Chapter 1
Of all the exotic places I had visited on my backpacking tour of Southeast Asia, the stay at the Klong Narok prison camp was without doubt the most memorable. Located somewhere in the Golden Triangle, deep in the jungle, the camp wasn’t on any map, and neither friends, family, nor the consulate had even the slightest idea where I was.
The ride on narrow dirt roads to the camp was bumpy, the heat and humidity all-consuming and oppressive. My coarse blue uniform dress clung to my skin as I sat barefoot on the bed of an old pickup truck, between sacks of rice, baskets full of vegetables, and a couple of shovels. The lone guard up front doubled as the driver.
All I could do was sit and wait, endure the heat and the handcuffs behind my back, biting into my wrists. A chain, one end welded to the pickup’s bed, was padlocked to my leg irons, making sure I didn’t jump off and disappear into the jungle.
A couple of hours into the trip, I craved a cigarette. More than anything, though, I needed to pee. The last time I went to the bathroom had been after breakfast, and by now, the pressure from my bladder was close to unbearable.
“Excuse me,” I shouted. “I need to pee.”
“No English,” he said without even turning his head.
“Bathroom? Take a leak? Piss?” I sighed. “Water… out?”
“Ah, water.”
He pulled over on an old bridge that didn’t look particularly trustworthy. The sight of the rushing stream below was agonizing, and I instinctively clenched my thighs, feeling the mounting, desperate ache from my bladder.
The man really didn’t speak a lick of English. He slid open the back window and offered a bottle of water. It wasn’t exactly what I had asked for – quite the opposite – but my mouth was dry, so I took a swig.
“Please,” I said without much hope. “I really need to pee.”
“No English,” he repeated, getting out of the car.
With a desperate groan, I watched as he unzipped his fly and started to pee into the torrent below, grinning over his shoulder. The steady sound of the stream made my bladder seize up with an intense spasm. I clenched my muscles, narrowly avoiding flooding the pickup bed.
Oh for fuck’s sake!
Bladder relieved, he used the opportunity for a cigarette break. I pursed my lips, blowing hot breath into the air. At least that he understood. My handcuffs stayed on, but he leaned in, placing the cigarette between my lips. He struck a match and lit it.
I greedily sucked the smoke into my lungs. “Thanks,” I mumbled, careful to not lose the cigarette.
He smiled. “Yes.”
The trip continued for another agonizing hour. No settlements, no houses, just endless green jungle. I sighed, making the chain of my leg irons jingle as I stretched. It was a curious design – no lock, no welding, no rivet hammered in place. Instead, they had used a device with a long lever to bend the thick, polished steel around my ankles.
Unless they had a machine shop at the camp, I’d be wearing them for the duration of my stay.
When we finally arrived at the gate of Klong Narok, I wasn’t impressed. A tall chainlink fence, topped by barbed wire, surrounded the compound, gashing the bright green of the jungle. Inside, I saw more vegetation, wooden guard towers, and half a dozen simple huts. Not exactly five-star lodging.
Another guard with a rifle slung over his shoulder climbed down his tower and opened the gate for us. We passed through and stopped at what looked like the central parade ground, in front of a cluster of crooked huts. A naked, disheveled brunette sat on the ground inside a bamboo cage, watching us with detached interest as we pulled up.
What I saw in front of the largest hut made my blood run cold. Another naked woman stood – or rather sagged – at a whipping post, her wrists tied to a crossbeam. Her back and buttocks were crisscrossed by angry red welts, and even though the skin wasn’t broken, she was clearly spent, sagging at the limits of her restraint.
My guard unlocked both the chain and my handcuffs and helped me off the pickup.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, rubbing my wrists.
“Yes.”
A bell rang out, and four dozen dirty creatures appeared from all directions, every single one of them wearing straw hats and the same blue uniform. Most seemed to be Western women. As quickly as their leg irons permitted, they took their position in three files and squatted down, their heads bowed. Even the woman in the cage followed suit.
To my left, the door of a hut swung open, and a raven-haired woman in a guard’s uniform emerged. She was in her early thirties and seemed to command the respect of guards and prisoners alike.
Instead of a greeting, she strode up to me and delivered a stinging slap to my face. I had never been slapped before in my life. Shocked, I stared at her with wide open eyes, my hand instinctively clamped on my burning cheek.
“Down!” she ordered in a thick accent, pointing at the squatting prisoners. “Show respect!”
I quickly squatted.
“Pam,” she introduced herself, “Captain of Klong Narok. Cause trouble, mean suffer.”
No shit, I thought, glancing at the woman tied to the whipping post.
She gestured at me. “Take off uniform,” she ordered. “For welcome.”
I hesitated for a moment. Then, standing quickly, I pulled the uniform over my head and immediately squatted down in front of her again, covering my breasts with my forearm. She ripped the uniform out of my hand and nodded toward one of the guards.
When he walked over to untie the whipped woman, a knot formed in my stomach. It dawned on me what that welcome would entail.
Trembling, I stood at the whipping post, feeling the coarse rope around my wrists. I tugged, but they didn’t budge. Then I glanced to my right where my exhausted predecessor at the post was curled up on the ground, breathing heavily.
Despite being the boss, Pam took a hands-on approach to discipline. Without a word, her leather strap cut through the air, landing a vicious blow on my upper back. I yelped. The impact stung, radiating pain, and that single hit was all it took.
Fuck.
After hours of desperation, I lost all control over my bladder, wetting the ground below me in a powerful, golden stream. Despite the fiery sting on my back, the flooding relief was incredible. I didn’t even try to stem the flow. If I wanted to, I wasn’t sure I could have.
Pam laughed. “Dirty.” She reached between my legs, grabbing and squeezing my pussy. “No permission mean extra.”
Still reeling from this violation, the next lash hit me. I groaned, feeling the new wave of pain spread across my back.
I generally didn’t mind a good spanking – quite the contrary – as long as the sex later lived up to the promise. This however, was a brutal thrashing. I danced in my bonds as lash after lash rained down on my back and buttocks. A dozen, two dozen. Beyond that, I lost count.
It stopped without a word. She left, and I heard the clinking of chains as the other prisoners were herded back to work, or to whatever they were doing before the spectacle.