CHAPTER 53 The Girl With the Golden Throat
The prior night's performance had featured a 'clapper opera' by the great
composer Wei Chang-sheng, a composer whose life had straddled that of the great
European, Mozart.
Richard Chan had been exposed to European opera during his years and
travels while a student at Oxford. Europe in the 1860's had been the heyday of
both Verdi and Wagner, and he had come to enjoy the passion, the power, and the
brilliant orchestration of European opera very much. But he was still fond of
the native Chinese opera with its peculiar conventions, and its oddly-pitched
(to European ears) singing. The music of Chinese operas seemed strange to
Western tastes, he knew, with its austere accompaniment of drums, bamboo flute,
and the characteristic wooden clapper which punctuated the lyric recitatives.
But it still took a proud place in his heart of hearts.
The silvery-voiced heroine of last night's production had not progressed
far along her path to tragedy when Mai-Lee, resplendent in her evening gown of
shimmering green silk, had slithered sensually to her knees in their private box
and reached inside his jade-trimmed silver robe. Richard Chan's box had been
specially constructed along the general lines of those in Italian opera houses,
but with a slight difference. He had cunningly devised sight lines so that the
occupants of the box could see the stage and much of the audience, but the
audience could only see the heads and shoulders of the august occupant of the
box and his guests. And thus the most exquisite carnal pleasures could be
enjoyed even as the singers and musicians attended to the more aesthetic
longings of the soul. Richard Chan had found few things in his experience more
arousing than having a warm-lipped young concubine on her knees worship him
slavishly within the hearing distance of an auditorium filled with hundreds of
people.
Had anyone looked up at the Chan box in the darkened theater, they would
have thought that his lovely companion had momentarily taken her leave and that
the (apparently) sole occupant of the box seemed to be intensely moved by the
performance on stage, so rapt had been the expression on his face while his
mistress played the part of an erotic muse at his feet.
Mai-Lee's oral virtuosity had equal to that of the singers on the stage.
She had stroked and fondled and tasted and half-swallowed his virile cockmeat
for most of the evening, three times bringing him to powerful shuddering orgasms
during the long performance, three times exciting him to the point of drenching
the back of her warm mouth with his sticky man-juice.
At this performance, at least, the soprano had not been the only artist
with a golden throat.
On the ride back to the Black Pagoda, Richard Chan's thoughts turned to
Miss Wu, the beautiful young woman whom he had condemned to the dreadful
torment of the Mongolian nipple-gag under Dao's watchful eye. Thanks to
Mai-Lee's loving labors he felt so sexually replete that he resolved that if
Qieu had not yet confessed her husband's whereabouts, it might well be more
clever to release her than to submit her to further fruitless torture. There
was a good chance, surely, that if he released her and had her secretly
followed, that she would soon lead him to Luk Yee.
*******
Richard Chan leaned back in the armchair and closed his eyes in ecstasy
while Mai-Lee tongued his throbbing phallus, licking it, teasing it to an
ever-more formidable erection. While the Eurasian beauty paid homage to his
noble organ, Richard Chan visualized in his mind's eye the erotic scene in the
dungeon that he had witnessed upon his return from the opera on the prior
evening ...
