Best of Asian Erotica, Volume 2

The middle of the table split open vertically, just the bottom half where his legs were, just enough to pull his buttocks apart. Vanessa remained straddled over him, her knife against his flesh, rocking herself on his erection.

His heart was pounding, and he felt the adrenaline rush soaking his system and chilling his body. He both loved and hated the fear of waiting for the unknown to happen: he had gotten used to the whipping and the spanking, but this he couldn’t anticipate. He’d never been on one of the tables before.

He couldn’t think about that though; under the table, something or someone was running a piece of wet, cold cloth between his buttocks, and he couldn’t stop himself from shivering with anxiousness and embarrassment.

No one had wiped his buttocks since he was three, and it made him feel humiliated. It went the entire length, from the base of his spine to the base of his balls: up and down, again and again. Wet, cold, and slow.

He lay as still as he could, trying his best not to cringe, although he badly wanted to make the face he was in the habit of making when he’d down gulps of very strong, very bad rum. Then the wiping stopped, and he could feel the end of a cold, metal dildo tease the entrance to his bum. The dildo slipped in a little, pulled out, then slipped in a little again. And it continued like that for some time, until he was tormented with fear and anticipation. He wanted it inside, but he knew it was going to hurt, and he still didn’t like pain very much. It wasn’t in his personality; he had the singular inability to endure pain passively, as Vanessa and the rest were capable of doing.

He bit his lip and repeated in his head that everything would be fine. That was one of the ironclad rules of the club: no one died, no one got irreversibly hurt unless they did it to themselves. Yes, everything would be fine.

Then it happened: the dildo forced itself completely into him, and he felt it tearing his flesh, just so slightly, but the small wound seared through his body, and he bit his lower lip until it bled to distract him from the pain.

It was a pity he couldn’t have an orgasm there and then, he thought, because he’d read somewhere orgasms were great for numbing pain while they lasted.

But he didn’t come, and he would have to wait some time to find out.

At that moment, he was only thankful for the straps holding him down. He would have gasped and jerked himself into the knife otherwise. The sharp pain seared through his anal orifice and he could feel himself starting to cry.

This was truly horrid. He knew what had gone inside him, he’d seen it before.

It looked completely innocent when you observed it-the smoothest, wettest dildo ever-but it hurt, bloody hell. It hurt.

Vanessa looked at him, slightly concerned for perhaps the first time, but erased any trace of this emotion almost instantaneously. She’d clearly lost her desire to carry on and unsaddled him, putting the knife back into the holster on her garter and smoothing her skirt down. She looked at him for a moment before she decided to remove the dildo from his bottom.

“You didn’t say stop,” she said, looking at him curiously, pleased and a little triumphant.

“No. I suppose I didn’t. I’ve become so used to believing everything will be fine,” Kenneth panted when he had recovered and Vanessa had removed the straps binding him. She nodded her head like she had heard that said many times before, then walked away distractedly without even bidding him good night.

He put on his clothes in a daze and decided to go home. He would normally have lingered for a while after he had fulfilled his criteria for the night, watching things other members did to themselves and wondering how they managed it. He’d look at them attempting stunts he’d never imagined: real whips, real knives, iron rods smouldering from a fresh fire. Suddenly, he wanted to try them all, each and every one. More and more, the appeal of Club Koyaanisquatsi grew on him, and the fear those practices held for him waned. What had been foreign and dangerous, machines and mindsets that threatened to topple the order of what he believed to be right, felt freeing and energising.

This world of the club, he decided, was no worse and no better than the one he was casting off. He wasn’t so afraid any longer of things that couldn’t actually hurt him, or even of things that could.

Painin

Brenton Rossow, Thailand