Chapter 1 - Another World

 

"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.