Tables were set beneath the floor-line and you had to descend small glass steps to reach them. Bright blue, velour cushions were provided to soften your landing if you were lucky enough to reach them unharmed. While the lighting was dim, there was a mass of scented candles on raised transparent pillars, which were dotted about the floor and smelt heavenly. She couldn't place the fragrance; vetiver, citrus and maybe some kind of spice? It was tantalising and made her mouth water. And that was just the décor.
London's glitterati had assembled in droves. Some had dressed up and dripped money in the form of designer clothes and diamonds at every turn of their elegantly fashioned heads. The men wore anything from double-breasted suits to tight leather trousers. The women, for the most part, wore considerably less. Many sported collars around their neck, some of which were subtle and consisted of delicate gold or platinum chains fastened together with a tiny padlock. Others were made of thick leather with bold buckles and decorated with spikes, studs or sparkling gems.
About half of the women assembled were completely naked, whilst others were paraded around in little more than stockings and underwear. A few wore pathetic excuses for clothing, much as she did, in either shockingly transparent fabric or easily accessible body-stockings. It didn't ease the pressure on the constant urge to cover her most intimate areas, but it did lessen her sense of vulnerability. Although why that should be the case was anybody's guess; the men here were sexual predators and with Mr Matthews' permission she could be used by any of them. The attention she had courted for so long was now hers, but it came with demanding consequences. She had been prepped for all of this, of course, but that had been two years ago. Since then she had become a virtual recluse, head buried in her computer screen at work before she reburied it in television soaps when she returned home. She spun around the room to try and encompass everyone and everything. All of this was too much and too soon.
'Impressive, isn't it?' She jumped as Mark's voice breathed into her ear. 'They're about to serve up the main course if you're feeling peckish.' He captured her chin with his finger and directed her gaze, which was still slewing left and right with no anchor in sight, to a long rectangular banquet table. In keeping with the transparent theme it was made of glass, and clear, cylindrical perspex stools circled its base. He began leading her towards it. 'They call this place Atlantisse. A nod to the depravities of the Greek Gods, no doubt, not to mention the fact that most who enter here are lost beyond all redemption.
That was one way of putting it, thought Marianna. The sound of traditional Asian music began to gently seep through the air and made her skin prickle. Twanging strings performed an intricate dance with the soft, reedy sound of the flute. Her ears strained to hear it at first, but the ballad was so beautiful she could not resist its lure. The volume increased slowly by small degrees and the crowd assembled looked towards the entrance of the room in silent anticipation of the main event. They were not to be kept waiting.
A long, rectangular stretcher was carried into the room by six naked, oiled male slaves and atop the wooden slats laid a young, lithe, Japanese girl, bound hand and foot to it with thick, hemp rope. Technically she was naked but in actuality her body was clothed in a myriad of different types of Japanese cuisine. Sushi rolls decorated her stomach, and raw and brightly coloured scraps of sashimi fish were patterned over her legs and adorned with little slivers of green condiment. Fragrant noodles danced upon her arms and the air was redolent with the scent of spice, making Marianna's mouth water.
The girl was more than worthy of being a feast for the Gods and she was exquisitely adorned from head to toe. Parcels of rice wrapped in banana leaves were stuffed between her legs and tempura prawns were arched over her breasts with an array of colourful vegetables, none of which Marianna could put a name to. As she was laid gently down on the centre of the table, it became clear that there was even more on offer. Her mouth was stretched wide open, filled with tiny bright pink pickles, and around her neck rested large cubes of pineapple, decorated with mint, coloured sugar and dribbling strawberry coulis. Her sex was full to bursting with tiny, bright orange pearls. Marianna found her jaw hanging in amazement.
'Would you like to be devoured, Marianna? We can come back next week and your body can feature as the entrée of your choice. You can keep with the Asian theme or perhaps you'd like to try something a little more traditional. We could have you trussed up like a turkey and suitably stuffed.' Mark raised an eyebrow at her and she thought he was teasing, but couldn't be absolutely certain. Finding something the size of an average tennis ball stuck in her throat, Marianna took a moment to clear it, her eyes never leaving the prostrate culinary masterpiece.
'I think I'd prefer to be sucked and nibbled, preferably in private.' She tried for an even, assertive tone, but everything came out in a horrible rush. Taking a deep breath she tried to voice the question, 'Is this a usual feature to the evening?' This time she sounded rather squeaky, but she was suitably impressed that she managed to talk at all.
'Features change from week to week, but this is a regular activity. We've had all sorts paraded before us. Intricate human desserts from chocolate profiteroles decorated with spun sugar to a living and breathing cream cake - and yes, it gave a whole new meaning to the words "squirty cream".' Mark winked at her. 'There have been exhibits for seafood platters, paella, loin of lamb with crushed apples and on occasion, simply a round of canapés and caviar. Can you guess where the caviar goes, by chance?'
Marianna was afraid that she knew exactly where it would go. As Mark ushered her forward to take one of the simple stools, she placed her simmering backside down on the cool perspex and sighed.
'Still a bit raw?' He laughed and plunged straight back into the previous conversation. 'Can you imagine a hundred, softly rounded knives dipping inside your sex and seeking to taste its nectar? A little bit of your essence being spread on the lightest and fluffiest of blinis, to be savoured by all around you?'
The tennis ball had not really moved in her throat, but Marianna found herself just about able to dislodge it when politeness was required.
'I'm not sure I can imagine that, Sir,' she whispered, her eyes focused on the attentive male slaves, who were now handing out elegantly patterned bamboo chopsticks to the dining participants. Accepting hers gracefully she had to resist the urge to run her fingers over the man's superbly muscled, glossy chest. Suspecting her backside would get another pounding for such a slip, she gripped her chopsticks as firmly as she could between trembling fingers.
'I saw that moment of temptation, my sweet.' Mark gave her a lingering, knowing smile and then nodded towards the food, giving his permission for her to begin her meal. He then focused his attention on doing the same and deftly picked up a tuna roll as if chopsticks were second nature to him. Why was she not surprised? The man had confidence oozing out of every pore in his body. It was infuriating, disturbing and, strangely, arousing. There was no question that he was in control. It wasn't bluster or arrogance, either. He had a presence that demanded attention and respect, both in the bedroom and in the boardroom. Mark would be a fearsome opponent if one stupidly decided to go head-to-head with him. She was not that opponent, however. She intended to obey him to the letter. The panty incident had been enough of a warning and she suspected the mistake would be rued more than once before the night was over.
Flexing her chopsticks a couple of times to get the measure of them, she gingerly picked up a sliver of salmon from the girl's leg. A thick dollop of green paste was dotted in a corner and she didn't think very clearly before placing the morsel into her mouth. Ooh, wasabi. Fire instantly exploded and her first instinct, which was to spit the offending offering out, wasn't really an option. Keeping the fish on her tongue and the wasabi, which was liberally smeared on the top of it, well away from the roof of her mouth, she sat there for a few seconds in utter panic. She couldn't eat the thing. She hated hot food and this was hotter than most. What on earth was she going to do? Because of
the damn dress she didn't even have a tissue she could use to whisk the unsavoury item away.
'Wasabi, or Japanese horseradish, has quite a strong flavour, does it not? It's used by Japanese chefs because it helps preserve the flavour and kill the bacteria which can develop on raw fish. I wouldn't hold it in your mouth too much longer though; the fumes get rather painful after a while.' He waited for her to swallow.
She looked at him helplessly. It would take the threat of a good caning in order to get her to swallow this fiery green lava.
He sighed and rolled his eyes. 'Come here.' Pulling her head towards his mouth he took her lips deftly in his and sucked the small sliver of fish into his mouth, where he swallowed it with little effort. Marianna's pulse had just gone nuclear and at that point in time she could have bitten into a bird's eye chilli and been unaffected. His eyes bored into hers and his tongue gently traced a slick path on her bottom lip. Unlike her, he was not breathing hard.
'Lucky for you, I like hot things.' He was trying hard not to laugh. 'Now may I suggest you leave the Sashimi alone and stick to the noodles or sushi.' Picking up another piece of fish, this time in a more conventional way by using his chopsticks, he guzzled more of the blistering condiment down without a moment's unease.
Even though the aftereffects of the wasabi had lessened somewhat, Marianna was still feeling the heat. The stray stares of the men gathered around the table, admiring her form in the barely-there dress were obvious, as was their hunger for pleasures not in the least bit related to food. Mark's immediate proximity had wetness seeping between her thighs as his kiss, brief though it was, performed its magic. She squirmed on the now sticky stool and gasped as her backside protested being rubbed on the unforgiving plastic surface.
'I'd sit still and eat if I were you,' said Mark, reaching up towards the Japanese lady's breasts for an elegantly curved tiger prawn, wrapped in batter. She watched as he tormented the poor girl first, squeezing a soft pink nipple between his chopsticks before he released the devilish pressure and lunged for his original prize. He bit into the succulent, soft, juicy flesh and sighed in appreciation. 'They even spice her skin. Furikake, seaweed flavour by the looks of it, has been sprinkled just beneath her breasts. You can dip your rice in it.'
Marianna cautiously picked up a parcel of banana leaves tied neatly with string. She was careful not to touch the woman's sex as she grabbed her snack, which was getting a lot of chopstick attention, and concentrated on getting the item back to her plate in order to unwrap it. When she'd managed that she almost groaned in despair. Rice. How on earth did she eat that with two little wooden sticks?
'Japanese rice is sticky and glutinous. It's easy to pick up with the chopsticks, but by all means use your fingers. I have a feeling you'll be very popular around here if you start licking things.' Mark had reached for a similar parcel of rice, which he deposited on his plate, but his chopsticks returned to her sex and delved inside. Marianna looked at him curiously when he pulled out something spherical and orange. 'It's called Ikura. Open wide, sweetie.'
She looked at the small orange ball with mistrust, but opened her jaw obediently. It wasn't like she had a choice. If he'd had a tube of wasabi in his hand and demanded that she eat it, that would have been her lot unless she decided to risk angering him and then she would still be required to suffer, albeit in a different way. Rolling the ball around on her tongue she detected little taste. Biting into it released a distinctly unsettling 'popping' sensation, which made her jump. The taste was not unpleasant, slightly salty and almost - dare she say it - semen-like.
'Salmon roe. I'll have you know it's an excellent source of omega-three fatty acids.' Marianna sucked in her cheeks and nodded. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about eating fish eggs, but was well aware that he was having fun with her. Popping a few more into his mouth and savouring them with the look of a seasoned connoisseur, he said, 'Would you like some more?'
She shook her head so quickly and forcefully she nearly dismantled her chignon. It wouldn't do to send pins flying everywhere. She pursed her lips and whispered, 'No, thank you, Sir.'
'I didn't think so.' Placing his hand over his chin thoughtfully, he studied Marianna carefully. She couldn't help another squirm and yet another squeak as her ass slid painfully on the plastic. Shaking his head in amusement he said, 'They are going to need some volunteers to serve the wine in a moment, so why don't you make yourself useful at the bar?' With that he turned his attention back to the naked girl's sex and continued his thorough exploration.
Marianna did not miss the fact that most of the men's chopsticks resided there and spent as much time pinching and nipping the folds of her labia as they did actually acquiring the delicate morsels of food. She was most grateful it was not her body plated up as the plat du jour.
Excusing herself from the table and her now somewhat gooey stool, she slowly made her way over to the bar. Her heels clicked loudly on the transparent floor and the sight of moving ripples of water and swimming fish unnerved her somewhat. Getting her balance and maintaining her eye-line above floor level, she made it without a stumble.
The bar was lined with row upon row of little ceramic flasks which were neatly stacked on the counter. A line of girls, mostly naked, had gathered in order to help serve the beverage. She guessed this must be sake, although she had never actually tried it herself. The sound of a door slamming abruptly caught her attention and a bald-headed man with a fist full of leather strips cleared his throat sharply.
'Right ladies, hands behind your backs because you won't be needing them.' His voice was deep and guttural and she, like the rest of the women assembled, obeyed instantly. He was a big, portly fellow and had a gold front tooth that wouldn't have looked out of place on a gangster. The tattoos that littered his forearms and disappeared into the rolled-up sleeves of his bleached white shirt screamed 'do not mess with me!' A team of helpers quickly followed in his wake, and she found herself pressed firmly into the counter by one of them. Her arms, now gracefully pressed behind her, were arranged fingers to elbow in a box-tie, and this was secured at the wrists in a figure of eight knot. They were yanked tight together and the result was that her breasts and shoulders were thrust forward in a rather painful manner.
'Right, you can all turn around now and 'ave your trays fitted. Face forward,' the large man bellowed, and she whipped her body around smartly. Her assistant stood directly in front of her and even though she had known he was behind her, seeing him in the flesh still made her jump. He was in his early twenties, either Spanish or Italian in origin, and obviously worked out. Muscles popped out of his shirt in all the right places and he had a sly look about him that spoke volumes. He did not have to work to get women; they fell in a heap at his feet. She wanted to run her fingers through the soft dark curls that rested on his collar bone, and taste the essence of man he was parading around him so boldly. She wouldn't, of course. For one thing, Mark would have his eye on her and it would be more than her life was worth to dishonour him in that fashion. For another, she had her hands tied behind her and any leaning forward on her part would probably cause her to fall flat on her face.
Something cold pressed against her stomach. She'd been so lost in her daydream that she hadn't spotted the clear plastic tray he held in his hands. He was buckling it behind her and as his face leaned over her shoulder to check the fastening, he pressed his lips to her neck. She shivered and hoped to hell Mark's attention was still focused on his meal. His hands lingered on her waist and when his fingers had managed to complete the simple belt fastening, they slid up and down the contours of her spine.
'Stop that,' she whispered, but only half-heartedly, feeling her body tremble beneath his youthful fingers. In response to her command the man playfully nipped her buttock, making her jump.
'Stop horsing around!' bellowed gold-tooth to his staff, unimpressed with their slow progress. 'Fit the trays, gentlemen, and then gag the ladies if needs be.'
As her assistant stepped back Mari
anna wondered idly how they would manage to fix the trays upright. At the moment hers was hanging over her stomach and the inverted 'V' of her legs. Chains dangled from two points on its outermost rim and if she followed them towards the floor she could just make out the twin jaws of two metal clamps. How on earth would that work? Surely they weren't going to attempt to attach them to her dress? It would fall apart in a matter of seconds.
'Querida, you are going to look muy beautiful when you serve like this,' said the smiling young man, who had proved himself to be Spanish. Marianna raised her eyebrows. She failed to see how going about with a large plastic tray on her stomach was going to... and then realisation dawned. The clamps were for her nipples. That was how the tray would be anchored. One clamp for each nipple and the tray would rest at a forty-five degree angle to her body. Any weight placed upon the tray would be borne by her tender...
The first clamp came at her before she was ready for it and the tight metal jaws bit into her flesh with a bite that would have rivalled a bull mastiff's. Pain immediately lanced through her, only to be made worse by the fact that it was soon going to be repeated on the other side. Marianna held back the sob in her throat, but only just. A couple of seconds later the second clamp was headed in her direction. Marianna's first thought was to run but she quelled the reaction. Most people here would find a running, howling submissive highly entertaining and she didn't intend to grant them that pleasure or give them the opportunity to punish her. She wasn't entirely sure she would be able to contend with the extra pain coming her way, and when the second clamp bit she sucked in her breath on a sharp hiss.
A Rough Ride: Pony girl training in latex and leather (Pony Tales Book 5) Page 13
