PARKER28.TXT -- 1/3
A BANGKOK SLAVER'S STORY
Part 1 of 3
By Parker
an210088@anon.penet.fi
WARNING: This story is kind of strong. It features scenes of
non-consensual sex and other sordid activities of a similar
vein. If this repulses or disgusts you, read no further. I
mean it!
NOTE: This story is a sequel of sorts to my own story
DOCTOR'S ORDERS (Parker #5) and Marlissa's two Bangkok
Slaver stories. I will not repost those stories, but others
might. Many thanks to Marlissa for (a) allowing me to use
her characters and (b) for the helpful comments.
Copyright 1996 by Parker (except for the bits that belong to
Marlissa). Feel free to distribute (unchanged of course), but
please be discrete.
=================================================================
A drop fell...
"Damn."
Too late, the cop reached back with a clumsy, black-gloved hand and tried
to brush away the icy drop as it beaded momentarily and then trickled a numbing
path down his back. Muttering under his breath, he looked up to see another
drop congeal on the end of an icicle on the doorjamb above his head. The icicle
shimmered a garish red and blue under the flashing police light, as it melted,
weeping hysterically in the unseasonably warm February night. Bored and tired -
too much overtime - the cop reached up and knocked it away, sniffing as it
cracked loose and shattered on the concrete porch.
"Who's in charge here?"
Startled, the cop looked up. The speaker was a man of medium height, with
dark black hair and ice grey eyes.
The cop frowned. "Detective Lomann," he grunted. "Who are you?"
The black haired man had already pulled out some identification and was
flipping it open: "Agent Harrison Crawford, FBI".
The cop swallowed.
He'd heard of Agent Crawford.
Everyone had.
"Go right in, sir." He stepped aside. "Lomann said to send you right
downstairs." The FBI agent slipped the identification back into to his pocket
and entered the house. Behind and above him, another icicle began to weep.
It was in the basement.
All of it.
First and foremost, the body... laid out on its back, half stuck in dried
blood to the hard, gore-streaked linoleum. Agent Crawford crouched down beside
it, his grey eyes coldly tracing the precise straight red lines which
criss-crossed the corpse's exposed chest, each one representing a meticulously
shallow incision; the blue and red ligature marks and crusty, ripped skin which
encircled the corpse's leg and ankles; the open, lipless mouth, frozen in
mid-wail, dull teeth and yellowing, blood- flecked cheek bones exposed through
the strip torn flesh of the lips and face.
The man hadn't died quickly.
"Looks like it was done by an expert."
Crawford looked up. The speaker was a short, heavy man with a thick,
greying moustache.
Detective Lomann.
The FBI agent looked back down at the body as a police camera flash froze
the corpse's image in celluloid. "It was," he answered, his voice harsh and
bleak. "A doctor."
Another flash.
"It's her, then?" Lomann was almost afraid to ask.
Crawford nodded.
"Yeah." He got to his feet. "Does our friend here have a name?"
The Boston PD detective checked his notes. "Donald Linsky. Thirty four.
Unmarried. The neighbours called it in a couple of house ago. Their kid knocked
a ball into the yard and looked in the window." The FBI agent looked over at
the window, curtains now closed, imagining the sight which had greeted the
unfortunate child. Knowing what he knew about who had done this, he suspected
that the drapes had been left open on purpose.
"How long's he been dead?"
"At least a few days, is my guess. Forensics is on the way." The cop
looked down at the body. "So it looks familiar?"
Crawford grimaced. "It's her." He looked around the basement. "Any
connection to my... uh, work? "
Lomann nodded at a doorway at the back of the room.
Crawford scanned the room. This clinched it as far as he was concerned.
She was involved.
Dr. Jacqueline Astor.
The grey, unfinished concrete walls were studded with hooks and braces,
each one draped with chains and collars and other less benign instruments of
restraint. A rack had been placed on the opposite wall, boasting dozens of
different kinds of sex toys, ranging from dildoes and but plugs to a massive,
menacing vibrator. A large, yellow stained mattress sat on the floor in the
centre of the room. A slender chain ran up from an O-ring in the concrete
beside the mattress and ended in a leather dog collar.
Crawford glanced over his shoulder at the cop. "What did you say this guy
did?"
The cop checked his notes. "Insurance."
"Figures."
He turned and began to walk around the room.
"I figured this was more your line," Lomann called after him.
Crawford ignored him, his eyes taking in the room: the small, plastic dog
dish on the floor beside the mattress...
His line...
"...and the pictures."
Of course.
Crawford reached in and pulled a sheaf of photographs out of a manila
folder. He shuddered slightly as he quickly scanned them: a tall, thin redhead
with wild hair and small breasts, crouched down with her legs spread wide,
grinning horribly at the cum dripping out of her gaping pussy... the same girl,
a closeup of her heavily made up face, her tongue licking sperm off her upper
lip... the redhead on all fours in a dog collar, smiling at the camera while an
unidentified male kneeled behind her, his penis half inserted into her vag...
no, her anus... the redhead, tears streaming down her face, as she shoved the
monster dildo into her gaping pussy...
The FBI agent mentally compared the pictures with the ones he'd seen of
his sister, Nikki, after she'd disappeared. Similar in many ways, but... He
sighed and returned the pictures to the envelope. He didn't need to see any
more.
"Well?" Lomann looked at him expectantly.
Crawford shook his head. "No. The girl isn't her work. I don't know where
she came from, but I don't think Astor was involved. At least, not with the
pictures."
Lomann frowned. "How do you...".
"It just isn't. Linsky - the body - was her. The girl wasn't. I don't know
how Astor got involved."
"OK."
"No sigh of the girl, I take it?"
The policeman shook his head.
Crawford glanced around. "Anything else?"
"Yeah." Lomann walked over to the desk and picked up a piece of paper.
"This."
The FBI agent took the paper. A letter... from someone named Jackson. In
Bangkok. A polite, carefully worded refusal of a business proposition and a
number for local assistance.
Crawford stared. He recognized the number.
He'd recently traced it to an empty, recently vacated office in downtown
Boston. It *was* her.
He looked down at the letter.
But what was the connection with Astor?
Jackson.
Bangkok...
*****
*****
... scratches at the hurt that sent him home... purple heart...
...means nothing... seeing Danielle and little Cassie again... a
charred picture... (notsolittleanymore) ... smiling blonde
faces... picket fences, blowing in the wind...
(neverforgetnever)
Careful drunken walk... something... something smells...
familiar... burning hair (neverforgetthatsmell)... napalm...
burning... hair... burning... (never) drunken run... stumble...
...smiling blonde faces (lookslikehermother)... smiling blonde...
...young Sarah sobbed as her small pink tongue lapped...
(looksalotlikehermother)
no... not right... giggling fire lapps hungrily up the side of...
(neverforget)... smoke... burning smell...
(Neverforgetifiliveathousandyears)
Burning... twisting...
...lick her daughter's lips in wanton surrender... Danielle...
Cassie... (smilingblondelooks)
... smoke pouring out third story... smoke pouring... red blue
police lights bounce off walls... hoses... twisting...
(neverforgetif)
...Annie's head began rolling crazily about like a doll's...
Cassie's (nothatsnotrightnotcassienevercassie) small elfin face
was contorted in hurt....
smells... burning hair... (thatsmell...)
Danielle...
CASSIE!...
smiling blonde faces...
Annie leered, whorishly happy...
(looksalotlikehermother)
Mother and daughter had finally...
bright flames lick... look around in red blue night... crowd,
open mouthed, staring... Danielle's face leering whorishly in the
dancing firelight... (no) DANIELLE!...
BAM!
...their breasts bobbed up and down in unison as they squat-
fucked themselves...
DANIELLE...
(looksalotlikehermother)
(never)
daughter's servicing...
burning... burning...
... she too licked at her daughter's trim pink cunt...
burning...
Danielle...
...(neverforget)
Cassie... Sarah...
BAM!
blondesmilingfacesneverforgetif...
BAM!
I woke up.
The threadbare blanket was drenched in sweat and my heart shuddered
frantically in my chest.
Fuck.
That dream again. I hadn't had that dream in years, then suddenly six
months ago, it started up. I'd almost managed to forget...
BAM!
"Mr. Jackson!"
Someone was pounding at my thin wooden door. From the sound of it, they'd
soon be knocking it in. I slipped out of bed and into a shirt and pants. Not
clean, but good enough to cover me and soak away the worst of the sweat as I
walked towards the door. I was proud of myself. My breathing was steady and my
hands had almost stopped shaking by the time I got there.
It was one of Vopat's goons. No surprise there, I guess. There aren't many
people who refer to me as 'Mr' anything these days. Vopat and his people are
about it. Over the past few years, I've supplied him with more than enough,
well, product to earn a little respect.
Yeah... that and fifty Baht will get me a beer at Candyland, Vopat's club.
Which was where we were going.
Vopat wanted to meet.
It was only a little past noon, but Candyland was already hopping. I don't
think I've ever seen it closed. The tables were filled with the usual crowd...
local hoods and their bosses... assorted mercenaries... drug smugglers... gun
runners... foreign businessmen involved in shady deals or just in the know...
The bar girls mingled and pranced about as they had been trained to do,
giggling and flirting, enticing the men to buy them drinks and whispering lewd
promises in their ears...
As I said, the usual.
I looked around. Vopat was at the bar. He gestured for me to follow him
into his office. I obeyed, thankful to leave the main room as I caught a
glimpse of Roxanne Bodwell - Annie, now - the english stewardess I had
kidnapped for Vopat. Together with her teenage daughter Sarah, and Tam, Vopat's
whore trainer, she had been part of the hottest act in Joytown for over the
last several months. She was crouched down in front of a Japanese businessman
with her legs spread wide, running her hands obscenely up and down the front of
her body. I couldn't see her face, but I knew she would be showing a whore's
plastic smile (...blondesmilingfaces...) as her fingers slid suggestively over
her half-covered tits before dropping down under the flimsy panties and coming
to rest on her well used pussy. There would be no trace of the prim and proper
english stewardess who had arrived in Bangkok with her daughter just last
spring. Apart from her pale white skin, she was now just another Candyland bar
slut. The man reached down and slid a finger along her cheek. She turned her
head and, eyes closed, and on sucked it in, slowly running her lips along it
like it was the most delicious and exciting thing she'd ever done.
Right.
I stopped at the door and looked around the club.
Sarah Bodwell - Annie's daughter - was nowhere to be seen. The rumour mill
had it that Vopat had sold her to Colonel Chou for some fantastic amount. I
wondered what Vopat was doing for a main act these days now that the Bodwells
were no longer performing together.
Then it occurred to me: that's why I was here.
I glanced over.
Annie was now straddling the businessman's lap, slowly gyrating her barely
concealed crotch at him while running a hand through her long, platinum blonde
hair. I thought about my dream (...neverforget...) for a moment and then shook
my head.
She didn't look a bit like Danielle, I told myself.
Not at all.
I walked into the back room.
I had been right.
Vopat was looking for a new act.
"You like this one, Joe," he told me, more animated than I'd ever seen him
before. "Good job. Easy job for you."
I took a sip of my Klosters, stalling for time to think things through.
He'd outdone himself this time. Three girls. He wanted three. And it sounded
like he already had them lined up.
"Let me understand what you want," I told him. "You have a line on three
American girls. You've already arranged to have them picked up at the airport.
Everything's in place."
He nodded happily.
"And you want me to..." I left it dangling.
"Supervise, Joe. You a pro. See that it done right. Easy job for you. I
set it up. You make sure it goes right. Easy job."
It made sense, I guess.
It still worried me though that the job was coming together like this. The
few times I'd worked for Vopat before, he had just told me what he'd wanted and
I'd provided it to him. Simple. With me in control of the job. Something was
strange about this one. He'd found out about the targets. He'd set it up. And
now he wanted me to follow through and finish the job. There was something else
going on here I didn't know about.
I decided to see how much he needed me. "50,000 Baht," I told him, naming
an outrageous amount. There was no way he'd agree to that, but I just...
"Good." Vopat nodded. "We have a deal."
I sat for a moment, stunned, a cold sick feeling in my stomach. 50,000
Baht? Just for supervising?
Something was wrong here.
Very wrong.
And I'd just agreed to do it.
Still grinning, Vopat shoved a manila file folder across the desk at me.
"Take a look, Joe. It happen next week. If you want to make change...".
I took the folder and stood to leave the room.
I glanced around on my way out. Luckily, Annie and her Japanese business
man were nowhere to be seen.
Not that it mattered.
She looked nothing like Danielle.
I went through the folder in my room.
The three girls were a good catch. And an unusual one. Two lawyers and a
paralegal from a San Francisco law firm, Stanford Fisher Lawrence. According to
Vopat's information, they were on their way to Hong Kong to set up a branch
office - immigration and that sort of thing; a booming business with 1997
swiftly approaching - and were stopping off in Bangkok for a few days to see
the sites.
The oldest of the three was a woman Janice Stanford.
A partner at the firm.
Stanford?
I checked the file. Sure enough, her father, R. Terrance Stanford III, was
the founding member and senior partner in the firm. According to the Vopat's
informant, she was 29 years old and had just been made a partner. I'm sure
having a father as a founding member didn't hurt.
The folder included a picture. She was tall... a redhead according to the
background information. High cheekbones and large, intelligent eyes. The
picture was in black and white, but I guessed those eyes were green. Long legs
and what appeared through the conservative business suit to be large, well
formed breasts, made her a first rate catch for Vopat.
The other two were no less valuable.
Melissa Andersonn, a fresh faced law school graduate who had just passed
her bar exam (on the second try), had been hired by Stanford Fisher Lawrence to
work in their new Hong Kong office. She was 24 years old, obviously of
scandinavian descent, a tall, willowy girl with light blonde hair and pale
skin.
She'd do well at Vopat's.
The paralegal was the youngest of the three, a 23 year old pale brunette
named Amanda Green. She'd been with the firm for three years, working as a
secretary while taking some sort of night school. She'd just been promoted to
paralegal and, like Melissa, was on her way to her first job in that capacity.
According to Vopat's information, she was 5'4" and weighed 105 lbs. The picture
just showed her face. She had a soft, friendly face with wide brown eyes under
a cloud of soft curls. Another beauty.
I put the folder down, lit up a Marlboro, and thought about the situation.
The girls were a real catch for Vopat. No doubt about it. I could see why Vopat
was so excited. But one thing still bothered me: they would be missed. They
were all employees of a major U.S. law firm which was expecting them in Hong
Kong three days after Vopat planned to abduct them. Usually, I set things up so
that the girls I recruit will not be missed. Once, I'd faked a bus crash in the
jungle. Another time, I'd arranged matters so that the husband believed that
his wife had run off with another man. Standard stuff.
But there was no way to do it with these girls. According to Vopat's plan,
they would arrive at the Bangkok airport and simply disappear. Without a doubt,
Bangkok would soon be seeing the biggest police action in its history, probably
even some sort of international incident. I doubted that even Joytown would
escape scrutiny.
And I would be right in the middle of it.
Still...
I picked up the folder and started going through Vopat's plan. If I was
going to do it, I was going to do it right.
The pictures really hadn't done any of them justice.
I looked out over my newspaper, watching as the three women walked into
the terminal. Stanford, the redhead, was obviously the leader of the group.
With an imperious shake of her dark red shoulder length hair, she directed the
other two girls to grab the luggage. Smugly, I noted that I had been right; her
eyes were green. Melissa and Amanda did as they were told. The blonde girl
slung a carry-on over her shoulder and tugged a large suitcase along the floor
behind her like a dog on a leash. The brunette was even more loaded down.
"There he is. That way!" The redhead's voice, loud and commanding, carried
across the terminal to where I watched as she noticed the man in the
chauffeur's uniform carrying a sign which read "Stanford". With only one light
bag on her shoulder, the redhead gestured for the other two girls to follow her
as she reached the Thai man and spoke a few words to him. He nodded and led
them out of the terminal towards the waiting limousine.
Vopat's limousine.
In the end, I changed almost nothing of Vopat's original plan. Just a bit
here and there. Vopat's driver was to pick the targets up from the airport. The
real driver had been knocked unconscious and drugged. He would be waking up
some time tomorrow in his home with a hell of a hangover. We'd also left 20,000
baht hidden under his mattress. He wouldn't find it, but no doubt the cops
would when they came looking. He knew nothing about the kidnapping, but he'd
have a hell of a time convincing the cops of that after they found the cash.
That was one of my touches.
The air conditioner in the limousine was disconnected. The girls would
soon be taking advantage of the (working) refrigerator and the ice cold bottled
water. It had been drugged and I figured the girls would be unconscious within
an hour of Vopat's limousine getting stuck in traffic. As it turned out, the
traffic was a little worse than we'd planned and it took almost two hours for
the limousine, with me following behind in my nondescript mercedes, to get to
Vopat's dockside warehouse. I pulled in behind as two of Vopat's men slid the
loading door closed behind us.
The switch went smoothly. The girls were gagged, handcuffed and moved to
my car. At Vopat's instructions, Melissa and Amanda were stuffed into the trunk
and Janice ended up on the back seat with a blanket covering her. I figured
Vopat wanted to protect the most valuable piece of merchandise, though I
disagreed with his choice. The redhead was stunning, but the blonde girl, with
her fair skin and firm breasts, was a gold mine. I shrugged as the trunk closed
shut on my unconscious passengers.
Vopat's property.
His choice.
Tam was waiting for me when I parked the mercedes in the small garage in
back of Vopat's club. The young Thai whore trainer was dressed in her usual
"welcome" outfit: tight, black lycra skirt, black bikini top, five inch
heels... she had even added a pair of leather wristbands and a black collar. I
almost laughed. Vopat must have been springing for the S&M videos again; she
was such a caricature.
"You bring new girls, Joe?" she asked, her blue eyes almost glowing with
excitement. "Show me."
I just grunted.
There was no love lost between me and Tam.
I unlocked the trunk. Tam looked in and giggled at the sight of the two
american girls, lying unconscious, gagged and handcuffed. She hated Americans,
particularly the women. The whore trainer reached down and fondled Melissa's
light blonde hair. "This one very beautiful," she told me. "Make lots of
friends." I grimaced, painfully aware of what kind of "friends" Melissa would
be making at Candyland. After a moment, Tam straightened up and turned to me.
"Bring girls into Vopat's office," she ordered.
I started to object to her giving orders, but stopped.
No use.
I looked around for some help in transporting the girls, but Tam just
walked out of the garage and there was no one else in sight. Sighing, I picked
up the first girl, the blonde one, slung her over my shoulder and carried her
across the garage, through a hallway and into Vopat's private office. She was
moaning softly through her gag by the time I got her there, so I took the
precaution of clipping her handcuffs to one of the small rings hanging from the
ceiling. Her eyes began to flutter open as I turned to head back to the garage.
I hoisted the brunette from the car and retraced the path into Vopat's
office. By the time I entered the room, the blonde girl was fully awake, and
quickly becoming acquainted with her new mistress. I stopped in the doorway for
a moment, fascinated at the sight.
Melissa was standing, fully extended, half on her toes as the handcuffs
forced her thin, pale wrists high above her head. She had been wearing her
light blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, but Tam had pulled this loose and
it now fell light and flaxen to her shoulders. The Thai woman stood behind the
terrified captive, one bare arm circling around the girl's waist to hold her
steady while the other slid underneath the suit jacket to squeeze the girl's
breasts through the thin fabric of her light grey blouse. I could see the young
lawyer's soft blue eyes, wide and darting with fear, as Tam leaned forward and
whispered something in her ears. I knew what she was saying; I had said such
things often enough myself. The girl's captive hands fluttered in panic as the
Thai girl explained her future in crude, broken english. She let out a moan,
wiggling frantically in Tam's grip. Tam laughed and nipped at her ear, still
whispering.
The brunette stirred in my grip.
Distracted, I moved forward and locked her cuffs to another ceiling ring.
She moaned and began to awake as the pain from her cuffed wrists dragged her
slowly into consciousness.
Tam giggled.
I turned. The blonde girl was crying now. Tam had moved around in front of
her and was lapping the tears from her cheeks. The blue eyes found my own and
stared appealingly.
"Ahw... ahw...".
Help, in gagspeak.
Tam looked at me and let out another giggle.
"Joe no help," she sneered.
I looked away as Vopat entered the room. He surveyed the two girls hanging
from the ceiling and then turned to me. "Three girls, Joe?" I nodded and left
the room to fetch the redhead from the garage.
By the time I got back, Tam had pulled open Melissa's blouse and was
playing happily with the blonde girl's firm breasts. There had evidently been
some trouble, as Melissa sported an angry red mark on her cheek. Amanda was
fully awake, brown eyes wide and staring. She hadn't yet been molested, but I
didn't expect that to last much longer.
Vopat was seated behind his desk. "Just lay her on the floor, Joe," he
told me, gesturing at the redhead. I glanced at the third ceiling ring, but did
as I was told.
"Tam."
The Thai girl gave Melissa's breasts one last playful squeeze and then
walked over the unconscious redhead. Leaning over, she pulled a vial from... I
don't know where... and waved it under her nose. Almost immediately, the
woman's eyes popped open. Tam undid the gag, stood up and backed away,
watching as the redhead sat up and then looked around.
"About time," she muttered. She didn't seem frightened. Or even surprised.
I stared.
What the hell was going on?
The office was silent except for the blonde's panicked sobs as Janice
Stanford struggled to her feet and turned to Vopat. "Well," she said, rattling
her handcuffs. "Aren't you going to take these off."
Vopat gestured and Tam moved forward with the key.
What the hell...
END CHAPTER ONE
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As usual, all comments are welcome.
