Message-ID: <3716eli$9709041805@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: 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: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: 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 | \ .../assm/faq.html> /