The first was Patinya, who was walking from the opposite direction, apparently on the way to the pool. A towel was flung over her shoulder, but her long, tightly curled hair and dappled gold-and-black string bikini were dry.Posted by critmk on January 27, 2002 at 12:19:27:
The Scamming Stewardess
A story by critmk
Chapter 16: Thai-Died II
Author’s note: The action in the three sections of Chapter 16 is simultaneous over a span of 25 minutes.
16A: Leona in the Garden
Leona didn’t worry about the click of her high heels on the stone walkway that wound through the thick foliage of broad, glossy leaves and aromatic jungle flowers. Most of these Thai girls wore heels; the footfalls would not cause alarm. Nor would the presence of a well-dressed, middle-aged Western woman, especially one so fluent in Thai. She would smile, approach and kill whomever she encountered.
The first was Patinya, who was walking from the opposite direction, apparently on the way to the pool. A towel was flung over her shoulder, but her long, tightly curled hair and dappled gold-and-black string bikini were dry.
It was so easy: “Excuse me, miss – is this the way to the manager’s office?”
“No, ma’am, you must go back the way you came and then turn -- UNHH!”
Leona interrupted her by punching a 7-inch dagger, with a broad but exquisitely thin blade, deep into Patinya’s lower belly, just above the triangle of fabric that covered her pussy.
“I didn’t really need directions to the office, dear. I’ve already been there – to kill your bosses,” Leona said, pleasantly.
The girl was unsure of what to do with the piece of stainless steel in her gut. Her hands hovered nervously about the ebony handle.
“Afraid to pull it out? Here, let me. Oops – slipped!”
Leona yanked the blade, razor sharp on both the top and bottom edges, cleanly up through the girl’s navel to her sternum. She clasped both hands over the long wound and kept her belly together. Blood dripped from her mouth and spotted her breasts.
Patinya’s eyes went blank as she backed unsteadily off the path and gripped a branch of bamboo. She died halfway through her slide down to her knees. She came to rest leaning forward, with the supporting bamboo trunk between her 34B tits.
The killing took place at a little crossroads in the paths; a bench and a water fountain were there. Leona drank, then sat a moment to enjoy the dead beauty. She figured she had time for a quick orgasm and indulged herself.
Then she was on the prowl again, walking casually down the shaded path in search of a target. She was just a few dozen yards from a lawn or building in any direction, but the vegetation was so abundant that the place seemed distant and isolated from the rest of the complex.
She paused by a grotto with a little waterfall and coin pond and looked and listened. Leona perked up when she saw a fleck of white moving through the greenery on a path that seemed to parallel hers. She rushed ahead as best she could in her stiletto pumps, assuming that the paths would cross sooner or later. She wanted to get to the intersection first.
She did. Leona took a deep breath and smoothed her silk jacket. She got a relaxed grip on the silenced .25 behind her back. Finally, the girl emerged, padding toward Leona on small, bare feet. The murderess flushed with delight at her victim’s beauty.
Archariya was in her mid-20s. Unlike some Thai girls, she was very East Asian – a broad, foreshortened face, small perfect mouth, wide-set dark eyes, a rather flat, wide nose. But put it all together, and everything was right. Her short black hair framed her face in an arch of locks. Her neck looked strong, but not thick or sinewy; a delicate gold chain and pendant drew attention to it.
A short, snow-white linen strapless top with a little structure to it barely covered her nipples and held her lush breasts high. Her yellow, French-cut bikini bottom plunged dramatically front and center, revealing a foot of flesh from solar plexus to well below the navel.
Leona had a strong impulse to kill her and wasted no time in acting on it. She raised the shiny little gun and fired when Archariya was about 10 feet away. A small hole opened in her lower belly, between navel and plunging panty line.
The girl uttered a surprised little “Oh!” She placed her right hand over the wound and staggered back into a timber fence. The half-globes of exposed breast flesh made irresistible targets for Leona. She put a bullet into the center of each; the girl twitched with each shot, then stared vacantly at the red holes in her tits. Leona ruined that beautiful linen top with shots through the left nipple and the center of the solar plexus.
Archariya died on her feet, fell heavily to her knees and pitched forward hard onto her face. Leona hooked a high heel under the dead girl’s right bicep and flipped her onto her back. Bits of gravel and leaves stuck to bloody fabric and flesh.
Leona checked her watch; it was time to join Linda and Dominic at the pool
16B: Dominic in the Villa
The plantation was originally a Dutch venture. The villa was typical of Dutch colonial tropical architecture, a blend of Spanish hacienda thinking and formal, Netherlandish symmetry and height.
Three of the seven guest bedrooms opened onto a secluded patio. The three on the ground floor were empty and neatly made up. The four above fronted on a broad, covered balcony. Dominic climbed the stairs without a sound. A silenced Uzi was in his right hand. A switchblade was in his pocket, and a dagger was sheathed in a sort of shoulder holster beneath his jacket.
He gently pushed open the first door. Nothing; an unmade bed, no sound from the open bathroom.
Behind the second door, he found a hungover brunette who appeared to have slept in her disheveled maroon party dress and heels. She had a hard look about her. She saw Dominic at the door, but didn’t see the gun, which he held outside the doorframe. The woman looked to be in her early 30s. She groaned as she sat up on the bed.
“I don’t care who you are, don’t even think about it,” she said, wearily, in perfect English. She closed her eyes and flopped back. “I drank too much and fucked too much last night. Buy a new dance card and call me in eight hours. Or drop in on Kunya, next door. She’s a young, energetic nympho. Me – I feel dead right now.”
“What’s your name, miss?”
“If I tell you, will you leave me in peace?”
“I certainly will.”
“If you must know, it’s Ruksuda – but professionally, I’m Champagne X. Champagne X with a hangover – there’s irony for you.”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Dominic said, as he leveled his gun at the woman.
She hadn’t opened her eyes as she spoke, and never saw death coming.
The Uzi sprayed out 18 shots in less than two seconds. Five thudded into the thick futon. One caught her high on the left shoulder. Two dug into the lower half of her heavy, round right breast. One shattered her sternum and heart, another ripped open the hollow of her throat. A slug blew her left nipple off on its way to grazing her right shoulder. A hole opened on her left bicep and another at the base of her left breast as the gunman swept fire across Ruksuda’s convulsing body. He finished with five on the diagonal across her belly, left breast to right hip.
He lifted the girl’s blood-flecked chin with the hot barrel of the noise suppressor and said to the dead face: “If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s dialogue full of cheap film-noir irony.”
He let Ruksuda’s head drop to her chest and took up her suggestion to pay a call on Kunya next door.
Kunya looked as open and innocent as Ruksuda was world-weary and cynical. Her hair was short and soft and clean. She was 20, but she could have been taken for 15. Her skin was smooth and flawless.
She was naked and sleeping lightly but peacefully amid snow-white sheets when Dominic entered. When the door clicked closed behind him, she stirred, stretched and raised her head. Her 34B breasts hung prettily; the sheet wrapped round her barely covered her pink nipples.
She seemed not at all surprised to see a man standing in her room. Kunya looked up at Dominic ingenuously and said something in Thai; her voice was like a melody played dolce on a flute.
He found her disarmingly sweet and irresistibly sexy. He had a sudden vision of a different kind of life, a quiet one lived out with this girl in a secluded cabin on a remote Asian beach.
He smiled at his sentimental reverie and killed the girl with a single, neat shot between her delicate brown eyebrows.
The bullet stayed within her skull. Its impact turned her torso and flung her right arm back, leaving her staring at the ceiling. Her right breast was now fully exposed.
She was so beautiful and so vulnerable that Dominic couldn’t help but fuck her.
He turned Kunya over gently and spread her legs. He licked her labia open and was surprised to taste a rich sexual broth within her. What sort of dream did he interrupt?
He opened his trousers and released his hard dick, took one soft breast in each hand and slid into her. It was like dipping into a vat of warm honey.
Dominic was close to orgasm when he heard a soft knock at the door and heard a feminine voice call softly. She spoke in Thai, but the meaning was clear in any language: “Kunya, are you alone? Is it OK for me to come in?”
Dominic answered for the dead girl. “Yes, yes, come in.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll come back later, a man is here.” She spoke in tentative English now.
“No, really, it’s OK, come in.”
Pavadee, clad only in a loose, short white cotton slip, tip-toed hastily into the room the room the way people do when they’re embarrassed and trying not to interrupt .
She was tall and lanky in an elegant way, lovely even before her morning shower and hair wash. Pavadee was trying not to see what Dominic and Kunya were doing, and thus didn’t know that Kunya was dead and that he was fucking her corpse. She didn’t know that Dominic’s reloaded Uzi was aimed between her shoulder blades – until she inadvertently saw all of the above in the round mirror of the vanity.
When all this registered on her brain, she froze. That was Dominic’s cue to fire.
In that same mirror, in the instant before it shattered, she saw her chest erupt in exit wounds. The force of the gunfire – eight quick shots concentrated in the middle of her back – threw her chest forward and spread her arms like wings. Pavadee’s face crashed into the shards of mirror still clinging to the bullet-marred plywood backing. She stared at herself eye to eye for a moment, but death stares see nothing, not even their own reflections.
Gravity overcame friction and she sank to the white marble top of the vanity. Her bloody chest – the left breast exposed, since a bullet had severed a thin shoulder strap – rested briefly on the scattering of brushes, eyebrow pencils, lipsticks, compacts and other tools of the trade of feminine beauty.
Ever so slowly she slid on the cool marble, back into the room toward Dominic. At last she fell gracefully from the surface to the floor, landing on her slim, bare ass, and rolling out onto her back. That’s when Dominic came inside Kunya.
He took a long, deep breath, calmed himself, withdrew and zipped up. He had one more room to check.
Areya had awakened early, showered and started to dress for the trip back to Bangkok. She was the only woman at the plantation house that morning who was not in the sex trade.
Areya, 30, was a middle executive on the make. She had come to the party the night before with the otherwise all-male business contingent. Give some head to get ahead, she figured, and so far it was working.
She had a business lunch scheduled that day and was sorry, now, that she’d decided to stay the night instead of riding back to the hotel in the vans with her drunk and obnoxious male colleagues.
She got on her makeup and pantyhose, her low-cut silver-gray slip and her dressy black sandals. She pulled on her sheer, dapple-gray blouse and took her gray skirt off the hanger.
It had been a long night, and she felt suddenly weary. She decided to lie down and rest on the couch for 10 minutes.
Areya had just dozed off when Dominic stole into the room. He stood over her quietly for full minute, just watching her creamy, full breasts rise and fall with her deep breathing. It was pleasant to ponder how he might kill her. He could snap her neck, or strangle her. He could spray her down with machine-gun fire. He could slit her throat.
The thoughts began to stiffen his dick, despite the load of cum he’d left in Kunya minutes before.
He kissed her gently on her full lips, then slipped his tongue into her mouth. She stretched sensually and awakened with a start. Areya blushed, then smiled at the handsome stranger kneeling so close to her. She was intrigued; and you never knew. He looked wealthy. He might be useful.
She started to say “Good morning, who are you?” in Thai, but stopped herself and switched to English and to a flirtier line: “Well, that’s a lovely way to wake up. My name is Snow White. Who’s my Prince Charming?”
“You certainly know your Western fairy tales.”
“I grew up with the Disney Channel on cable. Thailand is well-wired.”
“You know, Disney cleaned up those tales. In original form, most of them don’t have happy endings. I always imagined the prince raping and killing Snow White. Or maybe killing her and then raping her.”
Areya’s eyes widened in horror. Then she laughed. “But we’re just playing, right? It’s only a fairy tale. I’ll be Snow White and you’ll be, who? The prince’s evil twin?”
He smiled and nodded. Areya had played a good many sex games, and she was warming to this idea.
“I’ll bet I could do a great death scene for you,” she said, playfully. “I acted in high school. So… I’ll be sleeping, you wake me with a kiss. I’ll be fooled, I’ll think you’re the real prince, then you kill me and screw me. I have a feeling that will wake me up.”
He stood and stepped back. She “went to sleep,” then popped up brightly.
“Oh! How will you kill me?”
“I think I’ll stab you to death with a dagger.”
“Oooh, that’s good and bloody,” she said, laughing. Areya lay back and closed her eyes, but had some troubling stifling the giggles.
Dominic stepped up and again knelt beside her. He kissed her gently then deeply; she fondled his balls and dick through his trousers as she said, in an earnest, little-girl voice: “Oh, my prince has come at last! I do hope you are not his evil twin.”
“Baby, I guarantee, there’s only one of me.”
He plunged the heavy knife, made blade, handle and all from a single piece of milled stainless steel, through her slip into her lower belly. The bottom edge of the thick blade licked into the top of her thick pubic bush.
“Ah! AH!! AAAHHH”
Her scream rose through three distinct levels of intensity as she realized that she was, in fact, being killed. Dominic cut off her outcry by clamping his left hand over her mouth. He felt the desperation of her hot breath and the vibration of her stifled screams against the hard palm of his hand.
She was squirming violently now, but ineffectively. Dominic had all the leverage; the knife in her belly was like a control handle.
After a few moments, Areya started to lose strength. The formerly white fabric over her stomach and crotch was now blood-soaked, and there was a good deal of internal bleeding. He yanked the knife out of her and placed its tip on the bare milky flesh just above her left nipple. The breast gave under the weight of the knife.
He wrapped both hands around the knife and drove it home hard. He felt it rush through all resistance and nudge her shoulder blade aside as the point came out through her back.
Areya twitched and bucked and gasped with flagging energy. Blood streamed across her tits. Her right leg slipped off the couch and her heel landed on the parquet floor. Dominic gave the knife a sharp twist and got no response.
He rearranged the dead girl slightly, so that her head hung upside down off the sofa. He opened her mouth with his fingers and slid his dick into it. He withdrew and beat it against her soft lips until he came all over her beautiful, dead face.
He took one last look at Areya as he walked out the door. She couldn’t have been more gorgeous -- half on and half off the couch, the big, hard dagger stuck in her chest, cum dripping from her mouth.
“You just can’t beat those great old stories,” he said to himself, as he stepped out onto the balcony.
He saw Linda below, peering into a cloud of reddening water in the pool. Leona emerged from a tree-shaded path onto the sunny lawn, smiling and swinging her little .25.
16C: Linda at the Pool
Moments before Dominic arrived to check the guest rooms, Farung had thrown a towel over her shoulder and headed for the pool, which was across the patio, down a flight of stone stairs and 35 yards across a lawn.
Farung, 25, was taller and leggier than the other Thai girls and more Western in her look; her mother was Italian. Her features were large. A long tumble of thick, straight brown hair fell to the tie of her brown string bikini top. Her thong bottom showed off her best feature: a train-stopper of a round, firm ass.
As she padded across the lawn, she heard high heels click on the path behind her. She turned and offered a faint smile to the 40-something woman in the smart ivory suit. The evil grin offered back to her gave her a chill; she picked up the pace.
So did the woman trailing her. Farung decided to confront her and tell her to buzz off, she didn’t do women. She turned and started to speak, but went mute when she saw the 9mm. She backed away, turned and started to run.
Linda waited until the woman was within three steps of the pool and fired. The first shot hit her in the center of the bulging left cheek of her ass, and not by accident. She staggered forward and was at the edge of the pool when the next three bullets ripped through her, entering just above her bra string and exiting through her sternum and left breast.
The force of the bullets spun Farung and knocked her into the pool. She splashed down on her back. She bled to death before she could drown, as her heart pumped red clouds into the clear blue water.
Dawan had forgotten her swimsuit, but no matter. She would simply remove the skimpy, chopped blue tube top that covered her small, girlish breasts and the obscenely tight, lacey hotpants that showed off her mons veneris so prominently.
Dawan was young – 19 – and a band groupie when she wasn’t working. Her hair was spiked up; a drummer had given her the coral choker and bracelet set she wore.
She thought she’d have the pool to herself. If she were going to swim nude, she would have preferred it that way. But she heard a splash before she started to undress in the poolside cabana and stepped out to see who would be swimming with her.
She saw red in her peripheral vision. She knelt on the deck and peered into the bloody cloud. She gave a start when she realized the source of it. As she turned to run for help, she bumped squarely into Linda.
Her stream of excited Thai meant nothing to the killer, who smiled cruelly as she raised the gun to the girl’s belly and shot her three inches above her navel.
Farung hugged both arms over the wound but couldn’t stop the blood from streaming down to stain her white shorts. Another red stain appeared on the white fabric a second later, emanating from a bullet hole in the center of the girl’s mons. When Linda shot her in the left tit, just at the edge of the blue tube top, Farung pitched backward into the pool.
Linda shuddered with pleasure at the girl’s death, then leaned over the edge to view her handiwork. The surface turbulence subsided to reveal the two dead, staring beauties. Though intertwined, they touched only occasionally and ever so delicately as they turned in the middle depths in slow Brownian motion.