The corridor continued another several yards then opened into a large space bordered by a stage lit with soft white towers of light. Three rows of chairs were filled with men of many ethnicities, all in suits, laughing and talking amongst themselves.
When she entered, they quieted, turning to look as though they had smelled a woman. Kana held her tightly. “Madam has brought a new submissive, and this is her escort. She will watch the proceedings from the back.”
The men nodded and were turning back to their conversations when Kana, trying to be helpful, slid the bag off Syria’s arm and tugged the jacket from her.
The light lit the white halter and the sudden cooling in the room made her nipples tighten painfully. Syria wanted to grab the coat back, but she was stuck and Kana was handing her things to an attendant. She didn’t know which to panic more about — her camera going away or the attention her outfit had drawn.
She pulled at the hem of the skirt as the men silently appraised her, twisted in their seats. Why had she and Mia thought this was a good idea? Kana, thankfully, made no mention of her clothing and led her to a cushioned chair in the corner. A boy dressed all in black came onstage, leading a metal hook on several ropes along a metal bar until it rested in the center. The men turned their attention to this, and Syria relaxed. Hopefully they would forget about her now. She crossed her arms over her chest.#p#分页标题#e#
A man in silky black pants and a ceremonial jacket came on stage and bowed to the audience. Music began, full of flutes and strange instruments Syria didn’t recognize, flighty and light.
The girl they’d met at the door came out in a sky blue kimono, her makeup slightly altered, the white face accented with silvery blue shadow and kissed pink lips. The man took her by the hand and led her to the center of the stage, turning her in a circle for everyone to admire.
She kept her eyes downcast, demure, so small as to almost appear to be a girl, although Syria knew she had to be plenty old enough. Her glossy hair was swept up with two crossing bamboo spears.
The man came behind her and embraced her, one hand on her belly, another cupping her chin, bringing her face up to his. He smiled at her, rapt and loving, and ran his fingers along her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, and just inside the fold of the kimono.
Syria stirred and could not pull her eyes away, but became aware that his hand was loosening the girl’s robe. Then he spun her, hand tight on the blue fabric, and as the little wisp whirled, she broke free of the kimono, pale and naked, turning more and more slowly across the stage.
Her body had been rouged at the thighs and breasts. She was trimmed but not shaven, the dark hair a deep triangle below the white belly. The man tossed the kimono away and reached for the hook, pulling it lower. Only then did Syria realize he had a coil of white rope in his hand. The girl turned back to him in slow circles, and he quickly twisted the first tie, pressing her arms lightly so that she lifted them. And he caught her again, running a hand along her body, across the tiny breasts, and wrapped the rope around her waist, cinching it tight.
Syria’s brain whirled as he whipped through the steps of creating a cinch on her waist, another above and below her breasts, smashing them tightly between, and then one on her thigh. He attached her to the hook then, letting one leg dangle, spreading the other straight and high and lashing it into place. Now she hung straight down, one leg up, arms in a double column over her head. He bent the free leg and tied it down, then stepped away, observing her with admiration and something akin to love. He grasped her knee to spin her, and now the work was complete. The girl whirled, a blur of rope, breast, white skin and rosy spots, her lightly furred mound the center point of attention, open and ready.
But this exhibition was not about sex, not like the Madam had done with Mia during her lesson, and after a moment, he quickly released her, pulling her down with the loving care of a parent, stroking the red whelps as the girl curled into him.
Syria was blown away by the sheer emotion of the experience. The men in the audience were silent, appreciative. She imagined the same scene with other people, hooting and clapping. But here, only the lyrical cascade of the music filled the room in the aftermath of what felt and looked sexual, but had actually had almost no contact you would normally consider to be sex.
Her body throbbed in key places, and she knew she was slick. Maybe Mia would be the same way afterward and they could go home together. Tyson had introduced her to video chat, and a whole new set of possibilities had opened up. She wished she had her phone and could show him where she was, but judging by the silent deference of the audiences, pulling out an electronic gizmo to shoot video probably wouldn’t go over too well. Once more, Syria wished they had a real relationship and lived in the same town.