++
A rock pit, I guessed. Abandoned ages ago. Giant blocks
of quartz lay at the bottom of the huge pit. The excavation
had left steps as they dug further down for the valuable
quartz. It was a natural amphitheater. The steps made
seating for the Arabs who tended to sit together while the
few Italian men sat with their women. Elegant, but so
obviously trained women, they smiled, attending to every
need of their man before he realized it. They held a
lighted cigar to his lips and took it away before he could
open his mouth to speak. The pit echoed with greetings in
all languages as the guest introduced themselves. Our
owners badges were good for a third row seat besides a
Mexican estate owner who only wanted to talk of his
possessions, his ranch, quarter horses, his twin engine jet,
prize bulls. "Senior, trust me when I say I breed the best
Miura in all of Mexico. And now, mi amigo, I will breed the
best of women. Beauty like no other. Hair as golden as my
Mexican sun and ahh, she will have the spirit. Si. Mucho
spirit, like conquistador. Si. Miguel read each dossier on
computer. I have blood lines of each researched.
Pinkerton's want mucho peso's. I say, no matter. The egg,
she is everything. No?"
Slash was having the same problem. At his elbow sat a
heavy set man in a white linen jacket. He was huge with an
enormous stomach. Apparently his appetite for women was
just as strong. "Took the Concord to Bangkok. Dreadfully
narrow plane, but I got this dam hot stewardess. Bitch was
playing hard to get. All I wanted was a little head, you
know, to pass the time. Offered her a couple of bills. The
French bitch turned me down. Called me a fat slob. Well I
am no dam slob. Ha. Haa" The man held his stomach and
roared with laughter. "To make the long story short, I had
to go up to two fifty for her to meet me in the galley."
"Two fifty?"
"Twenty-five hundred, son. Told the bitch, for that
money, I want her `cuffed to the counter. Haa. Haa. Shot
all over the bitches face. On her uniform, everywhere.
Stuffed a couple of bills in her bra and left her `cuffed to
the sink. Haa. Haa. Cost me a few bucks more to keep the
other stew quiet, but hell, it was worth it. Its only
pocket change anyway. For all I know, son, she is still on
her knees. Haa. Haa."
"Senior's! Quedo! Pocico quiet. The stage, look." My
rancher friend was right. The ever present monks had
finished erecting scaffolding on the stage turning it over
to the MC, an Asian with a phony cowboy drawl. His grin
flickered across a giant sports screen. The monks, their
heads shaved, bowed to the audience, pleased with their
technology.
"Gentleman, and ladies. Your attention please. First a
big hand for our gracious hosts, the Xieng Khuang order.
Again the monks bowed to applause. And now, what you have
been waiting for," he drawled. His next words were lost in
the hoots and hollers. Down the steps, through the
audience, two girls led the pretty cheerleader. The girl
was pale, her eyes wide with fear. Between each step her
eyes darted around until the chain yanked her to the next
step. All the while the MC drawled on about her. Birth
date, sign, where she grew up, how many men she had slept
with, he knew it all. By the time she took the stage the
bidding had started. A big man, by the looks of it, her
owner joined her on stage. Taking her leash he displayed
her best features. Her breasts were pushed up into the
little cheerleader top, a silver star on each boob. He had
her bend over and shake her tits into the camera. The
bidding crawled higher. He looked at the number on the
giant screen, shook his head, and ripped the top from the
startled girl. The numbers crept up. Miguel, my rancher
friend, typed at his little computer.
"I have a question," the MC read from his screen, "A
gentleman wants to know if she has spirit. Perhaps you
could demonstrate?"
"Sprit? I will show you spirit!" Her owner was enraged.
The numbers on the big screen had not changed. "Here!
Now!," he commanded. Cheerleader started to whimper but the
cute cowgirl knew not to disobey. She inched closer,
whining louder with each baby step. Her owner snapped at
her wrists, the metal rings engulfing her. An electric
motor whirled to life pulling her arms straight up.
Cheerleader was straining from her white cowgirl boots with
the silver stars to her little top, the top star barely
keeping her breasts in. He choose his instrument. A white
bull whip. Cheerleader was crying openly now. No
hesitation. A full swing, the announcer jumping back to
avoid the brutal arc of white leather. A direct hit on her
breast. The camera man zoomed in. Her top saved her. A
ragged tear ran from one luscious breast to the other. It
could have been her breast hanging, ragged and torn, from
bare trembling shoulders.
"Stick your cunt out. Open dem pretty legs, Texas," the
man demanded of the crying girl as he arranged the tail of
the whip behind him. He was ready for another stroke.
Cheerleader was sobbing, but she never begged. She turned
her back to him, preferring her backside for the next
horrendous stroke. Hands above her she hopped from leg to
leg, pulling each up in dreadful fear of his next stroke.
But it never came. The crowd was applauding. They
recognized the courage it took to defy his order. The Arabs
waved white handkerchiefs in the air. The numbers were
rolling up, as the MC went into his auctioneer's song.
"Going, going, sold!" The buyer stood to receive a round
of applause. "A fine specimen at a great price. Your
property will be waiting for you, Sir, in the holding pens.
Please complete the shipping form on your computer. We can
have her drugged and shipped or perhaps you would like
transport her yourself. Now gentleman, I must warn you.
That was a steal. The fine slaves that we have coming up,
will sell for much, much more. Charlie, what do we have
next?" Charlie, a native girl in an emerald evening dress
sparkling with sequins, read from the giant screen.
"Lee, we have a special treat for our friends. From our
agent in Bangkok, a rare combination set. Lee, this is a
must have for collectors everywhere. It features a pair of
British roses, so delicate but watch out for the thorns."
Charlie laughed with the audiences. She moved across stage
with the microphone. "But that's not all. There is a last
minute addition. A fresh American blossom, so well formed
but alas, untrained. Not at all like the roses from
Britain. Our agent, informs us that they have been
completely trained, but not broken. Lee, I hope this meets
with the approval of our honored guests."
"Thank you Charlie. I am sure it will. Now, bring them
on."
Immediately I knew. It was little Sarah, only she did
not look anything at all, like the virginal girl playing
soccer on the green fields of St. Agatha's. She wore skin
tight leather so glossy the light exploded off washing out
the picture on screen. And boots, black heels so high that
she had to be helped up the steps. The camel toe crack of
her pussy lips was outlined in black leather tights. Tiny
little breasts, still budding, were squeezed and pushed up,
into a black leather halter. I felt myself swelling at the
sight of her strutting across the stage. The perfect little
slut.
Then I saw her. Two monks were holding her back. With a
twist she broke free, kicking off her shoes, running to join
her daughter. Ms Roxanne Bodwell. Loving mother of Sarah.
Sr. Flight attendant, in line for a high paying management
position. Gone missing after a vacation to see the ruins in
Thailand. Now I found her. Standing on a slave auction
stage, nude as the day 36 years ago when she was born.
Someone had decided that she was not to be permitted the
dignity of a costume at her own sale. Still there was
something about her that captivated the audience. It was in
her posture, her moves, a certain dignity. She was nude but
unbroken. She kept a hand in front of her sex as she stood
protectively by her daughter. Her look was defiant, saying,
`try that with my daughter and I will kill you if I can.'
All the while, Lee called measurements, age, everything
about her. Roxanne was as bare as a slave can be.
"Please gentlemen, wait. I am not accepting bids yet."
Lee was talking. "There is one more to complete the set. A
late addition that did not make the program. You could say
that she is walk in. From America, an exceptional beauty, a
trainers delight, I am honored to offer the body, sex and
mind of this woman for your every pleasure, without a slave
name she answers to Colleen."
My jaw dropped. Finally I had to accept it. My wife
being pulled up the stairs, to be sold. The beautiful gown
she wore only allowed the tiniest of steps. Some dress,
skin tight with a sheer spot over her pussy, cut aways
leaving the silver hoops in her freshly pierced nipples
exposed. A virginal whore, ready for her training. The
monks pushed her in place along side Sarah. There they
stood, a trained slut, still just a teen, her mother somehow
more elegant, infinitely desirable. The third, with obvious
chastity a challenge to your training and a gorgeous beauty.
A virgin for training. How would she behave?
The crowed stands were hooting and hollering, the
distinctive Arab catcalls cutting above all. Like the
Roxanne and Sarah, orange robes quickly secured her ankle
with a chain. Charlie, the girl with the microphone, went
to stand between the unfortunate captives. There she paused
flipping her long hair and smoothing an already perfect gown
over sexy hips. Without a word she had asserted her
superiority.
"Lee, we have Anhtuyet, previously known as Sarah. The
computer says that she is an accomplished cock sucker and
fucker, Lee. She performs well with both men and girls,
heehee. Men, perhaps you would like to take her home and
break her of that nasty lezbo habit. I know I would,
heehee. Sarah, say something for your fans," she held out
the microphone as if afraid that she would catch something
from the little girl.
"Er, I am a worthless floozy. I suck and fuck. I can be
anything you want. Just be nice to my mom."
"Oh how sweet. A mothers girl. And here is Mom. Her
name is Roxanne. Look at that body, those tits. Could be
bigger but great shape. Not bad for 36, huh guys?"
"How could you?," Roxanne pushed the microphone from her
face. "Can't you see they are using you? You are just like
us."
"Oh you. You. You dog!," Charlie was furious. "Kneel
to me, worthless dog. Down!" She reached out. "Give me
that."
Whack! Charlie struck with a short whip. She hit like
how girls throw balls, elbow too far out for any strength
but on Roxanne's bare shoulders it had the desired effect.
She fell to her knees at Charlie's green heels, head lowered
but not protecting herself with her hands. She was use to
being strapped much harder.
"Now, dog, who is using who? Go on, say something,
bitch. Open that hole. Girl, get over here. Take this and
do your mom. Go on. Open for her bitch."
Charlie pushed little Sarah in front of the kneeling
woman. Her pointed toe kicked Roxanne's legs apart. Sarah
had no choice. Gingerly, she took the whip, examining its
leather handle for a moment. But Charlie's foot was
impatient. To avoid another kick she began working it into
her cunt. Roxanne's chin raised, unable to avoid the sexual
and humiliating feelings welling up inside until overflowing
in shame she cried out.
Her anguished cry shook Colleen. "I am not for sale!,"
she shrieked, her foot tugging at the chain to the laughs of
the men. "You pierced me, but you will never have me!"
"Who owns this unprepared bitch?" Lee was getting
annoyed. "Will her owner please come on stage before she
damages herself."
I saw her cringe at the sight of Slash, or was it the
white whip. Sarah stopped to look, Roxanne's head turned.
Charlie retreated to Lee's side. All looked at the pleading
Colleen.
"Not that, Sir. Come on, you already had my nipples
pierced, had me fucked. Not the whip."
"But you haven't learned, have you Colleen? One of
these fine gentlemen will be buying you. You want to show
him what you are made of, don't you? What you can take.
What will you be, Colleen? A pampered fuck and suck toy?"
A few clapped. Others joined in. Soon there was a
thunderous round of applause. "Maybe you would make a good
pain slut, spending you days in a dungeon, waiting for your
master." A few `woos' and that throaty cry that Arabs make,
came from the eager crowd. "Which will it be Colleen?"
"Lets find out."
The first strike hit the stunned girl on her thigh
wrapping around her bottom. The swing did not look that
hard but Colleen jumped, the chain pulling her leg from
under her. She scrambled, trying to find her feet leaving
an inviting target. She danced on hands and knees,
throwing her body from side to side, but the whip found her
every time, cutting at the frilly wedding dress. Soon the
dress hung in ragged strips from her waist. Her legs and
ass were stung bright pink but the skin was not broken. It
was then that I realized his skill and precision.
"Not bad. She takes the whip well," my heavyset friend
beside me said.
"But needs training. She yells too much for the light
stuff," Miguel, my rancher friend added. "It's her
inexperience."
The announcer was speaking, "The computers are humming."
I could read the questions for myself, on the big screen.
"They all want to know if she takes cock well."
"A little undisciplined, but not bad." Slash helped my
wife to her feet. He thought for a second before adding,
"Great potential." The strips of cloth were easily torn
away leaving Colleen nude from the waist down. She was
dazed, looking over hew own body, relieved to see that she
was not torn apart. "Here, I'll show you."
"Colleen, come here and suck me," he ordered. Like a
slap to the face, that brought her back. She glared at him,
again aware of the crowd beyond, the girls staring at her,
the unflinching eye of the camera. Slash waited. She
tried. Pulling her self straight, chin raised, with all the
dignity she could muster.
"Go to hell."
But her crackling voice betrayed her.
"I am waiting." It was not even a warning, only a
statement.
The look flashed across that pretty face. Her shoulders
shrugged, making the silver hoops in her nipples flash in
the camera's lights and she steeped towards him as if going
to the gallows. He gently pushed her hands away. She bent
to take his offered organ in her mouth. Finding that too
hard, she dropped to one knee. The camera man scurried
around to get the best angle. She took him barely capturing
the head, eyes closed. Slash shrugged, as if to say `I told
you so.'
He patted her head, withdrawing from her mouth. "Lay down
girl. Reginald come up here."
I jumped to hear my name called. Everyone was looking as
I climbed the steps. "Take her."
"I c can't," I said, but I could feel it was not true.
She was irresistible laying with red hair spilling about her
face, her bottom was cris-crossed with dark pink lines, her
breast warm pink, nipples puffy with silver rings sticking
out of the white lace of her torn dress. I had to have her,
my wife.
"Reggi, I." I put a hand over her mouth, fumbled for a
second before replacing it with my cock. Her tongue blocked
me. The camera was inches away. I felt it growing, deep
inside and thought of Colleen with her pool boy friend,
servicing the emperors, the village. What a lovely face,
lips' candy red, those eyes a sea of practiced innocence. I
shoved. In and deep. Pulling out and deep in until it was
another cunt her emotions fluttering her tongue and throat
around my swollen throbbing cock. My cock growing, beyond
just an erection. More. Roaring in my ears, the crowd was
doing something, I didn't care. I was between her legs,
kicking pants off, plunging in deep. One continuous motion.
Deep the woman was ready. Deep, long, a rhythm growing,
becoming all, not caring only deep and full to her
fluttering core against my head, every stroke exploding
there, resting there.
Slowly the roaring became cheering, stomping, wailing.
Slash was withdrawing from Roxanne's face. I would have
love to have seen that, with little Sarah licking at his
sack as he pumped her mother.
"The computers are now open," Lee was trying to get the
crowd's attention.
"We are accepting bids on any or all the slaves, Lee
tells me that the computers can handle it," beautiful
Charlie announced. She had the three women stand. Sarah,
still in black leather. Roxanne standing nude, her face
spotted with drying cum. Colleen with the beauty of a taken
woman, makeup ruined, dress in rags, a wet streak inside her
thigh. Charlie having each in turn unlocked, to step
forward, turn on command, bend, hands above, hands at sides,
opening their sex, all upon her command. They complied.
"I can't sell her," off to the side, I whispered to
Slash.
"Then buy her back. Someone is going to take her. All
of them. May as well be you."
I looked up. Numbers flashed by the names. Something
about pairing Sarah with Colleen brought the bidding up.
"I can't afford them. Look at the bids!"
"You have the insurance money. They don't know about
that. Just send in a picture of Sarah alive and well with a
letter from her and you get the money. I have credit here.
Of course, I will expect to rent them out to cover the
interest on my loan. Nothing seedy, just distinguished high
paying clientele with a taste for the bizarre. Anyway you
need a partner in these parts."
That I did. A shocking offer that brought silence from
the audience. Slash nodded at Lee, then a growing round of
respectful applause.
Charlie quickly linked their ankle chains handing Sarah's
collar chain to me as the crowd stood, still applauding.
Lee hurried to announce the next girl. The crowd quiet
as she was led to the stage. There would be other slaves to
auction.
Slash went with Charlie to sign papers. The chain was as
heavy as the girl's fate in my hands. Questions were in
their eyes, reading my every expression, for I had become
their master. Their pleasure was for my pleasure.
"You mistake taking my body for a promise of love,"
Colleen whispered.
"You will be mine. Like this whip, the villa in Joytown
that you will work for, the fancy cars you will pay for.
Only I will abuse you more and trust you less." I looked
each in the eye. They knew I meant every word. "When I
call you will come and I will enjoy it. Whether you enjoy
it of not, is up to you. But I think you will."
-Stroker Ace-
gentclub@hotmail.com
eof
--
+--------------' 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> /