Sleepless in Bangkok

by Ian Quartermaine

  Whether Rupert was being raped by Kronsky was debatable. He hadn’t actually agreed to a sexual relationship with the Slavic American criminal, it had been forced upon him. On the other hand, homosexuality and rough men and boys were his most favoured sexual companions. So Rupert bore the pain generated from his much violated, haemorrhoid-hung anal passage, in exchange for the pleasure that pulsated through the sphincter nerve adjoining his butt-end and sexual organ. Perversely, the torment of having the tender skin of his back passage torn apart by the sadistic Slav, actually increased Rupert’s pleasure.

  For Kronsky, not only was his dick being pleasured as he tore the flesh of the Englishmen’s much abused anus, Rupert’s blood was acting as a lubricant. The two were made for each other.

  Rupert lay face down as Kronsky shagged his ass until the intellectually challenged gangster plunged into the English civil servant’s bowels with such gay abandon, it brought both to ejaculation. And as a thimbleful of British cum dribbled onto the dirty mattress, an egg cup quantity of Slavic semen exploded deep inside the recesses of Rupert’s much violated asshole.

  Rupert’s ass ached and his wrists too, but was pleased not to have had something cut from his body. Normally he paid people to abuse him. Kronsky had just done it for nothing.

  Apparently satisfied, the Beast of Bosnia replaced his oversized organ and rezipped his pants. “Now don’t go falling in love with me or any shit like that,” the big Slav sarcastically said as he wiped his blood, faeces and cum covered hands on the tail of Rupert’s shirt.

  Kronsky had hurt Rupert with his huge member, which is partly why Rupert had enjoyed it. He was back at public school again, the angelic-looking fat boy who got buggered each night by seniors sneaking into the dorm after lights out. But the look of satisfaction on Rupert’s face did not please Kronsky. He had hoped to hurt and humiliate the effete British civil servant, not make his day.

  “You give me AIDS I kill you,” Kronsky stated, not realising the cretinous nature of his statement, as if Rupert currently carried the AIDS virus he was virtually dead already. But Kronsky probably meant that if Rupert had AIDS and gave it to him, Mr. Montgomery-Fairfax would pass on to his next reincarnation in an exquisitely painful manner devised and executed by Stanislav. But the incubation period for AIDS was at least three months, and if the three hundred million was not forthcoming within the next few days, Kronsky would kill Rupert before the week was out. Albeit, slowly.

  Rupert’s future did not seem too clever, and all because he’d fancied a trip to Thailand to molest some sweet little brown boys. That and someone at Whitehall clearly did not like him.

  The pressure from his back removed, Rupert turned his head sideways to look up at his rough lover/ tormentor.

  “Stay put faggot, I haven’t finished with you yet,” Kronsky ordered as he stared down at his victim.

  Rupert remained face down on the worn mattress, wondering what else would be done to him now.

  “I’ll do anything if you don’t cut me,” Rupert said, softly and almost coquettishly. “I’ll give you head and you can make love to me any time you want. You can even discipline me with a strap or cane when you think I deserve it. But please don’t cut me.”

  Continuing to savour his victim’s humiliation, Kronsky knelt over and jammed his knee back into the base of the gay civil servant’s spine. “You want me to beat you like I would a kid?” Kronsky enquired. “English government people very strange.”

  Kronsky picked up his combat knife in one hand and held Rupert’s wrist in the other. Unhappy that Rupert had enjoyed being so roughly treated, Stanislav pressed the gay man’s fragile forearm hard against the floor in an attempt to make his victim cry out.

  Perfectly matched, Rupert enjoyed being on the receiving end of pain; Kronsky loved giving it. But that was not what Dr. Kronsky had in mind when making his house call that day.

  Taking pleasure in the dominance and close sensory contact of a strong male, half hoping to receive another dose of rough homosexual abuse, the normally unloved queen relaxed. But with his back to Kronsky and in the gloom of the small wooden hut, Rupert did not see the combat knife in his tormentor’s other hand.

  Kronsky had known men in Nam whom he respected, feared and regarded as equals. He had sensed some of that quality in ‘handsome man’ Steven, two days before. But this tremulous creature, Rupert Montgomery-Fairfax, demanded no such respect. Worse still, Rupert had actually enjoyed the debauched, vicarious thrill that pain and humiliation can engender in some individuals. Clearly, greater sanction was required.

  Searching his limited intellect for some other way to establish dominance, Kronsky splayed the fingers of his victim’s right hand onto the floor of the wooden hut. Hesitating for a brief moment, with the serrated edge of his combat knife Kronsky sawed through the gay man’s index finger.

  Rupert’s scream shattered the silence as a devastating degree of pain that was not pleasurable, seared through his arm to his brain’s pain receptors.

  Kronsky smiled. He had finally fucked the gay Englishmen in a manner he did not like.

  Rupert’s agonised cry broke the peace of the compound, causing the warlord to pause momentarily as he drank from a bottle of Singha beer. Close by, the laughter which emanated from the warlord’s bodyguards had an uncertain edge. As Kronsky intended, he had gained considerable face.

  In an attempt to stem the flow of blood, Rupert clutched the palm of his free hand across the open wound of his now mutilated hand. But his blood flowed forth, staining the bare wooden floor dark brown.

  With a look of satisfaction on his peasant features, Kronsky replaced his combat knife back into its sheath and stood up.

  “Bind your hand with this,” he ordered, ripping a piece from a dirty blanket which he threw in Rupert’s direction.

  “If your friends come back soon, no problem. If not, tomorrow I fuck you again. After that I will cut something from your body you will miss more profoundly than a finger. Pleasure first, pain after. Both together for you, I think.”

  Kronsky stared down at the arrogant, effeminate Englishman who normally regarded everyone as his inferior.

  “English faggot make good fuck. Maybe I fuck your ass again, later tonight. Give good head same as today, and tomorrow I only remove another finger instead of your dick. Big problem for you if friends not return with money.”

  Rupert continued to sob.

  “I thought English supposed to keep word,” Kronsky stated, thoughtfully.

  Walking slowly towards the exit to the small wooden hut, Kronsky was almost philosophical. “English bullshit same as everyone else,” he concluded as he shut the door behind him, leaving Rupert in agony on the dirty floor of his small dark prison.

  Sensing a banquet, mosquitos, flies and cockroaches appeared from nowhere to feast on Rupert’s blood.

  [*] ‘Smoke you’ is utilised in Thailand to denote the act of felacio, oral sex, giving head or a blow job. This pastime literally sucks, but many people like it. However, it’s against the law even between married couples in some North American states!

  71

  Back Up

  The sun crept over the trees hurling its translucent shafts onto the faces of the sleeping couple. Steven pulled his arm from beneath Gunn’s back and stretched out the stiffness. Looking down, he noted that his dick had not emulated his arm. Stepping out from the jeep, he stood behind some bushes and took a leak. Reappearing, he broke a leaf from a huge tropical plant. Squeezing the leaf into a funnel shape, he siphoned some dew into his cupped hand and washed his face. Repeating the exercise, this time he drank.

  Gunn woke and got out of the jeep, squatting to take a leak behind a bush. Steven spoke to her as she did what little girls do early in the morning..

  “We could survive for a long time in the jungle,” Steven said as he continued his makeshift ablutions. Fruit, berries, animals, fresh water, this could be paradise if it weren’t for a few bad people.”

  Gunn washed he
r hands with dew from a large leaf before walking back to the jeep, where she opened one of their back packs and threw Steven a hygienically packed hotel-supplied sandwich. “It’s nice to have room service though,” she said with a wry smile on her classically sculpted face.

  After a pause to open the plastic wrapper on the sandwich Gunn had supplied, Steven ate. “You do still have the bank draft for three hundred mill,” he half stated, half asked.

  Gunn nodded. “These sandwiches are quite good,” she said as she ate.

  “I must be losing my mind trusting you with so much money. That’s particularly relevant considering my life will be on the line if the way you dealt with Rupert’s toothy kidnapper was just an accident. Or maybe temptation will prove too strong and you’ll take off with the money, leaving me to deal with Kronsky. Three hundred million is enough to turn anyone.”

  “You think me ba ba ba boh stupid Thai woman? No sense, just pussy?” Gunn was understandably irritated as she fielded Steven’s early morning negativity. He had always been a night person, the time when he had been born.

  “Definitely not stupid. You fooled me when we met. I thought you actually liked me. But enough about that or I’ll get unhinged again.”

  Gunn smiled. Men were so easy to manipulate when you targeted their ego.

  Deciding that maybe he could trust Gunn - not that he had much alternative - Steven went over his previously explained side-plan.

  “Keep hold of the bank draft as a precaution, but don’t tell me where you’ve hidden it. It’s not my money and if things go wrong, use it to barter your way out.”

  “That’s the second time,” Gunn said, mainly to herself.

  “Arai?” (what) Steven mumbled.

  “Sound like you care about my welfare.”

  “Don’t bank on it,” Steven replied.

  72

  Forced March

  Steven and Gunn took turns to navigate and drive. Reaching the beautiful waterfall where Kronsky first made their acquaintance, the couple washed their faces in the cool, welcoming waters.

  After a short rest, Gunn sat in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. Obtaining no response, she tried a second time. Again the engine refused to cooperate.

  “Something wrong with fuck-pig engine,” Gunn said with a pissed off look on her face.

  “Your colloquial English is terrific these days,” Steven said with a wry look.

  “I speak true or not?” Gunn asked.

  Walking round to the front of the jeep, Steven looked under the bonnet, checking the spark plugs, carburettor, points and battery contacts. Gunn turned the ignition once more but again the engine refused to comply.

  “Sods law. I thought things were going too well. Think it’s a duff (useless) distributor,” Steven advised from beneath the jeep’s bonnet. “Did you know there are almost no qualified mechanics in Thailand? No leftbrain. Yet you can get a superb copy of a Rembrandt painted in a day. Big right-brain. But getting a car fixed, that’s another story. We haven’t got a replacement and it would take too long for me to repair. Difficult fixing a distributor anyway. Not that I’m any great shakes as a mechanic, just know the basics.”

  Gunn remained seated in the driver’s position of the jeep. “So what now, boss?” she asked, a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Is there enough fuel in the tank? We ought to check basics first,” Steven said.

  Gunn tapped the fuel gauge. “Fuel have plenty. Motherfucker engine no good.”

  “Your American language skills are getting pretty good,” was Steven’s deadpan reply.

  “Bollocks,” Gunn said, reconfirming her colloquial English skills, as she again attempted to restart the motor without any success.

  “It must be twenty miles to our destination,” Steven said, an aggravated expression on his face. “Look’s like we’ll have to force march if we’re to get there in time to save Rupert’s willy. [*] I thought I’d left that sort of thing behind when I got sacked from the SAS. Do me a favour and check the fuel gauge again. I’ll look in the tank.”

  “There you go again, giving orders,” Gunn said.

  “Try not to give me a hard time, it’s too hot,” Steven replied.

  “I tell you already, something wrong with fuckpig engine.” Gunn accurately described the character of the engine as she again failed to restart it.

  “I knew gleaming teeth would get his own back. Nothing for it but to walk,” Steven said, a pissed-off expression on his face.

  “Not my fault,” Gunn replied.

  “A forced march in a tropical climate. Just what I need,” Steven said. “Make sure you bring the bag with the fifty thousand dollars and some arms and ammunition. I’ll bring food, water and more arms and ammunition. Let’s get going before Kronsky gives Rupert a full sex change.”

  [*] ‘Willy’ is a slang word for penis in the English language. It is used predominately by young children.

  73

  Dog Tired

  Exhausted and dirty after their twenty-mile trek along rough jungle tracks, followed by a walk up the steep mountain road leading to the warlord’s encampment, Steven and Gunn arrived as dusk commenced shrouding the camp in darkness. Abunch of flea-bitten, rabid-looking mongrels immediately started snapping at their feet.

  “ Bai, go Steven shouted, taking off his belt and using it to deflect their attempts to bite his leg. Respecting force, the animals yelped and ran off.

  The noise from the half-wild dogs interrupted the silence, bringing a motley collection of half-naked toddlers from their huts. Seeing a farang and a hasip, hasip Thai girl they crowded around, smiling and begging for money.

  74

  Subterfuge

  With the sound of the camp’s generator in the background, the compound’s less than sophisticated fluorescent lighting cast stark shadows as Steven and Gunn entered the encampment.

  Kronsky sat with the warlord and his three bodyguards on the verandah of the main hut. Jittrah, the warlord’s fifteen year old girlfriend, posed provocatively by her ageing lover.

  Kronsky called out as Steven and Gunn approached. “You have the money, Englishman?”

  Steven held up the plastic bag full of cash that Gunn had picked up from the Chiang Mai branch of the Bangkok Bank.

  “Your fag friend have hard time since you left. Lost small part of body. Was hoping you not return for a few days so could fuck with your friend some more,” Kronsky said, disappointment in his tone.

  “Where is your jeep, farang?” the warlord shouted.

  “Gave up on us a while back,” Steven answered. “Had to force march to get here.”

  “A military man for certain,” the warlord told Kronsky, before turning his attention back to Steven.

  “Your katoi friend still have private parts. Kronsky only amputate finger with knife. He live if get doctor soon,” he advised, without pity or emotion. “Tonight we get drunk, eat food, fuck women and chase dragon. Tomorrow, go with Kronsky and get thirty kilos of horse.”

  “We agreed fifty kilos,” Steven said, firmly.

  The warlord’s bodyguards burst out laughing. Not at Steven’s words which they could not understand, but at the look of irritation colouring his expression.

  “Memory not so good as before,” the warlord said, grinning. “OK farang, maybe we do business again so not rip you off this time. You give money, I give fifty kilos.” Steven threw the bag of American greenbacks at the warlord.

  The leathery faced man peered inside and pulled out a fistful of dollars. Jittrah, his young girlfriend, looked on admiringly at her ageing lover’s increased wealth.

  “Next peddler come we buy dress, gold ring and jewellery,” he said, his face elevated in the eyes of his people.

  Excited at the prospects of her small share of the warlord’s new found riches, Jittrah hugged and kissed him.

  Kronsky dragged Montgomery-Fairfax from the small hut which had been his prison since Steven and Gunn left for Chiang Mai. His hand still wrapped i
n the blood-soaked rag Stanislav had supplied, Rupert looked seriously ill. Having fucked Rupert’s ass and maimed him, Kronsky took further pleasure in his victim’s humiliation.

  “You look like shit, Rupert,” Steven remarked as he saw Rupert’s ghostlike pallor streaked with dirtsmudged tear stains. “We did our best to get back in time but the jeep packed up. I’m really very sorry.”

  Gunn grabbed Steven’s arm. “Without treatment his wound could become infected. Gangrene will set in if not get wound cleaned and antibiotic soon.”

  “Ask the warlord if they have a first aid box and some antibiotics,” Steven suggested. Gunn did as she was asked, speaking to the warlord in his own dialect.

  “Not have,” the warlord replied. “Women in village use traditional way of preventing infection. Forget now. If time, collect herbs from forest tomorrow.”

  In case Steven had not fully understood, Gunn translated the warlord’s less than positive reply. She then added her own quiet observation. “Kronsky is an animal. Warlord not much better.”

  “There’s nothing we can do tonight other than clean the wound,” Steven said. “That’s if Rupert lets us touch it at all. As for antibiotics, they’re in the medical kit we left behind in the jeep. We’ll get his wound attended to as soon as we complete the job. That’s if we manage to get out of here in one piece ourselves.”

  75

  Timeless

  An early morning mist hung over the thickly forested hills as the sun rose above the warlord’s encampment. In a routine carried on since time began in locations where the West still had little influence, older women were cooking food over charcoal fires.

  A dozen half wild dogs chased some chickens competing for food scraps thrown away by the caterers, as the camp started to come alive. Some barefoot toddlers fearlessly chased the dogs. Cowards all, the flea-bitten mongrels ran off down the slopes of the mountain track.