almost as ruthless as herself. Whenever she wanted
something from him, she would give him a massage. The same kind of massage that
she was receiving: hard at first but then soft. His mind would go numb and then
she would eventually have him under her fingers and under control. In many ways
he had been the perfect man for her. If only he could have kept his hands off
other women, he would be alive today. Even so, she had regretted her jealous
rage and, looking down at him with the knife in his heart, she had decided
never to get deeply involved with any man again. In future, she would take her
pleasures when she wanted them under her own conditions.
The
girl's fingers had reached her buttocks. Connie moved on the bed, savouring the
feeling. In her mind she reviewed her situation.
She was
allied to the Khmer Rouge only for profit. She was a born trader; in the chaos
of war she had amassed a fortune. She had made good investments mostly in
property in Japan, Europe and North America. She owned her own house at
Montparnasse in Paris and had a condo on Fifth Avenue in New York. The Khmer
Rouge was now beginning to disintegrate. Perhaps they would last another year
or two in increasingly isolated areas.
When
she had finished her business with Creasy, she would pull out and make her base
in Paris. She would find her way into French society, perhaps even take a
nominal French husband, somebody in a position of power either in the
government or in business. With her wealth and beauty she was well poised to do
so. She had studied languages, philosophy and art at the Sorbonne, and she
could hold her own in a conversation with any intellectual. She would be an
asset to any man of power, but she would set the terms. She would allow him to
have lovers and she would have her own. They would both be discreet. She would
spend time in New York on her own. That would be her secret life.
The
girl's fingers had moved down to her upper thighs. She leaned forward and
whispered a question.
Connie
shook her head. She did not want anything 'special'.
She
would have that later, and it would be very special and very heterosexual. She
rolled over and slid off the bed. The girl packed her bottles away, slipped on
her white coat and received a large tip.
Connie
picked up her glass and the ice bucket with the champagne and went into the
marbled bathroom. She ran a bath so hot that few humans would have attempted to
enter. She sank into it with a groan and then pressed the button to set the
water foaming. She laid her head back and thought again about Creasy.
She had
waited a long time, waited until she had the power and organization to trap
him. His death would be the culmination of her past life. Her father's soul
would sleep easy, the more so for knowing the extent of Creasy's suffering
before he died. She sipped the champagne and sighed contentedly. Her mind came
back to the present. Within an hour she would be a hunter of a different kind.
"I
don't want another blow job in a massage parlour."
He
turned to his brother, Massimo. "We have been here four days and three
nights and that's all that's happened. I'm not some fat German sex-tourist who
spilt out of a jumbo jet with one thing on his mind. I'm thirty-five years old,
good looking, and rich. I want a little passion in my sex life!"
Massimo
grinned. He was the elder by four years, and familiar with the cities of the
Far East. It was Bruno's first trip. They were buying silks for the family's
garment business in Milan. Both of them were married to women from the same
upper level of Milan society; marriages made for position rather than love.
Such trips to exotic places brought adventure into their lives in every sense.
Bruno
was an idealist and somewhat arrogant. He did not like to pay for sex. It hurt
his pride. When he went to London or Paris or New York, he was usually able to
rely on his Latin looks and charm to pick up a woman who wanted to enjoy his
body as much as he wanted
something from him, she would give him a massage. The same kind of massage that
she was receiving: hard at first but then soft. His mind would go numb and then
she would eventually have him under her fingers and under control. In many ways
he had been the perfect man for her. If only he could have kept his hands off
other women, he would be alive today. Even so, she had regretted her jealous
rage and, looking down at him with the knife in his heart, she had decided
never to get deeply involved with any man again. In future, she would take her
pleasures when she wanted them under her own conditions.
The
girl's fingers had reached her buttocks. Connie moved on the bed, savouring the
feeling. In her mind she reviewed her situation.
She was
allied to the Khmer Rouge only for profit. She was a born trader; in the chaos
of war she had amassed a fortune. She had made good investments mostly in
property in Japan, Europe and North America. She owned her own house at
Montparnasse in Paris and had a condo on Fifth Avenue in New York. The Khmer
Rouge was now beginning to disintegrate. Perhaps they would last another year
or two in increasingly isolated areas.
When
she had finished her business with Creasy, she would pull out and make her base
in Paris. She would find her way into French society, perhaps even take a
nominal French husband, somebody in a position of power either in the
government or in business. With her wealth and beauty she was well poised to do
so. She had studied languages, philosophy and art at the Sorbonne, and she
could hold her own in a conversation with any intellectual. She would be an
asset to any man of power, but she would set the terms. She would allow him to
have lovers and she would have her own. They would both be discreet. She would
spend time in New York on her own. That would be her secret life.
The
girl's fingers had moved down to her upper thighs. She leaned forward and
whispered a question.
Connie
shook her head. She did not want anything 'special'.
She
would have that later, and it would be very special and very heterosexual. She
rolled over and slid off the bed. The girl packed her bottles away, slipped on
her white coat and received a large tip.
Connie
picked up her glass and the ice bucket with the champagne and went into the
marbled bathroom. She ran a bath so hot that few humans would have attempted to
enter. She sank into it with a groan and then pressed the button to set the
water foaming. She laid her head back and thought again about Creasy.
She had
waited a long time, waited until she had the power and organization to trap
him. His death would be the culmination of her past life. Her father's soul
would sleep easy, the more so for knowing the extent of Creasy's suffering
before he died. She sipped the champagne and sighed contentedly. Her mind came
back to the present. Within an hour she would be a hunter of a different kind.
"I
don't want another blow job in a massage parlour."
He
turned to his brother, Massimo. "We have been here four days and three
nights and that's all that's happened. I'm not some fat German sex-tourist who
spilt out of a jumbo jet with one thing on his mind. I'm thirty-five years old,
good looking, and rich. I want a little passion in my sex life!"
Massimo
grinned. He was the elder by four years, and familiar with the cities of the
Far East. It was Bruno's first trip. They were buying silks for the family's
garment business in Milan. Both of them were married to women from the same
upper level of Milan society; marriages made for position rather than love.
Such trips to exotic places brought adventure into their lives in every sense.
Bruno
was an idealist and somewhat arrogant. He did not like to pay for sex. It hurt
his pride. When he went to London or Paris or New York, he was usually able to
rely on his Latin looks and charm to pick up a woman who wanted to enjoy his
body as much as he wanted
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