Edge Running Ch. 03

I didn't have time to think of anything more than the "Oh shit" as far as a plan to get out of an airplane being flown by the guy who had sold me to a sexual torturer and me finding a shitload of individually packaged heroine stuffed in the seat beside me. Getting out of an airplane floating in the sky but already descending for a landing didn't offer many options. I didn't see an airstrip down there, but I'd have to take it on faith there was one. We'd been in the air not much over thirty minutes. I'd been told that, although the hotel casino where I was to dance in one of the floor shows was in Cambodia, it was right on the border with Thailand and not that far really from Bangkok.

As hedonistic as Thailand was, they didn't allow casino gambling there. They didn't allow it in the other countries bordering Cambodia, either--Laos and Vietnam--so Cambodia, still hard up for foreign capital, was cleaning up on that market. Cambodia had picked Poipet, a sleepy border entry town on the Cambodian-Thai border on one of the only roads leading into Cambodia from anywhere, and made it into a hedonist, almost-anything-goes frontier town where gamblers and sexual thrill-seekers could gather largely outside of the scrutiny of anyone else in the world.

What played in Poipet stayed in Poipet was much more assured than Las Vegas's claim to that phrase.

We were coming down low. I didn't hear landing gear coming down, as I'd never heard it going up. All I could see were the lights of a town below, with one main, neon-lit street. I was told that the Grand Diamond City Casino was only a short walk from the border checkpoint in Poipet and that Poipet wasn't much of a town other than a couple of casinos, the Grand Diamond City being the largest, and a couple of blocks of bars and brothels.

We overflew the town to where darkness was all that stretched out below us into the interior of one of the world's most isolated and primitive countries. It was nearly midnight. Then three lights came on in a row, which were answered by three more in a parallel line. Kevin Lu brought the plane down on a sort-of level stretch of field between the lights. As we were coming down, I could see that the illumination was being provided by the headlights of vehicles.

Lu rolled to a stop, and I heard him exclaim an explicative, as the pilot's door was jerked open and he was pulled out of the plane. I didn't have time to wonder about that other than the sensation that this obviously wasn't the reception he'd been planning to receive, because my door was jerked open too, and I was being pulled out of the backseat of the small plane by muscular Asian guys in dark uniforms. Standing beyond them, picked out in the headlights of one of the vehicles and loosely holding something like an AK-47 like he knew how to use it, was a Western guy. He was taller than the Asians, wiry but muscular, a Marine buzz cut--in fact he had U.S. Marine written all over him, except he looked to be in his late forties--a very fit and in-command late forties, albeit one who was graying. There didn't look to be an ounce of fat on his body--tall, ramrod straight, all business, no smiling. To me, he was sexy as hell. He was a poster child for commando. I couldn't help letting my gaze go to his basket--it was an occupational "thing" with me--and to wonder if he was going commando. There was definite signs of curve and thickness there.

"What?" I said to the Asians holding me and looking like they expected me to say something. "I'm not really with this guy. Just was catching a ride. I've got a job to go to at a casino here--The Grand Diamond City. I'm not really with this guy."

"They can't understand you." The Western guy spoke. "They understand some English, but not being delivered as fast as you're letting it spill out." The voice was low, cultured--calm, sounding a bit amused. Totally in control and obviously used to the role. "You need to slow down. We got this. You'll be fine."

"Sorry, this doesn't happen to me often," I said.

"My impression is that it does," he said. "You're Doug McClure, aren't you? You're on the run from a drug lord in Bangkok--Dusit Thanat--aren't you?"

That got my attention. It also exploded any clever retort I might have given. Into the void that created, he said something to the Cambodian policemen or soldiers, or whoever they were, and they released me and backed off.

He clearly was in control here if not formally in charge and he understood English--he had an American accent--and he knew who I was. That meant he probably knew why I was here. To hide from Dusit Thanat, yes, but that I really did have a job here. So, I tried what was important with him.

"I'm not really with this guy. I mean I know him. His name is Kevin Lu, and he's some sort of dealer as well as a pilot. But I didn't know he was the one who'd fly me here. And I didn't know what he was hauling. I'm not any part of his business. I mean I found it. It's here in the backseat, under the cushion of the seat next to the one I was sitting in."

"Shut the fuck up," he barked, his exclamation cutting through the night like a knife. "Come here."

As I stumbled forward, he waved the Asians--Cambodians, I assumed--back and they turned their attention to the plane, having been joined by other uniformed Cambodians. There was no sign of Kevin Lu. They were going over the plane like ants. They'd find the drugs at any moment.

He put a hand on my arm when I came closer and lowered his voice.

"Don't give these guys ideas," he said. "I know you're not connected to the drugs. I knew Dusit Thanat was flying drugs in tonight. I know you are supposed to dance at the Grand Diamond City. I know that you're a prostitute too--and a doctor. Roger Allard told me about you. We work together in some ways. I also know that you would never have gotten to the casino. Dusit Thanat knew you were on the plane. Kevin Lu was assigned to take you out and leave you in this field."

"No, I didn't know that," I said, meekly. I was trembling. He ran his hand up and down my arm. "I have a job to come to here; that's all I know."

"You wouldn't really have that either if Allard hadn't talked to another dancer in your troupe and found out what you were up to. No one arranged for you to have a job here. That should tell you something about the connections, whoever you were relying on in Bangkok is with Dusit Thanat's crime organization. You would never have gotten off this field alive."

I shivered in the knowledge of the implications he was pointing to. I couldn't rely on Kenon Jackson and his contract with me--at least with his setup in Bangkok. At this minute I was at the mercy of this American soldier of fortune, or whatever he represented.

"I can get you away from here," he said. "I've already established with these men that you weren't ever here. My office works closely with them. We don't rely a lot on regulations and red tape. But we have to walk away now. We'll go to where you thought you were going. You can show up for work tomorrow morning--I've made the necessary arrangements for that. The casino's glad to get you."

"Why again are you doing this for me?" I asked. "What do you get out of this?" He didn't answer directly, but I didn't have trouble latching to a partial answer to that question. He had me fully in his grip now. His free hand had slipped down to cupping my buttocks. "Oh, fuck," I said. "You want a free piece of me just like Allard got."

"I'm checked in at the Grand Diamond City," he said. "We'll go to my room, and you'll give me what you gave Roger Allard last night. Roger told me he cautioned you not to leave Bangkok without telling him. You should have heeded him. But he says you're a great lay, that you do it really well--that you're easy, can make yourself loose or tight on demand, and give a guy a good time."

After a brief check in with the management office of the Grand Diamond City Casino, he guided me up to a suite in the casino's hotel tower, unceremoniously stripped me, and laid me in a business-like, no-messing-around manner in the doggy, missionary, and crab positions. He fucked me all night, and he did it a lot better than the U.S. Embassy Bangkok staffer, Roger Allard, did. All the time he was at it, I increasingly got the impression he wasn't doing it just for pleasure--although there was pleasure enough in it for both of us. This was some sort of tryout. I understood that he was asserting a master-and-submissive relationship. He fucked me expertly, so I didn't bother to struggle against it.

It started in front of the full-length mirror on the reverse side of the closet door. We stood there, both naked, him taller than I was and more muscular. All hunky Marine of a certain age. He cupped my chin with one hand and palmed my belly with the other, tilting and lifting my buttocks so he could work his thick cock up into my channel, deep. He fucked me from behind, holding my head captive, face forward, looking into the mirror, with him looking over my shoulder, both of us watching the effect on my facial expressions and the shuddering of my body at the working of his mastering cock inside me. I had one hand thrown back, clutching one of his undulating buttocks cheeks, feeling it expand and contract as he fucked me. I stroked myself off with the other, my jism splashing against the mirror we were facing long before he was finished inside me. He was thick and long, and he knew what he was doing. He took his time and edged me, taking me to the edge and then backing off and taking me to the edge again. He invaded my soft core and fucked me there, deep, possessing me fully, flooding me with his cum when he wanted to, breeding me, establishing that he was my master.

Later, he fucked me on the bed, both in a close-hold missionary and even later in a possessive doggy. He had said he knew I was a prostitute, which was more than I had admitted to myself. That night, though, I was a prostitute for him. I gave him whatever he wanted, and he wanted it all. I lay docilely in his firm, capturing embrace, opening fully to him, working hard to stretch to his need while staying loose, relaxed to maximize the depth he endeavored to reach. He wanted to conquer, and conquer he did.

His was one of the biggest, most vigorous, demanding, possessing cocks I'd ever taken. I would never forget it or what he could do with it. I both feared it and ached for it, and however I related to him later was referenced by what he had swinging between his legs.

When he finished, as light was beginning to filter into the room through the windows and he rose from me, I remained there, on my back, legs spread and bent, thighs turned out, pelvis elevated by the leverage of my feet pressing into the sheets, my arms extended out in a sacrificial position, my hole gaping open, dribbling his cum. I was moaning, still panting shallowly, and purring, never having been taken that cruelly and gloriously and that many times in a night.

He stood there for the longest minute, beside the bed, looking down at me with a little victorious smile on his face.

"Right, that's you now. You are mine to do as I will with you."

"Yes," I murmured in answer, having no idea at all of what that would entail, but knowing that it was base truth.

But the master wasn't finished yet. He sauntered off to the bathroom, and when he returned, he came up on his knees between my thighs on the bed again, wrapped an arm around my waist to elevate my pelvis more, thrust up inside me, and fucked me again.

"Again," he muttered. "Be my whore."

"Yes," I answered, with a deep moan.

* * * *

"Down on all fours," he said as I came out of the bathroom in the light of the next day. I dropped down into a doggy position. He was sitting on the side of the bed, naked and in magnificent erection, his legs spread.

"Crawl over here on your hands and knees and take me in your mouth. Suck me." I did as he commanded, turning all control over to him.

He ran his fingers into my reddish-blond curls and held my head into his crotch as I gave him head. "Is it true what Roger said about you--that you really are a doctor? Not just a dancer and a good lay, but a doctor, as well?" Sam Winterberry asked.

That's who he told me he was, in morning's light. Sam Winterberry, of the U.S. government, but not tied down to a particular job overseas--just a rover helping to ensure U.S. national interests were being served. He didn't have to tell me that he probably was with the CIA. I guess that meant Roger Allard, who said he worked at the American Embassy in Bangkok was too. So, running along the edge entailed falling in with spies, I decided. It least they were American spies. Still, it scared the hell out of me.

Being the man's bitch scared me too, but there wasn't anything I could do about that. He had mastered me and now was training me. When he barked at me to go on all fours, crawl to him, and suck him off, I went down on my hands and knees, crawled to him, and took him in my mouth. Unless I could gain the strength to break away from him, I was his bitch.

Winterberry hadn't given me a name the previous night. I hadn't been interested in who he was--beyond the fact that he had a hard body and a huge cock and knew how to use it--and he did have a huge cock and he did know how to use it. He also knew how to make me his sex slave. Last night it was like he was just putting me through my paces, testing what I could and would do for a man in sex. Now he was working on making me his slave in intelligence operations too.

Having established his master position, he pulled me off his cock.

"Down on your back on the floor," he said, obviously testing me on my total submission. I went down on my back.

"Arms straight out, in the position of sacrifice." I complied. "Bend and spread your legs; feet on the floor, lifting your tail high." I went into that position and he stood, crouched between my thighs, and palmed the small of my back with one hand while putting the bulb of his erection at my hole with the other. I gasped and panted as he penetrated, taking his time to reach depth. Clutching and spreading my butt cheeks with his hands, he pulled and released to match the rhythm of his deep thrusts. I moaned at his total possession of my ass channel, fucking me deep in long, slow thrusts. He was master and I was slave. Every sensation I could muster was marshalled to experiencing his thick, long shaft inside my channel, working me, stretching me, mastering me. I was his for however he wanted to use me. Hovering over me and grunting in his own effort, his eyes captured mine, conveying the same message. He was my master; I was his slave. Thrust, thrust, thrust.

He didn't finish me there though. After a while, he withdrew, pulled me up from the floor and laid me on my back on the bed, moving onto the bed himself. I offered no resistance, letting him maneuver and place me as he wished. I immediately assumed the position, on my back, legs spread and bent, feet on the mattress, elevating my pelvis, offering myself to him. But he didn't mount me. He stretched out beside me, working my body with his hands. "That wasn't a rhetorical question. Are you an accredited doctor?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?" Winterberry had fucked me in a side split when we both had awakened in the morning, and we were stretched out against each other on the bed again. He was stroking me with a hand. I knew we'd fuck again before facing the day. He pulled away from my cock, now throbbing for him, and lit up a cigarette. He had an arm around me, his hand playing with one of my nipples. My hand was playing with his cock. He was massive even in half erection.

"You owe Roger Allard and me your life. And you owe your country big time because Roger and I have saved you."

"I understand that," I said. "So, you want me to do something for you--for the interests of the United States? Because I'm a doctor?"

"Because you are a doctor, yes, but also because you are an American and will be in the male dance troupe here and because you are a delectable prostitute."

"So, I satisfy you in bed?"

"You do fine; you will do fine for our purposes," he said. That wasn't a ringing endorsement, and I thought I'd done more than just fine with him, so I didn't pursue that more deeply. I was smitten by him. I had wondered if I had gotten to him enough that even though it looked like he was in control, I was more so because of his need for me. He was indicating that, no, he definitely was in full control here.

Winterberry continued. "Allard and I are working a project together--for U.S. intelligence. You are the young man we need in the position we need--a need we have now, in the next few days."

"So, you want me to let someone of your choosing fuck me?"

"Yes. A Chinese agent, here in the hotel, in a few days. We want you to be as compliant for him as you are being with me. We're not sure when he'll arrive, coming from Shanghai. Gamblers come here from all over Asia. We'll set everything up, but you'll have to take the seduction to the completion. And if that goes well, you'll go under a Thai warlord for us some time after that, as well."

"And the doctor angle?"

"We don't want to just compromise the Chinese agent--the room, here at the hotel, will have surveillance cameras to help do that. We also want to interrogate him--and to double him."

"You and this Chinese agent are going to fuck me together?"

He laughed. "No, doubled as in turning him to be our agent with the Chinese thinking he is still their agent. We want you to give him the needle."

"I couldn't be any part of killing someone," I said. "I swore an oath as a doctor."

"We don't want him dead. We want him recruited, and we want you to go somewhere with him--wired up. We need a doctor, though, to make sure he's in good shape after we have mined him for information. You'll be helping to keep him alive and healthy, not killing him. Can you inject a man with a manageable dose of sodium pentothal that would encourage him to tell us the truth as he knows it and monitor him while we're interrogating him to ensure he comes out of it OK?"

Oh.

I didn't say more, as he'd stubbed his cigarette out in a tray on the nightstand and was using his hands to tell me we were going to have sex again. It was sex, pure and simple--there was no affection involved. It could be cruel and brutal with no consideration of my wants and needs. He had sex on me, using me for his primeval needs, subjugating me to his will and control. Fucking me to gain and maintain control over me. But in him taking what he wanted, he fulfilled me too.

He rolled over on top of me and he had sex on me again. I just lay there, being as open to him as I could manage, being stretched and worked deep by one of the biggest cocks I'd ever taken, and he ravished me. Once again every fiber of me focused on the long, thick cock moving inside me, using me totally.

It was sex, not love. I was just a prostitute for him--and a tool in his spy case. For me, he was all consuming. I was totally possessed by a cock that stretched and worked me, finding every secret corner inside me, caressing and punishing me, taking me to the edge and then backing off only to return again in even more mastery, making me feel that I never could get enough of his possession, sinking into the spongy core of me and dwelling there, sending me through waves and waves of explosive satisfaction.

"Oh, shit. Fuck. You're too deep. You're taking it all. You leave me nothing. Oh, fuck. Oh, FUCK!"

I hung on tight to him, sobbing and moaning, as, barebacking me, he tensed and jerked and released his seed deep in my core. And then again and again. He filled me, consumed me, with his hot cum.

I continued to sob, the two of tightly entwined in a close embrace, as he remained deep inside me, jerking with short releases of cum, nonstopping breeding. "Don't worry about this," he murmured. "We test often, and we have pills for this. I have pills for both of us. In case you wondered I have enhancement pills too." He immediately showed what he meant by that.