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Through The Lens by the Pathfinder
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Through The Lens
by the Pathfinder
I never thought I'd see the day when my photography/video business would
become profitable, but after 3 years of red ink and plenty of sleepless
nights, I turned a profit. I had left my first job as a video engineer with a
local cable access channel with the high hopes of doing better on my own.
Midway through the fourth year, I had begun to build up my video equipment
with plenty of "pro stuff"; plus I added a few new wrinkles such as a
multiple remote camera control system where one person could control up to 4
videocams while sitting at a portable console. For a one man operation such as
my own, it was a boon. It also led me into a strange adventure.
My advertisements in the Yellow Pages and local newspapers were for filming
private parties, bar or bat mitzvahs, weddings, still portrait photography and
so on. I got a call one afternoon from a woman who wished me to film a dance
sequence to be used as a video audition. I suggested an interview at my studio
and the woman, who I will call Serena although that is not her real name,
agreed to the appointment.
When Serena entered my front door, I was impressed by her statuesque beauty.
Jet back hair with blue eyes, she was an amazingly beautiful woman in her
mid-twenties. We sat down and talked about her outline for a video. I
discovered she was an amateur belly dancer who had some training. She wanted
to use her dance talents at a Middle East nightclub to gain some extra cash
beyond what she earned as a receptionist. I explained that I did not have
belly dance music on hand nor did I have appropriate props in the studio, but
she was willing to pay an extra fee for on-site work at her townhouse and she
could enlist the aid of a friend to arrange the music and decorate her living
room appropriately. We negotiated a fee and set a date for the filming during
an upcoming weekend.
When I arrived at her townhouse, I found she and her friend (an older but
attractive woman) had their end of the bargain ready. I needed only to set up
and adjust the video lights and 2 remote cams. Serena's friend explained to
me what to look for in the dance. By the way, her name was Jolema and she was
the Turkish belly dance instructor who taught Serena. You can imagine my
surprise when I found out that Jolema, who appeared to be in her late 30's
was actually 50 years old.
After signaling that all was ready, the video tape started rolling, the music
began, and a vastly different Serena entered the room. Her eye makeup was more
pronounced and seductive. I never realized how trim her body was either, but
her costume cert ainly displayed her assets well. I had never seen a "real"
belly dancer before, just whatever movie scenes I may have known. Serena was
adept at moving every part of her body and was not shy about it either.
Breasts, tummy, ass, thighs were all in motion. And she was limber, too. She
literally could bend over backwards and still keep her body in motion. Her
dance went through several paces, alternating from fast to medium to slow but
sexy, then reversing the whole trend. This went on for 40 minutes before her
performance ended. She picked up a few veils that she used in her dance and
excused herself while I rewound the tapes to check them out for a later
editing session back in my studio. I had agreed to edit it down to a 30 minute
running time and add a few lines of text at the beginning and end of the
finished tape to advertise her performance.
Jolema explained to me while I disassembled the video cam equipment that she
considered Serena to have been her best student but did not approve of her
"use" of the dance. I decided not to inquire what she meant, but Jolema had
other plans anyway. Watching a beautiful woman dance made my prick rock hard
but I had tried to concentrate on my camera work during the performance. I was
still semi hard when Jolema grabbed my balls from behind and gently rubbed
them. I could hear the shower just beginning upstairs, so I decided to take
advantage of this "fringe benefit" with Jolema.
She promptly unzipped my trousers and hand stroked my prick back to diamond
hardness. Her tongue proved its talent as she licked my balls then my shaft.
But I wanted to see this interesting creature's body, so I gently pried her
away from my privates and undressed her. Large full breasts without a sign of
sagging, a flat tummy and a trim ass were underneath her rather frumpy dress
and lingerie. Before you could say fornicate, I had slipped on a condom and
entered her amazingly tight pussy. I came rather quickly which was greedy of
me, but her slight smile never wavered. As we hurriedly dressed, Jolema
explained that watching a belly dancer or dancing by herself made her horny.
It made me wonder about her relationship with Serena.
Serena came down in bathrobe to view the rough clips of her dance. We watched
the whole set and decided on how I was to edit the tape. I was glad to finish
and get back to my studio, for I was sorely tempted to tear off her robe and
take her in front of Jolema. A week went by and I delivered the finished tape
for her viewing. I let her know that additional tapes could be made if
needed. Boy, was I hoping for more business from her!
The Nightclub
A month later, I got a call from Serena. She had gotten her wish and was
performing several nights a week at a Middle East nightclub in the nearest
large city. (I'm not going to name the city, just be satisfied that it's on
the East Coast). Serena's audition tape had worked, but what's more, the
nightclub owner was impressed with my work and wanted to talk over a special
project he was considering. Serena was calling for him and told me that no
matter what, I would get a free dinner.
The club was located just outside the main downtown area; it was neither the
best or worst area I had seen. Valet parking took care of the car, so I was
free of parking worries. Presenting my name and my business card got me past
the maitre de to a s eat next to the club owner at the head table.
Let's call the man Mustafa. I found he was of Turkish descent, but he bore
none of the legendary animosity that the Turks had toward other nationalities,
notably Greeks and Armenians. Swarthy, middle aged, handsome could describe
him; but his luminou s green eyes were totally out of place. I wondered if
they were contacts.
Mustafa explained that his club hired the best Middle Eastern performers,
which was no small feat since Islamic fundamentalism had eliminated many show
performer's careers. His acrobats were exciting, the musicians were smooth and
polished, and his belly dance troop were enthralling. He rarely hired
"American" dancers but Serena was an exception. My video had opened the door
for her to have a private audition with him and led to her present employment.
Mustafa and I carried on our discussion amiably, only stopping to taste his
wines and snacks, occasionally admiring his floor show. His club was
unusually constructed. All tables were really low shelves, his patrons sat on
cushions behind each shelf. The show floor was in the center of the room,
being lower than the patrons' floor and with steps leading downwards to the
center. Mustafa's place of honor was on a raised floor higher than any other.
I enjoyed the dancers the most, of course; but Mustafa explained the different
moves and told to what to look for in order to appreciate the best
performances. Serena's dance in that part of the evening seemed a little less
restrained than her video performance. I was a little shocked on how she shook
her breasts and hips more. Perhaps it was her costume; instead of the more
decorative bra and panties she wore with the diaphanous skirt that I first
saw, her breasts were covered with two gold cup s with no visible straps and
French cut panties underneath a transparent black veil skirt.
Up to this time, Mustafa had been inquiring about my services and abilities;
he had ventured no idea about his exact purpose other than filming his
performers. At about 11:30, I was getting slightly tired and I suggested that
we continue the discussi ons the next day. Mustafa looked at me strangely and
said the club was just getting warmed up. I did notice that the dinner patrons
had filtered out and only a smaller group of couples remained. His maitre de
spoke to a few couples who left a few minutes. Then we were left with a
unusually quiet, expectant crowd.
Mustafa nodded to the maitre de, who went to the room's front door, signaled
to another man to lock the front door. He then closed the room door and stood
in front of it. Mustafa then motioned to his musicians to play again. This
time, 5 belly dance rs led by Serena rushed down to the center of the floor
and began a dance routine in unison. Mustafa said that this was a private
performance for a select audience only. Somehow his pronouncement made my
heart begin to pound.
He didn't have to tell me that this was the legendary Dance of the Seven
Veils. Each woman removed a veil in synch with the others. In fact, their bras
and panties were actually silk wrapped around their bodies. Their nipples were
straining against t he silk. The veils were removed from their faces and
bodies until only the wraps around their upper and lower bodies were left. At
this point, 4 of the dancers sat down on the floor and continued to sway in
place while Serena danced on.
I restrained a gasp as she removed her top wrap. Her breasts were more
beautiful than I imagined. They were full, round and without a tan line, plus
she had nipples that stuck out looking like pencil erasers. Her dance became
more provocative, more suggestive. She danced as if she was begging for sex.
A side glance at Mustafa showed me he was hypnotized by the show. Serena
removed her lower veil, revealing her V-shaped shaven pubic hair and pink
pussy. I couldn't believe what I was seeing but I drank it all in.
Serena continued to dance, often reclining to the floor and doing backbends
which exposed more of her pussy. She even pulled back the folds of her pussy
lips, giving Mustafa and I the best view. Her dance had become more of a
fertility dance than anything else! At the conclusion of the set, she bowed to
Mustafa, to the audience, and ran smiling up the steps to the doorway on the
side. The musicians then began playing a slower set, with which the remaining
dancers stood up and danced without stripping further as Serena had done.
One buxom young woman from one of the tables stood up, removed her jacket and
walked down to the show floor. She stood alongside one of the dancers and
stiffly tried to imitate the movements. This blonde woman was wearing a white
blouse and a pale blue skirt. Mustafa leaned over to me and said "Watch what
power I have over this woman!" He then made a flicking motion with his hand
while making eye contact with the blonde. Her face looked slightly blank for a
second, then she began unbuttoning her blouse and threw it to the floor. Her
breasts were trying to pop out of a pale blue scalloped lace bra. I thought
that was typical of person that worked to match all of their clothing until I
noticed that Mustafa's business suit was pale blue, as was the decor of the
room.
While the woman mimicked the belly dancers on the show floor, I took a glance
around the room. The people were an interesting group; they were all couples
and none looked as if they had ever had to soil their hands with manual labor.
But the room its elf continued to intrigue me. The odd shape of the walls and
the hanging tapestries made the room look big but I could sense they also
could hide passageways.
I saw the blonde dancer reaching behind her waist. With a snap and a zip her
skirt hit the floor and we were treated to a sight of a shapely woman belly
dancing in a half slip. It seemed appropriate for this amateur who wasn't
wearing a belly dancer' s costume. But what was her motivation? Was it drink,
pure exhibitionism, or an attempt to curry favor with Mustafa? No matter; all
of us, including her companion, were enjoying the show.
Mustafa leaned over and said that sometimes these private shows needed further
encouragement, but he felt that tonight none would be needed. The next bit of
action proved his point. The belly dancer next to the blonde unclasped her bra
and threw it a way, displaying beautifully pointed breasts. The blonde
hurriedly popped her front bra clasp in order not to be outdone. This last
action actually drew applause from the onlookers, who had been relatively
quiet. The belly dancer removed her skirt so that she was now clad only in her
panties and jewelry. The other dancers left the room at this point.
The blonde, seeing this, removed her slip a bit clumsily. She wore blue
panties, a blue lace garter belt and blue nylons. I hadn't seen a woman
dressed like this except in men's magazines. The music pace picked up, and so
did the exhibitionism. Both women removed their panties, but when the blonde
lay down on the floor, spread her legs and began to finger herself, Mustafa
quickly stood up and called a halt to the music. The women quickly picked up
their clothes and headed for separate doors. The blonde headed for the ladies
room; the dancer left by the same exit all of the other performers had used. I
thought that strange. The dancers could spread their legs but no further. Oh
well.
Mustafa let the musicians resume and more drinks and snacks were brought in.
He then offered to conduct negotiations tomorrow at my office tomorrow
afternoon, but I was welcome to use one of his guest rooms tonight to avoid a
late drive home. I decid ed to accept. He led me to a space behind a tapestry
and opened a door into a small elevator. Like elevators in large hotels, he
had a key that unlocked access to the top floor and two basement levels. Two
basements? I had seen that in hotels but the building was only two floors at
ground level. How unusual!
He showed me to large suite of rooms with bed and bath, comparable to an
elegant hotel suite. He explained that I had a small refrigerator with food
and drink for the night, plus bedclothes in several sizes in the closet if I
needed them. I thanked h im, closed the door and surveyed my surroundings. At
least I had almost everything I needed except a bed companion to relieve me of
my horniness. Wouldn't you know, 15 minutes later there was a knock on my door
and Serena waltzed in wearing a robe ov er a blue nightgown.
Wordlessly, we stripped and embraced on the edge of my bed. Serena gently
guided me to lay down on my stomach. I felt her protruding nipples brush my
back as she kissed me on the back of my neck. She began to flick her tongue on
my back, creating an erection that was almost painful. She pulled upwards on
my hip then began licking my ass cheeks. She reached under me and stroked my
prick as her tongue went down my crack into my anus. If it wasn't for her
gentle but firm squeezing on my dick, I wou ld have come immediately.
She rolled off my back and leaned over the side of the bed to reach the
pockets of her discarded robe. She pulled out two lengths of black silk that
may have been part of her dancer's costume. She begged to have her wrists tied
to the bedposts while I "had my way with her", which is the way she phrased
it. Serena was definitely kinky, but not more kinky as other women I had known
in my young life. After complying with her wishes, I gave her a "tongue
lashing" up and down the front of her body, e agerly lapping at her labia. I
got on my knees and penetrated her tight gash with her legs wrapped around my
neck.
After a few minutes of intense fucking, Serena begged me to fuck her in the
ass. With all of the juices running down her crack, it was easy to slip my
dick into her anus. She then pleaded to have me tweak her nipples. I would
have done anything short of whipping her at that point, so I complied. We
both came in an intense rush. After what seemed like a short nap, I woke up
to her in the shower. I wanted to join her but the bathroom door was locked.
She left the bathroom dressed in her nightgown and robe, sweetly kissed me
and left my room. What a night! But what was I doing here? What was this all
about?
I wondered about this as I showered but sleep crept up on me again as I hit
the bed a second time and became oblivious to the rest of this strange world I
was in.
The Nature of the Beast
I was served breakfast the next morning in my room in solitary. My car was
driven to the front door and I drove back to my humble abode. I opened my
studio office at the regular time, did my usual work and bookkeeping, and
generally killed time until my 2 PM meeting with Mustafa. He came in fifteen
minutes late, apologized for his tardiness and temporarily dismissed his
chauffeur.
Mustafa said he was intrigued by my remote cam systems. He felt that manned
cameras tended to inhibit his performers and he wanted nothing to distract
them. He wanted to make a privately financed video about his club, especially
featuring his private performances. He explained that last night's show was
mild; his audience was hand-picked and invited because he knew how they would
react. They were his "associates"; they helped pay for private parties that
he organized.
Mustafa also warned me that he was a "marked man". He had left Constantinople
under a dark cloud. His morals did not sit well with many of his former
countrymen and he had reason to suspect they would hound him here in the US
as well. Did that bother me? he asked. No, I said, not if the pay is right.
We got down to brass tacks and settled on a contract to film two private
parties on two separate nights, using a 3 camera remote setup. I was to be
like a fly on the wall, he pronounced. I was not t o intrude or comment on
what I saw through the camera lenses. He threw in the option of a no charge
stay in one of the guest rooms and free valet parking so I would have no
difficulty during filming. His offers were quite fair and we shook hands on t
he deal. But with his admission as to being a marked man, was he really doomed
or did I make a deal with a devil?
The day finally came when I arrived at Mustafa's club to make my setup. Here's
where I found out more strange things about the club layout. Behind another
tapestry in the main room was an entrance to a small windowless room that was
provided with ple nty of wall power outlets and vents, a small toilet with
sink and nothing else. It was fine for my portable control console although it
was somewhat confining. Outside, I set up one camera on a tripod in a corner
of the room, one in an opposite corne r that faced Mustafa's favored position,
and one camera inserted into a vent that faced the show floor. This vent was
set back into a step just below Mustafa's position, so it was the next best
"seat" in the house. I had some of Mustafa's help walk a round and sit in
several locations throughout the room so I could fine tune the directional
antennas to operate without a picture or sound loss. By late afternoon I was
ready. But ready for what?
Private Showing
When that night's entertainment began, I was already in place at my console. I
really did not have that much physical work to do. An occasional pan of the
audience, a pull back shot or close up of a particular performer helped break
the monotony. Thr ee tape recorders going plus an emergency backup recorder
would help ensure that later editing would get all of the action. I generally
spent my time making notes as to how I thought the editing should go.
The same sequence of events happened once again when the evening wore on. The
front door and main room doors were locked after the regular guests left,
then the private performances began. After the initial shows by various solo
acrobats and dancers, Serena entered with the same 5 dancers. Her clothing
surprisingly seemed more demure but the dancing was just as frenzied and
erotic. Their "strip" commenced, but when it came to Serena's solo, I was
surprised once again. Underneath her bra, she wor e what looked like tassels
on her nipples. I zoomed one camera for a close up and got my second
surprise. They were actually nipple clips with a weight attached to each
chain, hanging from the clip!
The nipple clamps and weights accentuated the sway of her breasts whenever she
shook. Another departure from the previous routine was that the rest of the
dance troop had also removed their bras. Serena continued to strip to full
nudity as did her co mpanions. She moved to the very center of the floor, got
on her knees, bent backwards and began to pull on her nipple chains with one
hand while fingering her pussy with the other. This time, Mustafa merely
nodded his head in approval.
I noticed from another camera view that two burly men dressed on costume were
approaching the dance floor. They moved past the other dancers and converged
on each side of Serena. They knelt down, and appeared to lift the part of the
floor where Seren a lay. I then got a glimpse from the camera in the vent that
underneath the section of rug was a thin metal sheet. For the sheet not to
flex, it had to be quite strong yet it was quite thin not to show
substantially on the floor. Serena kept up her e rotic display as the men
brought the platform right in front of Mustafa.
They literally placed the platform on the table in front of him. Serena paid
no attention, she was lost in her self pleasure. Mustafa bent down, kissed her
breasts, her stomach and traveled down to her pussy. After a minute in her
crotch, he made a m otion with his hand pointing to the performer's door, and
the two men lifted the platform off the table and through the door with this
young woman still fingering herself.
I noticed the other dancers had begun to run their hands up and down their
bodies, feeling themselves up, but nothing further ended as the music stopped.
I thought most of the exciting performances were over but I was wrong again.
Another dancer I ha d not seen before came out, fully veiled. Her dance was
rather restrained compared to what I had just seen. She ended it by kneeling
and folded her head into her lap. Then, one of the big men who had carried the
platform out of the room entered with a whip and a coil of rope.
He reached down and tied her wrists, then a rope snaked down from the ceiling
with a hook on it. He placed her bonds on the hook and indicated to an unseen
accomplice to pull up the rope. The dancer was lifted off the floor, just
beyond the reach of her toes. The man tied her feet then stood back. I held my
breath. He began to whip her. The crack of the whip came through my hidden
door as well as through the headphones and made me wince. But the dancer made
no sound.
At first I thought the man was whipping her indiscriminately. Then I noticed
that parts of her costume were falling away. He was literally whipping the
clothes off of her! There was no blood, only whip welts on her body, and still
no sound from her e xcept maybe a grunt from underneath the veil that remained
on her face. All of this went on while the recorders drank in the view. I had
stopped taking notes; I just wasn't able to think clearly anymore. The man
wielding the whip continued to torture the dancer until most of her clothes
were in shreds and most of her body exposed to the whip and to everyone's
view.
The whip man stood back from the dangling dancer, admired his "work" and bowed
to Mustafa and the audience. Mustafa then stood up and asked for any woman in
the audience to participate, if she dared! A willowy brunette stood up and
moved down the ste ps to the show floor. The man grabbed her and roughly
stripped her down to her bra and panties; she had on a garter belt and
stockings but she produced a small knife and ripped them to shreds. Her
lingerie was pale blue, of course.
The man pulled down her bra straps and cups, exposing her pert breasts. He
made her clasp her hands over her head and he tied them together. Her posture
made her breasts stand out further than normal. He then left her standing
alone, half naked, next to the dancer who had not moved while suspended from
the overhead rope. The whipper and another man brought into the room a large
wood post with a metal ring attached near the top of the post. They attached
the brunette woman's bonds to the post rin g, then they lowered the overhead
rope and untied the dancer.
Mustafa once again stood up and commanded the dancer to lick the captive
brunette. The veil still covered the dancer's face as she went over to the
woman at the post. The dancer pulled down the captive's panties and pulled
aside her own veil. Even wi th a close up, the veil hid most of the dancer's
face and tongue work but the results were obvious. The brunette was writhing
with pleasure. One of the men reached into one of the voluminous pockets of
his costume and removed nipple clamps which he t hen attached to the captive.
It was pain through pleasure that this woman from the audience craved and she
got it.
Mustafa barked another command, and the dancer left the room. Both men grabbed
whips and began their work across the brunette's body. When her panties had
fallen off in shreds and her front was covered with welts, they spun her
around on the post rin g and continued up and down her backside. She
eventually sagged down, probably having fainted. The men loosened her bonds
and took down off the post, moving her off the floor and through the
performers door. The audience applauded and Mustafa acknowl edged them. He
then gave me a prearranged hand signal that the show was over. I was glad but
not relieved. I didn't know how I was going to edit these scenes. I took
Mustafa's advice and retired to one of his guest rooms after shutting down my
equipm ent. It wasn't the same room I had before and this time there were no
late visitors, which was fine with me. I wondered what happened to all of the
people including Serena. Sleep came very slowly that night.
Further and Deeper
I woke late the next morning. One of Mustafa's men brought brunch after I
called on the in-house intercom. As I was finishing, Mustafa came in and sat
down on a chair opposite me. He asked me how I liked last night's performance,
and I truthfully ans wered that I didn't know what to think. He sat back and
looked at me thoughtfully, then explained his situation. Years ago, he was
nothing but an officer in the Turkish army. He had been wounded in a secret
border clash with an opposing force he decl ined to identify, and was
cashiered out of the army. However, he had found a rich cache of loot from an
ancient conquering army during a patrol before the incident. He had returned
and recovered this historical treasure and had sold it off through in
termediaries until he was wealthy enough to leave the country with most of his
wealth intact.
Mustafa explained that it was his dream to allow people to explore their
eroticism to the fullest and to introduce it to the rest of his native land,
except that fundamentalism had caused him to slow down his plans. He then
created the concept of a p rivate club membership for people like him so that
he could raise money for a longer term project. The idea itself was nothing
new, the extremity of it was. He then told me I would have to move my cameras
to the second sub basement for tonight's show . He laughed as he stood up and
said that tonight's performance would be his best.
Mustafa told me I could rest until 5 PM, then I could start moving the
cameras. I would be working from the same hidden room for control though. At a
little after 5, one of his men came for me. He had a set of keys to the
elevator and got me down to the club's first floor. He helped me carry the
cameras and tripods into the elevator, then he unlocked the access button to
the bottom floor.
After we went through a small vestibule, we entered a room only slightly
smaller than the first floor main room. The floor was flat with slightly
raised stands to the left and right, and taller stand with what looked like a
throne chair. The ceiling was black and ill-defined, I could not see past the
lights. Once again I set up cameras in relatively the same positions, except
the camera previously used in a vent had to be put onto a six inch high
miniature tripod on the floor to get a bug's eye view. I went back to the
control room and worked with one of the men positioning the tripods until I
was satisfied.
I went back upstairs and had an early dinner brought up from the kitchen to my
room. Then another one of Mustafa's men knocked on my door and told me to get
ready. I headed for the main room and slipped behind the tapestry to unlock
the hidden door, but not before I noticed another man who was carefully
admitting people with a pass in their hands to enter the performer's door. I
switched on the monitors and watched an odd scene build up. The sub basement
room was filling with couples. The women were all dressed in different types
of costumes.
While the last several couples filed into the room, Mustafa took his seat of
honor, with Serena following him. She sat on the floor to his right, wearing a
long violet and gold robe. Mustafa talked to an aide, then loudly asked for
attention. He proc laimed that it was Amateur Night and that he was the sole
judge. The best woman performer would win 500 pieces of gold. His employees
were not eligible for the prize, but perhaps one or two would help at certain
points in the show to help keep up the level of entertainment. When he said
this, he looked towards Serena briefly.
No musicians were present. Instead, a big stereo amp with a cassette player
provided the music. The first contestant was the blonde who I first saw do an
impromptu belly dance at the club. She did a striptease act that was pretty
good. Unlike that fi rst time, she was loose and put on a good show. She got
the crowd into her act by the time she was down to her bra, panties, garter
belt and stockings, all blue of course. When she uncovered her breasts, she
shook them with great abandon. With her pa nties off, she wiggled her hips
just fine. Soon, she was wearing just the belt and stockings.
Her finale was quite a show. Her male companion brought out this device that
looked like a saddle with a dildo in the middle of it. He turned on a switch,
and the blonde proceeded to sit on it and let it fuck her! After she came,
growling quite loudl y, she got up breathlessly, shut off the device, bowed to
Mustafa and the audience and went back to her seat. I could see by the
glinting of light off the dildo that she enjoyed herself.
The next contestant did something like a hula dance while wearing a two piece
sarong, except the dance was fast paced. She worked off her top and her wrap-
around sarong so that she danced naked. I didn't comprehend what happened next
for a few second s. She went down on all fours face down and wiggled her ass
high in the air. Next thing I knew, it looked like an ape had mounted her. The
I realized it was probably her lover in an ape costume. After he pulled out
and came over her ass, her turn was done. Somehow I thought it was more of
their thing than pleasing to the crowd.
Mustafa announced that Serena would dance the Coin Dance. She removed her robe
and walked to the center of the room. Her body was covered from her neck down
to her knees, front and back, with gold coins. The tape that Mustafa's men put
in the player was of fast paced belly dance music. She danced erotically as
never before; she shook and shimmied every part of her body. With each effort,
a few coins spun loose. She managed to shake loose the coins off her breasts,
off her hips and even pried coi ns from between her thighs and ass crack. When
the music ended, she was panting hard, laying on the floor, mostly naked.
Mustafa said that tradition was that she could keep any coin she had shook
loose during the dance. I don't think Serena heard him , but Mustafa's aides
gathered the loose coins into a bag and helped her off the floor and into a
room behind Mustafa's throne.
The rest of the amateur performances were quite similar, but no one had any S
& M act, and most of the women performed by themselves. Serena had not
returned to the room. Why was I looking for her? Perhaps it was jealousy, but
I had to keep working t he console if I expected to get paid for the job. I
could see Mustafa was not totally enjoying this show. Except for a few acts,
he seemed detached. After one act where a woman did another striptease from a
flamenco dancer's dress, he announced anoth er professional dancer from his
troop would perform. A heavily veiled dancer entered the room, inserted her
tape into the machine, turned it on and began to dance.
I recognized her from her costume as the dancer who was suspended and whipped
from the night before. This time, she was using the whip on herself to remove
her clothing. I learned later on that a few professional strippers would have
called it whipte ase. As the veils peeled off her body, I could hardly see any
sign of the previous night's abuse. I could not believe how sexy she could be
while flagellating herself. Mustafa was visibly aroused by her display. She
finished her dance in the nude, bu t the veil on her face remained.
One of the men brought out a box to her. She reached inside and pulled out a
snake! She wrapped the snake (probably a small boa) around her body and
started a slightly different dance. It was more like she was making love to an
invisible man as she g yrated her body, especially with exaggerated pelvic
thrusts. Then she lay down on her back and inserted the tail of the snake into
her pussy. She held the head of the snake in her right hand and held its tail
in her pussy with the left. With one fing er she pressed on the head of the
snake and the snake began to wriggle and writhe. The dancer took her pleasure
from the snake and after a few minutes had an obvious orgasm. I think Mustafa
was seriously contemplating breaking his rule about awarding the top prize to
an amateur. The dancer recovered and removed her props including the snake.
Mustafa's eyes never left the dancer as she exited.
The brunette who willingly gave her body to the whip was next. She did a strip
down to a garter belt and stockings, but she then built on her reputation from
the night before. Several men brought out 4 posts with rings. She allowed her
arms and legs to be tied to each post. Another brunette woman who I never saw
before came out dressed in a tight red leather miniskirt and halter top. With
a rod she slapped the suspended woman on her front and back for s short item,
then she reached into a bag. W ith a close up, I saw her insert needles
through the nipples of the captive. The captive writhed and clenched her teeth
but did not cry out. Clamps with thin chains were attached to her pussy lips
and were pulled to opposite posts to expose her pussy fully. Her ass was then
filled with a vibrating dildo. The leather-clad woman began to torture her
captive again with the rod with much harder strokes. This time, the brunette
screamed; but it seemed more like peals of pleasure! Her pussy got notice ably
wet as she passed out. Mustafa and the crowd applauded!
The upshot of the night was that Mustafa did award first prize to the abused
brunette, but gave a special prize to the veiled dancer, whom he said her
actual identity was a mystery. I packed up my equipment late in the night and
vowed that I would no t return. I'd finish editing the tape but I would never
accept Mustafa's hospitality again. Something inside me told me I should not
stick around.
Two days later as I was editing the tape as per Mustafa's contract, I got a
surprise visit. Jolema came in to talk to me. She was interested in doing a
similar audition tape as Selena had done. I asked how Selena was doing and
Jolema answered mysteri ously that Selena had left town for a new line of
work. I was silently stunned but then I asked if Jolema was going to audition
at Mustafa's club. She said that Mustafa was "no longer a factor" and smiled
strangely. I wasn't thinking clearly and I as ked Jolema if we could discuss
the matter another time. She gave me a phone number (it was different than the
number Selena had) and left my office.
I hurriedly called Mustafa but got a line disconnect message. That morning's
newspaper filled in the rest of what I know. An explosion and fire had
destroyed the nightclub the night before. Three male bodies were found in the
wreckage; and several kn own employees were missing. Later I found out that
Selena had left her place, forwarding address unknown. Jolema seemed to be the
missing key, but I was afraid to unlock the door. And I had a videotape I
could hardly bear to watch.
What came next is another story.
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