Chapter 122 The House of Madam Wong
After entrusting Erika to the tender mercies of General Wang, the baron had
returned to the embassy in good spirits. At just about the time Qieu had
collapsed on the mat in Ju's humble living room, he and his dinner guest had
begun to dine on prawns cooked in the Hunan style, fried in peanut oil and then
seasoned with ginger, scallions, and peppers. One of the compensations of life
in China, a land half a world away from his home, was the splendid cuisine, or
rather cuisines. Peking, Shanghai, Hunan, Canton, Szechuan - each style of
cookery was a match for the finest cuisines of Europe.
The dinner with the attache had gone well, and afterward they had enjoyed
cigars and brandy in his private office, the one which he had used for his
assignations with Ju. At one point, when his guest left the room for a moment
to relieve himself, the baron took a long, leisurely puff at his pungent cigar
and was reminded of how his father's friend, Reinhard von Eilbach, had used a
very similar cigar on the lovely body of his faithless mistress, Leonie Valois
so many years ago. {Chapter 116}
Gutmayer closed his eyes and pictured the naked body of Erika Weiss
gagged and spread-eagled across his desk, her wrists and ankles bound to its
four legs, her limbs straining, her magnificent, sweat-sheened breasts heaving
furiously. He felt a massive erection swelling in his trousers as he imagined
his cigar blazing an irregular trail from the northern edge of Erika's blonde
pubic fringe, across the exquisite depression of her navel, upward to the valley
between her opulent breasts. He could almost see Erika's pale body shuddering
in agony each time the cigar touched her bare flesh as he ...
"Your Excellency?"
Opening his eyes, Hans von Gutmayer's body jerked upright, wondering how
long the attache had been standing there. As he gathered himself, he was
greatly relieved to find that there were no blonde goddesses lashed to his desk.
After the two men finished their cigars and a second glass of brandy, the
baron bid his guest good night and sent for Ju, anxious to enact the fantasy he
had conceived during his return from the harbor.
It was only some minutes later, and after arranging the series of mirrors
that he had envisioned during the carriage ride {Chapter 117} that he learned
that Ju had left for the day. Gutmayer began to regret the fact that he had
sent Schumacher along with Dr Kauffmann to make sure that the Doctor did not
return before he had taken Erika to the Yangtze Dragon. If the officious
Schumacher had been on duty, Ju would not have left, or if she had, at least he
would have been informed hours earlier.
He glanced at the beautiful Neuchatel clock on the wall at his left. Well,
at least the night was young ...
********
The baron strode aggressively into the foyer of the House of Madame Wong,
an hour later, determined to satisfy his cravings. He had just ordered an
aquavit at the well-stocked bar when the hostess of the exotic brothel sidled up
to him and pressed her warm thigh against his own.
"How may we please the baron tonight?" Madame Wong murmured breathily as
her long fingernails grazed a path down his shoulder. A slender,
well-preserved woman in her forties, Wong wore a jade green dress whose color
matched precisely that of the costly earrings that seemed to drip from her
beautifully-shaped ears. It was with some admiration that Gutmayer eyed her
trim body, her piercingly dark eyes and the elegant lines of her aristocratic
face, which was wreathed in the smoke that curled lazily upward from a long
cigarette holder.
But Seu-Lin Wong was no aristocrat. The stories of how the Dragon Lady -
an epithet that none dared to use to her face -- had climbed to the top of her
profession were legend. She was said to have begun life as a common
fifteen-year old prostitute, selling herself to sailors and shopkeepers for
enough money to buy tea and rice. But she had mastered her craft as few women
in China ever had. Tales abounded of how, in her youth, she had used every
muscle in her body, every fiber of her being, and every subtlety of the erotic
arts to transport her clients to unheard of pinnacles of pleasure. Over a
period of time she had managed to claw her way into the bed-chambers of some of
the richest and most powerful men in China, and at one point some years earlier
she had been the concubine of none other than Richard Chan himself. But Chan's
fondness for fresher, younger flowers had eventually led him to sample the buds
in other gardens. Being very far from a fool, Seu-Lin Wong had stepped aside
gracefully, and had remained something of a business partner of the Lord of the
Black Pagoda. Confident of her business acumen, Chan had set her up in the
sumptuous bordello which was synonymous with illicit pleasures from the shores
of the Persian Gulf to the banks of the Inland Sea.
Gutmayer turned toward the Dragon Lady, who had greeted him more warmly
tonight than she had on his most recent visits. Had the ultra-efficient General
Wang settled his debts with her already, he wondered.
"Guten abend, Madame Wong. Is the Newgate available this evening?" The
Newgate, named for the notorious British prison, was the forbidding, but
splendidly equipped punishment room of the House of Madame Wong. Each of the
Madame's coterie of lovelies was made available to a client or two who enjoyed -
and more importantly could afford - the dark pleasures of the Newgate about once
a fortnight, after which she would typically have a few days off to recover from
any welts and bruises inflicted by over-zealous patrons. All of the girls, of
course, were also subject to discipline in the Newgate for violation of any of
the House rules - first among which was the capitalistic proviso that the
customer is always right. Madame Wong's House of Pleasure was the most
expensive of its kind in Asia because her girls were not permitted to allow any
wish, any craving, to go unsatisfied. The penalty for failure to please the
customer was a stern private session in Newgate, or, for repeat offenders, a
session at the Black Pagoda -- under whose dark aegis Madame Wong was permitted
to operate -- such as Peony had experienced. {Chapter 10}
Madame Wong pursed her lips into a little frown as she stroked the baron's
thigh. "I am sorry, Herr Baron. Fate has dealt Fatima the Newgate card
tonight, and two Englishmen reserved her ... services ... some time ago.
Perhaps you would care to ... observe?"
Gutmayer regarded her cautiously. He had run up exorbitant bills here and
elsewhere in Shanghai for consenting to pleasures both erotic and mundane
without asking their price.
The Dragon Lady alertly sensed his discomfiture. "As my guest, of course,
baron - for one minute. After that ... we shall see."
"Very well!" Gutmayer nodded curtly, and followed as the elegant Asian
woman led him down a familiar corridor, her trim, rounded buttocks describing
sensuous circles under her whisper-thin qipao, the enticingly high-slit skirt
which the Manchus, upon coming to China, had called cheong-sams. "I regret to
say that you are too late to see Fatima dance. Do you remember George Chan,
Herr Baron?"
When the Baron nodded his head cautiously, 'Yes,' Madame Wong continued.
"Chan told me once that Fatima was the only dancer he had ever known who had no
need of music -- that the vibrations of her body provided its own rhythm, its
own sensuality, in a way that transcended music as we know it. An elegant way
of putting it, was it not?"
Gutmayer nodded politely, only half-listening. At the moment he couldn't
have been less interested in George Chan's aesthetic musings. The twosome were
still several strides from the massive door that guarded the entrance to Newgate
-- and reminded him of an entrance to a medieval European dungeon -- when the
Baron heard the unmistakable report of leather on female flesh.
A moment later he heard the voice of a young woman cry out weakly, in
heavily accented English, "Oowwwwhhh ...s-sixteen....Th - thank you, master.
May I have another?"
"To be sure, you little tart! You shall have as many as you like! I told
you the strap would teach her the Queen's English, Binky!"
By now the Baron and Madame Wong were standing just outside of the
formidable looking door. But it was not the handle of the door toward which the
Madame extended a slender hand. She reached instead for a tiny lever that
protruded almost imperceptibly from the wall of the corridor.
The whore-mistress pressed the lever and a small panel opened in the wall.
Stepping to one side, Madame Wong motioned for the baron to come forward.
He did so, peering through the hidden window into the dungeon-like room,
trying to acclimate his eyes to the dimness. He stepped back and rubbed them and
then peered in again.
A well-dressed, pudgy, middle-aged Englishman was seated in a massive
chair, at right angles to the baron's vantage point. Directly in front of the
chair a strikingly beautiful Arabic-looking girl that Gutmayer did not remember
having seen before, was bent at the waist over a narrow wooden railing. Her
shapely body was nude save for the golden chains that dangled from her neck and
hugged her slim waist and the golden bangles that encircled her wrists and
ankles. Her arms were stretched upwards behind her, and fettered with
shoulder-wrenching tightness to an overhead bar. Behind her, a tall,
athletic-looking young man in evening clothes was running a thick leather strap
over Fatima's superbly proffered buttocks.
It took the baron a moment to realize that until she had counted out the
buttock-searing blow which she had just received, Fatima's mouth had been
wrapped around the seated man's thick, saliva-wet phallus. The flickering
torchlight in the dungeon gave an eerie glow to a pair of fine golden wires that
had been wound tightly around the bases of Fatima's aroused nipples before being
stretched agonizingly taut and securely affixed to the spreader-bar that
imprisoned her ankles.
"Give her another, lad!" the heavy-set Englishman grunted, as he grabbed a
handful of Fatima's silky hair and pulled her warm mouth back down onto his
twitching cock. "I say, old boy -- It's devilish bad luck that you can't get a
good look at the way her tits jump when she gets a taste of the leather!"
"The view from here is decidedly pleasing as well, I must say, Binky," the
young man muttered enthusiastically, as his left arm drew the strap back for
another strike at Fatima's temptingly upraised bottom-globes.
The baron's heart was pounding and his manhood was stiff with anticipation
when a scarlet-tipped finger reached out and closed the panel, blocking the
exciting scene from his vision.
"Your minute is up, Herr Baron," Madame Wong advised him Would you
care to see more? The fat one is both crude and cruel, and the girls despise
him. But he pays very, very well - and he is not without ... imagination. He
never fails to entertain those who choose to watch his exploits -- without his
knowledge, of course."
WHAPPP!!! The unseen explosive impact of the strap on Fatima's bare
buttocks in the adjoining room caused the baron's body to tense with erotic
excitement while Madame Wong waited for his response.
"Agh ...agh ... ahhh," he heard Fatima choke behind the massive door before
she was able to muster up the strength to mutter. "Seventeen ... ohh ... Allah
be merciful ... thank you, sir. May I have another?"
Madame Wong had been clever. Newgate had been constructed so that the
walls, while seemingly impenetrable, actually allowed sound to pass through
rather easily - at least to the special guests permitted in that dark corridor.
The faint cries of beautiful women were tantalizing aperitifs to the expensive
main menu from which her guests could select their own entrees.
The baron was torn; he wanted to watch the punishment session being
conducted by the two Englishmen, to see the girl's shoulders strain against her
metal shackles, to see her lovely derriere dance under the strap, to see the
tears of agony form in her brown eyes as each blow caused her body to surge
upward slightly, tightening the excruciating grip of the wires on her delicate
nipples. But he could almost visualize Madame Wong mentally running her slender
fingers over an abacus as she totaled up the expense of the evening. Perhaps it
would be best to limit his ...
"I have another proposal for you, Baron," Madame Wong interrupted his train
of thought, purring in a seductive voice. "Tonight I have a late cancellation,
and Leana and Mahlua, the Ceylonese sisters, are available. Would you like to
have them? They prefer to ... perform ... together and even my most
discriminating clients find them almost unendurably stimulating. What do you
say?" Then she leaned closer and whispered a price in his ear.
The Prussian gulped soundlessly. "For the entire night?"
"Surely you must be joking, Herr Baron," Wong answered him with a brittle
smile. "I am not running a charity here. For an hour. No, wait," she paused and
pursed her lips as if making some abstruse mental calculations before continuing
with a warm smile. "Baron, because you are such a treasured client, I will
offer them to you ...only to you ... for ninety minutes at that same rate." She
eyed him carefully. "These sweet young sisters are among the few remaining Rodi
people of Ceylon, Baron, the descendants of ancient kings whose practice of
human sacrifice left their children and their children's children despised by
many in their own country."
Madame Wong's suggestive voice smoothly made the transition from tour
guide to seductress "Many have said that the Rodiya women are the most
beautiful of South Asia, Baron. They have hair that glistens in the tropical
sunlight and skin so soft that they seem to melt into their lovers' arms. And
Leana and Mahlua are the most beautiful of the Rodiya. I have had them brought
to Shanghai," Madame Wong purred as she softly stroked the baron's arm, "to
please men such as you. Have you seen them?"
The baron's feverish imagination had seized his tongue so that he could
hardly speak. He swallowed with difficulty and nodded affirmatively. He had
indeed seen the Ceylonese beauties. On his last visit but one to the House of
Pleasure, the two sisters had entertained a select audience of connoisseurs in a
tiny theater at the rear of the bordello. They had begun by taking the stage
clad only in matching, slit-to-the-waist aqua sarongs that emphasized the lovely
nut-brown hue of their bare legs.
The stage had been covered with a few inches of powdery sand, while behind
a scrim backdrop tall palm trees seemed to cast long, swaying shadows across a
beach that seemed to sparkle in the pale moonlight. From somewhere in the
darkness behind the stage an unseen musician tapped away on a distance drum,
while the Rodiyan beauties danced on their makeshift beach. They faced each
other, the slit-side of their sarongs turned toward the audience, their hips
undulating sensuously to a rhythm as old as time.
Although their movements matched almost perfectly, Gutmayer sensed a
strange chemistry between them. Mahlua the younger, seemed to be almost in a
trance. Her physical being seemed to draw strength from her sister's flashing
eyes, and to draw erotic energy from the sparks emanating from Leana's superb
body, thus allowing her to mimic her sister's abandoned gyrations even as her
mind and spirit were transported far away, perhaps to the secluded beach that
had provided the inspiration for their stagecraft.
At first the two girls danced with their hands at their sides, their
feminine fists opening and closing in time with the beat of the drum in a manner
that bespoke the sexual tension in the room. Suddenly, in unison, their hands
went flat against their legs and then their extended fingers gracefully slid up
their supple thighs, widening the part in the sarong until those in the front
row were nearly certain that they had caught a glimpse of a few stray wisps of
jet-black pubic hair.
As the beat of the drum grew more insistent, the sisters drew nearer,
moving in mirror image. The baron's eyes had been on Leana, the leader of the
two, as she pressed the long slender fingers of one hand brazenly against the
flimsy fabric between her legs, while her other hand described a series of
sensuous arcs on her stomach, and then glided up over her ribs to cup her
thinly-veiled breasts. Departing from the perfect unison in which they had
heretofore danced, Leana gave her sister a sly smile and dipped her right hand
into the top of her own sarong and fondled her left breast wantonly while her
tongue slithered salaciously over her soft lips.
Then the sisters were dancing in unison once more, their hands moving
languorously over the shimmering silk that encased their rounded buttocks. As
the drummer picked up the pace, so did the urgency of their undulations as they
edged closer, closer, closer to each other until the peaks of their perfect
breasts, chiseled by the touch of their hands into silk-stabbing points of
desire, just touched. For a minute or so they danced with only the tips of
their firm nipples kissing through two thin layers of silk, and then they moved
closer still, grinding their trim bellies and bare thighs against each other
shamelessly while the audience watched enraptured, mesmerized into silence. One
could have heard a leaf fall to the ground when, after taking a step or two
backward, each of the sisters had taken a grip on the other's sarong, and, after
an exquisite pas de deux of alternating revolutions, each girl's sarong was in
the other's hands.
They had cast the pieces of pale fabric away then, and each had began to
rub the other's body with an oil so minty and fragrant that the baron, sitting
in the second of the four rows of the carnal cabaret, could almost taste it. The
Ceylonese sisters had used the oil liberally, each polishing her sister's
breasts and belly and the secret places between their soft thighs until their
bodies were gleaming, their dark nipples were dense with longing, and their
swollen, glistening clits were aquiver with desire.
They had sunk down onto the soft beach then, and after a series of erotic
embraces and long soulful kisses, their young, well-oiled bodies were speckled
deliciously with fine crystals of powdery sand. At length they had formed
themselves into an elegant soixante-neuf, licking at the tiny particles of sand
that clung to each other's genitals with soft lips and wet tongues.
While they had made love to each other, still rocking sinuously to the beat
of the drum in front of a spellbound audience, Madame Wong had sought a bidder
for their services. ''Who wishes," she had begun the auction, "to spend a night
in a tropical paradise?" The cost, on that occasion, had soon soared beyond his
means, but the baron had not forgotten, indeed he did not think that he ever
would forget, the sisters from the isle of Serendip.
WHAPPP!!! The gunshot-like sound of the leather strap falling once again
on Fatima's bare behind, jarred him from his reverie.
"Aaaaggghhh! Ei ... ei ... eighteen," Fatima whimpered piteously from
behind the heavy door. "Th- thank you, sir. May I ... have another?"
Madame Wong could almost hear the baron's heart racing at the sound of the
leather striking Fatima's rounded bottom. She lifted her cigarette to her lips
again and continued to gaze at him intently, tilting a perfect eyebrow into a
masculinity-challenging glance. "Herr Baron, have you ever known the Pleasure
of the Two Tongues? My island girls will please you as you have never been
pleased before." When the baron still paused, she ratcheted up the pressure on
his male dignity yet another notch. "Well, do you want them or not? Perhaps I
should ask a more ..."
"Yes... Yes ... I want them both!" he snapped irritably, resenting Madame
Wong's insinuation that he could not afford to pursue his perverse pleasures.
Despite his exciting liaison with Erika that afternoon, the baron's blood was
once again boiling with lust.
