The Tourist
Rich, successful, dangerous men – who make their livings doing things, and dealing in things, that local authorities and governments do not approve of – are men who live constantly under the pall of sudden and violent death. To be in the business of smuggling large quantities of heroin or methamphetamine across international borders, trafficking young women, buying and selling cut-price assault rifles and rocket launches or organising kidnappings, is to invite a certain level of stress and peril into one’s life.
There are few things, for men like this, which can divert their minds – even for a moment – from the ever-present danger of premeditated murder.
Happily, one of the things that can distract a drug-smuggler who’s more suspicious and highly strung than a meerkat on speed during the height of the eagle hunting, is an enthusiastic blowjob delivered with all the gusto of a porn-star.
Yut Dao sat back in the comfortable wicker chair on the balcony of his private penthouse, looking out over the bright, glittering lights of Khao San Road in Bangkok. Below him, one of the world’s most reviled and adored streets teamed with Western tourists – farangs – all intent on getting us fucked up as humanly possible, trying the ‘authentic’ Thai food and going to watch one of the infamous ping-pong shows.
Dao smiled lazily. They were his customers; good little sheep who, without fail, could be relied upon to get too drunk and too excited and then buy his drugs – heroin and meth that were impartially cut with anything that his dealers could get their hands on; ant-poison, powdered glass, dried and pounded chicken shit, whatever. He sighed again, thinking how wonderful it was to be rich and feared and to have a gorgeous white woman sucking on his cock.
Dao didn’t normally pluck a farang from the crowd, but this young woman was so beautiful – with long, honey-coloured hair and eyes as deep and blue as the waters around Koh Chuang – and radiated such unbridled, raw passion behind her innocent, lingering stare that he’d had some of his security detail approach her with the offer of spending the evening with him.
The woman was small and slight and athletic – like a vegan rock-climber – and she had a mouth that crooked up in the corners as if she was in on some joke or juicy secret that she was a heartbeat away from sharing with you. Her skin was clear and smooth and lightly tanned, with a hint of rose in the cheeks, and there were smiles lines and crinkles in the corner of those mesmerising eyes of hers. And, what really set her apart in Dao’s eyes, was the fact that she had bothered to learn Thai before coming to visit the country.
Her name, she said, was Cara.
Cara licked lustily down the shaft of Dao’s prick before sucking both his nuts into her pretty mouth, running her tongue all over them before she gargled them in the back of her throat. Dao moaned and closed his eyes blissfully, leaning his head back in his chair.
Cara took Dao’s balls from her mouth and spat on them, then she licked her way back up his shaft before plunging her mouth down on his cock and swallowing it with the dexterous deepthroating technique of the seasoned adult movie actress. She squashed her lips into his groin, feeling his cock hit the back of her throat. She gagged and gurgled in a way that she knew drove men crazy, made them feel as if they were properly degrading her. She raised her head slowly, releasing Dao’s penis inch by inch until she had only the tip still in her hungry mouth, her tongue flicking over it, and then sunk by onto it – all the way to the base – again. She repeated this trick four more times, listening to Dao’s breathing become more ragged, feeling his stomach muscles tensing as she swallowed his prick. She moaned as she did it, losing herself in the act of pleasuring this obviously wealthy and powerful man.
Cara took Dao’s cock from her mouth, stroked it a couple of times and slapped it on her pouting lips whilst she looked him in the eyes.
“Am I doing okay?” she asked, in stilted but quite comprehensible Thai.
Dao looked down at the lithe woman kneeling before him. He’d taken her to be in her early twenties, but he now realised that the crow’s-feet in the corners of her stunning cerulean eyes hinted that she might be thirty or so.
“Why’ve you stopped, huh?” he said harshly. He was smiling at her, thinking that this woman was of the type that liked to be dominated by her men, used as a pleasure thing.
Cara stood up. She plucked at the short skirt she was wearing so that it rode up, revealing a pair of the tiniest, black lace underpants Dao had ever seen. She turned on the spot, as if she was looking out into the street, and Dao saw that her g-string was, basically, no more than a triangular piece of cloth covering her cunt and tied at the back with string. He reached out and squeezed her pert, round ass. Cara gasped.
She turned back to face Dao. She pulled her top up to show a pair of small, firm breasts under her t-shirt, each one pierced through the nipple by a small silver bar.
“Oh, you’re one of those dirty nymphomaniac western girls, huh?” Dao asked her.
Cara said nothing, but stood between his legs and rubbed suggestively at her pussy through her underwear.
Dao reached out a hand and touched the lace front of her underwear, felt how wet she was. Cara slipped a finger through the side of her thong and into her pussy. She was so wet; she could feel her pussy juices started to trickle down the insides of her thighs. She pulled the finger out and wiped it across Dao’s top lip.
“You fucking dirty bitch,” the drug-smuggler said, chuckling, as he wiped the smear of cunt juice from his lip with his fingers and tasted it. “Mmm,” he said, “very nice. Now take off that fucking thong.
“You do it,” Cara replied. She took a step forward. Over the top of Dao’s head, she could see that two of his bodyguards were still standing by the door that led to the huge penthouse balcony. They were watching her with shining, lust-filled eyes.
Her breath caught in her throat as a wicked looking switchblade appeared in Dao’s hand. With the deftness of a surgeon, he slid it under her waistband and sliced through it as easily as if it had been paper. The thong fell to the floor. Dao picked it up, beckoned for Cara to lean down and pushed the wet thong into her mouth.
“We don’t want you to lose that, do we?” he said softly.
Cara shook her head. She could taste her own snatch in her mouth, and it sent splinters of lust tinkling across her skin.
With a speed and strength that belied her bird-like arms, she pushed Dao back into his seat. Over his head, out of the corner of one deep azure eye, she saw his guards tense, their hands darting reflexively under their armpits. Then Cara spun and around and bent over so that she was clutching her ankles. Her ass was right in Dao’s face now, and she knew he was eye to eye with her dripping box and perfect puckered asshole.
Through her legs she could see Dao stroking himself, his eyes locked on her crotch. Cara spread her pussy with her fingers, backed up slightly and took a hold of the Thai druglord’s cock. Then she slowly – ever so slowly – inched downwards, until her puffy, quivering cunt lips were brushing the head of his prick. Slowly, torturously, she rubbed his cock up and down her tight slit.
Cara knew that Dao must be busting to sink his cock into her wet hole – it was taking all her restraint not to sit on his prick as it was. Suddenly, his hands clamped around her hips and he hissed, “I can’t take this fucking shit anymore! Come here and let me fuck you like the little slut you are!”
Cara slapped his hands away, turned and put one leg over his. Then, doing a double take as if she had only just realised that they were there, she nodded demurely at the two bodyguards still stationed at the doorway to the balcony.
Dao turned, saw the bodyguards and then looked at Cara – but the gorgeous young woman wouldn’t meet his eye.
“You two!” Dao snapped. “Get your fucking asses out of here!”
“But, boss–”
“I said get the fuck off this roof and leave me alone with this farang bitch! I want half an hour to myself tonight, you hear. Go down stairs and have a drink. Guard the stairs up here. I’ll be down in a bit.”
The bodyguards looked at each other and then, without another word, left.
“And now,” Dao said, running a hand up the inside of one of Cara’s silky thighs and leaning forward so that he could breathe in the smell of her cunt, “where were we?”
In answer, Cara smushed his face into her crotch. She felt him begin to greedily lap at her labia, sucking on first one lip and then the other. She shuddered as his tongue probed her hole and stabbed roughly at her clit.
It was a shame, really. The bloke had a decent technique.
Cara spat her thong into her hand, snapped it out straight and looped it adroitly around Dao’s neck. Then, with all the grace and speed of a ballerina, she performed a rolling flip over Dao and the back of his seat. She landed like a leopard on the top of its form on the other side of the chair, still clutching the thong and pulled it taught around Dao’s throat.
Dao’s head was jerked violently backwards as Cara hauled on the makeshift garrotte with all her weight, his abruptly bulging eyes staring into Bangkok’s orange, light-polluted sky. His feet scrabbled on the wooden decking, but could find no purchase. So tight was the strangulation cord that he couldn’t even roll sideways off his chair. Eventually, after less than a minute, the Thai druglord’s struggles ceased.
Cara held the thong garrotte for another minute to make sure that the drug-smuggler was dead, only releasing it when she smelled the unmistakable scent of a body voiding its bowels.
It always amazed her; the way these cunning criminal bastards could evade the authorities for so long, employ the most ingenious systems for ensuring their (almost) continuous protection around the clock – implement body doubles, armoured vehicles, rotating guards that followed them everywhere they went – and still be let down, in the end, by their own dicks.
Cara shot a contemptuous look at the cooling body that’d, up until a few seconds ago, been the earthly vessel of Yut Dao; famously vicious and paranoid Southeast Asian drug baron, scourge of government law-enforcement agencies around the globe.
The need to be needed, she thought. It’s the vanity in all of us.
Still, arrogance that leads you to betray a husband of wife is a slightly different thing than a vanity that sees you strangled to death with some underwear. The thing about vanity, the thing about greed, is that it was reliable – and, if you’re playing at being a big, bad drug smuggler, reliability can be fatal.
Cara Capello straightened her skirt, tied up her hair and swung herself casually over the balcony. She shimmied down a drainpipe, leapt across the narrow side street onto some scaffolding and disappeared from view. As she was swallowed back into the maelstrom of colour and light that was Khao San Road, she thought of the long, hot bath that she was going to take when she got back to her safehouse. She felt the banked fire that still smouldered in her groin. That was the hardest thing about this job; she never got to cum before she had to kill someone.
