The Kink Palace

Chapter One
———–

“So what are the risks of… you know. Of dying?” Kathryn asked.

“We take every precaution,” the Japanese man across from her guaranteed. He was in his late forties – gaunt, stoic, the stereotypical Asian businessman in a sharp suit and thin glasses. He regarded her scrutinizingly, like a material resource perhaps, but not moreso than he would look as such upon any other clerk that worked for his organisation. “The Palace contracts the very best doctors in the country and we have the resources to have specialists flown from as far as the US within twenty-four hours,” he continued with only a faint hint of an accent.

“But…” the redheaded girl on the other side of the desk prompted him.

The man shrugged, “Accidents happen. Very rarely. The customers are heavily penalised, naturally. It is not in our interest to lose any girls at all,” he remarked, “it simply makes no sense fiscally. We have extended our range of services,” he opens his arms, “as far as we can. With the standards we maintain it is a struggle to keep our current portfolio at what it is. If our workers were afraid for their lives, there would simply not be enough women in the world to meet our criteria,” he smiles. “We would be out of wares to trade.”

Kathryn nodded a little, feeling the heat rising up under her skin as she contemplated the implications. She knew them by heart, of course. She’d fantasised for years. Yet the reality of a man behind a desk telling you what you must be prepared to do felt different. “So, ah… the limitations…” she looked across toward the businessman.

“Yes. This is how the Kink Palace distinguishes itself,” the businessman acknowledged. “In all other establishments, the client is presented with a selection… and he is forced to choose, not by the personality or the appearance of the girls available to him, but by their ‘speciality’. They are forced to play by the whims of the hostesses, rather than the other way around. One might be repulsed by bestiality, for example, another might insist that her clients be circumcised and… other such whimsical fancies,” he chuckled. “Many girls are afraid of knives, so if a client would like to indulge in some, ‘bloodplay’ as it is called in English, then he might well only have one or two options available even if the establishment boasts a selection of dozens, yes?

“Here, our guarantee is that, not only do we cater to the widest possible selection of kinks, but also that every hostess in our employ, every single one, is open to every single kink…” the Japanese man continued speaking with a slow, carefully paced tone, pausing to lift a finger. “No,” he corrected himself, “not open. Eager,” he emphasised, “each one is eager and willing no matter her client’s requests.”

The Irish girl crossed her legs, glancing out of the window across the night-lit Tokyo skyline. “So these limits are, uhh…” she swallowed a tiny lump in the back of her throat as her attention drifted to the contracts laid out on the table in front of her.

“That as a result of your treatment you are not likely to suffer any permanent impairment of your abilities, lasting discomfort or any class of disability,” the businessman explained calmly, looking at her straight in the eye. “So in truth, every fetish is permitted at a reasonable price,” he opened his hands, “the limitations primarily concern… physical damage. An expensive but, nonetheless, very popular indulgence among our clients, you must be aware,” the man leans forward. “You most certainly can be hurt, Miss… Kincordie, I cannot stress how important it is for you to be aware of that. And you very much can be hurt in ways that are… permanent. Merely so long as they are not classed as debilitating.”

Processing the words, the girl nodded, “It says I might receive brands and… tattoos, right?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. “And…”

“Yes. Many clients enjoy marking their favourite girls. Some more than others. In that list you will see the limited list of… mutilations that we allow and consider them to be non-debilitating. For instance, it is permissible for a client to ask for a ring finger but not a thumb. An ear, but not an eye.” His face became graver, “These are all very expensive operations and few girls must ever undergo such tasks,” the businessman insisted, “but every woman who works here must be prepared to face such a request not merely with acceptance, but with a smile. Do you understand that Kathryn? Do you believe you could?”

“Yeah…” Kathryn’s voice came out barely audible and she took a moment to recollect herself. “Yeah, I could,” she nodded, more confidently this time. “I… I think it would be hot,” she admits with a quiet shudder.

“Excellent. You have performed very well on the physiological and psychological evaluations. If you would simply sign here, here and here, then we can consider your employment contract with the Kink Palace official.”

Interlude
———

In 2020, the world faced the third decade of the new millennium. The world marched steadily onward, the same but different, change coming – as it always does – not in leaps, not in silver spacesuits and jetpacks, but in small details. Connectedness, cellphones, iPads. VHS tapes ushered a new age of pornography in the 20th century, but no technological advance was as revolutionary and widespread as the internet to every aspect of human existence. Societal norms were swept up and dissolved in a truly global community that had not existed since the fall of the Tower of Babel. And expose of humanity, from the core to the fringes.

What does it mean to be a freak? Even as television once brought information to the masses, disseminated across five terrestrial channels to the entirety of the United States, the norm was established with it. The mainstream. The Honeymooners. The Brady Bunch. It united people under an unwavering monolith of normalcy. Without choice, people could simply commune over their common interests – interests that had to be common. Those who diverged immediately became outcasts, the comic book nerds, the IT guys, the rednecks.

With the digital age information dissemination altered unimaginably. The five channels became five hundred. Films turned to video games, where no single experience is quite like another. The internet replaced the unifying monolith with a gaping chasm of diversity. In turn every interest became fringe and every fringe became mainstream. When Spiderman hit the theatres, how many comic book ‘nerds’ did it create? How many young souls sat quivering in a film theatre frightened but aroused the first time they watched a SAW film? How many gagged in front of their friends as they laughed watching 2 Girls 1 Cup only to Google the clip and watch it again and again at night in the comfort of their own rooms, retching at every frame as they masturbated?

A new culture was born – at first termed ‘hipsters’, which glorified this diversity. The fringe literally did become mainstream and the commune was no longer of people coming together over common interests, but sharing their most uncommon ones.

In a society where the fringe, the deviant and the bizarre found themselves on equal footing with the mundane, such distinctions begun to lose meaning. What can rightly be called shocking and obscene when the majority of the population will have watched it on YouTube and laughed? Oh, them comic book nerds. Oh them America’s Got Talent Nerds. Oh, them furries. Oh, them guro fans. Oh them football fans. Aren’t they funny? Aren’t they weird? Who isn’t?

—

In 2021, the Kink Palace opened in the heart of Tokyo. Despite the fears of stricter censorship after the RapeLay crisis, a decade later the global shift in attitude resulted in a political apathy once words such as ‘obscene’ and ‘perverse’ were banded about. The few who still droned on about the state of public moral health were ignored up until the point when an ailing economy saw the relaxation of prostitution laws and, eventually, the drafting of new regulations to promote healthy and diverse sex tourism across the island nation.

The Palace was founded by a coalition of wealthy businessmen with the capital to invest into the fledgeling industry and capture the imagination of the world: a place that catered for every fantasy. The most elaborate facilities with the most beautiful girls, each and every one of them ready and willing at a moment’s notice, with a smile on their lips. Just as long as you had the bank account for it.

Chapter Two
———–

“Come on Kathy, you’re being ridiculous,” Ruth wrinkled her nose, giving her friend a queer look. “You wouldn’t last a day. What if… I dunno, you could be asked to do anything. ANYTHING. Like, dress up like a bunny rabbit and lick some guy’s dog’s balls,” she snickered.

“Yeah, but…” Kathryn’s blush spread across her freckled cheeks. “It’s kinda romantic in its own way, isn’t it? I mean those girls they’re at the top of their class. Two hundred of the kinkiest, most beautiful women in the WORLD and getting paid like it,” she gesticulated like she always did when she got tipsy.

Around them the lights of the Dublin nightclub flashed, swirling hologrammatic decor projected into the ceiling – galaxies and dizzyingly huge nebulae, as if the entire dance hall was being propelled at warp speed through a celestial vortex. The three of them sat around a small table, having turned its sound isolation up until the music was muted enough for them to speak without shouting. The throbbing bass of the dance music continued to reverberate through their bodies however, irrespective of the electronic dampening, even while the audible component was rendered inaudible.

Ruth had transferred to school in Dublin when she was fourteen and now, two years later, she had become Kathryn’s best friend, or thereabouts. The blonde Glaswegian was pretty – with flowing hair, an ample, perky D-cup bust and a partying streak a mile wide. She was the most outgoing of their bunch and had no shortage of boyfriends. That night she’d brought Darren along, a lanky teen with curly hair from the year above.

As she sat in her lap, nursing an empty cocktail glass, the seventeen-year-old cuddled her and leant down to kiss the Scottish girl, making her squirm against him, a hand quietly reaching down into his skinny jeans.

While Ruth was pretty, Kathryn was gorgeous – or so everyone told her. She watched the couple from the other side of the table, still sipping at her white Russian. The redhead was pure Irish and a bit on the short side, but her pink, freckled cheeks, plump ruby lips and wide, iridescent green eyes were to die for. Or so she was told. To top it off, her hair grew in long, luscious and silky locks, coloured a stunningly bright and very natural red. She was a passing athlete to top it off – in good shape, with a perky pair of C-cups that commanded their own respect and attention.

As fortune would have it, she was also the heavily bookish type. Going out on the blitz never held that much interest for her. Sure, there was the sex and the strippers and the booze, but frankly – there was little she couldn’t enjoy in the peace and quiet of her own home. Without the blaring music, the flashing lights, the drunk freshers from the universities making passes at barely-legal fifteen year-olds. She was not a fan of crowds. The mediated turn-by-turn dialogue of a chatroom, certainly, but not this thing… so many people, all talking to each other, where you have to grab at every little pause in conversation and squeak and hope people pause talking and listen to you, followed by the awkwardness when you start speaking and someone else does half a second later and you pause and hope that they’ll respectfully let you continue what you started first, but then they just keep on talking like you never even said anything…

That is not to say that Kathryn Kincordie did not have a social life, far from it. But she met most of her friends online, while her school hours were focused on work, either curled up alone in the library with a tablet, chatting to someone online or down in the design workshops, polishing trinkets for extra credit in her metalwork classes until one of her friends like Ruth would decide to drop by for a chat. Of course she had boyfriends – few guys could resist the quiet, shy redheaded cutie and many would seek her out. A fair few would even elicit a blush and a smile and a few blissful weeks would be spent in sweaty embraces under the bedsheets every afternoon after school. But while she’d chat for hours about the socio-political studies, or the implications of Godel’s incompleteness theorem on the nature of truth, the consensus was established that she was a dull girlfriend as she was never one to go out, go to parties, or really do anything couply at all. Other than fuck.

The ones that did not grow bored of her, she grew bored of herself – her own sexual interests deviated from most of her classmates and once the newness of a stranger’s cock pressing against her skin during a languorous Saturday afternoon wore off, she found she had no real use for them. When she celebrated her fifteenth, she unwrapped her first vibrating dildo courtesy of her mother, while her dad gifted her a pre-paid all-site pass for Kink.com. Having themselves first met online in World of Warcraft and courted by means of months of orgiastic all-night erotic roleplay, Sienna and Brien Kincordie where hardly the paragons of conservatism.

Kathryn’s gaze wandered across to the stage, some fifteen feet from where they sat. Lit up gorgeously from below, nude figures twisted ecstatically, glistening with sweat amidst swirls of luminescent smoke – spinning for the entertainment and arousal of club goers. Closest to them were a couple, both intimately wrapped around a pole and each other. The woman looked like she was a college student, blonde and buxom. The breasts looked natural, but Kathy thought she could see traces or fresh scars from an operation. The man was some twenty-five years older, well-built, with jagged hair and a proud erection.

The intimacy and eroticism of their dance was practically palpable, her vice-like grip on his cock as they kissed, broke apart, mounted the pole, then reunited. With effortless grace, she inverted herself, spiderman-kissing her partner from above. As the teen watched, she wondered if they were an actual couple. Mixed, male and female, strippers became all the rage since before she’d even set foot in a club, catering to both the girls and the guys on the dancefloor, rousing their tempers to the beat of the music. But the missing ingredient was discovered when some club owner realised that rather than having a pole each, the result was so, so much more fascinating when they shared the poles, to at a time. You can only watch the rippling muscles of a perfect Adonis for so long: the interplay of two beings in romantic, intimate union, however, was something else entirely.

Naturally, it was another show entirely when a real spark existed between the two dancers, something that could silence half a room as they would themselves become embodied, enraptured and entranced within the lovers’ art. Show business was show business however, and while skilful couples could earn a respectable living performing for the masses, many more learned to fake it when it meant keeping their jobs.

“Hi, how are you beautiful guys and girls doing, would you like any more drinks, top-ups?” Kathy was torn from her reverie as the table was attended to by a young lad with a shaved head and a Scottish accent. The cheerful sort, likely just out of school, working part-time to save up for university. He stood shirtless, wearing leather chaps, his bare cock swaying between his bared thighs at an impressive length, getting a little giggle out of Ruth.

“I’m good,” Kathryn blushed, shaking her head as she hid her smile behind her white russian, while watching the attendant with a degree of amusement. This club was definitely posher than Ruth’s usual haunts.

“What about you two?” the boy turned to Ruth and her boyfriend, distracting them from their canoodling. “Can I refill your glass for you sweetie?”

The blonde Glaswegian looked up with a little smile, “Sure… ahh…” Ruth’s eyes searched around and hit upon Kathy’s drink. “What’s that you’re drinking, Kitty-Kat?”

“White russian,” the redhead shrugged quietly.

“Ooh, okay. I’ll have one of those then,” Ruth nodded, handing the handsome attendant her empty glass. “Aaaand…” she added before he had a chance to depart, lips curling into a teasing smile, “a layer of your thick, creamy spunk on top, if you will, er…. what’s your name cutie?”

“Michael Fiennes,” the young man laughed warmly, “I’ll get right on that,” he nodded back with a little wink, tapping up the price on his tablet. Ruth waved her debit card and a moment later he was off, with a little wave.

Darren shook his head with a mock sigh, “You’re such a teasing little slut,” he muttered, nibbling on his girlfriend’s ear.

“Oh, why – did you want some too? We can share…”

Kathy finally finished off her drink once Ruth’s new friend zipped off to get a white russian, flashing her friend a little smile at her antics. “So what do you want to do once you graduate?” she wondered idly, avoiding setting her glass down on the table, lest the device flagged it as empty and sent another nude waiter their way for expensive refills.

“Not my ken,” the blonde shrugged it off, “maybe work at a place like this for a while, meet some cute boys, maybe an older gent of some handsome description and wealthy persuasion,” she winked. “Maybe one with a healthy appetite for young boys’ asses…” she leant back, planting a gnawing kiss on her boyfriend’s cheek, evoking a retaliatory bite from Darren in turn, plunging the two of them into giggles and more squirming.

“But you don’t think I should go to Japan?” Kathryn sighed.