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Perfect Love Story X
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.
PERFECT
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by Q
How I was invited is a mystery, even to myself. Bangkok is a hazy wasteland
of possibility. Perhaps my host had seen several erotic drawings I once did
for a magazine. The card lay in my post office box. It was simple and expen-
sive. The address was a fashionable one in Nang Po, by the river, Friday
at eleven, black tie, RSVP; the card would grant admittance.
The intensity of seeing the girl so used I cannot forget. She was young but
a woman, with puckering breasts and hips conscious of a woman's need. Her
glistening, jet black hair spilled over her shoulders and before the night
was over would hang wet from her sweat and the heat of the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen. Tonight I will be used for your pleasure," she spoke
in hesitant English, making eye contact with those present. The look in
her eyes was unsettling. Her factual tone was betrayed by the glitter in
her eyes. She would be used and utterly humiliated by the man who sat near
her.
The girl stepped back on a small platform built on one side of the room and
a curtain closed before her. Our host was a West German I had seen before.
I believe his business was the export of rubber. He stood on the stage before
the curtain and invited those present to drink and mingle. Tonight, he told
us, was a most important night for his young protege. Tonight the girl
would experience total humiliation before the eyes of a roomful of strangers.
He spoke of "transformation". The music came up, a throbbing, synthesised
sound, and waiters passed drinks to the impeccably dressed crowd. In corners
of the room on low couches hashish pipes began to glow. Soon the room was
dense with erotic tension.
Slowly the curtain parted and a light came up on the platform, revealing
the slender Malaysian girl with grapefruit breasts and almond eyes, naked,
exposed, strapped and gagged. She lay on her back and her hips were drawn
back over her head until her weight rested on the back of her neck with
her depilated cunt only inches from her face. Our host approached her with a
large candle. It was at least two inches thick and fourteen inches long. At
its base the candle bulged in a ball the size of a small orange. The candle
base was slick with oil. He caressed the face of the helpless slave sucked
in around the phallic gag, then twisted and pulled on her nipples, stretching
them nearly to her chin while she writhed in pain and frustration.
Her ankles were lashed to the floor beyond her head, spread wide so that her
straight, taut legs formed an "A", the top of which was her swollen pussy.
The breath whistled through her nostrils in short gaps as she struggled.
With his hands he worked and slapped at her inner thighs until they showed
an inner glow of red. By now the girl was rocking on her neck consumed with
lust, jerking her hot pussy, bobbing it up and down, trying to reach it,
trying to make him touch it, stroke it, and she would come. But no. He
watched her, amused, and turned to the crowd. "Look at her, ladies and gen-
tlemen! I do believe she would fuck anything! But first, a test."
He took the candle and stroked the bulging base across the slit of her need
and back to her puckering asshole. She humped and moaned beneath the gag as
the candle slid through her lips. Finally, when the base was wet with her
clear fluid, he forced the thing into her ass so that her anus gripped the
shaft above the bulge. He lit the candle.
She was totally still, taut, stiff, frozen. Apparently she had felt hot wax
on her skin before. Now the lit end hovered above her shaved genitals and
inner thighs.
The room was transfixed. Not a word was uttered as the music pounded and
the girl struggled to remain motionless. The flame burnt on. A hot pool of
wax began to form around the wick.
For minutes she held the posture and then, without warning, a spasm wobbled
her hips. A small shower of liquid wax leapt from the candle top to splash
across her most intimate flesh. When the hot wax hit she bucked again,throw-
ing more of the maddening drops across her shaved vagina. Again she froze.
The gathering watched on. Something in her eyes and in the speech she'd given
earlier held them back. Again and again she was overwhelmed by the shame and
stress and lust in between her thighs. It passed through her eyes and lips,
streched around the dildo gag. As she held herself immobile a hot, clear drop
of lubrication eased down from her open, empty,cunt to stripe the inner mound
of her left breast with gloss.
Even as she held herself still, candle wax dropped down the sides of the
shaft towards her streched, vulnerable flesh. Again and again trickles ran
down the candle side, then slowed to stop an inch or two above the tender
ridge. When the first drop reached the base there was a frozen pause before
she jerked wildly and screamed into a long, rythmic moan behind the gag.
The candle had blown out. The lights dimmed and the curtains drew on the
still writhing girl. The show was over.
Later the girl mingled among us, dressed in a long evening gown. Towards the
end of the evening I approached her. Looking down into her eyes, I asked
her was she all right. A smile lit her eyes.
"You do not understand," she told me. "Tonight, I am perfect."
THE
END
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