Before I could protest, he fell gracefully to her knees, her mouth over my cock. Her tongue flicked over the head and then he took the whole length into her mouth. I could feel her hair brushing my bare chest as his head fell lightly against my stomach, her cheek moving up and down against the tender flesh of my lower abdomen. I lifted my hips to thrust the full length of my member down her throat and he took it hungrily into her willing mouth. I started to press her head hard over my throbbing sex as I felt an orgasm filling every nerve of my body. I looked down to see my own hands pushing her hard, then harder over me, and I could feel the low masculine sound of his pleasure as he tasted me. She was touching her own cock and turned her body so that I might see what I was engaged with. Suddenly my mistress appeared from the dark, her eyelids drooping sensuously, obviously under the spell of the magical pipe.
The corners of my mistress’s mouth turned up in a drugged smile as she saw the woman from behind, her dark-haired head moving languorously up and down against my belly. I opened my mouth to explain, then thought better of it. The pleasurable sensations running through my body were also making it impossible for me to utter intelligible words. My mistress moved towards me. In the hazy light she looked fantastically gorgeous. She came up beside me and began to kiss me passionately on the mouth as the Gypsy he/she continued to suck my cock. I pulled my mistress’s face away from mine and said to her in a commanding voice, “Get under him. Let him have you.”
“Who, my darling, who?” she answered, intoxicated and compliant.
“Her,” I said, and pushed my lover towards the dark woman, who stroked her male member slowly as he licked my own member. She gasped and tried to move away.
“No,” she said quietly, “no… I—”
I put my lips over her mouth and kissed her. Then I took her lower lip between my teeth and I bit until I drew blood as I pressed her languid body downward. I had to see this sight, two beautiful women together, one of them penetrating the other. I wanted to watch my mistress take her inside herself, I wanted to watch their breasts touch.
“Do it,” I moaned and then let myself fall over into the blinding sensuality that had been threatening to overcome me. I pushed her down to the floor and she seemed to spill to the ground in her soft skin, her opium flesh, and her champagne-coloured dress.
The Gypsy moved magically when he saw my mistress presented to him, there at my feet. Through the dazed comfort of the aftereffects of my pleasure, I watched my mistress struggle hopelessly for a moment under his feminine touch. He stroked her breasts with his, she fell upon my mistress, her dark hair spilling like wine, her narrow hips coming down hard upon my mistress, lifting her dress as he licked her nipples, the movement of his narrow hips flowering, slightly more feminine finally than masculine as she pushed her cock inside my mistress. And when my mistress lifted her body to greet the sensation, I let my head fall back. I closed my eyes and let the violent nausea overtake my senses. The sickness I was feeling was only a symptom of what I was coming to know as my true being. I was sick and delighted with the monster I was discovering within, the hideous malformed personality that had lain dormant, waiting for the opportunity to arise and overtake the superficial in my soul. The bestial. That is what I truly am. It took an evening at L’Enfer to allow for the inevitable release.
I heard my mistress crying out. It was a strange sound of grudging pleasure mingled with humiliation and rage. It was a sound that satisfied me. I felt more alert. I leaned towards the ground to find my mistress’s lips and chin covered with what was presumably my sperm. The freakish man/woman heaved into her one last time, releasing a masculine groan of sexual release. Then the creature’s cry turned to a roar of frustration, a keening sound of anger. She lifted herself away from my mistress and disappeared into the dark. My lover fell to one side, rolling slightly back and forth, her body not quite recovered from the trauma of such a pleasure. I realized that the dark-haired creature most probably took no real pleasure in possessing my mistress, but had done it for my pleasure. For when the thing had looked up towards me as he arched her back, we met eyes, and the calculated cruelty she found there was most telling, I am sure. She had therefore run. He was a wise woman, that poor forgotten creature. He was a very lucky girl. If she had stayed, I am afraid of what I would have done to him…
At last my lover opened her eyes and I found that the opium had not worn off in the least, yet a new expression was clinging to the sides of her mouth. It was a confused turn of her lips and I realized that the effects of the opium and the dark-haired creature that had possessed my lover were a trifle horrifying. I laughed as she half-stood and fell into my arms. Many eyes were looking upon us with great appreciation. I turned to find that the mysterious Gypsy had vanished into the opium darkness, leaving my lover to our private kisses. I pretended to give her comfort. But inwardly I laughed, and my hysterics, had they had a colour, would have been scarlet and shameless. I stroked my lover’s hair. My affection for her had turned to hate, to resentment. I kissed her neck and put my arms around the fragility of her body. Again I was consumed with thoughts of the simplicity of murder.
My mistress was overcome with the seductive languor that opium induces, and she rested in my arms as I ordered a bottle of champagne. She fell in and out of her opium stupor, made worse by the champagne that I plied her with. She lay her cheek against the tabletop and I noticed how lovely she looked, her lips swollen from my kisses, her eyes mellowed and half-aware of the nightmare she had stepped into unknowingly. The nightmare she had in fact paid for.
After some time, the little orchestra began to play a low soulful tune. The guests at the tables readied themselves to watch the show. Slowly all light, aside from the candles on the tables, was doused. The lamps at the foot of the stage were lit, and at long last the curtain that surrounded the little stage in the centre of the club began to part.
The tableau was fantastic.
In the centre of the stage was an extraordinarily large chair. The back of it rose up at least six feet. Seated on it was a woman whose face was hidden by a black leather mask similar to the one the doorman had been wearing. In this instance, the only part of her face that was exposed was her mouth, a hole showing her lips painted bright red. Her hands were held with leather thongs threaded over her head and pinioned to an iron eyebolt in the centre of the back of the chair. Her legs were also bound, her sex shaved and widely exposed, her ankles tied to the front legs of this throne of sorts. The stage-lights caught a golden flash from between her legs and I realized that this woman wore rings of gold pierced through her labia, just as the Japanese girl had. A thorny shiver of recognition, of memory, rasped through my body. I studied the little chain that ran through the rings on the outer lips of her sex and then encircled her waist.
There was nothing more on the stage. Except a sleek black panther. The magnificent beast lounged alongside the girl’s chair, its black fur gleaming in the theatrical lighting. It was an extraordinary animal. It lay with its mouth open, panting. It was chained to the massive arms of the chair, and, though the chain kept the animal at a safe distance from the audience, the beast was not going to be kept from the girl. The tension in the air matched my mood. It was a murderous perfume and every nerve of my body waited. I wanted to watch that creature tear into the flesh of that young girl. I wanted to put my hands round my lover’s throat. I wanted to hear screams of shock mingled with my own delighted cries.