"The captain has turned off the seat belt lights, feel free to move about the cabin." The voice continued to drone on, but Patricia turned to David and touched his arm. "That's it, they said it! Now will you tell me? Master?"

David turned toward her and smiled. "You really were waiting that whole time, weren't you?"

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Well, of course. And you promised that once we were in the air and they made the announcement, you'd tell me what this trip was all about. Thailand. I remember the last time we went to Thailand. The most intense rounds of training you ever put me through. It was incredible. Intense and incredible." She lowered her voice. "I never thought I'd want to go back, but I was wrong."

"It isn't what you think."

She settled back in her seat slightly. The look on his face was odd. He wasn't being playful, there was almost a resignation there. She remained quiet, watching him pull his thoughts together.

"I know about the bank account."

Patricia squirmed slightly in her seat. "What do you mean?" A pause. "Sir."

David leaned forward slightly and melodramatically rested his head in his hands. "Oh, I so wish you hadn't said that. That you at least stood up and admitted it."

She was silent. It was a huge miscalculation and she knew it. Should have known it all along.

"Twenty thousand dollars. Not bad. They said you opened it only four years ago. Incredible."

"It was..." she began but he waved his hand to cut her off.

"I don't want to know. It doesn't even matter."

He reached for his bag underneath the seat in front of him and pulled out a small notebook.

"Strike One: two years after we moved in together. An overnight party at your girlfriend's house. Remember? Then it was a second night, then a third. No phone call, no message. You could have called, emailed me, something to let me know what was going on."

"We just got..." Again he waved his hand.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be. Strike Two: John."

She didn't raise any objections, they both knew it was useless. It was at a party about two years ago, John was one of the slaves of a master who was a friend of David's. After a night of intense play, the two of them had been left alone while the masters went out for drinks. They'd gravitated toward each other and spent nearly an hour in each others' arms. But there had been video gear hooked up. They were broadcast live over the internet to a dozen or so BDSM sites. And to the pocket PC David's friend kept with him.

At that point, she'd been told that he was serious about keeping track of transgressions. She shook her head, told him that she understood. But she never really believed that strike three could mean anything much.

"The money is Strike Three. We need to deal with this."

Patricia closed her eyes. She felt a river of feelings going through her. Excitement - they were going to play with Su Da Lin again. Then, immediately, the fear that came with any encounter with the Thai woman. Confusion. Why hadn't he told her about it beforehand? The fear came back. Something bigger was going on.

He unlatched her tray table and dropped it into place. "I want you to sign this. It gives me access to the money as well. It will simply become a joint account." He slid a piece of paper onto the tray table and handed her a pen. She picked it up and signed.

"Good."

He motioned for the stewardess and asked her to bring two bottles of white wine. Patricia sat silently, sweating inside, waiting to see how much more he was going to tell her. The stewardess returned with the wine and David poured it into glasses for the two of them. They sipped in silence for a while, Patricia alternately looking out the window and at David. He'd leaned his head back onto the seat and closed his eyes.

After a long time, she spoke up. "Sir?"

He turned his head without opening his eyes. "Hm?"

"Sir, how long will we be there?"

David opened his eyes and smiled at her. "Very diplomatic of you. And an excellent and sensible question. The answer is complicated, so pay attention. I will be there a day or two. You will be there the rest of your life." He turned his head again and closed his eyes.

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

David didn't reply. She asked again. After a few minutes, he said: "there will be no Strike Four" then remained silent for the rest of the fourteen hour flight.

---

Patricia examined the plane carefully as David removed the single suitcase from the overhead carry on bin. There were dozens of people, most of them looked American or at least European. Maybe she could run across the aisle and try to get one of them to help her. Most of them looked like businessmen, a few were families. There were two or three young women traveling in a small group. None of this reassured her. Every one of them seemed to be in their own world and she was certain none of them would believe her story anyway.

David touched her on the shoulder.

"I know what you're thinking. Don't."

The crowd moved slowly toward the front of the plane, pushing her along. David kept a strong hand on her upper arm. The stewardess smiled and thanked them for flying Singapore air, Patricia just nodded. The woman had no idea the hell Patricia was facing. It was just another day for her.

In the airport, Patricia saw two policemen walking toward them. Just as they passed, she lunged and grabbed one of them by the arm. She pointed at David and started crying, saying she had been kidnapped and they needed to arrest him. Them men looked at David. He said a few words in Thai and passed them a handful of bills. The policemen shook her loose and continued on their way.

David turned and started walking away. Patricia looked around at the hundreds and hundreds of strangers, the signs in Thai and David walking away into the crowd. Trying to hold back the tears, she ran to catch up with him.

"That's better," he said without turning around.

Outside the airport, David flagged down a cab. Patricia asked him about their luggage and he told her that there was none. She reminded him that he'd checked in three bags. He didn't answer.

The taxi drove them out into the streets of Bangkok. As they drove around, Patricia recognized some of the buildings. They were in the same area they'd vacationed in a few years back, when he'd subjected her to the training at Su Da Lin's. The color drained from her face. They drove down familiar streets and she knew without doubt where he was taking her.

"No, oh God, please, no," she began sobbing. David ignored her, chatting with the cab driver in Thai. "David, no, you can't do this." She tugged at his shirt and he turned to her, gave her a stern look and she slid back into the opposite corner of the back seat. She pulled her knees up close to her chest and trembled.

When the cab stopped, she sprung the door open and jumped out of the car, tried to run. It was no use though, there were several men standing just outside the door to Su Da Lin's. Two of them grabbed her and dragged her inside. As soon as they closed the door behind them, they pulled her dress over her head and threw her to the floor. She lay in her bra, panties and sandals, hair falling over her face, eyes to the floor.

"Ah. So you remember some of the rules," said a familiar voice. Su Da Lin. The Devil. Patricia was in Hell. And this time, David intended to leave her there.

A door opened behind her, then another. Patricia heard several people walk into the room. She looked around, eyes still downcast, and saw over a dozen sets of legs. Men and women, clothed and naked, dark skinned and light.

"Show her her new home," Su Da Lin said. Patricia heard her heels click as she left the room.

Two women lifted her under the arms and walked her through a door and down a flight of stairs. She turned to look at then. She recognized one of the faces from last time. It was one of Su Da Lin's seconds-in-command, an incredibly harsh woman named Nok with spiky hair and heavily painted eyes. Patricia trembled slightly, remember how much abuse she'd suffered at this woman's hands. The woman saw the recognition in Patricia's eyes and smiled.

"You remember. Good." Patricia shook and squeezed her eyes shut. She also remembered that the nickname Nok meant "bird". She tried not to recall the scratching from her talon-like fingers, the shrieked instructions, the relentlessness of her attacks. The nickname was idea. Bird of prey. Bird of terror.

The women stopped walking and Patricia looked around. She was standing in front of a metal door. One of the women produced a key and they opened the lock, pushed the door open, and led Patricia inside. The room was empty except for a single pole about three feet high that was topped with a leather cushion. On the floor in front of the pole were two steel rings embedded into the floor. A rope hung from the ceiling and ended a few feet above the rings. There was also a metal pole hanging from the ceiling with a similar leather cushion at the bottom. It was offset a foot or so from the pole sticking from the floor.

"You have no idea, do you?" Nok asked Patricia.

"No, Mistress," Patricia answered.

"Oh, you can cut the Mistress crap. This is nothing like last time. Nothing."

"Strip," the other woman ordered. Patricia undid the bra and dropped it, then slid her panties off. She reached down and untied the straps of the sandals that were wound several times around her ankles and calves.

The women walked her to the pole and pushed her closer until the fronts of her thighs were against the cushion. Nok bent Patricia over it, pushing her head down and walking around her. The woman she didn't know produced a pair of alligator nipple clamps and attached one to Patricia's left nipple. She ran the chain through one of the rings on the floor, the up through the other one. She left the other clamp lying on the floor.

In the meantime, Nok was stepping Patricia's feet into very high - six inch - heeled shoes.

"Now, it will get interesting for you," the other woman said. Patricia felt the cool leather from the ceiling pole just below the small of her back. Then, she heard small clicking noises. They were forcing the ceiling cushion lower and the floor cushion higher. She had to adjust her legs, widening her knees and going into a squat. A few more clicks and she knew exactly what they were doing. She'd been to enough gyms to know how exhausting and painful a squat like this would be after five or six minutes.

After just a few more clicks, they stopped. Her thigh muscles were already trembling, her knees and calves quivering slightly as the small muscles worked to keep her balanced on the heels. Then, she saw one of them squat in front of her, reaching for the other nipple clamp. She pulled the chain tight through the rings on the floor then attached the clamp to Patricia's right nipple. She whimpered, first from the pain, then from the realization of what they'd done. Guaranteed her position by keeping her torso stretched and bent. She couldn't move backward to relieve the tension in her legs without pulling on the clamps.

It seemed impossible that things could get worse, but she was wrong.

The women moved behind her and took her long hair upward, braiding it and tying off the end with twine. Then, the knotted hair was attached to the rope hanging from the ceiling. Somewhere in the room, something started clicking again and Patricia felt tugging against the roots of her hair. The rope was pulling her upward, stretching both her spine and nipples.

"Oh, please, can you turn it back just a few clicks?" she whimpered. Neither of the women answered, they just stood to either side of her, immobile. "Just one click, please." She sobbed as her trembling thighs burned with the effort of supporting herself. She shifted her body every few minutes, releasing fresh waves of pain into different parts of her body. If she stayed like this much longer, she was sure she'd pass out.

The burning in her calves became unbearable and she pushed her weight into her heels which stretched her hamstrings past the point of pain. She screamed slightly, but it did no good. She tried to focus on her breathing to calm herself, maybe slide into subspace, but the stretching of her back kept fighting for attention. She moved slightly to relieve that pressure but felt the teeth of the clamps bite hard into her nipples. When she moved forward again to stop that pain, her thighs shrieked. She was on fire head to toe and there was absolutely no sign from either of the women that it would be over soon. Or ever.

The room was hot, stifling. Her mouth was dry and she felt sweat pooling along the leather cushions and the back of her neck. She opened her mouth and licked her lips. Then, she closed her eyes again.

She felt like she was slipping it a daze when she felt a finger slide between her cunt lips and quickly up inside her. Her eyes shot open and she heard the two women laugh. The finger was removed and the women walked out of the room, still chuckling quietly.

Patricia trembled with fear. Had they put something up inside of her? Was something going to happen? A chemical reaction? Something organic? She'd seen such horrible and extreme things the last time she was here that she knew anything was possible. But, she felt nothing inside her, nothing new or different. Just the terrible burning up and down her legs. Her nipples didn't even matter now, everything was focused on that squat position and the non-stop searing pain it caused.

The room went black and loud music poured out of speakers somewhere. It throbbed in her ears, she tried turning her head but the rope didn't give her much leeway and any move she made was met by a stab of pain at the small of her back. After a while, the music stopped. Then, the room was flooded with bright white light. She squeezed her eyes tight but it didn't help, the insides of her eyelids shone bright red. They alternated back and forth between these for what seemed like hours, then the room went black and quiet. She wasn't sure how long she was along in the black room but she was sure she'd fallen asleep several times. Or blacked out.

This is not a story you want to read if you are upset easily by non-consensual sex, slavery, humiliation, etc. The primary plot is: a dom turns his sub over to a trainer of sexual submissives in Thailand. Things get worse from there. She may or may not be sold into slavery, she doesn't know. This story doesn't condone that kind of thing, but it makes a powerful fantasy. Fantasy. Get it? FANTASY.

------------------------------------

...continued from chapter 1 in which Patricia is brought to Thailand and given into the care of Su Da

Lin, a notorious training of submissives who she met years earlier...

------------------------------------

She heard a door open and footsteps approached her.

"I want to explain to you what will happen next." A voice. Su Da Lin. The same Su Da Lin who she and David had played training games with years before. The same Su Da Lin to whom David had turned her over and then vanished this time.

"This is your world now. You will remain in this position. Every day. Until you are an old woman and we retire you. Maybe to sew dresses or make beautiful carpets. Who knows?" Su Da Lin stroked her back gently. "You will be restrained like this from now on. You will be kept in this position all night and all day. Always. Eat, sleep, piss, shit. Here. In this position. Do you understand?"

Patricia swum up from her glaze of exhaustion and pain and tried to digest what the woman was saying. Her eyes were blurry from just waking up. She saw Su Da Lin's face coming closer, felt Su Da Lin's lips on hers and opened her mouth reflexively, leaning back slightly. The tug at her nipples was arousing under Su Da Lin's mouth. It had been last time and was again now. She hated herself for it but felt the arousal between her legs.

"Why?" she whispered but it was a hoarse croak. She didn't realize how dry her mouth and throat were. How long had it been since she'd last drank anything?

Su Da Lin's hand slid along her belly and down to her clitoris, gently touching, that stroke Patricia remembered with fear from last time. It always led to pain. But it was always so exquisite. She tried to raise her hips but her body refused to move. Su Da Lin touched her for only a few seconds and she felt the orgasm rip through her, the pain in her legs and back rushing though her again like fresh fire. She moaned loudly.

Su Da Lin stood up. "Ah yes, as I remembered. I never forget one like you. So easy to cum."

Su Da Lin motioned and from somewhere one of her women appeared with a chair, slid it behind her and she relaxed into it. Patricia couldn't tear her eyes away from the woman's incredible body, sheathed in dark jade colored satin, every inch of it promising infinite pleasure to whomever she chose to touch.

"Your David has given you to us. We however have not found anyone who wants you. Not even for a weekend. Your portfolio has been distributed to our usual customers but so far..." she shrugged, "...nobody is interested."

"That is just as well. David also told us about your indiscretions. Crimes really. And you really do need to be disciplined for those. Hence, the pole."

She stood up, leaned forward, ran a finger down Patricia's spine. Patricia trembled, jerked upward, screamed as the pain shot through her legs and nipples.

"Yes. This position you are in? Over fifteen hundred years of perfecting, honing, improving, all in order to bring you the punishment you deserve for what you have done to David." Su Da Lin motioned again and one of the women brought a rubber glove. She snapped it onto Su Da Lin's left hand, then coated it with oil. Su Da Lin slid her hand between Patricia's ass cheeks and pushed two fingers into her. She slid them slowly in and out while she talked.

"Starting tomorrow, the doors will be opened. Anyone is free to make use of your anus. Your bung. Your asshole. They do not need to pay, they do not need to ask. I do not even need to know them. You are now a public commodity."

Su Da Lin removed her fingers, snapped off the glove and dropped it on the floor.

"In a few days, you will leave here. One of the women in town will be responsible for you. It will be at her discretion if, when, and what you will be fed. If and when you will be bathed. Allowed to sleep. She will most likely use you as a lure to bring men into her small compound, then offer them one of her other girls. Prettier. Younger. The ones they will pay for. And, if they are not interested, or do not want to spend money, they can use you. For free."

Patricia's head was spinning. "...if...you will be fed..."? They couldn't leave her to starve. Surely, this was some game of David's. He'd show up any time now and take her home. Her body was nearly numb, the pain had stopped shifting and settled into a low-level throb. As they always had before with Su Da Lin, life had settled into an equilibrium of agony.

After a few minutes of silence, Su Da Lin spoke up. "I am quite surprised. Most women in this position beg, plead, negotiate. You remain silent. Why is this? Are you so comfortable with the prospect of being at the mercy of complete strangers on the streets of Bangkok?"

Patricia didn't answer, there was nothing to say.

"I will explain the things that I've explained to the others. You are free to ask for food and drink. You may try and negotiate with the men who use you, though they know this punishment well enough to understand that you are completely powerless. Many of them will not even speak English, the rest will likely not care what becomes of you. You have nothing to offer them that they cannot take for free.

"You may also try to find a sponsor. Someone who will pay for your company for a day, or a week, of a year. The price for you is now 10,000 Zambian Dollars for twenty-four hours. That is quite a bit of money for a day laborer but not so much for a professional man. If you can find a sponsor, they may take you home and use you in whatever capacity they choose. Cook, maid, whore, laborer. For as long as they choose. Once they pay for you, your fate is completely in their hands. Some men have come by to lease women for their labor camps." She shook her head. "Exhausting work."

Patricia tried to ask a question but her throat clenched.

"10,000 Dollar in Zambian." Su Da Lin crouched in front of Patricia again, touched her upper lip with a long fingernail. "I love that currency. It sounds so impressive. So much better than 500 bhat. Or two dollars seventeen cents American."

She stood up and walked away slowly. "Probably more than you're worth, but then, these men are not rich. " Su Da Lin closed the door and the room went dark again.

---

Patricia came to abruptly as someone shoved his cock deep inside her ass. She jerked upward and howled as the chains holding her nipples jerked tight. Her thigh muscles quivered from their efforts to keep her balanced. Her hands were useless - her elbows were secured to her waist by latex bands, she would move her hands up and down but not far enough to be of any real use.

The man inside her pumped fast and hard. She noticed something missing. It was the cushion that had been holding the small of her back. Su Da Lin had some mercy after all, she thought, then thought twice as the man pounded deep and hard into her. Each thrust renewed the pain shooting through the backs of her legs and down her calves. She clenched her ass each time the pain hit and she heard him grunt each time she clenched. He shoved harder to get past the tight muscle, finally unloading inside of her. Without a word, he pulled out with a small sound. She looked behind her and saw a gob of cum splash to the floor between her feet.

"Water?" she asked hoarsely. He continued pulling up his pants. He pulled up his zipper then bucked her belt. "Water, please?" He walked out the door. She never saw his face, really never saw anything above his knees. She shivered, realizing that this was probably all she would ever see again. She would be begging men to buy her without even knowing what they looked like. She might be bought by anyone, anyone.

That day, three more men came to use her. With each passing hour, she grew more fatigued and dizzy. Her begging was more desperate with each one, her frustration growing and her sense of helplessness engulfing her like a dark, dark blanket. The lights went out. Night time? she wondered. Or maybe the opposite. Maybe they only used her at night. She would probably never know, never see daylight again. The thought plunged her deeper into her abyss.

The door opened and she heard footsteps approach. She felt something cool against her chin, then her lips. Someone was holding a bowl of water for her. She lapped it up like an animal, splashing most of it onto the floor but savoring each slurp like a fine wine. Then, she felt something against her lips and opened them. Something that tasted like beef jerky went between her lips. She bit, chewed and swallowed. It occurred to her that she hadn't eaten in...how long? She had no way to tell.

Several more bites and then another bowl of water. Finally, the figure walked out of the room and closed the door, leaving as silently as it had come.

---

Patricia's body erupted with pain again and her eyes shot open. The room was light and she was surrounded by several people. Someone had nudged her nipple chain with a toe.

"Today, we take you to the enclosure," she heard Su Da Lin's voice. "No more you waste space in my place of business."

Someone removed the alligator clips quickly. She swooned as a fresh flare of pain flooded through her body. Then, she felt the shoes being taken off of her feet. Two very large men gripped her around the waist and slid her sideways off of the pipe. She couldn't support herself, couldn't even straighten herself up. They lowered her to the ground and she remained folded over in a V, not even able to muster the strength to curl up.

Gingerly, she tried straightening out her legs but couldn't. Fear gripped her. She could feel her legs, the cool floor scraping against her naked flesh. She could move her toes and feet, but the muscles of her hips and thighs were rubber. She pressed her hands into the floor and tried to raise herself to a sitting position but was too weak. Hunger? Exhaustion?

Su Da Lin stood over her and leaned down slightly.

"You are tired, you have been in that position for a very, very long time. Your body is tired. Your body will heal. You will make a good slave." She nudged Patricia with her toe. "Show me your cunt."

Patricia rolled onto her back as well as she could. Her waist and knees remained bent, but she was able to present herself in the knees-spread position Su Da Lin had favored last time. She put her hands between her legs and splayed her cunt open with her fingertips.

"Ah, now I know why you are not worried. Your training. Your obedience. You think this makes you valuable." Su Da Lin leaned close to her and whispered. "You think he will come back. But you are wrong. He is not coming." She paused. "And I do not need you."

She stood up. "You are now no more or less useful than any other girl here. You know I am correct, don't you? You may be a novelty, a white woman who has been trained in a variety of ways, but you are no more valuable than any of the other girls here. Do not fool yourself. The life you knew is over. You can be bought for a day for one British pound. That is less than one of these tourists pays for a souvenir hat."

Patricia felt herself plunged deeper into despair as Su Da Lin turned and walked out of the room.

---

Patricia was set up in a small outdoor enclosure on a dead-end dirt road. There were three other women there as well. Patricia was the only one undergoing the punishment, the others were scantily dressed whores who took their men inside private rooms and serviced them on mats. The enclosure was owned by a woman named Loo. She made her living catering to foreign day laborers who came to Thailand looking for cheap weekend adventures. They were mostly fat, sweaty, loud, and rude. They treated the women like property and Patricia was the lowest on the totem pole. Occasionally, one of the maids in the nearby hotels would send her a tourist from Europe or America. On a good weekend, they would tell their friends and come back in groups, dropping the kind of money that Loo had only dreamed about before coming to work for Su Da Lin. Usually, she had her girls service the men and passed on a percentage to Su Da Lin. Sometimes she did special favors. Like taking on Patricia's punishment. Su Da Lin paid extra for that too.

Su Da Lin had given Loo a portable version of the restraint device. The base was a three foot square steel plate with two vertical poles attached. Patricia was bent over at the waist, a wide leather belt at the small of her back kept her pressed hard against the first cushion. The second pole had a simple six-inch length of rough wood screwed to the top which was pressed up between her breasts. She wasn't secured to that, she could rest on it or raise herself up, whatever she chose. This seemed like a bit of freedom, but she would learn otherwise as the weeks went by. Her body's natural tendency was to rise up off of the wood while she was being fucked, but when she settled back down, she inevitably wedged one of her tits underneath herself, pinching it between chest and wood. She'd chafe her chest against the rough wood trying to get back into a less painful position, leaving small scratches that stung when her sweat dripped into them. Two wide leather straps held her arms in place, one just above her tits and the other at her elbows. Her hands just hung loose and useless, emphasizing her helplessness.

The high heels were gone and she was not forced into the squatting position, which was a relief. Also, the alligator teeth nipple clamps had been replaced by the clover type. Each of these had a hoop attached which swung freely in front of her. On the platform, she could see a variety of lead weights, each with a hook attached to the top. She knew from experience exactly how those items would be used on her.

===

The first few days in the compound were quiet for her. The men continued to come and go, paying Loo to use one of the three younger women, casting strange glances at Patricia as they walked by. It had been a long time since anyone had undergone the punishment and they were not exactly sure what the rules were. Besides, most of the locals had their favorites already.

Patricia saw that Loo would often intercept the men after they had finished with their girls, chatting with them and pointing at Patricia. Many of them shook their heads and walked away. Others nodded and laughed, giving Loo a few coins, then walking over to her. They'd run their hands across the skin of her back, reach underneath and cup her titties in their hands, then stand behind her, pushing their fingers up inside her bottom. She'd moan and squirm, pressing down hard against the cushion, trying to extract at least some little bit of pleasure from the inspection. After no more than a few minutes, the men would pull their fingers out of her. Loo or one of the other women would hand the man a damp towel to clean his fingers and he would leave.

For the first several days, nobody used her. She simply remained in her exposed position, skin damp with sweat during the hot Thai afternoons, dozing fitfully and waking shivering all through the cool Thai nights. The boredom was horrible, agonizingly frustrating. She could see down the alleyway to the main street. People walked by doing going about their business, oblivious to her there - completely helpless and available. Often, during those first few days, she'd try to touch herself but her hands were in the wrong position - the way she was secured at the elbows prevented it. She tried to grind against the cushion, but the surface was flat and she couldn't get enough friction against her clit to do more than excite and then frustrate herself.

Occasionally, a man or a group of men would walk down the alley, inspect her, chat with Loo, but inevitably they left. Patricia thought she knew why. Su Da Lin had explained to her than anal sex was considered the lowest form of deviant sexual behavior amongst the Thai people. That was why the punishment she was enduring was considered so terrifying. While many of the men enjoyed it, nobody talked about it. It was kept in the darkest corners of their fantasies. For a women to be on display like this, to be offering herself to be used this way, ranked her lower than even the cheapest crack whore or sickest pervert.

Word began getting around town about the American woman undergoing one of Su Da Lin's punishments at Loo's compound. Men began showing up now. Mostly in the middle of the night, mostly silent. Since it was late, she was usually asleep. They would slide quietly into the compound, drop their pants around their knees, and fuck her quickly, then leave just as silently. She'd wake up when they first pushed into her, moaning to try and keep them turned on, then make her plea for some food or water. Mostly, they ignored her. They were nervous enough about being there, fucking this women in the ass, wondering if they might be seen by someone. The last thing they wanted to do was engage in conversation. They'd simply use her, wipe themselves off on the rag than hung from the post, and leave. Patricia would drop back off to sleep until the next man arrived.

This is not a story you want to read if you are upset easily by non-consensual sex, slavery, humiliation, etc. The primary plot is: a dom turns his sub over to a trainer of sexual submissives in Thailand. Things get worse from there. She may or may not be sold into slavery, she doesn't know. This story doesn't condone that kind of thing, but it makes a powerful fantasy. Fantasy. Get it? FANTASY.

------------------------------------

...continued from chapter 2 in which Patricia is set up in Loo's compound...

------------------------------------

Patricia was a complete mess. The metal platform she was on was surrounded by a moat of mud, a mixture of the cum that drizzled now nearly continuously from her asshole and her own body fluids, spilled into the dirt between her feet whenever she had to relieve herself. She felt the mud ooze between her toes and often slid in it while they were using her.

A mixture of cum and excrement was crusted along the insides of both thighs as well as her calves and feet. With each day, the prospect of anyone paying to take her out of this bondage faded. Slowly, she realized it had been a fantasy all along. Now, whenever she saw a pair of feet approaching her, she enticed them to use her, then she begged for water or some food. Most times, she was turned down. Only twice did she even approach the subject of someone buying her. In both cases, she was fucked again for insolence. In both cases, they laughed at her throughout the second fucking.

It was the end of her second weekend of captivity in Loo's compound - that was the word she used now for the enclosure that housed her, Loo, and the other three women - when she heard English-speaking voices for the first time since her arrival. For several minutes, she wondered if she was dreaming. Or if she might be going crazy from the boredom and the heat. But no, they were real. They were talking about scheduling a trip scuba diving in the ribbon reefs off the coast.

She opened her eyes and saw them, five huge Australians in fatigue shorts, tank tops, and sandals. Three sported blonde crew cuts, one had flowing black hair and the other was bald. They were built like linebackers, all muscle and testosterone. They were standing in front of a bar halfway up the alley from her, holding giant mugs of beer and sandwiches.

"Hello..." she tried to croak but her throat was too dry. She shook her head weakly, closed her eyes. She heard footsteps from behind her and recognized them as Pooku's. Pooku was one of the two older women who worked for Loo and the sexiest. She was five foot two and had a fuller body than the other two. She was still thin - probably weighed under 100 pounds - but had oversized bottom and breasts. Patricia had wondered if she'd enhanced them to make herself more marketable.

Pooku stopped and stood beside her. Patricia smelled her rich, pungent cunt. Pooku had told her that her name had been given to her by some customers from Singapore - it was slang for cunt secretion. Evidently, she got very, very wet when she was horny. Or so the Singapore men had told her.

She slapped her hand across Patricia's bottom. The sharp sound travelled through the courtyard and up into the alley. Patricia flailed her useless arms and heard Pooku chuckle. "Little birdy flap wings," she said. "Hey! Hey, boys!" Pooku yelled, spanking Patricia again. The pain was intense and she moaned. Her flesh was bright red from sunburn and each hand crack was another explosion. Loo had made sure she was in the shade the first week, but now she was not so careful. Some days, she's drag Patricia's stage from one side of the compound to the other as the sun went across the sky; some days, she'd open up the canopy that shaded the center of the compound, but some days she was too tired. Or lazy. Or cruel.

"Hey, lads, what 'ave we got here?" Long Hair said, pointing toward Patricia.

"Ah, now I can make some money," Pooku whispered to her. She motioned for the men to come down the alley, rubbing her hand up and down the inside of Patricia's thigh. She felt herself responding to the woman's touch. She trembled with anger. It seemed that the men who were fucking her ass were just stopping by to make deposits, but if a woman touched her, she went crazy. She felt her cunt swell and closed her eyes tight, trying not to notice the sweet feeling of those fingers on her body. So near her cooch...cunt. She was beginning to use the words she heard in the compound to talk about herself. Her cooch. Quim. Punany. Choot.

"You like a nice American ass-poony?" Pooku sang in the voice she put on for the johns. She sped up her speech and faked a weak "I don't know much English" accent. "She very good girl, tight bung. You fuckee?" Pooku spit on Patricia's asshole and pushed two fingers in hard and fast. Patricia grunted, mostly from arousal. Her ass could take it. Her tits, on the other hand, were rubbing against the wooden log and already feeling raw.

Pooku pulled her fingers out of Patricia's ass and walked around in front of her. She grabbed the tired woman's hair with her right hand and slid her skirt up around her waist with her left. She pulled Patricia's head up quick, pushed it between her legs, pressed hard against her thin cotton panties. "You like show? She lickee me cunnie." She rocked up and down against Patricia's face. "Come on, lickee lickee." Patricia nearly came from the feelings deep inside her cunt, the smell of Pooku's hot pussy and the humiliation of being treated like this in front of five English-speakers was too much for her. She started humping the pad, knowing all the time that it was hopeless. She kept having to relearn that lesson - Su Da Lin's device was ingenious, it could bring her nothing but pain. The pad was in the right place to support her for ass fucking but gave her nothing to rub her clit against. She felt the frustration building, tears running down her face.

Pooku dropped her head and she swung back into place, eyes open and staring at three sets of strong, hairy legs. "No, no, you no leave. You watch. I make more." Pooku walked into her room and came back quickly with a wooden paddle. She brought the paddle down twice on each of her ass cheeks, then worked it up and down both thighs. Patricia begged her to stop, but Pooku was talking with the men and ignored her. Patricia bucked up and down with each swat, moaning and begging "no, no, no..."

One of the blond men reached out and stopped Pooku, took the paddle from her hand, "that's enough, girly. You're having too much fun with this, I can tell." "How much, then?" Bald Head asked. Patricia tried to speak but as soon as she made a sound, Pooku hooked her foot into the chain that hung between the nipple clamps and stepped down hard. Light exploded behind Patricia's eyes and she let out a loud, painful grunt. Pooku kept the pressure hard and Patricia used all of her willpower to keep from screaming.

She listened while Pooku negotiated with the men. There were five of them and they wanted to take her back with them for the night. "You fuckee ass only." The men laughed. "Yeah, whatever." After a little haggling, she agreed to a price of one pound each - Patricia did the math quickly. She was being pimped out as an ass whore to five giants for about ten American dollars.

Pooku started to disconnect Patricia from the device. One of the men asked Pooku "how much for the paddle?" Pooku stopped what she was doing and stood up. She took the paddle from the man's hand and looked at it. She turned it over carefully as though it was a priceless piece of jewelry. She held it in one hand and then the other, then looked at him and said "eight pounds." Patricia let out a whimper. They were going to pay more for the paddle than they had for her.

Pooku undid Patricia's ankle restraints and removed the leather straps that kept her arms immobile. "You stand," she said, still in her fake accent. Patricia tried to stand but couldn't. She tried to raise her arms to push herself up from the cushion but found that she couldn't manage that either. "Up!" Pooku yelled, flicking a finger hard at one of Patricia's nipples. She tried again, managed to get her chest up off of the wood, grabbed it with her hands and held herself at an angle. She was dizzy and lightheaded, the pain from her sunburned back flooding over her now. She pressed her heels onto the platform, felt the slimy fluids there, slid back and forth until she thought she had a good footing.

"Damn, look at that," one of the blonds said.

"Yah, what's that all about?" asked Bald Head. He turned to Pooku. "How long has she been here like that?"

"Two day," Pooku lied. "She OK. She faking." Pooku flicked her nipple again hard. "Up." Patricia forced herself to stand. As impossible as it was, as horrible as her body felt, she knew that if she didn't obey, Pooku would hand her over to Loo. Who would hand her over to Su Da Lin.

Pooku produced a tiny string bikini from her room and held it up in front of Patricia's face. "You wear this so you not arrested." She smiled and dropped it to the platform. Patricia stared down at it. It was a hundred miles away, she would never be able to reach it. The light material started turning dark as it soaked up the fluids from the platform surface. She would be wearing her own juices and cum. If she was able to bend down and pick it up.

"You put it on her," Long Hair said to Pooku. "Now."

She looked at him and saw that he was serious. "Yes, I just playing." She giggled and picked up the tiny thing, wrapped it around Patricia and tied it into place. It covered her just enough to be street legal, an inch of material at each nipple, a wedge between her legs that started just above her slit, vanished between her thighs, and came up her back as a single thread again to tie at the waist. She looked much more obscene than she would have looked naked and she knew it. The men saw it too. She watched them, could see them practically drooling. Her body - even after two weeks of this - was still the magnificent thing it has been on the beaches of Malibu and in the nightclubs of Rome and Paris. She flashed on an image of herself dancing with David in a casino and felt a rush of lust and humiliation. She looked at the men and was suddenly sex-starved again. Her instincts would never die. She knew it and it scared her.

===

The men took turns holding her close on the walk back to the hotel. It was obvious from her first few steps that she was getting almost no exercise and her legs could barely hold her erect, let along walk.

They took her to the hotel they were staying at. They stopped outside at the pool and soaked a towel in one of the showers. Her hair was filthy, her entire body covered with dirt and mud, and her legs dripping a putrid, smelly jumble of body fluids.  They sure didn't want her in their room like that. So, they scrubbed her legs until they were bright red, then had her go into one of the showers and finish the job herself.

She stood under the nozzle, letting the hot water flow. So much of her hurt, small scratches that burned from the water, sore muscles, just the effort to try and stand there, but it felt so good. Even the water running over her sunburned back and the backs of her legs felt reassuring, reminded her of the normal world. She held the wall with one hand and reached for the liquid soap with the other, gently rubbed her belly, arms, neck, taking as much time as she could. Then, she put her head under the water and let it run for a long time. She shampooed, then did it again, feeling hard bits of crud coming free and washing away down the drain.

After nearly twenty minutes, she turned off the water and tugged the tiny bikini into place. She opened the door of the shower and saw two of the men laying in deck chairs.

"Oh yay, she cleans up good, huh?" They both looked her up and down, a runway model in a few strings and tiny pieces of material.

"Come on, we don't want to keep Johnny waiting." The blond man reached for her hand and they walked across the courtyard and into the hotel. She felt the air conditioning for the first time in weeks and nearly lost her balance. She was freezing cold. He tugged her and she followed obediently.

===

"You hungry? Do you want to have a little something before we start?"

It was Johnny, the largest of the three blond men. He was naked except for a pair of red satin boxers. He was sitting in an armchair, slicing an apple with a big Bowie knife and his thumb, putting each small piece in his mouth and chewing with a smile.

"I'm starving. Listen, you have to help me, I'm..." Johnny waved his hand. "Sorry, save it honey. This is just a business transaction, we're not the Red Cross." He motioned toward the dresser. "Do you want a bite or not?"

Patricia nearly swooned looking at the food, leaned against a chair. Loo had been feeding her mostly rice and fish heads and not much of that. There were two women who often came in the middle of the night with more food - she didn't even want to guess what the slimy, chewy mass might be - but on the trays was real food. Steak. Salad. Wine and fruit. She stared at it but knew better than to eat. Her stomach had probably shrunk and she was in for a long night of heavy physical use. The last thing she needed was to start that on a full stomach.

"No, no. But a glass of wine would be...please, listen! You have to help me..." Johnny leaned forward, pointed the knife at her. "I do not want to have to tell you again to be quiet." He brushed the tip underneath her chin, scratched lightly down to her collarbone. "I won't have to repeat myself, will I?"

She shook her head slowly, "No...no, sir."

"Good," he said, resting back in his chair. "No, I wouldn't hurt you darlin'. Even here, an American is worth something. But I would take you back there, drop you off, and tell Poo-poo that I was an unsatisfied customer." He smiled and evil grin. "You wouldn't much like that, would you?"

"No, no I would not," she said. Long Hair handed her a glass of red wine. She took it and took a sip. It was bitter and sharp. A taste of another world, a past she would never see again. It hit her hard, she was dizzy after the first sip. She heard music being turned on and someone said, "dance." She raised her arms above her head and started swaying. She'd always loved the scene, the dance floor, the men ogling her while David sat at the bar playing exhibition games. Patricia moved her hips from side to side. She felt the stiffness in her legs and could only take small steps, but she made the most of them. She took another drink of the wine and turned around, pushing her bottom toward Bald Head.

He put his hand up and made a face. "Whoa, whoa! Stop it, cut the music." He stood up and took the wine glass from her. He leaned his head closer, just a few inches from her neck and wrinkled his nose. "You still smell like an old cunt." He jerked the bikini top and it broke free in his hand. "Get into the bathroom and clean yourself up." He pulled the bottom off the same way. "You smell like a freakin' tuna fish in a cesspool." Patricia went red and felt tears well in her eyes. No one had ever talked to her like that. And worse, she knew he was probably right. She had no idea how much of what was still caked onto her flesh, in the crevice underneath her ass cheek, the backs of her knees, the roots of her hair. Crying, she staggered into the bathroom, holding the wall for support, slammed the door shut.

"One of you dollies, go get her some makeup and something to make her smell nice. I want a nice Parisian whore, not a Bangkok hooker." They laughed and Long Hair left to go downstairs and shop.

Patricia sat on the toilet, head between her knees, shaking and crying. She wanted to throw up, wanted to vanish, wanted to disappear into the wall. But she knew better. She knew what would happen. She would clean herself, she would dance for them, suck their cocks, let them fuck her ass. Then they would spank her, slap her, do anything they wanted to hurt her. Then, they would fuck her ass again. Over and over. All night. And all through the next day. And forever and ever if they wanted to spend another pound or two with Pooku. She was never going to be rescued, she would never see David again, she would just be moved from hotel to hotel and fucked senseless. Or, left in the compound forever, baking in the Thai sun by day, strangers depositing jism into her asshole night after night after night.

"Hey, I don't hear water running," she heard a fist banging on the door and a booming voice. She reached into the tub and turned on the water. The room was steamed in seconds, the scalding hot water filling the tub. She looked at it. She knew she should turn it down, cool it off, take a nice warm bath, then a hot shower to rinse off. The water was too hot coming out full force like that. She looked at it, nearly hypnotized by the swirling patterns. She dipped a finger into it and pulled back from the pain. Then, slowly, she returned the finger and put it in again. Then another. Then her whole hand. It was on fire, but that was what she needed. She pulled her hand out and saw that it had gone lobster red. She reached in with both hands this time. Agony. Sweet agony. She leaned forward and felt her back, the stretch activating the sunburn. She looked at the water again, knew what it would feel like when the sunburned flesh along the backs of her legs touched the water. She felt her cunt getting wet as the thought about lowering herself into the water, inch after inch of flesh being lowered into the steaming hot bath. She pulled her right hand out of the water and started fingering her cunt. Yes, she needed it, she told herself. She stood up and walked to the tub, raised one foot and slid it slowly into the hot, hot water. She bit her lower lip. It was horrible, deliciously horrible. She stepped in with the other foot and felt the rush up both legs, heat and electricity congealing inside her cunt. In one motion now, she dropped to her knees, then moved backward and slid her entire body into the water. Her breasts floated along the surface, barely visible through the steam. She was on fire. Her hand was rubbing her clit now, faster, faster, her hips moving up and down, water sloshing over the sides of the tub, her body screaming from the heat but her mind totally aroused and focused and she rubbed her cunt faster and slammed her back against the bottom of the tub and came with a loud scream.

... to be continued...

This is not a story you want to read if you are upset easily by non-consensual sex, slavery, humiliation, etc. The primary plot is: a dom turns his sub over to a trainer of sexual submissives in Thailand. Things get worse from there. She may or may not be sold into slavery, she doesn't know. This story doesn't condone that kind of thing, but it makes a powerful fantasy. Fantasy. Get it? FANTASY.

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Chapter 4

       ... Pooku stretches Patricia's anus wider and wider

       ... A businessman named Cliff gets off on having her tattooed

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Patricia snuck another glance at Loo. The old woman was cleaning two fish for the evening's dinner. She gutted them expertly, sliced off the heads and slid them to the side, then chopped the fillets into small cubes and pushed them into a wooden bowl.

"More sweep," Loo said. Patricia realized she'd been staring hungrily at the fish and had stopped pushing the broom. Her eyes teared up slightly as she started sweeping again, pushing the small pile of debris from inside Loo's room into the alleyway. She looked at the chopping board again, saw the fish heads. As usual, those would be her supper. Those and the innards, probably raw. That and half a cup of rice. Maybe some vegetables if there were any Loo didn't want for her and the other three women. In other words, any that were rotten.

"Honey! Hey, honey!"

Patricia turned at Pooku's voice. The woman was standing in front of her doorway, her hand outstretched and open. She was holding a small piece of paper - a candy wrapper. "You miss this when you clean my room." She beckoned and Patricia walked closer and stopped in front of her. She pushed the paper into Patricia's mouth, then laughed and went back into her room.

She spit the paper into her hand, then dropped it on the ground with the debris from Loo's room. She swept all of it down to the curb at the end of the alley.

Loo had started this regimen about two weeks ago. Every afternoon from twelve to two - when the sun was hottest - Patricia was unstrapped from the device and did housework. She washed dishes and the other womens' bedsheets and clothes. She swept the compound and, if asked, gave the women massages, shampoos, manicures, or anything else they wanted.

Loo didn't allow her to cook. She didn't want to take the chance Patricia would waste any of their limited supplies on herself. She did take her to the market yesterday, Loo selecting and bargaining, Patricia carrying their purchases back home. Loo had Patricia pull on sandals and a baggy grey dress that hung below her knees. Many of the men and women in the market recognized her, she saw them nudging each other and whispering.

Loo had made some other changes as well.

Loo had learned a lot from Patricia's long weekend with the Australians. They'd cleaned her up and taken her out on the town, dinner, drinking, dancing, and constantly fucking. What Loo learned was that Patricia in a short skirt and thigh-high boots brought in more money than Patricia strapped to the wooden frame in the alley. Patricia pimped out to white businessmen who enjoyed pain brought in even more. Loo devised a plan.

For the last several nights, it was the same. After Patricia finished her housework, she was strapped back on the frame and let in the hot sun to bake. Heavier and heavier weights were clamped to her nipples and cunt lips and bigger and bigger shafts were pushed up her ass to keep her loose. The men from the hotels came more frequently now, word was getting around. More men from the nearby towns showed up too, she could tell from their voices. They were mostly day laborers who would show up drunk at the end of their shift. They would hand Loo twenty or thirty bhat then pull out the bottle or can or whatever else Pooku had shoved up her ass and replace it with their cocks. When they were finished with her, they'd shove it back in, letting their cum ooze down her thighs while they played with her, pushing the cans in and out, in and out.

---

At around nine, Pooku came and untied Patricia from the frame. She slid in the muck around her feet, slipped and landed flat on her ass, pushing the can that was hanging halfway out up and into her body. There were three men standing around, drinking beer and watching.

"You asshole must be hungry!" Pooku laughed. She smacked Patricia's bottom, laughing and poking her finger against her belly. "You feel? You feel?" The men stared at her and laughed.

Patricia got to her hands and knees, the mud -- dirt, piss and cum -- squishy between her fingers. She raised her head and looked at Pooku with big, wet eyes. "Help me," she cried.

Pooku crouched down and took Patricia's face in her hands. "You need more?" Patricia shook her head fiercely and cried, "no, no, I meant..." Pooku leaned forward and kissed Patricia, pulling her head hard. Patricia hated herself for responding but she did, her tongue and lips eagerly seeking the whore's face, then her neck, then her titties. Pooku turned around and sat on the ground, opened her legs and pushed Patricia's face into her crotch. Patricia fell to it eagerly, licking and slurping at the young woman's pussy.

Pooku motioned to one of the men. He lifted his bottle and drank the rest of his beer in one long gulp. Then, he knelt behind Patricia and pushed the bottom of the bottle against her pussy lips. Patricia's body froze and she lifted her head. Pooku grabbed her by the ears and pushed her back into her crotch. "You funny girl. You lost attention easy."

The man rubbed the bottle up and down along Patricia's cunt, getting it wet with cum and pussy. Then, he pressed it against her asshole. Patricia grunted and pulled her head back. "You can't! It...mmpphhhh..." Pooku ground her cunt into Patricia's face and held her there hard. The man started pushing now, hard. Patricia felt herself being ripped open, the can inside her pushing backward as her spinchter stretched wider and wider. She felt it start to slide out but then everything shifted and it was being pushed back in, followed by the base of the beer bottle. She screamed into Pooku's cunt but the woman opened her legs wider and pressed Patricia's mouth hard against her. The bottle was sliding in now, the can moving up deeper into her bowels, up into her so far she thought it would come out her mouth. The man started fucking her then, sliding the glass bottle out and ramming it back in, listening to it clink against the metal base of the can.

Pooku finally came with a tiny "oook!" sound and she waved the men away. Patricia felt the bottle slide out of her and tried to push the can but it wouldn't follow. Her asshole slammed shut.

"You clean it out now," Pooku commanded, pointing toward Patricia's bottom. "Use you hands."

Patricia, sobbing and red-faced, raised her ass high and opened her legs, using her fingers to open her asshole, pushing backward, squirming and grunting until the can finally started to slide out. She tried to grab it with her fingers but it was slick and slimy and she couldn't get a grip. She pushed again and it shot out of her, landing on the ground a few feet away. Pooku and the men laughed.

"Come. You get dressed and men fuck you now," Pooku told her. "They fuck you ass. Me they fuck pussy." Patricia stumbled to her feet, dizzy and barely able to balance. Pooku pointed and Patricia turned around. "Bring can," she said. "Maybe you do show again."

---

Patricia's ass and thighs were a dripping mess. The tops of the boots - just a few inches below her crotch - were soaked, the leather dark and slick with cum. She made noise as she walked, a squishy sound between her legs as globs of cum bubbled and dripped from her asshole with each step. Pooku led her by a leash out the back door of the Thai bar and toward the bar where the European tourists and businessmen gathered. Patricia staggered on the four-inch heels, trying to keep her balance on the uneven sidewalk.

Pooku turned and looked at her, stopped and walked around behind her. "American whore," she said. She took the hem of Patricia's tiny dress and pulled it down. She'd left the bar with the dress up around her waist and hadn't even noticed it. Patricia didn't even flinch. She didn't care anymore who saw her naked, who fucked her, who used her. It was what she was now.

Pooku led her around to the back of the bar and up the single step that led to the back hallway. Two men were standing in line, waiting to get into the toilet. They eyed Pooku, but she nodded her head toward Patricia. "She ass fuckee. You want?" The men shook their heads. "She no dirty, she clean American girl." They grinned at each other. "Maybe later," one of them said. Pooku led her past the men, who stared her up and down as she walked past. "First class rack." "Yeah, but did you smell her?" Patricia lowered her eyes. "Yeah. Like crap and cum." "A real ass-whore."

Pooku stopped just inside the bar and looked around. She saw two men, short, thin, well dressed, standing against the wall, drinking and talking.  She led Patricia toward them, stopping a few feet away. The men were absorbed in their conversation and didn't notice the women.

"I do feel,however,that you can always take it to another level. Think about it. Think about shaving her bald, eyebrows and eyelashes as well, then starting with the tattoos. Her whole body tattooed in a litany of filth and pornography that graphically illustrates what she has become. Maybe asking for suggestions over the internet? Or drawing them at random from a hat, and then turning them into ink, however obscene they may be? What greater humiliation than to have ones body indelibly adorned for ever with the fevered contents of perverse imaginations all over the world?"

"She good skin," Pooku said, stepping closer and leaning toward the man who was speaking. "You write on her?" She wrapped her arm around Patricia's waist and pulled her closer, nearly pressing her against the man.

He stepped back quickly, looked at Patricia, saw the bottom third of her dress wet and sticky, her thighs glistening, boots damp. "Fuuuuuck," he muttered. His partner reached out and pushed the hair back off of Patricia's forehead, looked at her. He stared a long time and Patricia got nervous. She recognized him but she wasn't sure why. Had he fucked her in the alley? Or been one of the anonymous cocks in the gangbang last night or the night before or the night before?

"You want write on her? Tattoo parlor open all night," Pooku said to the first man. She ran her finger across Patricia's chest. "Right here. Punany. Pussy." She ran her nail across Patricia's forehead. "Or here. Choot. Pussy too."

"How much?" the man asked, his voice trembling with excitement.

"She free," Pooku said. "You pay me for time, but she free."

"Patricia?" the second man blurted out.

She panicked and started rambling. "Yes, yes Patricia. Do you know me? Yes! Oh, God please, you have to get me out of here." She grabbed his arm and pulled him close. "David, David left me here, do you know him? David?"

"So, it *is* you," the man said calmly.

"Yes, yes, oh please, yes, you can help me, can't you? You can..." she stopped mid-sentence. The man held out a business card. She read his name. "Jerry Stafford. Senior Vice President...of..." she dropped the card on the floor.

"Yes," he said. "So, you *do* remember?"

"Jerry, I...I didn't mean anything...I..." Patricia choked out between short, ragged breaths.

"Jerry, you know her?" the other man asked.

"Patricia, let me introduce Cliff." Cliff shook her hand, grinning. "Patricia worked for our firm two summers ago." He picked up his glass and took a sip of scotch. He sat it down again. "I asked her if she wanted to have dinner. Do you remember what you said to me?"

Patricia shook her head weakly, eyes staring at the ground.

"You told me to get lost. Do you remember that? 'Get lost.' Remember?"

"I didn't mean it that way. I...you...I was a temp, we weren't allowed..."

"Bullshit," Stafford barked. "What was it, honey? I was too short? You didn't like my suit? A little overweight?" He grabbed her hair and pulled her head backward. "Too fucking good for me, and now you're whoring on the streets of Thailand?"

"She not whore, mister," Pooku said. "She toy. You make decoration. You fuck poopie hole." Pooku shoved her hand up between Patricia's legs, brought her fingers back soaked with goo. "She piggy, lookie." She pushed her fingers into Patricia's mouth and she sucked them licked them clean, tasting her own ass mixed with the cum.

"Let's go," Stafford growled. Cliff finished his drink and the four of them left through the back door.

Pooku led them straight to the tattoo parlor. She made Patricia peel the thin dress off and use it to wipe herself between the legs, soaking up as much of the still-oozing cum as she could. The man with the needle spoke with Cliff then started right in. The first tattoo was across the top of Patricia's left breast: choot. It was decorated with a flowing ribbon and a six inch figure of a woman leaning back on her elbows, legs spread wide, cunt lips open. The soles of her feet wrapped around Patricia's nipple. She was moaning from the pain just a few minute into the procedure, which took over an hour. They gave her a rubber mouth bit to bite down on, the imprint of her teeth was deep on both sides.

They rolled her over and ass-fucked her before going on to her right breast. The chair was slick with cum when she sat back down, the sound squishy and loud as she moved back and forth while he tattooed the other side with an erect cock, the balls hanging down around the sides of her nipple, the shaft ending just at the collarbone. He tattooed "FUCK MY ASS" in beautiful script letters that swirled around the shaft.

By the time he finished, she was panting and whimpering from the pain. Pooku reached for the dress but Cliff stopped her. "Do her pussy."

"No, man, she can't take any more," the tattoo man said. He turned off the spotlight and started wiping off the needle.

"I'm flying home tomorrow and I'm paying for this fucking party so do her pussy," Cliff growled. He threw a stack of fifty dollar bills on the table. The tattoo artist looked at the money then at Pooku. "You make picture," she said. Patricia started to squirm but Pooku leaned forward and said, "you want Su Da Lin be unhappy?" Her smile got wider, her eyes squinted slightly. "You want go back with Su Da Lin?" Patricia whimpered, "no, no, no..." Pooku patted her arm. "Good. You open legs now."

Patricia closed her eyes and went limp in the chair. She let her knees fall open, put her hands on the insides of her thighs and opened herself up. The needle burned into her flesh, starting just below her navel. She cried openly now the pain too much for her, the humiliation of having her body permanently marked starting to sink in.

"Make a tiger. A tiger with her cunt for its mouth. You don't let her fuck, right? She only fucks with her ass, right?" Cliff asked. Pooku nodded. "Good, good. This will keep the men out. Who wants to put his cock in a tiger's mouth, right?" The tattoo man laughed as he started in on the design. "This is going to take about two hours to do a good job."

"Don't worry," Stafford said. "I think she's already passed out."

The man nodded. Cliff watched intently as the tiny needle marks grew into the outline of an ear, then another ear, then a head. Patricia's head lolled from side to side and she moaned very once in a while. Cliff's cock responded to each sound.

"You stiff," Pooku said quietly. "You need cum." She unzipped his pants and reached in for his cock. He smiled, expecting a hand job but she let go. She wrapped her hands around Patricia's cheeks, tilted her head back. "Fuckee mouth," she said. "Motherfucker," Cliff breathed. He stepped closer and pushed his cock into Patricia's mouth. Pooku used her fingers to wrap Patricia's lips around him and he stared fucking her face, slowly at first, then faster and deeper until finally he came deep in the back of her throat. The tattoo man pulled the needle away just in as she woke up, coughing and gagging on Cliff's thick load.

... to be continued...?