Nandita To Nandini
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Stewardess And Her Daughter free porn video
The Stewardess And Her Daughter:
A Bangkok Slaver Story
By Marlissa
[email protected]
Candyland as crowded as ever at five minutes of eleven -- the hottest go-go bar in Joytown, which was Bangkok's most depraved sex-bar complex. Vopat, the proprietor, gave me that fat, oily grin of his as he raced backstage to prepare for the next act. A minute later, a gorgeous s*******n year old Thai bargirl appeared. I thought her name was Chani, but wasn't sure. Not that it mattered. Her marvelously tight and trim little body was clad only in a red, white and blue bikini and heels slid underneathe my table and began to do what she did best. A gift from Vopat -- in appreciation for my recent services.
The show didn't begin for a few minutes, so I pulled out the mail I had picked up from my club a couple of days ago. Setting the bills aside, I scanned through the remainder. After pulling out the junk mail, there was only one letter of interest -- post-dated some six months or older. Mail took so long to reach me and if it wasn't for the club, I'd be completely isolated. I opened it, recognizing the return address at once. Donald Linsky, Cosmopolitan Fire Surety, Boston, Massachussetts. A polaroid fell from the folded corporate letterhead.
"Dear Mr. Jackson,
As you can see from the enclosed, I am enjoying the 'merchandise' I purchased from you some time ago. I am thoroughly satisfied and wished to thank you again for your services."
I looked at the photo. It was a picture of Meganne Ryan, the pretty blonde newlywed I had transformed into a bar whore/sex act for Vopat and then sold her back to her husband for a tidy profit -- after enjoying her myself for six months. By that time, the 'husband' -- who had married her under the false assumption she was pregnant -- had covered up the elopement. He was happy to take charge of the young woman now, though she would not be experiencing the marital bliss she originally had in mind. The photograph was evidence of that. The former Boston College career gal's blonde hair, formerly smartly cut and on the short side, was down to her ass and teased to the heavens. The expression on her face was one of pure bliss, but I was sure this was for the camera only. How comfortable could she have really been in that pair of latex panties -- they were so tight you could make out the mounds of the lips between her legs. And the matching bra looked fairly unplesant too -- the thick rubber straps were pulled up as far as the metal buckle would allow.
"I am also interested in determining if you would be interested in some referrals. I have several colleagues who would be interested in your services..."
I pulled out a pen, made a note at the bottom of the letter. It was a name and a number -- Dr. Jaqueline Astor. I couldn't be sure the number was right, but I'd give it a shot and fax her the letter tomorrow. If she wanted the business, she'd respond herself. Jackie and I had an understanding that any Stateside biz of this nature was her's and I wasn't anxious to cross her. The one time we had wasn't pleasant for any of the parties concerned -- especially me. The customer, a millionaire with a hard-on for heavy s&m, wound up with the merchandise he had requested and I had delivered -- an up and coming singer he had seen on some dipshit teevee talent show called Star Search that he had developed the hots for. Had her for all of five minutes. Til Jackie showed up at the pick-up point, snagged the doped up singer. The moneyman wound up with his little pet five days later -- lobotomized. The money had to be returned and the damaged goods disposed of. It was messy -- very messy indeed. And the message was clear -- stay out of her neighborhood. You didn't screw with Dr. Jaqueline Astor. Yes, I'd fax her the referral. Maybe one of these days, she'd exchange the courtesy.
"Hey Joe!" A thick, calloused hand appeared which I shook. Strucker normally wasn't in the bar this early, but I could guess why he was here now.
"Showing off a new toy, Hans?" I crooked a thumb at the leashed woman that trailed behind him. Hans was German, reputed to be some kind of Neo-Nazi merc with big-time ties to the d**g boys upcountry. He wasn't a bad guy until he drank -- which was all the time when he wasn't working.
"Ja -- look at her. She is...", after a second, he settled on "unusual...ja?"
Ja, I nodded. It was an understatement. Everytime you think you've seen all the insanity Bangkok has to offer, another piece of evidence is exhibited to the contrary. Strucker yanked the nude woman forward and she demurely offered herself up for inspection. She was attractive, if not pretty, in an angular way -- the lips thin and the deep-set eyes half-opened and resentful. Her figure was boyish, the chest small and the hips trim and lean, anmd her hair a matching spiky cut. I was surprised at her age -- she was in her late thirties, which was ancient by Bangkok standards -- and at the fact that she was a clearly a Westerner. But that wasn't the most surprisingly thing about her. No -- that had the be the fact that she was red. I don't mean she was blushing. She was red.
"So, how...?"
Hans smirked. "Frang Thot," that was his current d**glord employer, "took possession of her at Phuoc." That was a well- known **** camp the Thai army had set up far north past Chang Mai. "Don't ask me how a white woman wound up there! Said she was Amanda Cross, a college professor!" He chuckled cynically and waved his hand. "Don't ask -- I didn't. Nor do I care! Anyway, Frang took her for a while and decided he wanted a whole collection of girls in different colors. This one," he pinched the woman's ass, "looked red to him -- so he had her dyed red in a vat of carnadine berries for three days! It is permanent now I think."
"So how did you...?"
Hans slapped the woman's ass appreciatively. "Won her in a poker game! My three jacks over Frang's two pair -- and I won myself Red here! Can you imagine?"
The woman, know known simply as Red now, kept her head bowed. I wondered how long she would make it -- Hans was known as a bad actor who liked his sex rough. There was a story here, but I was distracted by some movement near teh stage and when I looked back Hans and his 'Red" had disappeared. I shook my head and fixed my attention back on the stage.
There was rustling from behind the stage curtain, then, Tam took the stage -- Vopat's right-hand and bargirl manager. I was a bit surprised at her appearence. The Joytown whoretrainer was gone. In her place was a young professional middle-class Thai woman. Her hair was combed back into a bun and was wearing a large over-sized pair of horned rim glasses. Instead of her usual black hotpants and bikini bra, she was dressed in a rather conservative skirt and white blouse. She took her seat at the large desk and waited.
Two girls walked in and seated themselves in the student desks, their eyes averting Tam and each other. They were wearing schoolgirl uniforms -- spotless white blouses, plaid skirts, blue knee socks, and black three inch heels. The taller of the two had once had short styled parted dirty blonde hair. Now she, just like the slightly shorter girl, had long, lank platinum-dyed hair down to her shoulders. It suited her better and it was general opinion that she look as much like her playmate as possible. They looked quite similar -- the same china blue eyes, the small, upturned nose, the high cheekbones, the same stubborn elfin chin.
There were differences. The slightly shorter girl's face was a little longer in proportion and her eyes not so deep-set, with fuller eyebrows. The older girl's mouth was bigger, the lips fuller than the other girl's. The taller girl obviously was older, with a more defined figure. I guessed a C cup under her blouse, about 120 pounds, five feet five inches, and a 34-29-35 figure that asked for a man's hands on it. The shorter girl was just ripening, with promising pert definable buds still in a training bra. Her five feet three inch, hundred pound frame was leggy already and, while more willowly than her fellow student, equally invited male interest. The shorter girl also wore braces on her teeth, unnecessary on the perfect white shining teeth of the older girl.
But despite the differences, the resemblance was definately the first thing that struck you -- down to the pained expressions on each of their pretty, sad faces. As well it should. They were mother and daughter.
I smiled, remembering the a*****ion of the Bodwell ladies some six months earlier. It was one of the most difficult assigments I had ever faced, far harder than a simple pick-up job at the airport. Vopat had been specific and after an earlier incident with flawed merchandise (a flat girl who had been wearing falsies) , I had no intention of losing face with him again. The correct strategy was everything, so when I eventually hit on the idea of hacking into the Bangkok hotel database I knew I would find what I needed. Before Bangkok, if there ever was such a time for me, I had been involved with certain...organizations where hacking was a favored way of getting things done. I put that skill to use now, using certain codes I had picked up over the years. Scanning the reservation systems of a dozen hotels, I hit the jackpot -- the Bodwells, one room , a mother traveling with her daughter. Using the mother's credit card number, I hacked into the Visa database and pulled up a customer profile, complete with a scanned picture used on the card itself.
The pretty blonde in the id photo was Roxanne Bodwell, thirty-six, residence London, England. Her occupation was that of stewardess, with British Airways, with an income of twenty-five thousand pounds a year. From there, I broke into the BA database and within an hour had her confidential employee evaluation. No immediate family. Never been married, though had a daughter out of wedlock when she was at university when she was only twenty-one. Took job as a stewardess to earn money to send daughter to St. Agatha's Acedmy for Girls in Scotland, where said daughter resided most of the year. Daughter's name was Sarah and she was fifteen years old--bingo. Roxanne's work evaluation was glowing -- she was efficient and volunteered for the longest, toughest flights -- those from Heathrow to Asian destinations -- in order to make bonus pay. Unlike many of the other pretty, young stewardesses, she refrained from fraternizing with passengers and the rest of the flight crew, which was to her favor, the report indicated. The recent evaluation said she was taking a much-deserved vacation with her daughter, taking advantage of free mileage to travel to Bangkok. She was arriving in two days and was now in the air.
How touching. A mother-daughter reunion.
I cracked back into the Visa database and inserted huge charges against it, on the order of a hundred thousand pounds -- well over her limit. In addition, I posted an electronic red flag with British immigration from a fictitious Interpol official with no return address, notifying them that she was suspected of d**g smuggling and credit card fraud, with a request to deny her entry back into the UK and cancellation of her passport. I appended the altered credit record to it, along with an equally false criminal record listing numerous charges of d**g possession and prostitution. I forwarded a copy to her supervisor at British Airways, recommending immediate termination, timed to be e-mailed in twenty-four hours. Finally, I cancelled her reservation at the Oriental. Other than the cash in her wallet, she would be without resources of any kind.
I thought of her and her daughter talking excitedly about all the things they would do and see in Bangkok as I sat there ruining her career, taking away her nationality and depriving her of her own money. Unless she was able to straighten out the tortuous mess I had made of her affairs, it would be assumed that she had simply disappeared -- one step ahead of the law before they caught up with her. I could see the friends, superiors, acquaintances shake their heads in amazement and then forget. In three hours, I had leveled Roxanne Bodwell's life -- made her a non-person -- and she hadn't even gotten off the plane yet.
All I had to do now was pick up my packages. I threw on my dark suit and made up a sign that read "Roxanne and Sarah Bodwell, British Airways." And there I stood at Arrivals, holding the sign, looking bored as the p.
"Mum -- look! Brilliant -- a car for us!" A cute blonde teenager in jeans and a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt pointed at me. Good. The daughter was pretty in a thin, waif-like way, a blonde Kate Moss. Her mother looked up in surprise -- she was also attractive, with a body that must have brought a smile to many male BA passengers. It was all coming together.
"Excuse me -- we're the Bodwells. I don't believe I ordered a limo though." Her clipped English accent was pleasant, accomodating.
I looked slightly annoyed and looked down at my pad. "Says here a Connie from BA ordered you a car -- compliments of the airline for your vacation. Want me to check?" I asked, intentionally a little rude.
She nodded at the name of her supervisor -- the one that would be firing her tomorrow. "Oh God -- did she? Wonderful, wonderful! Come on Sarah, let's get our bags and get to the hotel! Isn't it smashing to be here? Wait till you tell your friends what you did during your break!"
I trailed behind them, secured their luggage and then led them out and around the long length of the airport. The air was humid and the airport was teeming with arrivals. Finally after pointlessly leading them in circles for a half-hour, I brought them out to the stretch limo I had rented in the far back lot of Central Parking.
"Sorry about that -- the police are strict about towing and I had to go in to meet you," I apologized.
Roxanne nodded, her white face misty with perspiration. "Mum, can we get a Coke or something? I'm positively parched!" Sarah asked, whisking away the beads of sweat on her high forehead.
"There's sparkling water waiting for both of you in the car, ladies" I offerred, opening the back door for them. They smiled gratefully as they got in. I turned the ignition and listened as they gulped down the two 'mickied' bottles of Perrier I had on ice for them. Within five minutes, they were out cold and I was on my way to Candyland.
A Bangkok Slaver Story
By Marlissa
[email protected]
Candyland as crowded as ever at five minutes of eleven -- the hottest go-go bar in Joytown, which was Bangkok's most depraved sex-bar complex. Vopat, the proprietor, gave me that fat, oily grin of his as he raced backstage to prepare for the next act. A minute later, a gorgeous s*******n year old Thai bargirl appeared. I thought her name was Chani, but wasn't sure. Not that it mattered. Her marvelously tight and trim little body was clad only in a red, white and blue bikini and heels slid underneathe my table and began to do what she did best. A gift from Vopat -- in appreciation for my recent services.
The show didn't begin for a few minutes, so I pulled out the mail I had picked up from my club a couple of days ago. Setting the bills aside, I scanned through the remainder. After pulling out the junk mail, there was only one letter of interest -- post-dated some six months or older. Mail took so long to reach me and if it wasn't for the club, I'd be completely isolated. I opened it, recognizing the return address at once. Donald Linsky, Cosmopolitan Fire Surety, Boston, Massachussetts. A polaroid fell from the folded corporate letterhead.
"Dear Mr. Jackson,
As you can see from the enclosed, I am enjoying the 'merchandise' I purchased from you some time ago. I am thoroughly satisfied and wished to thank you again for your services."
I looked at the photo. It was a picture of Meganne Ryan, the pretty blonde newlywed I had transformed into a bar whore/sex act for Vopat and then sold her back to her husband for a tidy profit -- after enjoying her myself for six months. By that time, the 'husband' -- who had married her under the false assumption she was pregnant -- had covered up the elopement. He was happy to take charge of the young woman now, though she would not be experiencing the marital bliss she originally had in mind. The photograph was evidence of that. The former Boston College career gal's blonde hair, formerly smartly cut and on the short side, was down to her ass and teased to the heavens. The expression on her face was one of pure bliss, but I was sure this was for the camera only. How comfortable could she have really been in that pair of latex panties -- they were so tight you could make out the mounds of the lips between her legs. And the matching bra looked fairly unplesant too -- the thick rubber straps were pulled up as far as the metal buckle would allow.
"I am also interested in determining if you would be interested in some referrals. I have several colleagues who would be interested in your services..."
I pulled out a pen, made a note at the bottom of the letter. It was a name and a number -- Dr. Jaqueline Astor. I couldn't be sure the number was right, but I'd give it a shot and fax her the letter tomorrow. If she wanted the business, she'd respond herself. Jackie and I had an understanding that any Stateside biz of this nature was her's and I wasn't anxious to cross her. The one time we had wasn't pleasant for any of the parties concerned -- especially me. The customer, a millionaire with a hard-on for heavy s&m, wound up with the merchandise he had requested and I had delivered -- an up and coming singer he had seen on some dipshit teevee talent show called Star Search that he had developed the hots for. Had her for all of five minutes. Til Jackie showed up at the pick-up point, snagged the doped up singer. The moneyman wound up with his little pet five days later -- lobotomized. The money had to be returned and the damaged goods disposed of. It was messy -- very messy indeed. And the message was clear -- stay out of her neighborhood. You didn't screw with Dr. Jaqueline Astor. Yes, I'd fax her the referral. Maybe one of these days, she'd exchange the courtesy.
"Hey Joe!" A thick, calloused hand appeared which I shook. Strucker normally wasn't in the bar this early, but I could guess why he was here now.
"Showing off a new toy, Hans?" I crooked a thumb at the leashed woman that trailed behind him. Hans was German, reputed to be some kind of Neo-Nazi merc with big-time ties to the d**g boys upcountry. He wasn't a bad guy until he drank -- which was all the time when he wasn't working.
"Ja -- look at her. She is...", after a second, he settled on "unusual...ja?"
Ja, I nodded. It was an understatement. Everytime you think you've seen all the insanity Bangkok has to offer, another piece of evidence is exhibited to the contrary. Strucker yanked the nude woman forward and she demurely offered herself up for inspection. She was attractive, if not pretty, in an angular way -- the lips thin and the deep-set eyes half-opened and resentful. Her figure was boyish, the chest small and the hips trim and lean, anmd her hair a matching spiky cut. I was surprised at her age -- she was in her late thirties, which was ancient by Bangkok standards -- and at the fact that she was a clearly a Westerner. But that wasn't the most surprisingly thing about her. No -- that had the be the fact that she was red. I don't mean she was blushing. She was red.
"So, how...?"
Hans smirked. "Frang Thot," that was his current d**glord employer, "took possession of her at Phuoc." That was a well- known **** camp the Thai army had set up far north past Chang Mai. "Don't ask me how a white woman wound up there! Said she was Amanda Cross, a college professor!" He chuckled cynically and waved his hand. "Don't ask -- I didn't. Nor do I care! Anyway, Frang took her for a while and decided he wanted a whole collection of girls in different colors. This one," he pinched the woman's ass, "looked red to him -- so he had her dyed red in a vat of carnadine berries for three days! It is permanent now I think."
"So how did you...?"
Hans slapped the woman's ass appreciatively. "Won her in a poker game! My three jacks over Frang's two pair -- and I won myself Red here! Can you imagine?"
The woman, know known simply as Red now, kept her head bowed. I wondered how long she would make it -- Hans was known as a bad actor who liked his sex rough. There was a story here, but I was distracted by some movement near teh stage and when I looked back Hans and his 'Red" had disappeared. I shook my head and fixed my attention back on the stage.
There was rustling from behind the stage curtain, then, Tam took the stage -- Vopat's right-hand and bargirl manager. I was a bit surprised at her appearence. The Joytown whoretrainer was gone. In her place was a young professional middle-class Thai woman. Her hair was combed back into a bun and was wearing a large over-sized pair of horned rim glasses. Instead of her usual black hotpants and bikini bra, she was dressed in a rather conservative skirt and white blouse. She took her seat at the large desk and waited.
Two girls walked in and seated themselves in the student desks, their eyes averting Tam and each other. They were wearing schoolgirl uniforms -- spotless white blouses, plaid skirts, blue knee socks, and black three inch heels. The taller of the two had once had short styled parted dirty blonde hair. Now she, just like the slightly shorter girl, had long, lank platinum-dyed hair down to her shoulders. It suited her better and it was general opinion that she look as much like her playmate as possible. They looked quite similar -- the same china blue eyes, the small, upturned nose, the high cheekbones, the same stubborn elfin chin.
There were differences. The slightly shorter girl's face was a little longer in proportion and her eyes not so deep-set, with fuller eyebrows. The older girl's mouth was bigger, the lips fuller than the other girl's. The taller girl obviously was older, with a more defined figure. I guessed a C cup under her blouse, about 120 pounds, five feet five inches, and a 34-29-35 figure that asked for a man's hands on it. The shorter girl was just ripening, with promising pert definable buds still in a training bra. Her five feet three inch, hundred pound frame was leggy already and, while more willowly than her fellow student, equally invited male interest. The shorter girl also wore braces on her teeth, unnecessary on the perfect white shining teeth of the older girl.
But despite the differences, the resemblance was definately the first thing that struck you -- down to the pained expressions on each of their pretty, sad faces. As well it should. They were mother and daughter.
I smiled, remembering the a*****ion of the Bodwell ladies some six months earlier. It was one of the most difficult assigments I had ever faced, far harder than a simple pick-up job at the airport. Vopat had been specific and after an earlier incident with flawed merchandise (a flat girl who had been wearing falsies) , I had no intention of losing face with him again. The correct strategy was everything, so when I eventually hit on the idea of hacking into the Bangkok hotel database I knew I would find what I needed. Before Bangkok, if there ever was such a time for me, I had been involved with certain...organizations where hacking was a favored way of getting things done. I put that skill to use now, using certain codes I had picked up over the years. Scanning the reservation systems of a dozen hotels, I hit the jackpot -- the Bodwells, one room , a mother traveling with her daughter. Using the mother's credit card number, I hacked into the Visa database and pulled up a customer profile, complete with a scanned picture used on the card itself.
The pretty blonde in the id photo was Roxanne Bodwell, thirty-six, residence London, England. Her occupation was that of stewardess, with British Airways, with an income of twenty-five thousand pounds a year. From there, I broke into the BA database and within an hour had her confidential employee evaluation. No immediate family. Never been married, though had a daughter out of wedlock when she was at university when she was only twenty-one. Took job as a stewardess to earn money to send daughter to St. Agatha's Acedmy for Girls in Scotland, where said daughter resided most of the year. Daughter's name was Sarah and she was fifteen years old--bingo. Roxanne's work evaluation was glowing -- she was efficient and volunteered for the longest, toughest flights -- those from Heathrow to Asian destinations -- in order to make bonus pay. Unlike many of the other pretty, young stewardesses, she refrained from fraternizing with passengers and the rest of the flight crew, which was to her favor, the report indicated. The recent evaluation said she was taking a much-deserved vacation with her daughter, taking advantage of free mileage to travel to Bangkok. She was arriving in two days and was now in the air.
How touching. A mother-daughter reunion.
I cracked back into the Visa database and inserted huge charges against it, on the order of a hundred thousand pounds -- well over her limit. In addition, I posted an electronic red flag with British immigration from a fictitious Interpol official with no return address, notifying them that she was suspected of d**g smuggling and credit card fraud, with a request to deny her entry back into the UK and cancellation of her passport. I appended the altered credit record to it, along with an equally false criminal record listing numerous charges of d**g possession and prostitution. I forwarded a copy to her supervisor at British Airways, recommending immediate termination, timed to be e-mailed in twenty-four hours. Finally, I cancelled her reservation at the Oriental. Other than the cash in her wallet, she would be without resources of any kind.
I thought of her and her daughter talking excitedly about all the things they would do and see in Bangkok as I sat there ruining her career, taking away her nationality and depriving her of her own money. Unless she was able to straighten out the tortuous mess I had made of her affairs, it would be assumed that she had simply disappeared -- one step ahead of the law before they caught up with her. I could see the friends, superiors, acquaintances shake their heads in amazement and then forget. In three hours, I had leveled Roxanne Bodwell's life -- made her a non-person -- and she hadn't even gotten off the plane yet.
All I had to do now was pick up my packages. I threw on my dark suit and made up a sign that read "Roxanne and Sarah Bodwell, British Airways." And there I stood at Arrivals, holding the sign, looking bored as the p.
"Mum -- look! Brilliant -- a car for us!" A cute blonde teenager in jeans and a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt pointed at me. Good. The daughter was pretty in a thin, waif-like way, a blonde Kate Moss. Her mother looked up in surprise -- she was also attractive, with a body that must have brought a smile to many male BA passengers. It was all coming together.
"Excuse me -- we're the Bodwells. I don't believe I ordered a limo though." Her clipped English accent was pleasant, accomodating.
I looked slightly annoyed and looked down at my pad. "Says here a Connie from BA ordered you a car -- compliments of the airline for your vacation. Want me to check?" I asked, intentionally a little rude.
She nodded at the name of her supervisor -- the one that would be firing her tomorrow. "Oh God -- did she? Wonderful, wonderful! Come on Sarah, let's get our bags and get to the hotel! Isn't it smashing to be here? Wait till you tell your friends what you did during your break!"
I trailed behind them, secured their luggage and then led them out and around the long length of the airport. The air was humid and the airport was teeming with arrivals. Finally after pointlessly leading them in circles for a half-hour, I brought them out to the stretch limo I had rented in the far back lot of Central Parking.
"Sorry about that -- the police are strict about towing and I had to go in to meet you," I apologized.
Roxanne nodded, her white face misty with perspiration. "Mum, can we get a Coke or something? I'm positively parched!" Sarah asked, whisking away the beads of sweat on her high forehead.
"There's sparkling water waiting for both of you in the car, ladies" I offerred, opening the back door for them. They smiled gratefully as they got in. I turned the ignition and listened as they gulped down the two 'mickied' bottles of Perrier I had on ice for them. Within five minutes, they were out cold and I was on my way to Candyland.
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