Speaking of “hard,” that’s what the bloodletting did for Dusit Thanat. The brutal punishment of it gave him a hard. It also gave him wandering hands, and he felt me up and got all panty and breathy while we watched the slaughter in the ring. My mind went back to the young European blond guy who I’d seen in the Shangri-la Hotel suite. Dusit Thanat had done that. I had tried telling myself he didn’t, but the effect of watching two kickboxers try to kill each other told me he had. When he was with me last night, as manhandling as he was, he was on his most polite behavior. Even then his attentions were becoming increasingly punishing.
Dusit Thanat was a torturer. I knew that. He looked the part. Last night had just lulled me into thinking otherwise. It was coming to something like this Thai kickboxing that got his engine revved. I was in for a rough time. I started thinking again how to get out of there.
“I’ve got to go to the john,” I said between matches.
“Sure, go ahead,” he said–and he signaled one of the bodyguards. “Samat,” he said, and pointed to me.
Of course I would be escorted to the john.
When I got back, I said, “I can’t find my cellphone. You have one I can use? I’ve got to check in with my manager. I could have to work tonight.”
“I paid for you for two nights,” Dusit Thanat said. There was no reference to giving me access to a cellphone or any sort of question or concern about where or how mine had gone missing. He knew how mine had gone missing.
“I don’t really like this kickboxing thing all that much,” I said. “Could I wait in the car or something? Samat could take me to the car and we could wait there.” Chances were good I couldn’t slip away from the big bruiser of a bodyguard, but there was more of a chance I could escape from one guy than from three. My mind was already racing. If Panos had stayed at the hotel today and I could get there, I could collect the money I’d given him to hold the previous night and maybe that would get me on my way out of Bangkok. I didn’t have any clothes or anything here I couldn’t just abandon. But what means of getting out of the country could I use that a drug lord couldn’t intercept me if he wanted to?
Dusit Thanat had said we’d have a really good time after going to the fights. I shuddered at the thought of what he considered to be a good time. He really seemed to be thinking this brutal kickboxing thing was a good time.
“Yeah, I’ve had enough for today too,” Dusit Thanat was saying as he rose from his seat. “I’m in a mood to take you apart. Let’s go to the docks.”
Oh, shit.
We drove into the Klong Toy riverport area. It wasn’t a long drive, even with the enveloping traffic, so Dusit Thanat didn’t have time to wipe me out en route. He got a head start, though. I was naked, with his belt looped around my throat, being used as a leash, and he was on top of me, chewing on my nipples and with several fingers bunched up and stuffed up my channel, working on opening me up, when we pulled up in front of a big garage door in the side of a warehouse. The limo driver–the bodyguards were up front, one of them driving–sounded the car’s horn, the door rolled open, and the limo was pulled into a cavernous hangar-like building.
Other Thai thugs, dressed in black, were swarming around in the room. Back in a corner, under a mezzanine deck enclosed by windows, they had a drug lab set up. I was a doctor–a doctor who had some direct contact with drug pushers. I knew what a drug lab would look like. This was an industrial-sized one.
One of the bodyguards opened a back door of the limo, and Dusit Thanat pulled me out using the belt looped around my throat as a leash. If any of the swarming ants inside the warehouse thought it was unusual for their boss to be leading a naked young Farang–Westerner–with the physique of a Chippendales dancer around by a leash, they didn’t show it. I didn’t take that as a good sign.
The drug lord guided me up the stairs into the glassed-in mezzanine enclosure, while the two bodyguards sauntered over toward the crew cooking drugs. Upstairs was an office and living area of sorts, outfitted in a real plush style, with carpeting and everything. I presumed this was Dusit Thanat’s office. First thing he did, just to establish what was what here, was that he turned to me when I entered the room after him and hauled off and backhanded me across the face in one direction and then the other, sending me to the floor, curling up in ball in case he was going to give me a kick too. This was rougher treatment than he’d given me at his house.
Ashamedly, I went hard. This was going to be a rough fuck. To a male whore who was becoming immured to vanilla sex, something more demanding like this was arousing. He nudged me with his foot to feel me shudder. He didn’t beat on me further while I was on the floor, though. Muttering “We’re going to have one hell of a good time,” he went over to a massive desk, leaned into it, perching his butt against the edge, spread his legs, unzipped himself, and pulled his monster of a cock out.
“Come here,” he growled. When I struggled up from the floor and stumbled over to him, he grabbed me by the hair and roughly pushed me down on my knees in front of him.
“Blow me,” he said.
I opened my mouth, took his cock in, and started giving him head. He grabbed my head between his hands and forced me to take him deep. I gagged and he laughed. He leaned over me, and I realized he’d taken a set of handcuffs off his desk and he cuffed my wrists behind my back. I sucked him at great length, but he pushed me off before he came. He had a remote control in his hand and I heard a rumbling sound when he clicked it.
The back wall of the office slid open. There was another room beyond that. A sex torture chamber. My eyes bugged out at the first thing I saw: an X-frame, with a hand whip lodged in where the X crossed.
Oh, shit. Again.
We’d heard the rumble of the large garage door again while I was bringing him almost to a climax with my mouth and the burbling of loud discussion from below.
Dusit Thanat was pulling me up off my knees, and turning me toward the torture chamber beyond when one of the bodyguards came up the stairs and spoke to the drug lord in agitated tones.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Dusit Thanat said, pushing me down into a heavy metal straight chair by the desk and taking the time to cuff my ankles to the front legs before leaving the enclosure. I still had my wrists cuffed behind my back.
I was bound there for a good twenty minutes, listening to yelling and some screaming from below, until pounding on the garage door got added to the background noise, the sound of a gunshot–which in the cavernous warehouse building sounded like a canon–quite a bit of yelling and scurrying in a short minute and then just the pounding. Something hit the garage door from the outside, which caved it in, and then the noise of yelling and scurrying again.
A mix of uniform-wearing Thai and civilian-attired Farangs–Westerners–appeared at the top of the stairs, guns drawn. They fanned out around the room, checking for occupants other than me, I surmised, before one of the Westerners–a muscled up guy in his forties, who looked in charge, came up and stood in front of me.