My Timex read 10:35 and I crushed out the half-smoked Marlboro with the heel of my shoe. The United flight from LA was finally in and I had an appointment to keep. A smile and a 100 baht note bought me through customs and I waited behind a boisterous tour group of Germans, scanning the debarking passengers as they were hustled through immigration.

I only had the vaguest description from my bagman in immigration security -- redhead with glasses in a pink nylon windbreaker, designer jeans, young, promising figure. But hell it was easy enough to spot her. Confused, irritated and -- typically American -- very vocal, she was blasting a uniformed immigration clerk. I walked up, flipping my fake DEA badge to both the annoyed clerk and the young woman.

Relief at the official-looking American in the neat dark suit, then anxiety as her mind clouded with the implications. She looked up tentatively. "What the hell is going on here?" Not so sure of herself anymore.

Without pausing, I swooped her passport out of the hands of the relieved immigration clerk, passing him an official looking document. Actually it is a note from my inside bagman and a 100 baht note. He smiled and bowed, leading us to an empty office, then disappearing back into Arrivals/Customs.

"Meganne Ryan?" I asked politely.

She nodded, then shook her head with a foolish expression. "Uh, actually Meganne Ryan Linsky -- we were just married yesterday! Uh, where's my husband? He was told he had to check something about our luggage and that he could come right back." The tone was cosmopolitan world-traveler, but it was definitely a put-on. There was a nervous little girl quiver in her voice now.

I nodded, not wanting her spooked. "Yes, no problem Miss, I mean Mrs. Linsky. He'll be right back. There was just an irregularity with your some of your baggage. He' s been asked to identify your bags. There's a bag similar in appearance and it is unfortunately filled with controlled substances. We know it isn't yours -- should just take a minute to sort out. There's a scam going on with unsuspecting tourists like yourself," I explained, sounding convincingly confidential. "Baggage gets re-tagged on the ground and smugglers try to pass their luggage off as yours. As you may know, the DEA is working with Thai officials here in Bangkok to curb some of the drug smuggling that goes on -- heroin, opium, hashish --"

Her green eyes popped open in alarm. "You don't think Donald --"

I shook my head. "Oh, of course not. We've checked his records and he's clean. Refresh my memory -- he's in the high tech business, right?"

She shook her head, the short stylishly cut orange-red hair swaying curtly. She adjusted her tortoise shell glasses with short nails that were finely manicured and coated with clear polish. She took a harder look at me now. "No -- insurance," she replied warily.

"Of course, of course." I looked at her passport again, checking the age -- twenty -- and made a logical leap. Voice was polished, East Coast. "And you are still in college right?"

She smiled now, more at ease. "Right -- I graduate in six months from Boston College in accounting. Donald is a year older than me," she explained, "and after graduation we'll settle right down and..." she grinned, "start on a family."

I could see her now -- in a plaid skirt and monogrammed sweater, clutching her accounting text books, walking across campus, nose in the air. Intellectual, somewhat uptight, with a high degree of self-possession, she was the kind of girl who tended to do well in her career, marry well and maintain a superior view of the world. Balanced, conservative and thoroughly predictable. That summed up Meganne Ryan's world. Until now.

"We just couldn't wait to get married so here we are! Eloped! Off to Bangkok for a honeymoon! We got the best deal at the last minute! No one even knows we're here!" she confided impishly. Her chin jutted out in self-satisfaction and she unconsciously played with her gold crucifix necklace. Then she frowned worriedly. "God -- I can't believe we got mixed up with drug smugglers! Should I call a lawyer or something?"

I waved my hand and laughed. "God, no -- these things happen all the time! You've got nothing to worry about. We just need Donald to look through your bags and make sure there's no mistake." Actually Donald was being led through the farthest warehouse from Changi Airport. His luggage had been "lost" and he needed to identify it -- another couple hundred baht to a baggage handler. I could see the blandly good-looking, bewildered Donald being led into the bowels of the huge holding area for commercial cargo.

I checked my watch again. I had at least another hour. I looked up and smiled reassuringly. I needed to make a decision -- now. Would this be the one? I examined her closely. Not a beauty -- maybe a respectable seven at best. The face was nice -- lightly made up with high, full arching eyebrows over intelligent pale green eyes, bright if thin red lips on a pale freckled face. The nose was long and prominent, but the cheekbones were high and the complexion good. She was tall and willowy, her rounded slim hips giving her a coltish athletic appeal. Leggy too -- a big plus, considering. If her tits were even half-way decent sized -- tough to tell with her baggy windbreaker -- she'd buy my way out with money to spare.

"Can I take your jacket? Bangkok is an awfully humid place."

The thin red lips pursed in a politely grateful smile and shook her head. "No thanks -- when will Donald be here? He knows where I am, right?"

I smiled. "Of course he does. Say, can I get you something to drink while we wait? Shouldn't be more than a few more minutes. I'll call down to the other agents and get you a local drink I think you'll like. Then of course, I'll have an embassy car take you and Donald to the hotel at once -- the least we can do for the inconvenience!"

The green eyes flashed in appreciation. An embassy escort! "That'd be great, Mr..."

"Agent Jackson, Ma'am. I'll be right back with something good."

Earlier that evening. Me, Vopat and Tam drinking Kloster's in the back office of Candyland..

"Joe in big trouble, yes?" Vopat's weasally eyes narrowed, looking at a mouse caught in a trap. That mouse -- me. Tam eyeing me too -- her cold round blue eyes and tapered nose in sharp contrast to her dark Thai skin and small, hard Thai girl- body.

"Yeah. You know then?"

His smile was wide, if not sympathetic. "Everyone in Joytown know. Colonel Chao very unhappy, very, very unhappy. Say Joytown not good place for you to be anymore unless you see him soon." He hissed "soooon" and I restrained a shiver. I wasn't going to give this fat creep the pleasure.

I shrugged. "Joytown is a small place, isn't it?" The collection of go-go bars, strip joints and bordellos known as Joytown was hardcore Bangkok. Tourists didn't know Joytown, because tourists wound up getting killed there. It was off-limits except for the hardcore farang or foreigners who lived longterm in Bangkok -- who knew the rules and could handle it. It made Patpong look like Disneyland, catering to every demented sexual fantasy devised by Thai or farang alike. And it had been my home turf for the last five years. Until now.

"I intend to see the Colonel very soon. Soon no more problems."

Vopat grinned. Tam, his head girl, sneered. "Chao kill you dead, Joe," she whispered loudly. Her blue eyes flaming to life with the prospect. She hated me and despite her taut exotic beauty, the feeling was mutual. I knew it wasn't personal -- it was all about an American father who deserted her mother years ago to go back to his Western wife. She hated American men, only hating the most-times invisible American women even more.

I downed my Kloster and started to rise. She was right and I was depressed. The Chang Mai mineral concession bought with Chao's loan had proved a hoax, the paper on the land all fake. Which meant six months and twenty-five thousand baht down the drain. Chao's money -- not mine. My prospects for a straight gig up in smoke, and my prospects from continuing existence on this earth on the same course -- unless I could get the money back to Chao somehow.

Otherwise a certain Thai police colonel was going to have my ass for lunch the following day.

Vopat's chubby hand fell on mine, pulling me gently back down. "Maybe we do business."

I listened helplessly, watching Tam's face brightened with every detail her boss threw out. A half hour later I nodded.

The eucalyptus juice had been the right approach. Booze would have been too suspicious. Meganne had sucked it right down, eager to try a local delicacy -- no doubt part of the honeymoon story she would bring back. "And then the DEA agent got me this stuff they drink there made out of eucalyptus! I was finishing it when Donald FINALLY came back with the luggage and we got to the hotel in an embassy car -- can you believe it????"

But it wasn't the honeymoon suite at the Oriental she was going to. She dozed heavily on the sedatives I had laced the drink with as I picked her up out of the back trunk. Going up the backway, I knocked on Vopat's back office entrance. The place looked like a downscale housing project in the Bronx, but it had an airtight security system -- no one in or out unless it was necessary.

The steel reinforced door opened and I entered.

Tam gave me a barely perceptible bow. "You sit -- Vopat here soon."

I took a seat, placing the comatose girl at my feet. The mickey was double-dosed -- she wasn't going anywhere. Bored, I rummaged through her purse. There was a wallet, which I quickly divested of about five hundred in traveler's checks and another two hundred in US dollars. There were some photographs -- the boyfriend-now-husband looking around sheepishly sitting with his future wife's arm positively around his waist, a faded black and white of an older man, a group shot of fresh-faced sorority girls in front of a snowman.

I dug deeper, finding birth control pills, tampons, Certs, keys on a Delta Omega sorority keychain, a membership card for "The Tannercise Club -- Where Girls Get Tan, Trim & Fit!," spare change, a half-off coupon for L'Eggs pantyhose, pink lipstick, clear nail polish, a compact, a brush, a nail clipper, a small sample bottle of Chanel No. 5, an undergrad library card for the Boston College library, a civil wedding license from the city of Revere, Massachusetts, an address book, a folded-up study guide for next semester's courses, and a paperback travel guide -- "Thailand on Twenty Dollars A Day."

Tucked inside the book was a travel magazine article cheerily entitled "Why Not Bangkok -- For The Perfect Honeymoon!" There was a copy of her grades over the past semester: Advanced Accounting Practices- 3.5, Basic Business Law-3.3, Intermediate Marketing Theory-3.7, Intro to the Classics-2.5, and Statistics-4.0. Bright girl.

Digging deeper, I found a small, tattered black leather notebook, locked with a nickel-plated clasp. I tried to pull the cover open, but the lock refused to give. I searched for the keychain and found the small matching nickel-plated key. Unlocking it, the pages flipped open naturally, revealing page after page of prim, cursive script in blue ink. I flipped back to the first page.

"Meganne Ryan's Journal" was inked on the cover page in a confident, looping feminine hand.

Fascinated, I began reading, flipping from entry to entry...

"Donald is so cute -- he practically begged me tonight to let him do it with me! I won't of course -- not till we're married. If he only knew about Tom from last semester! But Donald really is a better choice -- more money for one thing (I double-checked-- his father IS the president of Cosmopolitan Fire Surety, only the biggest insurance company on the East Coast!!! And Donald's working there too- as a VICE PRESIDENT!!!) and easier to keep in line. Poor

thing was so desperate, so I did give him a little feel down there with my hand--"

"My stepmother wrote -- first time since I left home. She's trying to be nice, but it is obvious she's just going through the motions. Asked me if I wanted to come home for Christmas and didn't ask real enthusiastically either. Since Dad died a couple years ago though -- what's the point? Millstone, Maine seems like a hundred million miles away from here. I've gotten my scholarship on my own- she never did anything for me. I wrote her back saying I couldn't -- I

was doing senior year in Italy. Also that I might end up working there after graduation for a few years. Anything to keep her out of my life. Good -- now I don't have to bother with Millstone ever again! I can see it now -- crummy boarded up Main street, the burned out mill, the --"

"Donald is behaving nicely. He no longer talks about waiting till after graduation to get married. Good! I'm not waiting that long and he is doing well enough in the job his dad got him in insurance so we can afford a decent honeymoon a lot sooner than then! Still won't tell his parents about me -- snob! Just because he's from old Boston money and I'm from dead dirt farmers in Maine. Like he's so experienced -- I'm about the only girl he's ever gone out with! He's so inexperienced. Why just the other night..."

"I'm getting tired of his wishy-washiness. When we get married, I'll have to whip him into shape. Why is it that all men have to act like they're the boss, when it is perfectly clear that women run things? He's so stubborn! Until he wants to mess around, that is! Tonight I let him feel me up -- he was so grateful! Even if I can tell he isn't total thrilled with the size of my boobs

-- still, his hands were pretty busy under my blouse --"

"Big fight with Donald tonight. I laid down the ultimatum -- either we get married during winter break or else it's over! He thinks I'll back down, but I won't. And I'll win -- because we both know I have what he wants!"

"Donald came crawling back -- that didn't take long. I let him squirm for a while then forgave him. He was practically crying with relief! He was so cute I even told him we could do it. It didn't take very long -- he's not anywhere near as big as Tom! Poor thing was so excited -- it was over in a minute! I just thought about where I wanted us to buy -- Dover or Sudbury? Addresses are so important to make the right connections --"

"Donald says he is breaking up with me. I try to be nice and this is what I get for it! Well, Donny-boy -- I won't let you get away that easily! He thinks I'm some hick chick he can screw and abandon, but he doesn't know who he's dealing with --"

"Showed Donald the report my sorority sister Carol gave me. She works in the clinic for work-study and faked a positive pregnancy test. Big dumb Donald was mad for a minute, then he hugged me and said of course we'll get married. Finally! Like he thought he was getting away without a fight!"

"Made Donald withdraw all his bonus money for a decent ring and our honeymoon. Got a nice full carat diamond from Shiffer & Laverly's -- it is gorgeous! I'm keeping it a secret till after I get back from the honeymoon, but I can't wait to show all my sorority sisters! All except for Carol -- she's transferring to a school out West. Too bad -- she's been a real friend! Donald still hasn't

said anything to his family or friends. He's so chicken he'll get talked out of it by his parents. Says he'll tell everyone when we get back and it is a 'done deal.' Fine -- I'm too excited about the honeymoon to care."

"I can't believe we're going to Bangkok! It is so exotic -- the 'Traveler World' article said it was the most interesting place. And to think I've never even been out of New England! Donald got his blood test done only after I nagged him for a solid week! Next Tuesday and we're off to the Clerk's Office!"

"Donald asked me if I could wear something that would make my boobs bigger during our honeymoon -- says he was just being honest about what he wanted. God -- what a jerk! But we're getting the license tomorrow. I can't risk him backing out now. And he did ask in the most whining way. So I told him, sure honey I'll wear something you'll like.

Can't wait to lay the law down with Donny-boy. He has such wrong ideas about what our marriage is going to be like -- like about my staying home with our 'baby' and being some kind of Stepford wife -- wrong!!! Like I'm going to stay home and bake cookies all day! I'm not stopping till I'm running one of the Big Eight accounting firms. And with Donald's family connections, that's not so impossible."

From: Hawaiian Heat <hheat@accessus.net>

Newsgroups: alt.sex,alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.bondage

Subject: The Newlywed 2/4

Date: Sat, 12 Oct 1996 19:35:19 -0500

BS-1-2.TXT -- (m/f, f/f, b&d, white slavery)

The Newlywed:

A Bangkok Slaver Story

by Marlissa

an225040@anon.penet.fi

Part 2/4

Footsteps broke the quiet and I closed the diary. It was Vopat. He seemed pleased, his fat face jiggling at the sight of the drugged unconscious white woman. "She look like good value Joe. Not blonde, but still o.k. Could be good deal for you."

Like most all Asian men, Vopat thought all American women were buxom blonde cheerleader types. Clearly that's what he had been expecting, but a redhead was still exotically acceptable. I handcuffed the girl's hands behind her. She moaned but was still deep in the stupor of the drug.

"Good deal, my ass. We're talking fifty thousand baht -- just like we said." He just continued to smile, his hands on his belt now.

To be on the safe side, I gagged her as well, then threw the cuffs over a hook hanging in the middle of the room. As the weight bit into her wrists, her eyes jerked open with a start. Squinting, she tried to get a bearing on where she was, her green eyes flashing confusion then fright as she recognized me.

"Ump, g'ump m'ump --"

Tam appeared from between acts in her trademark black bikini top, spandex hotpants, three inch heels and holding her badge of authority -- the riding crop. She didn't dance any more but kept discipline among Vopat's other girls.

Her open palm caught the pale cheek of Meganne Linsky's face like a typhoon wave hits a shoreline. The pale girl began to shake in teary agony.

"Shut up bitch!" Tam ordered, with another palm raised. The girl shivered, but stilled herself.

I tossed her passport, purse, wallet and jewelry on the table. Tam immediately snatched up the two rings and slipping them on her two finger, showed them off to Vopat.

"Pretty! For Tam?" she demanded.

Vopat shrugged and Meganne Linsky watched as the Thai whoretrainer took possession of her wedding and engagement rings in impotent rage and fear. With calculated spite, the Thai flashed the rings in the face of the American girl.

"Mine now bitch!" she hissed. Then she yanked off the crucifx as well, tossing that on the floor.

Those green eyes were on me now and I wanted out. "All right, gimme my dough -- fifty thousand, Vopat. I delivered the goods and I want my money."

The newlywed Meganne Linsky realized the goods I was referring to was in fact her. She tried to scream, but the gag muffled her. She swung wildly from the steel ceiling hook, kicking and crying. Vopat shook his bald head and Tam swung back with her crop. It landed square on Meganne's ass and the squealing intensified.

"First I inspect new property, Joe. Tam! Enough!"

Tam dropped the crop. The white girl was still again, only the sniffles disturbing the fetid air of the dingy office.

"Strip the bitch so Joe can get his payment," Vopat ordered.

Tam bowed -- she knew Vopat's business voice well. She dropped to her knees and unlaced Meganne's Reeboks, then proceeded to pull off her socks and Chic jeans. Her long, shapely pale legs wanted to kick at Tam, but Meganne had learned a taste of the price of such a move so she remained still.

"Joe -- what that mean?" Vopat snapped at Meganne's undergarment. The American girl cringed at the touch but remained still.

I chuckled at the absurdity of it. He was referring to the little g-string she was wearing. It was a dainty triangle of white silk with a red heart over the center. On the heart was embroidered in cursive script "Only For My Hubby."

"It's for her wedding night Vopat. She just got married and she put it on as a surprise for her husband on their honeymoon. She probably got it at her bridal shower from one of her girlfriends, didn't you Meganne?"

She nodded, searching my eyes for any empathy. Her pleas hung silently in the air. God, please get me out of here PleasePleasePleasePlease

I turned back to the Thai. "Aren't you a romantic at all, Vopat? She's just trying to be sexy for her new husband."

A thought occurred to him. "She virgin Joe? If she virgin -- that mean extra for you!" His pudgy hands rubbed themselves in glee at the prospect.

I shook my head. When she had mentioned Boston College, visions of a nice Catholic schoolgirl in a plaid skirt had filled my head too. But I knew it wasn't so -- the birth control pills in her purse said otherwise. "No, unfortunately I doubt you can find a twenty year old virgin in America anymore Vopat. Still, you'll agree, she IS fresh." I caressed her pale, white cheek.

I noted that she tried to brush against my hand. Smart girl -- playing for angles. She'd play to the American. Better him than the two Thais. She wasn't an accounting major for nothing. Still, fifty thousand baht weighed more heavily than the fake affections of a soon-to-be bargirl -- white or not. I could buy lots of affection for the remaining twenty-five thousand baht I'd have left over. It only cost five hundred baht a night for one girl -- and hell, I'd bought a half dozen one drunken evening in Joytown.

Vopat nodded. "Fresh, yes. Maybe I call her Red. You like that name girlee?" He stroked the girl's cheek now but she twisted away.

I backed away and Tam continued to strip the girl. Unzipping the wind breaker, I was relieved to see a pair of ripe B cups staring back at me from underneath a white Boston College

t- shirt. Not huge but o.k. Vopat nodded, pleased. He put a premium on big tits as most Thai girls weren't big up top. Luckily these seem to pass muster.

"O.k.?"

Tam held up her hand. "First off shirt, then pay Vopat." He agreed and she produced a knife, cutting away the fabric before Meganne's helpless eyes. The brassiere matched her g- string, a white and red silk affair with frilly lacy shoulder straps and a little red bow where the two cups met. Tam unclipped the bow and the two cups parted.

Tam was wracked with laughter. Vopat turned red, staring at me. I swallowed hard. Meganne looked away as the three of us focused on the two falsies on the floor, then at her chest. I remembered the diary but had forgotten to manage Vopat's expectations. Big mistake.

I waied -- the traditional Thai gesture to show respect. "Vopat, my apologies. I had no idea."

Vopat remained impassive, a tight smile on his face.

"We can renegotiate, of course," I added, stating the obvious. I was desperate now -- if he didn't want her, who would? And what would I do with Mrs. Meganne Linsky? I doubted the Colonel would accept her in lieu of payment. As I struggled to find a solution, Tam let her hands curl around the nude girl.

Cruelly, she tweaked the nipples on the girl's small nubby breasts. The nipples hardened quickly in the cool air conditioned air and the breasts swelled as much as they might under Tam's touch. They were slight mounds, maybe AA cups at best. Training bra breasts of a thirteen year old -- not a twenty year old college girl. "Are you a girlee or lady-boy? Huh?"

This seemed the most humiliating question that could have been posed to Meganne, because she blushed a tropical red and began to cry. Not tears of rage, but tears of utter humiliation. Idly, I wondered how many tears she had shed over those two less-than-handfuls throughout her high school and college years. How many dateless nights, how many cruel jibes from other girls and

boys...

Tam had inserted her hand underneath Meganne's wedding night panty and then between her legs. From the way the Thai girl viciously twisted her wrist underneath those panties and the horrified way Meganne's hips suddenly circle-jerked, I could guess what Tam was doing. "Guess you a girlee afterall!" Tam giggled again.

"Forty-five thousand," I offered in a conciliatory tone. Vopat stared at me with that steely-hard smile and shook his head. No counter-offer was a bad sign.

As we faced off, I rattled my brain cells to come up with a selling strategy. I needed money. I needed it badly. And Vopat knew that. He had the advantage, but he was still so pissed off at the loss of face that he wasn't budging. It was then that I noticed what Tam was doing.

The brown-skinned Thai girl was playing with Meganne's tiny breasts in fascination, tweaking the nipples with that feral grin of hers as Meganne squirmed in agony. The helpless redhead tried to separate herself from her new admirer in an impotent paroxysm of sways and shoves. I doubted that even if she were being mauled by a man that way Meganne Linsky wouldn't have hated it as much. But being fondled by another woman was too much. Tears were cascading down those fine high-sculpted cheeks of hers. Tam just smiled and licked Meganne's pink ears.

"I think maybe Tam has a new friend."

Vopat saw what I saw and grunted. "No care. No want."

Tam heard this and untwined herself from the suspended girl, to Meganne's obvious relief. Her cold blue eyes grew luminescent in the cool backoffice as she cuddled next to her employer and whispered in his ear. Vopat's angry smile softened, chuckled, grew amused and finally laughed at his head girl's suggestions. He patted her hotpanted backside and Tam withdrew to his side, handing him a calculator.

It was the traditional Asian way of negotiating a price -- the calculator made the offer. If the offer was refused, there was no loss of face. He was going to negotiate. I had no idea why -- obviously something Tam had said. I didn't care. My appointment with the Colonel was coming up. I sighed inwardly as he punched in a number and handed it to me.

I took it. It read fifteen thousand. Not a great start. I shook my head politely, punched in a new number, which he in turn refused and counter-offered. We impassed at twenty-five thousand baht. Exactly the amount of my debt -- as Vopat knew.

I looked at Meganne Linsky. Her own green eyes had darted from between me and Vopat like an observer at a tennis match. They were wide and teary behind those tortoise shells of hers. I remembered she had said she was an accounting major. She had an inkling of what was going on, I was sure. What thoughts were streaming through that captive brain of hers? That if she had waited six months to graduate, that if she hadn't eloped, that this would never have happened to

her? How would she escape? Would ransom do it? How much would they want? In the meantime, what would they do to her? And would her Donald even want her back? Would she ever get back to her middle class college girl life again?

If I accepted Vopat's offer, I knew the answers to all those questions. Especially the last one. New white female flesh was too valuable in this part of the world to part for cash, despite Vopat's haggling and despite her less than generous bust. But she would learn these answers herself over the next few months -- slowly, probably painfully, but she would learn them. I knew that because of two things -- Tam's evil, hungry smile and my nod, accepting Vopat's offer.

Meganne moaned as we shook hands, sealing the deal.

With the handshake, Tam grinned like a Siamese cat and sauntered up to the hanging, pantied white girl. Thai girls love white complexions -- the paler the better -- and I could see Tam enviously examine Meganne's freckled, pale skin. Then Tam's nose wrinkled in disgust and she pulled off Meganne's glasses, flinging them down to the ground. Without looking down, Tam ground the spectacles and smashed her spike heel through each lens. Meganne squinted down at the smashed glass, anxiety washing over her again.

"Not pretty on new girl. Vopat, what new girls' name? Still 'Red'? Or that no good now? I think no good now," Tam added slyly.

Vopat's big face turned without the neck seeming to move. "What name you like, Tam?"

The Thai girl catily pulled on the white girl's breasts. "She flat... so why not 'Flatsee'?"

Vopat shrugged. It was as good as any other. He chucked up Meganne's chin. "You hear Tam? You name Flatsee from now on. You nod so I know you understand."

Meganne's body flailed again in violent reaction to this. It was as if she had been electrified with a shame too awful to swallow. Her long white legs swung wildly -- even as Tam drew back her riding crop. Five brisk swings later, Meganne shivered in surrender, her backside striped with crimson. Tam loosened the gag. She looked up, her pretty face bathed in dumb amazement and flushed pain.

"Vopat ask you if you know your new name. You say your new name," Tam commanded.

Meganne's lips fluttered pitifully, all the while looking straight at me. "F-flat-s-s-see." Tam grinned. Her newest girl had just accepted her rechristening with hardly any effort.

Tam drew back the crop and Meganne began to cry. But the Thai girl merely patted the pantied white girl's ass with it. "You be good girl now, Flatsee. I train you to be very good bar girl. You make Vopat lots of dollars at Candyland."

Meganne's lips tightened and then screamed. "God, nooooo! Please! Don't! Anything! I'll pay! Any amount -- please!" She focused on me with her squinty eyes. "God, you're an American! You can't leave me with them! Please -- I'll do anything -- ANYTHING!!!!!!"

Involuntarily, my cock twitched up. Anything. I hesitated for a second and I think -- I'm not sure -- that the hint of a grateful smile was beginning to blossom on her wan, desperate face. But my palm was already out, collecting the twenty-five thousand baht due me for my merchandise. And Tam had already jammed the gag back over her mouth and wrenched the honeymoon g-string off.

Vopat smiled. "Twenty-five thousand baht," he declared. "You make Colonel happy now?"

I looked at Mrs. Meganne Ryan Linsky as she was being trained by her new mistress, Tam, Candyland's whoretrainer. Her legs were cuffed and Tam had decided to break the new girl's spirit through a thorough cropping. Meganne's long legs struggled to dance in the cuff bonds as stroke after stroke fell on the smoothly curved naked backside. Tam relished her work as she repeated the girl's new name over and over again.

"FLATSEE FLATSEE FLATSEE FLATSEE FLATSEE..."

As I watched the torrents of tears flow down the newlywed wife on her honeymoon, I wondered how things had come to this state -- how I had come to such a place where I was selling female flesh for a mere thousand US. And then I remembered I had to go. I bowed to Vopat and he clapped my back.

"We do business again, I think, Joe." He seemed certain.

I wasn't and didn't reply. I looked back one last time. Tam was shaving the girl's orangey-red mound as the shell shocked girl sniffled. She looked at me, the look as audible to me as the most pathetic begging, searing into my memory forever. It was the most despicable thing I'd ever done, but I didn't have time to think about that now. I shrugged and turned. I had a date with a

colonel.

From: Hawaiian Heat <hheat@accessus.net>

Newsgroups: alt.sex,alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.bondage

Subject: The Newlywed 3/4

Date: Sat, 12 Oct 1996 19:36:33 -0500

BS-1-3.TXT -- (m/f, f/f, b&d, white slavery)

The Newlywed:

A Bangkok Slaver Story

by Marlissa

an225040@anon.penet.fi

Part 3/4

Six months later.

Candyland is one of Joytown's favorite go-go bars. Say what you will of Vopat, he knows his clientele -- mostly Western farangs, hardcore expats who like a taste of home once in awhile. His bar certainly offered that. It was a Thai-version of an American soda shop from the Fifties, with counter stools near the runway and booths situated around the floor, each sporting a jukebox

featuring top singles from the 50s on up. Poster images of Marilyn Monroe and James Dean floated over the whole neon-lit joint, with college pennants strung from end to end. The dusky bar girls were all done up in various Fifties- type uniforms, with a multitude of cheerleaders, car hop girls, Catholic school girls and Barbie-looking debutantes and prom queens in various states of undress for the farang customers. In the back center of the bar stage was a raised stage for "special" acts, surrounded by reserved tables. Probably some animal act Vopat had cooked up. He and Tam were effective marketers -- there was always a new act at Candyland that drew them in. And by Bangkok standards, it was actually clean -- which meant it was just filthy, not unbearable. All in all, a cheap trick, but one that went over big with the homesick expat who

wanted the illusion of banging their high school sweetheart.

I walked in dog tired. The bus ride from Zhou province had been brutal and long. Exhaustion and failure combined to give me a powerful thirst for a Kloster or six. I sat down in a back booth, eager to keep clear from view and waved a girl for a Kloster.

I got a five foot Sandra Dee wannabee -- a Thai bleach-job in a pilling pink polyester prom gown. She smiled. Cute. No more than sixteen. I felt in my wallet and was ready to do the deal when a beefy German called her over. He must have been a regular she could rely on because she waied in regret and wiggled over. I sighed. I was having that kind of luck these days -- couldn't even pick up a bar girl at Candyland.

And it wasn't my fault. The provincial Chinese governor had given me a license to build the damn paper plant. Perfect location, cheap labor and all I needed to do was put up the seed money and kick back thirty percent to him. Which I did in good faith. How the hell was I supposed to know he would be on trial for corruption charges five months later? The new governor gave me forty-eight hours to get out of the province -- or else I would be put on trial as an accomplice. My investment -- gone. Or not exactly my investment. Which I'm sure the Colonel would like to speak to me about. I cursed the day I had told him about the deal.

"Lots of potential. You would like a partner, no?" Hand still counting the twenty-five thousand I had just paid up. "With no friends, Joe, you might find trouble on Thai side, no?" His eyes hidden behind his mirror aviator sunglasses, but boring into me just the same.

I nodded and took the twenty five, plus another seventy-five. "Necessary and acceptable as you are a good risk, Joe," he insisted coolly and firmly.

As I sucked down the last of the Kloster, I wondered if he had heard the news. Probably. And so his good business opinion of me was in doubt again.

"Another drink Sir?"

The voice was Western. I looked up. And saw what six months at Candyland had done to the former newlywed and Boston College accounting major. She had lost a little weight and her body looked harder, firmer than it had been, but the cheer leading outfit was still a size too small. The blue "Valley High" knit sweater with the megaphone had been altered -- the sleeves removed and the bottom cut off to reveal a flat tummy midriff. The matching blue and white flared miniskirt looked small and tight on her, but the effect on her waist, hips and ass was marvelously constraining and figure-forming. The bobby socks and saddle shoes were cute, giving the twenty year old the look of a sixteen year old at most. She was even paler than when she had arrived.

I assumed she hadn't seen natural light in a very long time.

The illusion of innocence rapidly dissolved though when I looked at her face. The short clever hair style had been replaced with a longer more unruly look. Now the orange-red tresses were captured off to one side with a blue ribbon and the ponytail hung down to the nape of her neck, adding a sulky dimension to her teeny bopper looks. The nails were long now and painted a fire engine red, though they were chipped as if she had no time to truly spend on them. The thin lips were pursed in a fake smile, poutily tarted up with thick red lipstick. But the eyes proved traitor to her. Those once-bright green eyes were glassy, fearful and beckoning at once, as if all three emotions were necessary to her continuing survival. Crowning her eyes were pencil-thin brows, as forced and artificial as everything else about her appearance now.

As artificial as a blow-up sex doll. Why then was I getting a hard-on?

She didn't seem to recognize me. I assumed from the unfocused gaze that she was kept doped up now. I nodded and she bowed and went to fetch my drink. As she did, I watched her hip swiveling grind and knew it wasn't forced for me. It was second nature to her to walk that way -- not a college girl gait, but a provocative Thai bar girl strut. Tam's training had sunken in.

She returned, the false smile advertising her easy availability. "Would you buy Flatsee a drink too, Sir?" It was half-request, half-whine. I threw down ten baht and, looking over her shoulder at the bar tender, she nodded and giggled to herself in relief. Another girl, this one done up like a dark Ellie-Mae in checkered halter top and skin-tight jean cut-offs, brought Meganne a half-filled glass of Coke, which she ignored.

"Should Flatsee dance for you Sir?" she asked in that desperate half-slavegirl, half-seductress whine of hers. Taught to refer to herself in the third person -- as an object. Tam was good, especially when her student was a hated Western woman with more advantages in life than she could imagine.

I nodded, still silent. She hopped up on the booth table and wrapped her hands around the dirty brass pole that rose from the base of the table to the dirty rafters. Every table had one and they were being utilized extensively by most of the bar girls not employed in other, more direct ways by the customers underneath the tables.

I watched in fascination as she leered down at me mechanically and began loving the pole. She did so with utter abandon, pressing her cheerleader sweater against the pole, then rubbing each of the small nubs underneath against the metal. With sultry ease, she whipped her hair as she did so, softly moaning with each bump. She did this for about three or four minutes, then, sensing my inevitable boredom, prepared for the next part of the act.

Biting her lower lip in an apologetic way, she drew her hands up to her blouse and pulled it slowly off. Underneath were her two small breasts, pale and pert with two hard red nipples pointing up at the neon tracklights on the ceiling. She stood there, thrusting them out and bowing her head with a hurt look expression. She did this for what must have been exactly a minute, not moving or saying anything, allowing me to examine her in silence. Between the small buds hung a cheap Buddha medallion looped on a string necklace.

"Shall Flatsee keep dancing for you or would you like another girl with bigger tits, Sir?" She choked on the next to last word, her eyes still cloudy. I nodded. She choked back a tear, but gathered herself and started to step down. Part of her training no doubt.

Evidently she had thought I meant she wasn't acceptable, but I grabbed her wrist and gently held her on the table. Her thin lips smiled in appreciation and she began to gyrate again for me. Now she seemed happier and almost playful, slipped her fingers behind her skirt waist with a naughty smile. I could understand why she was so grateful. Most of the bar girls were like

lampreys -- difficult to get rid of once you bought them a drink. But Meganne was trained to pose and please. It was easy to ditch her and get another if you wanted -- she was trained to give you the easy out -- even invite it with the humiliating question. She was probably sent away more times than kept.

Which made her grateful when she was allowed to stay.

The chipped nails of her delicate fingers dexterously unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it, kicking off the shoes and bobby socks. Now the Fifties facade was gone -- cheerleader no longer, she stood before me bare-chested dirty dancing in her black cotton g-string. She yanked the crotch from front and back, digging in between the plump lips of her smooth, shaven sex. The long coltish legs wrapped around the pole and swung excitedly around. As she did, I saw the tattoos on each asscheek. On one side -- "Flatsee," on the other "Property of Candyland" in technicolor red lettering for all the world to see, advertising her owner's establishment even as she blew passionate kisses to me from her fuck poses off the brass pole.

I threw a ten baht down and she slunk off the pole excitedly, squinting down to see it through the cigarette bar smoke.

"May Flatsee lap dance for you Sir?" she asked hopefully. It was odd to hear the phrase uttered in such a well educated Western voice, especially since it dripping with obvious longing. Lap dancing could cover a good chunk of her quota for the night -- if she was very good and I was very generous.

I still was weirded out by the fact that she didn't recognize me. She couldn't be that zoned out. But I didn't want to say anything that might ruin the scene. If she did suddenly recognize me, she might go mental -- bar girls were known to scratch your eyes out if you caused them to lose face. An odd concept for Westerners to think a bar girl could lose face, but it was true. Yet in

Meganne's case, I doubted face was ever to be an issue. Tam had trained her too well for pride ever to be a factor in her life again.

Candyland was getting busy, probably filling up for one of Vopat's famous stage shows. "Little Red Corvette" pounded through the speakers as the girls danced on stage in impossibly high heels. I watched a huge middle-aged Aussie in field fatigues sit down and snap his fingers. A Cambodian hill girl looking no older than fourteen wearing white Calvin Klein panties and bra scurried over in five inch heels. She wanted to nuzzle on the big Aussie's lap, but he pushed

her to her knees, slipping a fifty baht note into the cup of her bra. I watched as he patted her bobbing black haired head as she proceeded to pleasure him orally. He caught my stare, raised his Foster's and saluted me. I nodded and looked back at Meganne.

I twirled my fingers toward my lap and she appreciatively crept onto my lap, spreading her legs wide and encircling my waist. Her pale face loomed close to me in the dark now, only a foot away, licking her lips and anxious to show how much this opportunity meant to her. Her eyes closed, she bucked her hips against my stomach. I couldn't keep my hands from caressing that pale cheek and she opened her eyes in astonishment. Foreplay was unheard of in Bangkok.

Then she was truly amazed.

"You."

That was all she said. but it was clear what her green eyes were reliving then. Without her glasses, she couldn't see a thing. A lucky break really. It had probably helped her survive the months of misery, of humiliation -- she could seal herself off mentally from it all. She had been survived the breaking down of Mrs. Meganne Ryan Linksy, proud new wife and future accountant, and the building up of Flatsee, 500 baht bar whore.

But who had done it to her? Me.

Why then were her eyes filled with such hope and light?

"Mr. Jackson!" She tightened her grip around my waist with her long shapely legs. "How are you...Sir?" she added quickly.

"Fine, uh,..." I stumbled, unsure how to address her. We both knew her real name, and yet it seemed so inappropriate now. Like an old article of clothing you no longer wear.

"Flatsee!" she finished brightly, blinking away another thought quickly. "You were away...Mr. V said you were away."

I nodded. "Yeah. Upcountry."

She hugged me tightly, crushing her small bare breasts into my chest. "Flatsee missed you so much. Flatsee thinks about you all the time." She brushed her red ponytail back and placed her hands on my neck, massaging me. She leaned forward, brushing her lips against my earlobe.

"Mr. Jackson, Sir?" she began tentatively, whispering conspiratorially.

This was it -- she was going to ask me to help her get out. "Yeah -- Flatsee?" I responded roughly. I loved the feel of her lips so close. And the weight of her hips on my lap was having a stimulating effect. Hell, maybe I would help...

"You have lots of money." It was stated as a fact, not a question. Twenty-five thousand baht, the amount I had received for her, probably seemed like all the money in the world to her now. I wondered if she remembered the exchange rate -- that the baht was twenty-five to one US dollar. That she had stripped bare except for her g-string and was grinding her tits and pussy into me like I was Rockefeller for a grand total of 20 baht -- less than a dollar. But in Candyland, that was a nice sum -- she was happy to get it.

I just nodded, then added truthfully. "Actually, I had lots of money."

I don't know whether she heard me and just ignored me, or the crowding bar hustle had drowned me out. the place was really filling up now. Or maybe I hadn't wanted to be heard.

She continued cooing in my ear as she massaged my neck. "I remembered when you... brought me, uh, Flatsee, here," she choked a bit, looked around to see if anyone had caught her transgression and went on. "You liked me, I thought... the way you looked at me." Her hands found mine and placed them firmly on her hips.

I remained silent, unsure where she was going.

She licked her lips and began kissing my ears and neck as she whispered. "Maybe you would like to have me for your own... just for you." She began raising her hips gently and pressing them down, her hand reaching between my legs rubbing my cock.

"What do you mean, Flatsee?" Her hand was working magic -- had she been able to do this before Candyland?

"I could belong to you -- you could buy me from Mr. V!" She began to hump me faster now, bobbing up and down on my lap, her head against mine. "I could clean for you, cook -- anything you wanted. I've learned alot at Candyland," she promised breathily, "learned ways to make you happy!" She moaned -- fake, but it excited me nevertheless.

My silence was making her nervous but she pressed on bravely. "I want to be your girl, Mr. Jackson. You could buy me," she kissed my cheeks hotly.

"Why?"

She misunderstood my question. "I've been...trained. I could make you happy. Anything," she insisted," you want, I can do now."

"No, no -- why do you want me to buy you?"

She bowed her head, green eyes looking at the other end of the bar. "I think you would be kind to me -- maybe even let me be 'Meganne' again? If you wanted, I could be like your w-w- wife even?"

My face tightened and she knew she had miscalculated. "Not like a real wife, Mr. Jackson -- like a Thai minor wife at most. But I would be just for you -- you would be my only man."

I considered the idea. Putting the money issue aside -- I had none and would be dead soon if I didn't get a lot of it -- I was intrigued. I wanted to hear more. It didn't fit -- I had sold her into bar girl slavery. She should hate me.

Her legs tightened around me and kept humping, frantically. "Mr. V would give you a good deal on me -- he likes you. Maybe ten thousand baht?"

Four hundred bucks and I could buy outright Mrs. Meganne Ryan Linsky. Complete with g-string and high heels. Five months upcountry made me laugh.

She humped harder now, lapping at my lips and neck. "Mr. V had me fixed, Mr. Jackson -- no condoms necessary. My tubes were tied -- so, no....babies." She tried to hide it, but I knew she had choked back a tear. "I'm clean too -- Mr. V has all my papers from the doctor."

One of the reasons -- among many I can't get into (o.k., o.k. -- let's just say I was with a certain US government agency at one point in my career, an association which was terminated over a misunderstanding) -- that I came to Bangkok was the women. The idea that a society accepted -- even gloried in -- the sexual submissiveness of it's women fascinated me. Instant gratification with Thai girls was a given -- the opposite of the long chase that Western women felt their due. Yet I could buy this one without even having to worry about the minimal face Thai girls expected. Meganne had no expectations other than to be treated like what she was -- a bar girl for hire. Being a house girl would be a step up for her. Still, I couldn't believe she could be tamed so much her natural hate could be contained...

"Uh, I know my breasts are small, but you could buy me a push-up bra," she begged. "I could make them a size bigger!" She searched for anything she could use now -- the bar was filling up and time was getting short. I wasn't responding as she had hoped. "You know, D-donald knew my breasts -- uh, tits -- were small -- but he TOLD me to wear the falsies!" She was near sobbing now hysterically and I didn't know what she was talking about. "HE said he liked me to have more of a figure, but he KNEW they were small! I wasn't trying to fool him! I SWEAR TO GOD! He told me to wear the falsies!"

I imagined her chained up in my dingy hotel room. Probably wouldn't need to chain her either -- where would she go? If a Thai girl had put herself on the selling block so easily I would have been suspicious -- it was a well-known scam to "sell" a girl who would clean you out two weeks later and disappear upcountry. But there was no such danger with Meganne. She was lost in Bangkok and wouldn't dare stray -- the alternatives were just too scary for a girl like her, not without knowing any of the language. And I was sure Vopat and Tam hadn't allowed her to learn any. Still, I shook my head. "Look, honey, I travel too lightly to keep a pet."

Suddenly Meganne was yanked back out of my lap by her red ponytail. She fell to the floor at my feet with a sick look, pale face creased in dismay. Tam was holding the ponytail like a leash and pulled up brusquely. "You be bad girl -- very bad girl Flatsee. You bother Mr. Jackson."

Flatsee stood up, tears trickling down her wan cheeks. "Yes, Mistress."

Mistress? So Tam had been watching s&m flicks. She had to be in her glory as she stood over the trembling young American woman -- no Thai girl would allow herself to be treated that way by another Thai girl. Tam swatted her backside with her handy crop. "Get ready for show now -- I punish later."

Without a second look, Flatsee gathered her cheerleading outfit and scampered backstage. I watched her tattoos jiggle as her hips did that bar girl grind across the room. Several male hands slapped her ass and she smiled brightly in counterfeit glee with each grope.

"She does an act -- she good little actress -- you stay, Joe, you see," Tam promised smoothly. She pushed a Klosters in front of me. "Vopat come see you now. Go to reserved table number one." With that she disappeared backstage.

As I approached the table near the stage I knew who the fat hand covered with jeweled rings belonged to and I shook it. Vopat liked to shake hands so you could see his rings.

"Good to see you Joe. You been upcountry? Away too long." He lit a cigarillo and puffed importantly.

I took a draw on the Klosters. "Yeah -- upcountry."

He wrapped his fingers together, gold, gems and fat brown fingers all pressed together. "Paper -- not a, ah, how you say...commodity...worthy of your talents, Joe."

So he knew. And so would everyone else in Joytown. Fucking great. "Guess not, Vopat. Too late now though."

His eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Not too late -- as long as man have talent, he never go hungry or cold."

I shrugged. "My talent is in losing Colonel Chao's money, Vopat -- not a useful talent, is it?"

The Thai deal-smile spread over his face, as if this was exactly the route he wished out conversation to take. "Ah, true that talent not so good -- but another talent you have I think! You see Flatsee? I see she dance for you."

I nodded uncomfortably. "Ever any trouble on that score?"

Vopat scoffed, waving a jeweled hand at me as if I had made a joke. "You know that world end at Joytown's entrance. Embassy post a flyer, pale American man heard ask questions at police station -- sad man I think." Vopat puffed his effeminate cigarillo philosophically. "So sad, but soon he leave. Get a bar girl at Lollipop's and have good time. I think he forget her -- bar girl tell me he afraid he blamed for her disappearance, so he no tell anyone. Say family, police would get mad at him -- but it no him fault. So he get drunk and fuck many bar girls and leave Bangkok. Happy man again -- say he have good time, come back soon."

I shivered. It was too easy to disappear in Bangkok and so many people did. It looked like Meganne Linsky had just been de facto divorced, the marriage just a bad memory now. After reading the diary, it sounded like old Donny-boy wouldn't be asking any embarrassing questions and the whole thing would be quickly forgotten. He had done his duty and she was an adult -- maybe she had left him? he might conjecture. And no one even knew they were married except

for a clerk in Revere, Massachusetts. The whole thing was a bad memory to him by now -- one that would become a bar story in a few short years with buddies about some loony gold-digger who had ditched him in Bangkok.

"So Joe -- what you do now -- I have idea for you." His black cockroach eyes looked hungry for something. I had an idea what he was after, but wasn't so sure I wanted to get it for him.

I drank my Klosters. "I dunno. Talk to the Colonel about settling my debts I suppose."

"Much money hard to come by in Bangkok," he pointed out unnecessarily. "Maybe one way to make it though."

"How?" I asked, knowing the answer.

He rolled the cigarillo between his plump, brown fingers. "Do what you do best, Joe. Get girls. Get girls for me. Only way for you to pay Colonel, you know."

I wondered if Vopat and the Colonel sat discussing my financial obligations in between Vopat's lounge acts and the Colonel's interrogations. I didn't want to get back into the game -- Meganne Ryan's face haunted me.

"Why white girls, Vo?" I asked, avoiding the decision. "What not Thai girls who want the money? Buy one out for a year -- it would cost you less money."

He shook his head regretfully. "Thai girls good for some. But other customers want more spirit. Like to see white girls on their knees -- especially Japanese. You always get good girls, Joe. Get me some. I pay well."

I closed my eyes. "No -- I'm legit now. No more slaving."

He shook my arm gently. "You get money -- pay Colonel -- go legit? O.k.? See -- no problem!" Vopat took the cigarillo out of his flabby mouth. "Either that or Colonel be very mad. I think when you no have money. You see I tell him about our deal -- he expect money now." The smile on his face was positively serpent-like.

That was it. I opened my eyes again. It had been a decent try. "What do you want, Vopat?"

He nodded, happy to get to the details of his business. "I do big business with Tam's ideas -- you see soon what I mean. She suggest two girls for act -- lezzie girl-girl. One girl teach other girl how to be lezzie. If student girl not learn, she get punished -- part of act that she be punished."

"Go on," I ordered coldly. Vopat's 'acts' were real. One girl would be whipping the hell out of another girl. He was nauseating me.

The fat man continued. "Young too, but one older. Not much. Say two-three years older than the other."

"How young?"

His slit-smile now. "Youngest one say... eleven. Older one say thirteen, fourteen."

I rose to go, but he pulled me down. "Joe -- good, good money for such special merchandise! I promise! Hundred thousand baht!"

"Eighteen," I countered. "The youngest is Eighteen."

"Fourteen," he spat back.

"Fifteen. No younger." It wasn't great, but it was the best I was going to get.

He nodded, pleased. Like any Thai, he was an accomplished negotiator. Suddenly I wished I had started at nineteen and gone down to sixteen. I had just taken away a year of some kid's life. "Description?"

He considered. "English-speaking -- English, Aussie, Canadian or American is o.k. Light hair good. Pretty and thin of course. Must be virgin -- at least youngest one. Oh -- and one more thing..."

I shook my head, already trying to figure out how to pull off what he was asking. "What now?"

"Sisters. I want them to be sisters." He rose as I started to protest. "Act coming up -- you watch and think -- we talk later. I have to work now." He trotted off backstage as the remaining dancing girls were hustled off the stage. I couldn't have had a better seat for the show, whatever it was. There were plenty of spectators too -- hardcores who were normally jaded by even the

animal acts were packing the place. My curiosity shot up a notch when the music came on. Mendelsohn's Wedding March.

From: Hawaiian Heat <hheat@accessus.net>

Newsgroups: alt.sex,alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.bondage

Subject: The Newlywed 4/4

Date: Sat, 12 Oct 1996 19:37:13 -0500

Organization: accessU.S.

BS-1-4.TXT -- (m/f, f/f, b&d, white slavery)

The Newlywed:

A Bangkok Slaver Story

by Marlissa

an225040@anon.penet.fi

Part 4/4

From backstage, Vopat emcee'd and narrated. "Gentlemen -- the nightly Candyland exclusive show you have been waiting for -- the Newlywed's Surprise!"

The lights went out except for the stage and I was glad for the darkness. At first, the stage was empty except for a brass four poster bed, made up with white sheets and trimmed with lace. Then Tam walked out stage-left, decked out in a tuxedo and her long hair hidden under a tophat, a fake mustache greasepainted on her hard, cat-like face. Some laughs from the audience as she

winked back at them.

The groom.

Behind her from stage-right, a woman minced out in a flowing white wedding dress, a cascade of lace and frills. A veil hid her face, but the combed out red hair told me it was Meganne. Some catcalls now.

The bride.

As the last strains of the Wedding March recording faded, Tam met her bride and lifted the veil. Meganne's face beamed back at her and the audience. The whorish look of earlier was gone -- her face was made up normally, even demurely. For a minute she looked like the girl I had met at the airport six months ago, only with as ecstatic smile as she could ever have. Then I saw the

fear behind the eyes, the plea for mercy behind the tight, unhappy smile.

Tam drew her close and gave her a passionate kiss, which Meganne dutifully returned with equal, if insincere, lust. Tam's hand fondled the white-laced backside and gave her bride an urgent slap on the ass.

"Strip for me wifey!" she snapped. The crowd was quiet, focused on the next part.

"Yes, hubby!" Meganne simpered. She faced the audience, slipping her hands behind her and unhooked the dress, beginning to strip for the real masters seated in the dark crowd. It was done quickly and the dress floated off down and down those long, creamy legs. She stood wearing a little g-string of white silk with a red heart over the center. I could read the script over the heart.

It read "Only For My Hubby". The matching bra was white silk with red cups -- cups which were filled with more than I knew Meganne actually had. It was the same lingerie she had worn when I had deposited her on Vopat's office floor six months ago. Her wedding night frillies.

Tam stepped behind her and began fondling her in front of the audience. She pressed her fake mustached lips against her pale neck and let her hands wander all over the white girl's body, snapping her g-string teasingly. Meganne closed her eyes and played along, bucking her ass against her 'husband's' midsection and moaning lustily whenever Yam's hands squeezed her pale flesh.

Then Tam's hands toyed with Meganne's bra'd breasts, weighing them appreciatively in each hand and leering at the audience, as if to show them off. The audience played along, calling up "Nice tits on your wife" and "Not bad." Tam gripped them possessively, the proud husband showing off his hot new little wife. Meganne helped by thrusting out her chest like a slut who is

equally proud to belong to such a stud. But her smile was sick with obvious worry as Tam unsnapped the bra and the falsies spilled out.

It was Tam's Charlie Chaplin-like reaction that put the crowd in stitches. First the confused shaking of the head, then the comical prodding and poking of the small breasts themselves pulling them up by the nipples to see if they had deflated somehow, then finally the impotent fury as she stomped around and off the stage shaking her fists, swinging Meganne's little lace bra around like a lasso. From her pantomime, she wanted us to know she had been tricked. And

was furious about it.

Meganne hid her breasts coquettishly and appealed to the audience for sympathy. She gave us a pouty smile and licked her lips, spreading her legs and spinning around, as if to say "tits aren't ALL I have, you know." Someone in the audience began the chanting which soon filled Candyland.

"TINY TITS! TINY TITS! TINY TITS! TINY TITS!"

Frustration, then shame, both genuine, painted her in a ruby blush as she turned her back on us and crawled onto the bed, hiding unsuccessfully from her embarrassment. I had to hand it to Tam -- she was brilliant. She had found the hot button with her white slavegirl that sent her absolutely hurtling to Humiliation Central, night after night, performance after performance. It was Meganne Ryan's worst nightmare come true three times a night, 365 days a year -- a crowd of jeering men making fun of her least sexy attribute. Her entire being judged only on the basis of her cup size and the verdict always guilty.

Tam stomped back on stage now, in an ugly mood. The scenario of the enraged Thai husband who had been tricked by a new wife and lost much face logically demanded a harsh conclusion. Tam was prepared. She held up two new toys to the audience -- a bamboo switch and a pair of police handcuffs. The audience roared its approval. Meganne looked up and bit her lip sadly in deep despair.

"Bad wifey -- need punishment, yes?" Tam asked the audience.

"YESSSSSS!!!!!" came back the drunken, unanimous clamor.

"Up wifey -- or it be worse!" Tam declared

Meganne rose unsteadily for her Thai 'man' then threw herself at Tam's feet, begging for mercy. She rubbed her pretty pale cheeks against Tam's shoes in complete hopelessness and the Thai gripped her red hair and yanked her up brutally. With efficiency borne of nightly repetition, Tam clipped the shiny cuffs through the brass foot railing and on the thin white wrists. Meganne

stood bent over the bedframe, her legs spread and ass prepared for her just punishment. Despite her tiny tits, I doubt there was a man there who wouldn't have wanted a go at her in that position. My own cock was rockhard.

Tam played with the bamboo switch, considering. "You bad, bad girl to fool your husband that way! Thirty switchings -- ten for each of your little girl titties and ten for being a lying little whore!" The audience indicated its agreement with a collective chuckle and Tam nodded. The first five brought the expected tears, but after that the singing bamboo propelled Meganne into

hellish pain. She screeched, she begged, she whined, she cursed, her long legs dancing with each new red addition to her rosy ass -- all of it bringing the audience to new heights of amused laughter. Bamboo was indecently perfect for the act -- it didn't leave marks, but was like a hot steel whip the way Tam wielded it. The Thai heartily called out each lash till she reached thirty,

then dropped the bamboo.

The crowd quieted now and Meganne's raw, tear-stained face looked up in relief.

Tam grinned back. "Now my bride, I have surprise for you!" With that she doffed her tophat letting all her black hair flow down, revealing her not-too-secret femininity.

It was Meganne's turn for theatrical shock, as Tam continued to strip down, yanking off her tuxedo trousers to reveal a huge wooden strap-on dildo...pointed straight for Meganne's ass. The laughter rose again like a wave as the white girl struggled against her cuffs to escape the oncoming dildo.

Tam gripped Meganne's slim hips and positioned the cock for penetration of her tighter, less-used orifice, pulling the g-string off. "You the wifey and me the husband -- you must make your husband happy on wedding night, yes?" she asked her supporters in the audience. We murmured our agreement with this then watched as Tam entered her wife from behind and the redhead's eyes bulge out scarily. Swallowing deeply, Meganne took the wooden ram within her at last and begin gasping as Tam started to pump her ass with the evil implement, with steadily increasing fervor.

After a minute, Tam leaned down and whispered something harshly into Meganne's ear. The effect was instantaneous. Meganne cringed, concentrated and transformed herself from scared girl in agony to hot, animated lover. As the thick wooden rod entered her, she bucked in physical exultation, sighing with building lust. She began to shake her ass back to better meet Tam's thrusts, like a slut in heat. "Uh, I love you long time husband! I love you long time!" Meganne cried. Tam nodded catlike at the prone girl, in pleasure at her newly charged performance, and continued to pound away at her, taking delight in each and every painful prodding.

From backstage, the Wedding March began booming again and the curtain drew over the scene of demented honeymoon bliss. Amid scattered applause, Vopat announced the night's second performance of the "Newlywed's Surprise" at eleven p.m.

Now I knew why Meganne felt I was a preferable owner to Vopat. Anything was better than this three times a night. Even being a sex slave to the man who had stolen your life away from you on your wedding night at the age of twenty.

In a minute Candyland's owner was puffing on a new cigarillo, sitting beside me with two Klosters. "So, you like show?" he asked in a self-congratulatory way. He knew he had a good thing going.

"Very...unique," was as far as I was going to give him.

He nodded, taking this as a yes. "You think about my offer?" he pushed.

I had. "I'll do it. Under two conditions." He waited, puffing. "First, sisters are hard to do. They rarely travel alone at that age and it is too dangerous to have parents asking questions."

Vopat nodded, not pleased, but comprehending the difficulties. "So, what you propose?"

I sipped my Klosters. "Mother and daughter."

Vopat's face brightened. "Almost as good! Same description as before. Mother no older than," he plucked a reasonable number out of the air, "thirty-six. And," his voice screwed down hard, "daughter no old than fifteen. Good age to learn lezzie stuff."

I started to protest, but he was immovable. I nodded.

"Next as payment -- same money but I want something else too." He waited again, silently puffing.

"I want Flatsee. In a push-up bra, panties and high heels waiting for me upon delivery of the goods."

His fingers danced in the air as he figured an invisible equation. "O.k.," he decided, "Flatsee act get old -- new mother-daughter lezzie act bring fresh interest. Agreed." He toasted me with his Klosters and stood up. As did I. I had a lot of work to do.

Six months later.

Candyland as crowded as ever at five minutes of eleven. Vopat gave me that fat, oily grin of his as he raced backstage to prepare for the next act. I reached beneath the table and patted Meganne on the head. Tam had taught her how to be a most excellent little cocksucker and she was deepthroating me right now. My cock stiffened and she mouthed it greedily in eager anticipation. At least she acted eager -- which was all I cared about. Then the explosion, the cum shooting, filing her pretty pale cheeks. She gave a muffled squeal, then began swallowing the thick creamy stuff in noisy gulps.

Even if her mouth hadn't been stuffed with my cock, she couldn't have done more than squeal. I reached down and fingered the locked dog collar she always wore now round her neck -- the one I had made for her not long after I had acquired her. It was an altered version of a product I'd seen advertised on an American infomercial -- for apartment owners with noisy dogs. The "HushDoggy Collar" emitted a shock whenever a dog started to bark. Meganne's was a special job done for me by an electronics warfare specialist with the Thai military. It was activated whenever she tried to do more than moan, pant, squeal or whine -- the main ways she communicated with me now.

She hadn't spoken a word in five months now. What a wonderful invention. It focused her on her only important duty -- being a perfectly pleasing fucktoy. As she was demonstrating now, she had far more important things to do with that pretty mouth of her's than bother me with complicated thoughts and feelings.

Not that she had any to bother with. Her ambitions were pretty much limited with getting me off, obeying me utterly, and getting herself off -- in that order.

I didn't even think it was an act anymore, as it certainly had been when she had been dancing at Candyland. The small amount of attention I paid her, combined with the fact that I had allowed her to assume her old name again, was more kindness than she had ever expected to enjoy again. The love and appreciation she bore for me, her master, was touching. She now wettened at my touch and upon hearing me utter certain commands to her. After a year's worth

of the most humiliatingly thorough sexual training -- lap dancing, cocksucking, taking it up the ass, and getting her pussy filled on an almost continuous basis -- Meganne had become the perfect slut.

I almost regretted selling her.

The crowd was boisterous tonight. The show was good, as were all Vopat's shows -- a lezzie dildo and riding crop number performed by two Brits. Vopat had bought them from me -- the mother-daughter act we had agreed upon. Damn he had seen the potential there -- the place was packed. He was, after all, the Steven Spielberg of Bangkok's exotic sex shows -- as good as any of his colleagues back in the States.

I thought idly of Pussywillows, the famous strip club chain -- 'staffed' with the hottest talent white slavers could provide. Or the El Maiciea down Mexico way, known for it's animal acts and the pretty gringo girls who performed in them. It was amazing how many establishments like them that existed around the world. And the slavers who kept them stocked with firm young flesh. There was Mistress Angela for one. She could break the stubbornest feminist college

girls into compliant little bar whores or train the most recalcitrant wifeys into the sluttiest sextoys. Then there was Smedley, the society slaver who turned boys into girls for the elite. Or Constantine and his Guardians who provided the same service for the international petrodollar circuit, filling harems with feminized faux girls. And all of it happened every day right under

the noses of square johns who couldn't conceive of a world where men and women, girls and boys were bought and sold, broken and trained to please.

The two women -- mother and her teen daughter -- were climbing onto a table preparing to 69 for the crowd's amusement. Both were damp with sweat -- the act was hard work -- and their faces twisted in half-disgust, half-hunger in anticipation of the next stage of the act. Tam stood by, tapping her palm with her crop, then patted each female's bare ass, coaxing them roughly. The over-sexed slave mother and daughter heeded their mistress at once. They plunged their faces into each other's pink hairless crevices and began to suck.

I sipped my beer, ignoring the tender scene, thinking about my newest deal. I would go legit again or try to. An opportunity had arisen upcountry and I needed to get away from slaving for awhile. It was gun-running, one of my old talents, for a drug lord in the north country. All I needed was a stake and there were AK-47s waiting for sale in Chang Mai which were mine- - a shipment which upon delivery would fetch double the original purchase amount. And that

stake was almost mine -- traveling first class.

I smiled. All it had taken was a phone call -- and fifty thousand US was headed my way. Just a phone call -- because my instincts had been right.

A long distance call. To Revere Massachusetts.

The clerk checked and couldn't find the marriage on record. Never took place. Could I be mistaken? Yes -- I must have been, I answered.

Then a call to Boston. Collect to Cosmopolitan Fire Surety. From Meganne Ryan to Donald Linsky.

First, the blow off. Then, as I supplied details, he cracked. Relief, then anger as I told him about the revelations from the diary. He didn't believe me about how well Meganne behaved now though. So I took some snapshots of my pet slut. Told her to pose real sexy for me -- so I could show off my 'girlfriend' to other guys in Bangkok. That got her to put her all into it. She couldn't shove that dildo up her ass fast enough for me when she thought I might have started thinking about her as my girlfriend -- as opposed to my personal puppy whore. All the pics and some faxes of the diary convinced him. Would he agree to a price? A day later the answer. Yes. If I could help him ship her back, he had prepared a wonderful new home for her in his basement -- complete with lots of training equipment where he could continue taming the gold- digging

little tramp. His words -- not mine.

And so I sit waiting, sipping on my Kloster's, Meganne, fitful under the table now. But she won't have to wait long -- the 10:35 United from LA was almost always on time.

The End