Best of Asian Erotica, Volume 2

CLUB KOYAANISQUATSI Miss Izzy, Singapore

“On a diet?” she asked, giving him a lopsided smile that spoke of contempt and a gross fascination with his bulbous shape.

She was beyond beautiful, with straight, smooth dark hair tied tightly into a French braid and a body of toned, tensed muscles wrapped over a slender frame. Her pale breasts nearly spilled out of an indecently buttoned blouse.

He had been inspecting the chocolate bars on the whole-foods shelf: 100 % organic, high in protein, antioxidants, good cholesterol-but laden with three hundred calories, the equivalent of one meal under his new diet.

He looked at her glumly, a little confused. She raised an eyebrow; “Well?” it said. Her smile taunted him for an answer.

“Uh… yes. On a diet.”

She chuckled audibly before stopping herself by jamming her teeth on the end of her thumbnail. “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help it. But I know exactly what your problem is,” she told him.

Kenneth didn’t know whether to feel angry and insulted or flattered that a woman like her was even interested enough in him to say more than,

“Hi!” Yet, an undeniable interest in her eyes suggested something beyond a cruel desire to make fun of him. Perhaps his embarrassment at being seen like an alien object showed on his face because her expression softened. She apologised.

“I know how you feel,” she said. “And I know what you need to do.

You need to stop being afraid of life. When the excitement of other things becomes the chief motivation in your life, then the lazy comfort of food is less of a necessity.”

Kenneth looked at her blankly for a moment before he managed to absorb what she had just said. “Uh… okay,” he replied lamely.

“Come to my place for dinner tonight. Forget your diet. I’ll make sure of it,” she said smiling, her lips curling with excitement. Kenneth swore that look she gave him was carnivorous, but he pushed it out of his mind almost immediately. She pulled out her loyalty card for a club called Koyaanisquatsi, with her name and number on it, and told him to call her later in the evening.

“Just before nine. Let me get my apartment in order and cook up a little something before you arrive. Don’t play me out,” she said, turning on her heel and walking away.

He had turned up that night, and the last couple of weeks had seen the most bizarre days of his otherwise mundane existence. Club Koyaanisquatsi had turned out to be an exclusive place for sexual perversions of all manner, and although it had frightened him initially, making him run away, he came back soon enough.

The decision had been sealed when, the morning after his daunting first introduction to the club, his chaste girlfriend Lynette called before dawn to tell him how much she loved him and to ask if he would please quickly decide on a date for their marriage so she could have her fucking babies and they could use her dying mother’s money to live together in a flat somewhere in the arse of Singapore.

Club Koyaanisquatsi frightened his balls off, but it was a fantasy like he’d never experienced before. He put down the phone on Lynette with a smouldering anger inside, not against the poor girl, but against himself.

That he had been so afraid all his life and stayed fearful of “attempting the uncharted experiences of physical sensation.” That was the exact phrase Vanessa used, and he quite liked the sound of it.

It was a Thursday night, and Kenneth was having problems finding something he was comfortable playing with to add another stamp to his loyalty card.

He’d exhausted the number of times he could claim credit for getting his bottom paddled by the newly initiated dominatrix, and he’d done with the horsehair whip as well. That, he thought was quite unpleasant and unexciting but no worse than getting a tattoo.

He looked at the girls lying on the dining tables, having sushi eaten off their bodies, and wished he could just do that. It actually looked exciting and relatively easy, though he wasn’t quite sure about the wasabi on the balls. But people had to invite you to serve them and only the most gorgeous ever had any opportunity at all.

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.

“Look, it’s the easiest thing for you to do at this point in time. All you have to do is take this,” she said, handing him a little blue pill.

“But I don’t have erectile dysfunction,” he insisted, a little distraught at not knowing what manner of weirdness was about to happen to him.

“Surely, when something good is offered, you don’t reject it. You might think it’s nonsense now, but you’ll see it isn’t. Why do we have to keep on having this conversation every time something new is introduced to you?” she asked, her voice both pleading and tired. She pushed a lock of hair from her face in frustration and half-glared at him, her eyes saying, “Why are you being so difficult? It’s your freedom I’m fighting for here.” Kenneth looked at her, feeling a little ashamed. He knew she wasn’t completely right about certain things, but he was certain of having become less and less afraid of life with every session. The problem of his impending marriage to Lynette was also becoming clearer to him. He didn’t need her any more, not her constant worry about having children or her indelible hold on his financial security. Alright, she had money, not that much, and he didn’t.

Fuck it. He shot down half a Spiegelau glass of whisky on the rocks, took the pill and went to the table.

Vanessa watched as a young boy and girl came to remove his clothing.

She could see how insecure he still was about his body, and rightly so, she thought. The girl pulled his pants down unfeelingly and Vanessa felt pity at how soft he was around the stomach, how the hair grew in patches just above his crotch. He had an awful slouch and slightly sallow skin on the areas he never allowed to see the sun.

Worse, Vanessa thought, he was the only one in this whole damn place that looked truly naked, in the saddest sense of the word, when he had his clothes off. He wanted to be like the other men and women, to be like her. Wrap himself up in a Calvin Klein body, burnish that body with some artificial bronzing, be moulded like a Tinseltown star in the gym. He needed a good diet and a workout every so often, but there was something raw in his soft, unpolished body that drew Vanessa to him. His body both fascinated and repulsed her.

She told him to lie on the table, and uncertainly, but with utmost resignation, he did. He lay there and said nothing, even though he felt slightly ridiculous, the sensation of ridicule increasing as Vanessa strapped him onto the table with thick leather belts, securing his calves and his shoulders to the cold metal slab. By now, the pill’s contents were starting to course through his blood, and he had an erection as massive as any he had ever had in his life and felt certain he was going to have a heart attack.

He expected Vanessa to leave him in a moment, like she always did after she’d made sure he wasn’t going anywhere, and for another girl to take over.

But this time, she leaned over him, her face so close he could feel her breath on his cheek. She smiled and asked, “So, are you any different now?”

“I don’t get what you mean.”

“Now. From then. Two weeks ago.”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I mean, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Liar,” she said, her voice laden with malice as she climbed over him and hitched up the bottom third of her dress. “You do not debase my efforts just like that by being an idiot. Think. It’s been different, hasn’t it?

You’d have come in your pants two weeks ago if I did this to you,” she said, lowering herself over him. Her perfume was strong and it made him dizzy, and as unlikely as it was, he got even harder.

She pulled out a slender knife hidden in her garter and pressed the blunt edge against his chest. She smiled when he cringed and looked up at her, afraid. She lowered herself onto him, her labia against his erection, and he felt just what she was like for the first time. His hardness pressed against her but wouldn’t go in, he was slightly too big. He felt embarrassed. He knew he would come soon, too soon for Vanessa’s liking, and he would feel so ashamed. It was absurd, everything was. He wasn’t like one of them; all these people had monstrous egos, and rightly so. He was a little turd their priestess had taken a fancy to, and that was all he would ever be in this place.

But being Lynette’s little turd would be worse, he reminded himself, and closed his eyes, trying to think about other things so he wouldn’t come.

He felt her press herself against him, trying to push his erection in and in, but she remained closed. She pushed harder, he felt uncomfortable, she was too dry. But she didn’t care, forcing herself hard onto him. She was wet inside, and he went in easily the moment she’d forced herself open.

Her crotch slammed painfully against his, and she gasped with satisfaction.

Looking at her under half-closed lids, he saw her pull the knife away from his chest and place it slowly, sharp edge down, against the area just above his collar bone.

“Don’t move,” she said. “It will hurt.”

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.