by Julia Kent
The man bowed and then his part was over. The woman was not released, but shifted to the side, still in her suspension. Two boys tugged additional hooks along the pipe. Apparently there would be more than one girl bound now.
A third man came out on stage, bowed, and led a figure encased completely in black onto the stage. She had no face or hands or any visible feature, but the shiny fabric clung to her like an outer layer of skin. This man did not caress or comfort his submissive, but quickly bound her body in neon yellow ropes. As he worked on her, the Madam came out on stage. Syria held her breath as the woman bowed in her brilliant blue kimono, then stepped aside as Kana led Mia onto the stage in her gold robe.
She seemed so small and vulnerable up there. The man with the black figure finished his work, suspending the girl high above the stage and setting her into a slow rotation.
Mia glanced at her, then turned back to the Madam, who nodded at her. Mia slowly bent backward, the slippery robe cascading along her form as her hands reached the floor behind her. Madam knelt, tying a quick bind around one ankle.
Mia walked her hands closer to her feet with a contortionist’s practiced ease until she was tight in a circle, the robe flowing along her body. Madam tied the bound ankle to Mia’s wrist and tugged on the fabric until it covered Mia’s face to form a loop. She was no longer a woman, but a circle of gold.
Then men straightened in their chairs, leaning in as they watched. Syria surged with pride for her friend, creating something so beautiful and challenging.
Now Madam untied the gold robe and jerked it free, letting the shimmering fabric flutter the ground. The tension grew again as the men took in Mia’s body in its tight circle, her breasts floating near the floor, her hips high. Madam swiftly created a sturdy corselet around Mia’s waist, distributing her weight across several loops. With only two simple areas of binding, she attached the ropes to the metal loop and raised Mia up.
The men pressed forward in their seats. Now that Mia was aloft in her tight ring, Madam pressed her further, taking the free leg and tying it up and away from the other. Syria slid to the edge of her chair, anxious, worried that Mia might be in pain. Her face showed only calmness, but a small tremor in her arm did not go unnoticed by Madam. She adjusted a cinch and pressed her hands along Mia’s body, much like she had during their lesson. Mia relaxed into her position, a near perfect ring of skin, one leg gracefully outstretched. Madam took the free arm and stretched it out to balance the form.
Oh, to have her camera. Syria glanced back at the attendant’s stand, where a line of coats were hanging. Her bag was lying on the counter. The boy who had taken it from Kana was not there.
Syria stood slowly, back against the wall, easing toward the stand. The bag was in a good position. All she needed was to press the proper spot, and she could capture this amazing scene, three women in suspension, Mia in the middle.
She’d reached the counter when Madam herself glanced out and saw her. Something in her expression made the men turn around. Syria tried to lean nonchalantly on the counter but it was not fixed to the floor and shifted backward with a squeal.
Everyone was watching. A coil of rope sat on the end of the counter, and not knowing anything else to try, she picked it up and began tying a coin knot. The men turned back around, and Madam bowed to show her work was complete. The men began to stand and approach the women, keeping a respectful distance to admire the displays.
Syria set the coin knot down, still considering bumping the bag to take a shot. But one of the men walked back to her rather than to the stage. “Are you studying the art?”
He wore a black suit, no tie. His dark hair was impeccably trimmed above a classically handsome face.
Syria remembered the instruction not to speak and simply nodded.
The man fingered the coin knot. “Will you make another?”
Syria untied the ropes and began again. The knot was both intricate and simple. Only four steps, but every loop had to be in place and each movement needed its specific order, angle and tension, or the two overlapping coins would not appear. She held up the finished work and he nodded appreciatively.
Syria’s anxiety increased as they stood together. She had no way to explain her position there without speaking, and no telling what he might be assuming about her.
“I can only assume you came with Madam’s new submissive,” he continued. “Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Erik Andrada. I am visiting from the Philippines.” He held out his arm. “Might I escort you to the stage to admire the art?”
She nodded and took his arm. From the corner of her eye, she saw Kana rush into the back of the room, see her, and stop. Whatever Syria was doing, it was probably the wrong thing.
The Madam bowed as they approached but her lips were a thin line of displeasure. Mia hung only a few feet away. Syria wanted to ask her if she was comfortable, but didn’t want to make matters worse by speaking. Several of the men had returned to their chairs and now spoke amiably to each other, smoking and drinking.
Syria longed to touch Mia, make some small contact to reassure her. But her eyes were closed, perhaps in concentration, maybe to manage her position.
Erik pressed lightly on Mia’s thigh, continuing the slow turn. Mia flinched lightly, but Syria knew that movement, not of pain, but a state of high sensitivity, the one that makes every touch feel like a jolt. Syria throbbed again. She’d never felt so much like an arrow in a bow, stretched taut and ready to spring. Tyson had encouraged her to be Mia’s lover too, and seeing her vulnerable like this was more stirring than anything they had done together.
The man who had tied the blond woman brought over a lit candle, running it along Mia’s calf. Now Mia moaned and the sexual tension in the room ratcheted up a notch.
The girls from the makeup room came out, wearing sheer gauze that hid little of their tight, lithe bodies. A few of the men tapped on their tables and the girls scattered among them. The music bled through it all, lyrical and melancholy, beautiful and haunting. The candle man dripped the scarlet wax along Mia’s leg and now Syria could barely stand it so she reached out to touch her, smoothing the still-soft color along her skin.
A gong sounded from somewhere, and the man with the candle returned to his submissive. All three girls were lowered, and Erik returned to the audience. Syria stayed near, not caring anymore if she was breaking tradition, wanting to be close to her friend. Madam removed the rope carefully, letting Mia down slowly. All the submissives groaned in their exhales, relief from the bindings.
The room gradually grew in sound as the girls sat among the men in the audience, and the music swelled. Syria rubbed her own hands along the red marks on Mia, who shuddered again and again, but still kept her eyes closed. Syria remembered how limp and groggy Mia had been after Madam had come to her house, and wondered how to handle her here on the hard stage. The gold robe still lay on the floor and Syria snatched at it, prepared to cover her friend. But Mia opened her eyes, piercing Syria with need, and this brought Syria over the edge, forgetting she was on a stage, that strange men sat only a few feet away, and that the Madam presided over them like a statue, disapproving and stern.
Mia took Syria’s hand and laid it on her breast, and Syria tweaked the nipple. Mia’s hips lurched upward. Syria kneeled between her legs and used her other hand to stroke the marks on her belly, soothing the pain away. The stage emptied as she worked over Mia and now they were the focus of the room, although she could see the gentle gyrations of the lithe girls on laps, large dark hands clasping pale bodies.
Syria shut all that out and focused on Mia, who sat up and untied Syria’s halter. The gossamer fabric fluttered away. Syria lay fully on Mia now, back to the familiar, her friend and lover. She kissed the red marks, and her tongue could feel the groove of the indentions. “My Mia,” she whispered on her skin.
But Mia was impatient and thrust against her. Syria moved downward, tongue reaching her folds, hot and slick. And Mia bucked upward instant
ly, crying out, and the music came down to a soft undertone so the room could hear her.
The attention was intoxicating and Syria plunged in, flicking her tongue on Mia’s clit, her hands bracing Mia’s body to keep her in place. Mia required little contact at all and rose almost instantly into an orgasm, the muscles tightening and clenching. She hadn’t even subsided completely when Mia lurched forward, switching their positions, mouth hot on Syria’s nipple.
Mia’s arms were weak and began to tremble as she tried to work. The man who had used the candles approached and slid a soft length of silk along her rib cage and her hips, quickly tying a simple cradling suspension that took her weight off, looping it through the dangling hook above.
Mia relaxed and now swung freely over Syria, nipping at her skin, and tugging on the skirt.
Am I really doing this? Syria lost her concentration on the moment and realized where she was, lying on a stage, her clothes coming off. Two girls arrived and helped Mia remove Syria’s boots, and the skirt. Mia pulled down the panties and plunged fingers inside. Her knees still touched the floor, only her upper body suspended, and she scooted backward. The man lowered her silks enough that her lips could encircle Syria’s belly button and now they were lost again, forgetting the audience, only the rhythm of the fingers and mouths, the bodies that fit together with familiarity.
Mia seemed to be recovering and worked downward, her mouth fitting over Syria’s mound, sucking lightly on the clit. Syria’s cry seemed to wake the audience and the man with the candle, who had hovered closely, began to run his hands along Mia’s back. He whispered something in her ear and Mia lifted her head and nodded. Even as Mia returned to Syria, the man moved behind her, stroking Mia’s hips and bending over her back.
God, he was joining in. Syria reached over her head for something to hold on to and was immediately given a spreader bar. Madam quickly tied her wrists to it and the effect was intoxicating, the helplessness adding to both her fear and her excitement. Mia worked her carefully, both fingers and mouth. Syria saw the other man over Mia’s shoulder, hands on her back, and he must have entered her because Mia cried out against Syria’s skin. The three of them rocked together and the music rose again, filling the space with a ghostly melody.
Smoke from the men’s cigarettes formed small spirals. The lithe girls moved from one man to another, kissing, sucking, kneeling, bending over to be entered. Syria was consumed with the vision of the men and the girls, Mia between her legs, the heat wafting from the whirring machines, and Madam looking down, no longer disapproving, but content, her eyes alight on the scene.
The man behind Mia shuddered, clutching at her waist. Another one approached and Mia nodded again. The risk, the craziness. How could she do it?
Mia sensed her distraction and worked harder, plumbing all her knowledge to hit Syria’s sensitive spots, and now the cascades came over her, pleasure and light, the world blurring. She tightened into the orgasm, her voice louder than the flutes and the eerie strings, so much more outwardly passionate than the silent men and their slender waifs.
The sparks showered into light and came down. Syria settled onto the floor, feeling each grain of the hardwood planks. Mia ran her hands up and down her belly, smoothing her skin, rocking with the push of the new man behind her.
A third man approached, kneeling by Syria, and she felt panicked. She wouldn’t! Couldn’t! Mia was one thing, but there was Tyson!
The man unzipped his pants, leaning near Syria’s face. With Mia on her and the spreader bar immobilizing her hands, she was helpless. A small cry escaped and Mia must have felt it as she looked up and reached for the man, bringing him closer to her until his stiffening cock was close enough, and Mia drew him into her mouth.
Syria laid her head back, relieved, but what if others came after her? The second man behind Mia finished and stepped away. Mia pulled away from the man’s cock and looked behind her. He moved around to finish the job inside her.
Syria watched him, his hands squeezing Mia’s breasts. They moved together, and Mia dropped her forehead to Syria’s belly, letting the silks hold her weight as the man’s movements expanded and rocked the three of them, as though they were a pendulum marking each passing minute.
When he stepped away, the candle man released the silks, slowly lowering Mia to lie flat on Syria’s body. It seemed over now, and Syria relaxed. They’d gotten through it.
She caressed her friend, the still-visible marks on her back. The men who had serviced her stayed near, and now all their hands worked over Mia, massaging, caressing. All their skin became one, and Syria felt them on her as well, grazing her gently, following the curves of her body. Something hot dripped along her skin and she saw the candle branding them all, blood-red wax falling on her shoulder, one man’s wrist, Mia’s back, and the other man’s arm.
She couldn’t take the photograph but she seared the image of them in her mind, limbs, clothes, naked skin, and red wax, surrounded by ropes, ghost-like wraiths, and sex.
She had survived.
2: Aftermath
They slept together a while, Syria and Mia, on the plush chaise in the dressing room. The attendants rubbed balm into Mia’s skin then covered them both in furry blankets.
The music still swelled outside the door and Syria knew the festivities went on. Whiffs of cooking meat and other luscious scents occasionally penetrated the walls. Syria laid her head back on Mia’s chest to wait.
Sometime later, the door opened, and Madam entered the room. Syria watched her cross before them and pushed against Mia, causing her to stir.
Madam was patient and waited for them both to fully wake. Mia sat up and they huddled close, ready, Syria guessed, to accept their ejection from the exhibition, or whatever might happen.
“You did well, submissive,” Madam said formally, tall and broad in the Sapphire robes, like a life-sized gem. “No one expected a public display, but it was thoroughly enjoyed by the audience, and the monetary contributions following your act will ensure the exhibitions continue for some time.” She passed them each a jade silk purse. “Gifts for you. You are invited back, should you want to come. You know how to find me.”
She moved to leave, but Syria held out her hand. “Madam, I would still love to learn more ties.”
Madam bowed. “You know how to find me.”
When she left the room, Mia jumped up. “This was nuts! Did I really basically gangbang on a stage?” She whirled in a circle, clasping the blanket to her. “Holy cow!” She opened the jade purse. “Gold coins? What?” She dumped them in her hand. “What a strange thing!”
She plopped back on the chaise. “I’ve done some crazy shit in my life, but this just about beats all. Did you see those girls having sex with all the men? What the hell?”
Syria reached for her clothes, piled neatly on a table by the chaise. “I know. This wasn’t what I expected at all.”
“It’s like a sex club, but with bondage, the good kind.” She bit the gold coin. “Ouch. Why do pirates do that?”
Syria laughed. “The softer the gold, the more pure it is.”
“Huh. I should have known that.” She held the coin up. “Teeth marks. That’s a good sign?”
“I’m guessing so.”
“Crazy.”
Syria looked around for her bag, but it wasn’t with her clothes. “I guess I’ll have to go back out there for my purse.” She wrapped the coat around her. “I think we’ve been dismissed.”
Mia rubbed her butt, then pulled the boy shorts on. “Yeah, I think I’ve had enough for one day.”
Syria tied her belt. “I was surprised you said yes. You have no idea who those guys are.”
Mia shrugged. “Risk is part of the job description. It seemed like an amazing thing to experience.”
“It was.” Syria opened the door a crack. “I think things are winding down. I don’t hear any music.”
“You want me to go with you? I just have to pull myself together.” Mia looked in the mirror an
d grimaced. “I look like a used-up whore.”
Syria laughed. “Your makeup is a little smudged.”
“Ha. I’m a poster child for Pond’s cream.”
“I’ll be all right. Let me find my bag and I’ll be back.” Syria opened the door and slipped into the hall. Her livelihood was in that bag. She hoped no one had peeked inside or worse, set it too sharply on the floor.
She tiptoed down the hall. All the doors were still closed. The lights were more dim than they had been when she’d come through with Kana. Where was everybody?
In the main hall, the chairs were still in place, but the men were gone, along with the white gauze girls. A couple stage lights lit the space.
Her bag was still on the counter. She sighed with relief. As she headed for it, Erik and one of the men who’d been with Mia on stage emerged from the dark. An attendant rose from behind the counter to hand them their coats.
“Oh!” Syria stepped back. “I just came for my bag.”
The attendant lifted it, but it had listed sideways, and a sheaf of Syria’s business cards fell from an outer pocket. She picked up the bag and tried to scoop up the cards, but several dropped to the floor.
“Allow me.” Erik bent to retrieve the errant cards, examining one. “Syria McMillan. You’re a photographer?” He flipped over the image. “Boudoir?”
Oh boy. “I am.” Syria wasn’t sure if she should ask for the cards back, or offer him one. They would know who she was. This new life she’d been leading, which felt like a private secret with her and Tyson and Mia, now seemed to be leaking out. Her stomach quivered, imagining what might happen if she became known for this, if everyone who called her for photos thought she’d have sex with them.
But Erik handed her the stack back. “Nice work. And nice meeting you.” He bowed to her, and she awkwardly bowed back. He was Filipino, not Japanese, but it was a nice tradition. She wished more people bowed.
The other man also bowed and the two of them passed her to exit down a different corridor. The real one, Syria surmised, not one for the help.