Last week I shared the story ‘The Debate‘ that was originally written in Dutch, and translated to English because Liza Daen will attend Eroticon in May 2016. Another Dutch writer who will join us at Eroticon is Luckyman. He too has taken one of his stories and translated it into English, so you can get an idea of the kind of erotic fiction he writes. Enjoy!

~ Marie Rebelle

With a sigh of relief, he entered the air conditioned lobby of the hotel and left the sweltering heat of the dusty town behind him. The lobby was pleasant and quiet. Cozy was perhaps a bit too much of a word, but at least here on the ground floor everything still appeared under control. He walked past the front desk without being noticed and along the entrance of the restaurant without anyone seeing him. All afternoon he had consciously been trying to become unseen, walking without casting his shadow on the hot asphalt of the streets in the city. He walked silently, holding his breath, past the little trinkets shop and discreetly, without making any noise,went down the stairs to the hairdressers’ salon. He did not really know what awaited him there, but he was dead sure about one thing.  And that was that no one had seen him this afternoon. Or rather, that the people who had noticed him did not know where he was going and that here, at his destination, no one would know where he had come from. Moreover, on this public holiday, no-one would miss him. The woman who had given him the address, had been very adamant about that. “Make sure no one sees you. Make sure nobody knows what you are going to do,” she had said.

He had met her in a Lebanese restaurant in the center of town. Their get-together had soon acquired a rather intimate feel and she immediately had him enchanted. She was a shapely brunette with frivolous curly hair, green eyes and a pretty, fascinating face. Her body was wrapped in a tight dark blue suit. When she had gone to the toilet, he had looked in amazement at her roundish ass, dancing away from him. When she told him that recently a few underground brothels had opened, he had listened attentively. She had even told him in great detail how these were organized and how the owners time and again had managed to fool the authorities.

He was ever so grateful and obliged to her for all that information. He had now descended the stairs and entered the subterranean catacombs under the hotel. Just as she had told him, he came to the entrance of a barber shop in the basement. A couple of cheap white plastic chairs stood in front of the sliding glass door at the entrance. The room was cramped, the damp atmosphere smelled of a mixture of acidic sweat and the cheapest cologne. He stepped inside. Three amazingly beautiful women were loitering in the salon.

“Good afternoon.” he said.

“Good afternoon,” responded the three simultaneously, like a choir of Sirens.

He had expected that the women would have immediately understood what he was looking for and that they would discreetly lead him to a room somewhere out of sight. He had expected that a soft-spoken woman would politely ask him to wait until a beautiful exotic princess would be called to his services. He had expected that they would want him to disappear out of sight as quickly as possible, behind some curtain that they would pull down. Because even here, in this dimly lit underground salon, he still felt vulnerable and visible.

“First pay. First pay, then come in,” the tallest woman said.

“Okay, well, how ….”

“How much do you have?” she insisted.

Nervously he started counting how much money he had in his wallet, but he was trembling and the room was so gloomy that he could not tell the different bills apart. He wanted to start counting all over again.

“Let me see. Give me your wallet,” she told him impatiently.

His heart skipped several beats. Suddenly all of this did not feel good anymore. All he wanted to do now was to leave as politely as possible and go back to his hotel.

“OOgggghhhhhh Shit!”

Unexpectedly and suddenly, a caustic substance was sprayed in his eyes. Blinded, he wanted to flee and he tried to run in the direction where he suspected the door to be. He tripped over one of the plastic chairs, fell hard to the ground. The women threw themselves on him, pulled a hood over his head. Inside the hood, he smelled a pungent, intoxicating fragrance.

He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but when he came to his senses, he was naked and the sound of ratchets made him aware that strict metal handcuffs were applied, restraining his wrists behind his back.  When he was dragged to his feet, he noticed that his ankles were secured together with a heavy chain. Hooded and handcuffed he passed through a long corridor. His soft, bare feet tread on coarse granite tiles. The chain made a clanging sound as he dragged it over the ground. It was cold and the sense of nakedness gave him goose bumps. In the distance he heard a swelling murmur of women’s voices. By the touch of his foot soles he could tell that he stepped on another type of floor, this time one of roughly finished cement.  And then a guard pulled the hood off his head.

He found himself in a large room crowded by women from all over the world. A female guard led him forcibly to a kind of stage. The guards poked him in the buttocks with a sharp stick. His ankle chain rattled as he climbed the steps to the stage. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he stood erect in the light of a spotlight. The room was gloomy dark. The murmur in the crowd just went on, but as he stood there, naked in front of all these different women, he developed an unstoppable erection. In shameful humiliation his penis jerked straight forward like a silly thin asparagus. But no one seemed to pay attention to him and the conversations around him just carried on, until somebody at the back of the room made a bid. And after the auctioneer had hammered the sale, he was led off the stage and taken away.

He was brought to a small, dark room. In there was a heavy wooden pillory. In the corridor he heard a lot of chaotic noise, the door swung open and a wild-haired brunette was forcibly brought in, handcuffed with her hands on the back. Her long hair protruded from the hood that was pulled over her head.

She resisted fiercely, shouted and cursed and tried to run away. Because of the hood, she fought blindly and her frantic movements were futile and unfocused. The wardresses could therefore take her to the pillory without too much difficulty and they secured her in it with a heavy padlock.  Oddly enough all wardresses then suddenly parted. He heard their echoing footsteps slowly fading in the long corridor.

The woman in the stocks was now alone with him and stood with the hood over her head in an exhausting, humiliating position. Her legs and round buttocks were quivering from the ordeal she was going through.

“First you are missed, then you become missing,” she suddenly said from under her hood. “Then they search for you a while, until you are eventually forgotten. It is always like this. It does not matter. Because here they do not forget you. You know, this market has existed for 1800 years. No one has discovered it until now because it is run by women. You will be forgotten for so long that you will no longer be missed. That´s what the whole thing here is about. “Oblivion.”

Her words had a different effect on him than she had intended. Seeing her humiliation suddenly had him terribly excited. He got an erection again and even though he was terrified that the wardresses would come back, his lust overcame his fear and inhibitions. He shuffled towards her, she could tell that by the clanking of his ankle chain. He now stood in front of her and dragged his cock along her face and into her mouth through the opening in the hood. He pushed his red glans in her mouth and she surrendered to him and licked and sucked him to his intense pleasure. Before he knew it, he had already injected his flaky sperm into her mouth and he was amazed that she did her best to keep it all in her mouth, tasting it, greedily swallowing his white, wispy cream. Grateful, he asked her what her name was. And just when he thought she was going to tell him, a guard came back.

She had a folding chair in one hand and an ice bucket in the other. Right behind her were two other female guards with folding chairs, bottles of beer and cigarettes. They sat chatting cozily on the chairs. They laid stacks of dollars on the floor and pointed smiling at the brunette in the stocks.

“Don’t tell us you have already started.” The group burst out in hilarious laughter. “We’re going to play,” the guard told him. “The rules are simple. You have to fuck this female slave. You get two minutes on this timer, see?” She showed him an egg timer. “Two minutes because most of you guys have no more endurance, so the limit is not determined by us but by you useless men.” The women roared with laughter. “If you manage to fuck her and ejaculate within two minutes, we’ll let you try again the next day. Once you fail, it is your turn to be put in the stocks, just like your predecessors. And then she,” she nodded at the woman in the stocks, “will cut your crappy balls and keep them fresh in the ice bucket. Well what do you say? Can we set the timer?

“She pulled the hood off the head of the slave. He recognized her immediately. It was the brunette whom he had met in the Lebanese restaurant. The woman who had lured him here.

“Well, boy,” she said cheerfully in the stocks. “Bring it on. Or don´t you feel like it anymore?”

-/ –

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