Chapter 15

I had never been to foreign parts, so when Kim, my sister-in-law, asked me to accompany her and Samantha Smith to Bangkok I was delighted to accept. The invitation came a week after the Organization had closed down Kim's white-slaving operation and, incidentally, put me out of a job.

Kim arranged the journey so that the heavily sedated and bandaged Samantha would receive the most considerate treatment. The hosties were sympathetic and the airline provided a wheel chair at our destination. There was, of course, nothing wrong with Sam apart from a nasty case of shock at seeing her husband sodomized and beaten on her wedding night and the effects of then spending a week with me and my two horny lovers.

We arrived at night and were met by a uniformed chauffeur who escorted us to a highly polished black Mercedes which he drove with considerable skill and verve through a tide of chaotic traffic - trucks, buses, smaller vehicles, motorbikes and three-wheeled tuk-tuks, all going lickety-split. Our destination proved to be a jetty by a dark, scummy, canal. Sam was able to stand and stagger out of the car with my support.

We three were bundled onto a long narrow-beamed craft with a fringed overhead canopy. The boat had a very powerful long-shaft outboard mounted on the stern. The craft took off with a mighty roar and hurtled through the night kicking up a cloud of spray, none of which came on board. The journey took half an hour. We arrived at a private landing stage belonging to a large house in a walled compound. The city was a vast glow on the horizon some miles distant. We were met by white-coated attendants and escorted to a small room on the ground floor. The sign on the door said, "Reception." There was no one inside.

Kim had said nothing since we landed. This wasn't the welcome she had expected. She looked calm enough, but then she always did. The room had no window. Lighting was provided by one, unshaded, flyspecked, electric globe and was furnished with a small, solid, wooden table and four chairs. The ceiling was supported on a number of heavy wooden beams. Ropes dangled from blocks attached to eye-bolts from three of the beams. There was a smell of disinfectant which overlay a darker odor. The cracked tiles on the floor were stained. Sam, nearly recovered from her drugging, began to whimper.

"Shut up!" snapped Kim."Sebastian, get those bandages off her face! We want her to look her best for the Colonel."

As if on cue the door opened and a dapper little Thai gentleman entered the room. His tan colored shirt and slacks could have been of military origin but he wore no badges of rank and was, so far as I could see, unarmed.

"Madam Kim!" he exclaimed, "How rovery to see you!"

He kissed her on the cheek and turned to me.

"Sebastian? I hear a rot about you! You very very bad boy! Neary as bad as me! You fuck this one too?"

I nodded and finished removing Samantha's bandages. She was wearing a short skirt and white linen blouse. No underwear or stockings. Kim was economizing.

"You beat her a ritter bit?"

I shook my head. Kim had made it clear that the goods were to be in pristine condition for this sale.

Kim completed the introductions. "Sebastian, meet Colonel Robert Robrien, known to his friends as ëRandy Rob'. He is the owner of this establishment and several others throughout the kingdom and beyond. Rob is a good friend. We have been doing business together for years now."

The Colonel smiled, nodded and turned to look at Samantha.

"This the gir you speak to me about?"

Kim nodded. "Yes. She'll be the last for some time. I have sold the business."

"I heard that. I heard you piss off big boys in Organization?"

"Oh no!" exclaimed Kim. "We remain on the best of terms with the Organization. It's just that I need a change. A rest."

"A change. A rest. Yes. That is what we or need, Madam Kim. Good idea to take a rest. I examine goods?"

Kim nodded. The Colonel smiled and turned to face Sam.

"You! Get undressed!"he ordered.

Sam hesitated for a moment. It was a moment too long. The Colonel hit her in the belly and Sam went down retching. Kim moved to help but he waved her back. The little man grabbed a fistful of Samantha's long glossy black hair and dragged her to where one of the ropes dangled from a beam. He quickly fastened the rope to Samantha's hair, then hauled on it until she was standing on her toes, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

"Now you take off or your crothes!" he said.

Sam hesitated no longer. She unzipped the fastening of her skirt and let it fall down her long shapely legs. She quickly started to unbutton her blouse. Rob licked his lips in anticipation. He walked around the suspended woman. He caressed her tightly clenched buttocks. When Samantha shed her blouse, he transferred his attention to her full creamy breasts. He seemed satisfied.

The Colonel turned to us and said, "Why don't you take in the show, have a mear and a few drinks whire I get to know... what's she cored?"

"Samantha," said Kim, patiently. "I've seen your shows, Rob. I'd rather stay and talk business. I might give you a hand with Sam. But Sebastian would like to take in the entertainment. Wouldn't you Sebastian?"

I can take a hint. "Yes!" I said. Within minutes I had been escorted from the "Reception" room, through a maze of corridors and up two flights of stairs to a table in a stage-side booth in one of the most exclusive night clubs (I learned later) on the planet.

The room was shaped roughly like an ancient Roman theater. Six or seven tiers of booths, embraced a semi circular dance floor. Each tier was higher and set further back than the row of booths below. A proscenium arch with heavy velvet drapes dominated the wall behind the dance floor. The lighting was dim making each booth a private nook from which to observe the show or to indulge in whatever vice was on offer. Hostesses flitted between the booths and a bar that seemed to be catering for all tastes. They glided up and down the stairs which connected the tiers carrying trays of food, drink, powders, pills and other substances, which I - after some bad experiences in the past - had eschewed.

My escort was a diminutive Thai lady in a little black dress. She spoke Oxford English. She sat me down on the velvet bench in my booth and asked me what I would like. I could have her or any of the girls I chose, she said, including her. She leaned forward exposing a deep cleavage. She was amused when I asked for a light beer and a steak sandwich.

"Sebastian! I am surprised! The stories we have heard led me to believe you were a sex fiend!" she said, before sending two hostesses scurrying toward the bar and the kitchen. "Perhaps, after you have eaten?"

I grinned and squeezed her thigh. She smiled and squeezed back. "Call me Laiya," she said. I didn't realize how appropriate her name was until later.

"Tonight the theme of our entertainment is incest. All genuine and surprisingly popular with our membership. You have missed the first two acts but I'm sure you will enjoy the next one," said Laiya, with a knowing leer.

The lights dimmed further. The band struck up a jolly tune - German I guess, something about my father being a vanderman. The dance floor rose four feet on silent hydraulics to form an apron stage as the velvet curtain parted to reveal a gingerbread house set in a surreal forest. Two figures lay sleeping on a grassy mound center stage.

"Hansel and Gretel," whispered Laiya. "Brother and sister. Really!"

Gretel was the first to wake up. Her costume was intended to make her look like a young m"dchen. Her firm round breasts did much to counter that illusion but no one was complaining. She was dressed in a tight white translucent blouse and short tartan skirt over a stiff lacy petticoat. When she bent down she revealed snugly fitting white cotton panties. She wore white stockings which covered her long legs to her knees and she tottered about the stage on a pair of black shiny high heeled pumps fastened demurely around her ankles with a button and strap. Not good footwear for a wander in the woods but nice for the shoe-fetishists in the audience. Her long blonde hair had been plaited into two braids which fell to her waist.

"I'm so hungry!" she warbled. "My brudder and me, ve been lost in der voods all night!"

"Come over here, luv!" called a rich male voice from a booth on the second tier. "I'll give you something to eat! Lovely sausage!"

There was a smattering of laughter.

"Oh! No!" cried Gretel in mock alarm. "Such a leetle wusrtchen vould never satisfy Gretel's appetite. Give it to your dog!"

The laughter redoubled and the actress continued her patter as she strutted and posed around the small stage.

"You recognize her, I think?" asked Laiya in a quiet voice.

I nodded. Her name was Greta. I had met her one afternoon with her older brother Hans. Kim had given them a lift and we had treated them to a picnic of sorts."Yes," I replied. "I remember Greta." My cock began to swell at the memory of the afternoon when we had showed Hans how to fuck his sister. Kim had motivated him while I had entertained Greta and provided some much needed lubricant. "And Hans... They seem to be, er, quite talented," I finished lamely as Greta/Gretel told the audience she felt, "Sooo hot!" and removed her blouse to mounting applause.

Hansel/Hans was "awake" now and sitting up. He looked uncomfortable in his lederhosen and little Tyrolean cap. His acting was less wooden than his sister's. I thought he really was terrified of what would happen if Gretel took a bite out of the gingerbread house.

"Oh! Gott!" he wailed when his bare-breasted blonde sister pretended to break off a piece of edible masonry. "Vot vill happen to us now?"

In answer to Hans' nervous question there was a loud bang, a flash and a puff of smoke, that announced the entrance of the wicked witch whose theatrical real estate was being nibbled. It made the audience jump and giggle. Another bang, flash and more smoke marked the arrival of her slave, an African muscleman at least six feet tall.

Gretel recoiled in mock terror while Hans began to cry. I was sure he wasn't acting.

The witch was dressed in the skin-tight black leather and bright steel-studded outfit of the archetypical dominatrix. In deference to the fairy story she wore a tall pointed hat. She strode forward to center stage on wickedly sharp stiletto-heeled boots and cracked her black plaited leather whip in the direction of Gretel. The whiplash skillfully removed Gretel's skirt and frilly petticoat and the loud crack it gave made the audience jump once more.

Gretel, now clad in only cotton knickers, socks and shoes, squealed in mock terror as the witch stalked her. Frequent blows made the gingerbread fancier hop around the stage until Gretel was caught and held by the huge witch's assistant. The big black man wore a turban, slippers and a jeweled posing pouch which was big enough to contain a small dog. He held Gretel by her waist while his mistress fulminated about juvenile delinquents who had no respect for other people's property.

The witch stroked Gretel's naked breasts with the butt of her whip. Her helper pummeled Gretel's bottom with his bulging G-string. His two big hands almost circled her slender waist.

"What shall I do with this tender morsel?" she asked the audience. There were several suggestions from the booths. None of them sympathetic to Gretel. The witch chose to hear, "Eat it!"

Gretel screamed as the witch began to browse on her bare flesh. The dominatrix, who had discarded her witch's hat, took each nipple in turn between her sharp white teeth and pulled so that the soft skin of Gretel's breast was stretched to the utmost before being released to bounce back into shape. Hansel, still sitting on the mound, hid his face in his hands. The music quickened a touch. The witch slid down Gretel's tautly held body nipping and tonguing until she was kneeling in front of her prisoner. Gretel's screams became groans of ecstacy. As the probing mouth descended below Gretel's bellybutton, the girl hooked her thumbs into the band of her panties and hauled them down to reveal a neatly trimmed blonde bush. Then her hands went behind her and emerged clutching the African's gaudy pouch. The audience gave a communal sigh at the length of the exposed erection which lolloped up between the girl's legs. Gretel was hoisted off the ground by the African and the thing seemed to stiffen and grow even larger. It stuck out several inches beyond her exposed pudenda and gave the impression that the little blonde bimbo had suddenly grown a thick brown cock. Gretel grasped the dark chocolate flesh with both hands, and her pale fingers encircled it behind the plum shaped head.