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


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.