Kaptain's Blog

The writings and musings of The Kaptain

Friday, December 7, 2007

Through The Godless Hours (9)

If confidence were currency, Detective Adi Dharsta would have been super-rich. Fit and good-looking, this self-admiring young man had never doubted that his every thought, action or deed was noble to the cause. The problem with this, however, was that Adi Dharsta was the cause. For this ambitious young Detective was set on making a name for himself, and quickly. He had yet to go through the first pain barrier that rejection or failure would bring, and was naïve enough to think he was bulletproof as a result. And now, completely out of the blue, he had been presented with a major opportunity to further demonstrate his capabilities…

When the Chief Inspector unexpectedly summoned him for urgent talks, Adi thought at first that one or other of his not-quite-legitimate schemes had been exposed. He had, in fact, immediately begun trying to second-guess why the governor wanted to see him, and at such short notice. Having once before been made to tiptoe through a minefield of awkward questions from Komdak’s most senior-ranked officer, he wanted this time to be better prepared, by concocting in advance some convincing account of his actions. Was it the recovered consignment of stolen Kretek cigarettes he was pedalling that someone had learned about and then revealed? Or the fake ID card scam, conceived together with a forensic department associate, that perhaps had been exposed after months of successful, covert operation? Normally impervious to danger, Adi was unusually worried that someone had started connecting the dots: had finally figured that the flawlessly confident exterior he radiated masked a soul that was far from incorruptible. Knocking on the door to the Chief’s office this morning, the sky outside black and heavy with the threat of rain, Adi’s famed super-confidence was, on this occasion, understandably challenged.

“Enter!” the C.I. had abruptly called out from within. Adi pushed open the door, at which precise moment a huge thunderclap tore across the sky, directly above. “S-sir,” he stammered, shaken momentarily. He felt himself blushing: this was not the cocky, fearless persona he would normally wish to project. “Sit the fuck down.” Another curt instruction from the big man behind the desk. Then: “I’ll get straight to the point.” The Chief’s brusque demeanour this morning indicated there was no time for small talk. And in the barely detectable pause that followed, Adi could feel every inch of his body tensing, fearing the worst. “We’ve received a tip-off that some bastard Captain from the Marine Corps has been selling arms. The buyer is apparently a Central American rebel militia. FARC, probably. Whoever the fuck it is uses a Colombian intermediary by the name of…” At this, Adi sank back into the visitor’s chair, suddenly cloaked by a wave of relief. He now felt so light that he thought he might float up to the ceiling. And it would prove to be not the last time he would feel eternally grateful to whatever God it was that evidently looked over him.

The Chief’s words now seemed to be drifting into the room from somewhere far off: “…I mean, fuck knows why people from the other side of the world would want to come all this way to buy the junk our piss-awful army is equipped with, but allegedly it’s true. Certainly one bastard insists it is – I have here a file of the transcripts.” He tapped his fat fingers on the faded yellow binder. “Same story in each of the conversations our operators have had with the cunt. Parangtritis, of all places. Parangtritis! Why that shit-hole of a backwater? I can’t understand it…” Adi sat quietly throughout the C.I.’s monologue, his breathing now slowing, and more steady.

“…But this bastard nark’s persistence is worrying. Very worrying. It’s bothering me to the extent that I’ve decided to have it checked it out, anyway. By some fucking monkey. Like you. So you’re on the case. Here, monyet!” Eyes bulging with mock aggression, the Chief then tossed the file across his desk, before grinning broadly. For despite the young man’s occasionally wayward behaviour, Detective Adi was, in truth, his favourite young charge. “Thanks for the opportunity, sir,” he replied, catching the papers while finally recovering all of his composure. And then, for the first time since he had received the Chief Inspector’s summons, Adi allowed himself a smile.

For this little scenario sounded too good to be true, like something out of a Hollywood movie, and it instantly fired his imagination. “That will be all,” the C.I. formally concluded, before Adi rose from his seat and, still clutching the file, walked briskly towards the door, heading straight for the lavatory and an overdue leak. “Oh, and one other thing,” the Chief suddenly bellowed before the Detective could make good his escape. Turning to flick a quizzical look in the Chief’s direction, his nerves once more jangled, Adi then cautiously asked: “Sir?”

“Don’t fuck it up,” came the big man’s simple reply.

posted by Kirk at 1:44 am  

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Through The Godless Hours (8)

As Adi pushed into her from behind the girl had one foot anchored on the panelled oak floor, the other raised so that the inside of her left knee was resting on the marble surface of the bathroom vanity unit. The effect of this was to gently ease apart the lubed lips of her perfectly formed, pinkish-red slit, up and into which he forcefully slid. The girl then tightened around him, constricting her muscles around his cock, drawing it ever deeper. She groaned as he continued to thrust upwards – slowly, rhythmically – from muscular thighs. “Fuck me harder. Pump me. Aaaaah, pump me baby,” she grunted, breathily. Still firmly inside her, Adi reached a hand around her slender waist before running his fingers vertically down the soft skin of her belly, to gently stroke her swollen clitoris. He stared at her perfect breasts, reflected in the mirror before them while, trying to catch his eyes with hers, she licked and sucked suggestively on two fingers. Then grasping the basin taps, she pushed back against him as she shuddered to a squealed climax, forcing every inch of his long shaft to penetrate her slim body.

Adi had many girlfriends, but this was his favourite. Her curvy proportions and fine facial lines were matched by soft and blemish-free skin of a rare shade of bronze. But above all it was her willingness to do whatever he asked, so far without limitation, that made every encounter with this girl so exciting. ‘Thursday’ was not in fact the most beautiful woman he had ever slept with, but she had something. Something he liked a lot. Adi withdrew slowly while she lowered her leg, then turned to face him. Kneeling, she began to lap at the viscous drops of his seed that were already budding at the tip of his steel-hard stem. “Good girl. Suck it slowly, honey. Slowly,” he entreated. Then: “Do you like being Detective Adi’s little whore?” The girl nodded obligingly as she ran her tongue along the length of his ample cock, tasting herself in the process – something that began arousing her once more. Then taking him fully into her mouth, she softly stroked his balls with an expert hand. Adi looked down at her bobbing head, his own climax nearing with each expert movement. As he preferred, she had tied up her shiny black mane and he watched as a rivulet of sweat crawled slowly from her hairline down her neck. Suddenly, he stopped her – it was too soon to end the pleasure – and tenderly took her shoulders in his hands, while easing her slowly backwards and down on to the warmth of the wooden bathroom floor. Looking up into his chiselled face the girl knew that her lover’s moment would soon be nearing and, trembling a little with excitement, she took her breasts in her hands, shamelessly stroking her nipples with the moistened fingers she had earlier removed from her mouth. She knew that he liked to watch her touching herself and was happy to oblige. In fact, she enjoyed it almost equally. Crouching over her, Adi dribbled a line of spit between her large, firm glands, then licked his way up towards her neck, which she arched as his warm tongue tickled, the sensation pricking up the soft hairs around her ears. Then kneeling astride her chest, he slid into the freshly lubricated groove as she pushed her breasts together around his eager cock. It took just a few moments for him to begin a deep moan, before he, too, shuddered and shot in large splashes over her mouth, face and into her fragrant, tethered hair.

Once back in the shower compartment Adi gently soaped the soft skin of the girl’s lower back, stooping to kiss her shoulders and lick at her neck and around her ears. Running a hand down the line between her cheeks, his soapy digits then lingered as she waited in anticipation. Her tongue extruded, ‘Thursday’ lapped at the steamy air while bending over and, with both hands now on the wall of the compartment, pushing herself into fingers that he continued to run back and forth, now stroking from her anus to the heat of her pleasure. “Phoooh…” She almost blew the word through her lips, before noisily sucking in more of the steamy air. “Let’s go through to the bedroom,” Adi urged. Dripping into the soft white towels that now enrobed them, the young couple then stumbled with inelegant haste to the adjoining chamber, where the girl instantly flung herself backwards on to the bed, her legs spread wide, the perfect form of her genitalia on proud display. The handsome young Detective then knelt at the foot of the bed while pulling her legs around him with strong arms, his hands resting on her thighs, face buried in between. Slowly, quickly, gently, harder: the tip of his tongue sensuously flicked across her clitoris to its own, random rhythm – working softly but incessantly, like a puppy lapping at milk. The girl reached down with both hands between her legs and pulled apart the delicate wet lips, gasping softly at the intensified sensation as her lover took his cue, now licking with increased vigour, but equal tenderness. And when she came it was a longer, deeper orgasm than his: one that seemed to inhabit her entire body, and which at its conclusion left her prone and exhausted, and panting for air. Within moments Adi then entered her again, pulling up her legs to rest on toned shoulders, pushing more aggressively this time and deeper inside until, once more, he injected his manhood into her tired but ever-willing body.

posted by Kirk at 10:27 pm  

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Frivolity On The Bounty

The sight of ropes being thrown from pierside to the waiting deckhands signalled that we were about to depart. Standing on the deck of this wooden three-master, gin and tonic in hand, the incongruity of the glass towers along Central District’s waterfront suddenly struck me. Built in 1979 to star in the fifth movie of its infamous mutiny, the replica of Captain Bligh’s ill-fated HMAV Bounty then slid quietly through the oily waters of Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbour in pursuit of one of nature’s gifts: the setting sun, which lay essentially due West.

In the heavy afternoon air we chased the fiery orb as it radiated a hazy glow, its rays refracted through layers of polluted atmosphere. Northeast monsoon winds this chilly autumn day had once more played gracious host to an unruly guest, carrying with them trails of noxious gases: a by-product of southern China’s unscrupulous – but equally unstoppable – industrial machine. Bellowed constantly from the world’s factory, clouds of the antisocial miasma were again obscuring Earth’s star to the extent that it resembled an orange buoy floating in a grey sea of gloom. The filtering effect of the smog was sufficient to permit the human eye to stare at it directly, lingering without damage or pain. As we continued to lose our race against sunset, I paused for a moment’s quiet reflection upon how different the setting would have been had the real Bounty sailed through this harbour in 1789, whilst on her fateful journey East.

Passing close to starboard, the roar of a high-speed Macau ferry’s jet engines jolted me back to the present and I instinctively raised an arm to wave at no-one I could see through its darkly tinted windows. The gamblers within were, in any event, most likely engrossed in their first game of paper Mahjong, long before reaching the glitzy, Vegas-inspired casinos established recently in the former Portuguese colony. Not for them, then, the sheer romance of a square-rigger. Back on the deck of the Bounty, the breeze was beginning to freshen, but the alcohol was warming my insides. And as we continued to make way, the sixty guests of the generous shareholders of Lantau Island’s finest bar – Hemingway’s By The Bay – were continuously plied with free-flowing cocktails while munching through a spread of tasty nibbles. The fall of darkness then heralded a new perspective of the vessel’s stunning rigging, comprising scores of ropes arranged in an exact replication of the original. Clever lighting from beneath enabled a perfect view of this elaborate web of shrouds, stays and braces that trailed upwards to meet Bounty’s fighting tops.

A brief survey below decks provided the only source of disappointment during what was otherwise an enchanting experience. With a fair amount of plywood on view it seemed the careful attention to detail that had ensured her external authenticity had not been applied equally to the interior of Bounty’s hull. Expecting to be impressed by chartrooms, a mock-up, perhaps, of a typical eighteenth-century galley and surely a smattering of some historic memorabilia, we were instead treated to a tour of what can only be described as a stainless steel kitchen and some sparsely furnished rooms. Even the ‘great cabin’ – which on the original vessel had been converted to house potted breadfruit plants – was bereft of any real character, consisting of just a few rudimentary benches plus a deep ledge across the full beam of the stern. What role, I found myself asking, had these quarters played during the filming of Dino Di Laurentiis’ classic 1984 version of the historical drama for which this replica had been commissioned? The only possibility was that it had served as a home to members of the make-up team and other auxiliary crew, I decided.

Climbing up the steep stairwell to emerge back on deck, it was evident that this first anniversary party of our bar of choice was in full swing. To a man, the tipsy revellers were indulging not only in spirits, but perhaps imbibing the soul of Bounty herself. Then, after charitably expressing their gratitude for our loyal patronage, Hemingway’s management team continued to lead the festivities as we made our return to this magnificent vessel’s newly established port d’attache of Discovery Bay. The wine flowed freely and we danced to the familiar sounds of Caribbean reggae, so often enjoyed whilst sitting in the bar itself. Under the influence of a few glasses too many there were even one or two who were bold enough to contemplate scaling this classic three-master’s rigging – perhaps in defiance of challenges that had been left behind in the glass towers from which we had earlier escaped, but that were still refusing to back down. On further reflection, these foolhardy ideas were thankfully abandoned – a fear of futtocks, perhaps? – to be replaced by yet more concentrated bingeing.

So it was frivolity – and not mutiny – that had taken place on the Bounty today.

And it had been a privilege.


posted by Kirk at 3:42 am  
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