“No
personal escorts allowed in the club, sir. Please, check her at the coat-closet.”
Mark stared
at the man. He had a benign and placid Asian expression on his face, but there
was also a hint of violence in his eyes. This was the Thai equivalent of a
bouncer.
“She’s not
an escort, Mark said in an offended tone. She’s my guest.
The man
smiled with infinite Asian patience. He had obviously heard the same words a
thousand times from a thousand different men.
“Please,
sir,” he said gesturing towards the coat-closet. “No wives, partners, or companions
of any kind are allowed inside. It is a very strict rule of the house. If you would
like to come back tomorrow night, alone... Or if you no longer wish to attend
the performance, we will return your admission fee and have our driver return
you to your hotel.”
Mark stood
for a moment then turned and walked back to the coat-closet. He kept a firm
grip on the girl’s arm.
“You wait
here, Mila,” he said. “I won’t linger.”
Mila’s luscious
lips formed into a pout, but she didn’t say anything. Mark passed her through
the counter opening to the coat-check girl. She handed him a metal token with a
number stamped on its face. He stared at it for a second.
“Please
not lose, gentleman,” the girl said smiling as she pushed Mila gently through a
curtain-covered doorway.
Out of
Mark’s sight, a muscular Thai man wearing a 19050s-style, no-sleeve undershirt
took Mila’s arm and pushed her down a long line of metal lockers. When he
reached the one that corresponded to the number on the token, he opened the
door and gestured for her to step inside. Mila hesitated until he grabbed her
hair and forcefully pushed her into the tiny enclosure closing the door with a
loud click. There was no way to open it from the inside. Irritated, she
adjusted her body to the tiny space and closed her eyes to wait; she was used
to waiting locked inside small enclosures.
Mark in
the meantime was escorted by an usher to a plush armchair inside a small
theater full of widely-separated armchairs. The room was round, an amphitheater
with a sunken stage in the center. The stage was perhaps 10 meters in diameter.
A round curtain encircled its perimeter hiding everything taking place inside.
In a few
seconds a perfectly proportioned Thai girl, wearing only high-heels and a leather
thong, knelt by his chair’s arm. He assumed she was the waitress. Her bare nipples
were black against her light brown skin. He wondered if she colored them.
“Drink,
Master,” she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.
She was tiny,
perhaps five-feet tall and 85 pounds, but every part of her was exquisitely
formed. Mark tried to hand her a 50-Baht note when she returned with his drink
and a small plate of hors d’oeuvres, but she refused to touch it. Finally he
looped it over the leather thong-string at her waist as she served his drink.
She smiled
as he touched her skin. Surprisingly, when she was finished, she knelt, remaining
in place at his side. He glanced around the theater. Other thong-clad serving girls
were kneeling by other chairs ready to serve the men seated. One girl had her napkin-covered
head in her guest’s lap. He finally realized the girls’ purpose.
“Would you
like me suck your cock, Master,” his girl asked in a whisper noticing his
interest.
He smiled
and shook his head tucking another 50-Baht note into her thong as a consolation.
The girl dropped her head and resumed her silent vigil, her back still ramrod straight.
It was clear she was there to serve him in any way he chose or, if he preferred
to kneel quietly at his side. He took a long pull at his drink, ignoring the
caviar on his plate.
The
admission to the club was 140,000 Thai Baht, almost US$4,000. It was an absurd
sum in this country where a man could rent an incredibly attractive prostitute
for a week for no more than 4,000 Baht, about US$110. What could they possibly
offer here that was worth US$4,000? He wondered, perusing the serving girl’s
amazing figure. He was tempted to take her onto his lap and just hold her, but
he resisted. He wanted to have a clear, undistracted head for the show.
Duncan had
recommended this place, claiming it was specifically designed for men like
him--wealthy Doms, aficionados of the black arts of dominance and submission. He
smiled to himself. Was that what he was now--a dilettante, a misogynistic practitioner
of kink? Sad ... he used to be a well-regarded doctor, a nationally renowned
surgeon working at one of the best hospital surgeries in the world.
Had Paige
driven him to this ... to such depths or had he done it to himself? Could any
woman drive a sane man to such extremes? Probably not...
He glanced
again at the girl. “Come up here...” he said quietly.
Her eyes
smiled and she moved her miniature body gracefully onto his lap snuggling into
the cozy crease between him and the chair’s arm. He moved his hand over her
silken black hair then down to her firm breast. She shuddered like a content cat.
“Would you
like me to warm your cock, Master?” she asked casually. “Many men prefer watch
show with their cock inside their comfort-girl. Show very exciting, you know.”
Mark
laughed at her unique promotional speech then shook his head. He was still
thinking about Paige. Even with the girl’s warm, naked body in his hands, Paige
was still on his mind. She was an obsession of course, a curse, but she was his
obsession, his curse.
He had abandoned
his career to find her, left everything he had in New York to bring her back
with him. This tour of the world’s BDSM hot-spots was part of that quest.
Duncan had insisted that he get to know the scene; that he gets his head
screwed on right, about Paige and Mila and all women in general.
Mark knew
Duncan was just buying time with this tour; that he was hoping Mark would
forget about “rescuing” Paige, forget about his insane quest. It was an obvious
ploy. Mark had gone along with it because he needed Duncan’s help. He needed
his contacts and his...
The theater’s
lights suddenly went dark. He could see the pen-lights of ushers guiding latecomers
into their seats. The comfort-girl in his lap reached up and began to nibble on
his earlobe. When he didn’t push her away, she began to stick her tongue into
his ear canal. This went on for 20 minutes in the darkness.
The
temptation was too much. He manually turned her body around so she was facing
him, her cunt directly over his cock, her short silky legs folded under the
chair’s heavy cushions. She purred contentedly then reached down to open his
pants. When she was satisfied, she pushed her thong to the side and gently guided
his moderately hard cock inside her pussy. There was no hesitation, no
clumsiness, no solicitation; in less than an hour his penis was resting inside
a woman he originally had no intention of touching. That was nicely done, he
thought.
Instead of
grinding on him though as he expected, she remained surprisingly still as if
she was waiting for something. He could feel her vaginal muscles contracting as
blood pulsated into her tight pussy. It was a weird feeling just sitting this
sipping his Scotch with his cock inside a girl. It was like she was a sheath--not
unpleasant, just different. He could smell a delicate jasmine in her hair. He
could see the stage over her head.
Slowly the
round stage-curtain began to rise into the dark ceiling and disappear. The
scene onstage was lit with red and yellow lights moving in a kind of circular, surreal
fashion. It was hard to understand what he was looking at until he felt his
cock hardening inside its human sheath.
Around the
perimeter of the stage were perhaps 20 women. Many were young Asians with long
black hair, but there was a good representation of Caucasians and blacks as
well. They were all incredibly beautiful, not in a quiet graceful way, but with
a rich lushness that was clearly designed to provoke feelings of lust.
Mark
picked out a spectacular brown-skinned Thai or Burmese beauty and studied her
bondage. Her arms had been squared and belted behind; her legs were bent and
also belted high on her thighs to her ankles; her head was pulled back by her
long hair which was tied to her big toes with leather cords. Her head was
pulled back so far in fact that her breathing was impaired. Suddenly he recognized
the sound of air being pulled into straining lungs by a score of upturned
mouths.
But the
worst of the perimeter girls’ bondage was a nipple tie. Between the legs of
each girl was a thick metal post perhaps two feet tall. Extending from the post
to the tip of her breasts were cords looped around nipple-studs. The studs had
been diabolically positioned to lift the nipple up. The reason for this would
become painfully clear soon.
Mark could
feel the head of his penis pushing hard against something pleasantly soft
inside his comfort-girl’s vagina. His hands fell instinctively to the globes of
her ass cheeks and he squeezed hard eliciting a soft groan. It was the
appropriate sound for the moment.
His eyes
moved to the center of the stage where a statuesque blond, clearly of Eurasian
decent was impaled. She was naked stretched out high on her toes with her arms
raised above her head. A pole from the floor was embedded in her cunt and belts
secured her ankles, knees, and thighs to the pole. Descending from the ceiling
was another pole that entered her mouth from above forcing her head back in the
same way as the perimeter girl. Belts secured her wrists, elbows, and upper
arms to the descending pole. Her entire torso from her neck to her upper things
was exposed and deliciously vulnerable.
At three
equidistant points around the stage stood three naked men; they were clearly
Southeast Asian, but with thick-chests, sculpted muscles, large cocks and
scrotums. Their bodies had been oiled so the reddish-yellow stage lights played
across their bodies like flames.
The
comfort-girl’s vaginal muscles were squeezing him harder as he unconsciously kneaded
her ass cheeks. He could feel her hard nipples now on his chest. A slow
drumbeat had started in the background. The three men began to circle the
Eurasian girl in the center stepping to the dead-slow beat of the drum. The
stage had a primordial feel to it as if all the pain in the world had come
together.
For the
first time he noticed the three men had something in their hands. Two had short
supple bamboo canes in each hand; the third held a quirt--a short-handled
riding whip with a braded lash. It seemed to glow as if it was alive. Later he
realized it had been coated with an iridescent material to allow the audience
to follow its action.
The drum
beat increased its tempo then suddenly stopped. The man with the quirt took up
a position behind near the front of the impaled Eurasian girl. The other two
men went to opposite side of the stage, straddled the girls tied there, and lowered
their scrotums into their mouths.
No one
on-stage or off breathed until the drum started again then literally all hell
broke loose. The man in the center began to whip the girl viciously causing her
to emit a kind of strangled scream. After each stroke, he would take one step
and strike her torso again an inch lower with each blow. When he reached her
upper thighs he would start up while he continued to circle. In a few minutes the
skin of her torso was glowing red.
The two
men on the perimeter began to cane the girls mouthing their balls targeting
their upturned nipples. The unfortunate victims could only make choking
strangling sounds as they frantically masticated the men’s scrotums in their
upturned mouths. After some predetermined number of drum beats, the two men
would move in unison to the next terrified girl on the perimeter in a counter-clockwise
direction.
The horrible
sound of pain from the stage and pleasure from the audience, the swirling
light, the darkness, the drumbeat all combined to suspend reality. Mark came
then came again as the girl on his lap worked her hips up and down to the beat.
He felt himself transported, transformed by the overwhelming assault on his
senses, on his traditional values.
The next
day he booked a flight to Morocco and sent an email to Duncan inviting himself
for a visit. The evening had made a profound impression. He finally understood
the primal urges that had driven Paige to leave him, but he was also convinced that
the insane world she had entered would destroy her in the end. He simply could
not let that happen, not to her.