Best of Asian Erotica, Volume 2

Vanessa came into the room and spotted him almost immediately; she had a knack of doing that. Kenneth felt like her pet project of late. It seemed that she was adamant about turning him into one of the Koyaanisquatsi clergy: the sexiest, most louche individuals in the “family”-a term Vanessa liked to use when referring to the members of the club. He thought she was out of her mind, of course. Those people were like her: rich, sexy, and when they weren’t spanking each other in lion cages, they lounged over expensive cigars late into the night and discussed Derrida and the possibility of comprehending the breadth and depth of infinity.

She invited him to have dinner with her, and as they passed the statue of a gargoyle that he thought looked vaguely like an armadillo, he dropped some money into it, making sure to do so only when Vanessa was clearly not looking. He was ashamed of the paltry amount of money he could afford to put into the donation box. No matter how often Vanessa told him the club was rich enough, that money was not an issue, he would always feel ashamed of being unable to contribute more.

They settled at a table, and as soon as they took their seats, a girl in a kimono came over and threw herself onto the table. As her body hit the black marble, her arms and legs splayed and her kimono burst open to offer her naked body. Another girl followed and started laying sushi on her. Kenneth had gone through the whole routine every night he’d come to the club, but he still cringed when the wasabi was slathered onto the girl’s clit.

As soon as the girl had thrown herself onto the table and assumed a comatose demeanour, a few other people joined them at the long bench, seating themselves politely on either side of the girl, everyone sitting cross-legged on tatami mats. Vanessa broke the silent anticipation by saying grace:

“Thank you for the body upon which we nourish ourselves, for her absolute worthiness as an individual, and ours, and our right to help ourselves to all the pleasures of life. The right to get drunk on the beauty of our existence and celebrate its autonomy from death and eternity. Amen.” She picked up a piece of glistening raw tuna on rice, dipped it into the puddle of soy sauce poured into the cavity of the girl’s belly, and pressed it against the pearl of wasabi on her clit. Everyone else followed suit, eating neatly and slowly, occasionally pausing to sip from little cups of sake. Some people engaged in polite conversation about nothing much; the couple across from Kenneth seemed to be contemplating inviting the bagel-delivery boy from their office to the club. Then the lady beside Vanessa decided to break the prevailing protocol and started eating sushi off the girl’s body without her chopsticks. She climbed on top of the girl and picked a piece off her shoulder with her teeth, dipped it in soy, rubbed it against her clit and tilted her head, allowing it to slide easily into her mouth. Everyone followed suit. Everyone except Kenneth: he never felt worthy, no matter how many times Vanessa intoned that prayer of hers.

There were seven people participating now, all licking, sucking, fondling, jostling one another, kissing one another. But mostly they teased the girl, and she tried her best to bear the sensations without revealing that she felt anything. Some of the men had taken their cocks out and were slapping them on her face, her breasts. The woman who had been sitting beside Vanessa now sat on the girl’s face, and Kenneth felt embarrassed for the man trying to get his cock into the girl. At the same time, Kenneth wished he could be the one pushing his cock into her tight wet pussy.

The girl on the table was so petite and so pretty, she looked barely eighteen. He wondered who she was and how she’d ended up here. But she was no slave. He saw her lips curl into a self-satisfied smile as the man above her gasped, his cock having finally managed to force itself into her.

Vanessa asked to look at Kenneth’s card, and he slipped it to her uncertainly. She had a habit of suggesting, quite forcefully, he try things he wasn’t ready for. But then again, if she never had, he would never have done anything. He had been to clubs like Koyaanisquatsi before, and all ever he’d done previously was sit in a corner nursing his drink with a confused erection in his pants.

Vanessa looked at him with a glimmer in her eye when she saw he’d used up all the Level One tasks, then nodded knowingly to herself. She pointed to the medical table, and Kenneth looked at her, his eyes wide with fear, mouth partially open in silent protest, head shaking in small, terrified turns.

“Trust me,” she said. “You won’t get hurt. Have you gotten hurt yet?” Kenneth thought angrily to himself that he most certainly had, but then remembered that, to Vanessa, getting hurt meant being mutilated beyond hope of recovery without medical care. Anything that the body could get over naturally was acceptable.