She was a woman who had acquired great wealth through hard work, though the public believed her prosperity came from inheritance. She did not suffer from childhood abuse and she was not one to endure emotional suffering due to negligence. In fact, as a child she had been very well loved, maybe even overly pampered, undoubtedly. She led a private life composed of disciplinary, solitary rituals. After a long day at work facing the skyscraper, she returned to her mansion with its view of skyscrapers, of minimal décor and intelligence, to eat a large bowl of iceberg lettuce sprinkled heavily with fried bacon prepared by her personal chef, Anton, a translucent glass of fine gin with ice, and a bowl of avocado sprinkled with nutmeg and salt. Her meal was elegant and always the same. After her meal, she gave Anton a stern, cold gaze, which forced him to scurry off her mansion floor like an unwanted cricket. She had developed a lust for undefined solitude, one which, over the years, was hard to keep up.

When they handcuffed her and led her down the long glass corridors of her mansion, and down 100 floors via the elevator, the public and the paparazzi were quick to take snapshots. They were trying to capture the portrait of perversity. They discovered, quite to the contrary, that, based on the angle of her chin and the size of her stride, she was elegant to a perverse degree, and sophisticated, erudite, eremitic, and so loveable that their cameras became shy and apologetic and even ashamed to stretch their necks out for another snapshot. When she was handcuffed, she was wearing a knee-high skirt, black high heels, and a white long-sleeved blouse with ruffles unfurling down her chest, and when the police officers tucked her into the police car it was like she was a handkerchief folded into a box. They were careful with her.

She had kept a personal sex service while she was single for many years. In fact, she had been single all her life. In the latter six years of her being before the incarceration, she became addicted to being licked. Though it wasn’t an animal she had desired this from. She turned humans into dogs. Their sole job at her mansion was to become sexual dogs. She trained them carefully, with a few pre-organized and pre-ordained gestures of her hands, to come and lick her. She underwent a thorough series of human acquisitions. She adopted and adhered to a clear code of hiring. Her rules were methodical and precise and almost random. She wanted women who were not too tall and did not talk too much and men who were not too scrawny or short and were muscular and blond, but not too muscular. She did not prefer academic men, but desired erudite women so that when the women licked her, they uttered educated moans that could only be murmured by a scholar in the midst of her deposition or thesis defense. And, most of all, she wanted her prostitutes to be virgin prostitutes; meaning, she was their first and probably only client.

Over the years, she developed an organized, consistent group of twelve rotating prostitutes who worked under her and for her. They had developed a syncopated schedule in which at least two men and two women were housed in her mansion at any given time. Whenever she felt an unpremeditated flash of delirious desire to be licked, and with the push of one red button from her remote control, one that looked like a remote detonator, the services of these men and women would deliver her unexpectedly-expected instantaneous and immediate high-quality sex service with their tongues to her clit. They arrived in a hurry, always naked, on all fours, panting social-cognitively and growling, to wherever she was located in the mansion – whether she was in her office writing emails to her subordinates or on her bed watching an episode of Madmen or standing against her glass wall, watching the sunset disappear into the mouth of the earth.

She donned a silk robe. A prostitute came on all fours, bitingly and nippingly and slowly unraveled her underwear down her long legs, and if she were sitting on her netted, swivel gray chair, the prostitute would get on her knees and begin to dive slowly her tongue into her. She would lick the rims of her genitals in one full circle before beginning another slow circle. She preferred virgin prostitutes because often they did not know what they were doing and the untrained nature of their un-jaded tongues gave her pleasure that she had came to call authentic and natural. She had learned through trial and error that professional and veteran prostitutes knew too well what they were doing and although she ultimately climaxed from their efficient work, she grew manically sad and unsatisfied. It took her six months to realize that the culprit of her lack of sexual satisfaction was the lack of freshness in the tongues amongst those she hired.

Sometimes she would stand leaning into the glass frame of her mansion. If she wanted the pleasure to be muscular and the texture of the tongue to be abrasive, a naked man, remotely commanded, would come on all four to pleasure her. He would open her robe slowly and without much provocation; he would spread her legs and begin to lick her while her naked butt rested against the glass.

Once, sitting in her room on a yacht on her way to Belize, the accompanying prostitutes came to her service frequently. She would be sitting by the window where the sea line and its waves were bobbing up and down. Sitting between sea and glass, with her hand holding a glass of gin and tonic and her legs spread wide open like the wingspan of a sea eagle, the prostitute gave her head. Her bobbing up and down matched the pattern in the sea waves. She realized that she loved being fucked, tonguewise, near the sea. There was something in the water, the sound of it or the silence of it, that syncopated emotionally with her clitoris. As if her clitoris could experience complex emotions such as regret and guilt without her. That her body was a glass bottle, the glass material, that separated itself from the liquid, which was her soul. That the vessel that gave her pleasure was driven by repetition and surface tension and from the surface tension, the undulating movement of the water, in which her entire being was being stirred.

Sometimes she wanted her prostitutes to lick her over the course of eight hours. Every ten minutes or so, they would dip their tongues into her, igniting her into a delirious state of hedonism. And as soon as her body regained her composure, her prostitute would circulate her tongue once again as if her clitoris were a library book on loan and had to be checked out and checked in again and again. The prostitute spent an entire day pleasuring her until her face cut open like light.

Sometimes she ran her fingers through their hair like they were the fresh grass of the earth. She combed their skulls meditatively, rhythmically, forgetting at times that they were still in between her legs, pleasuring her while her imagination went off on a hiatus. Sometimes she would be on the phone, making business calls abroad, but he would continue to lick her as if she had been sprawled out in bed waiting for the satisfaction to come. She kept these men and women in her house. They would become overwhelmingly bored at times, just waiting to lick her. And they would never know which of the four of them would come to her service. Slowly, they developed forced platonic relationships with each other. Under their legal contract with her, they were not allowed to fuck each other.

Although in each other’s company they behaved like lonely and neglected dogs and cats whose owner had left them for long days of work or dinning out, whenever they saw her, they were greedily excited to please her. She had a way of starving them emotionally and sexually. It was a way to guarantee the high quality of their services. When they saw her, they were truly genuine in their reception of her body into their lonely, aching mouths. Through emotional and physical starvation, they inadvertently became virgins. They were corporeally naked, but they were also emotionally naked. Most of her prostitutes all looked and acted the same over the years; they just simply became blurry faces and tongues. She had no emotional love for them. She treated them professionally and was generous with them financially. In fact, she paid them so well that they couldn’t imagine leading a different life. They became addicted only to her, but to the rich resources she provided them.

Outside of their six-figure salaries, she bestowed on them lavish gifts and vacations. And, through her own highly profitable company in the technology sector, she provided paid, premium health care to all the family and extended family members and friends of her prostitutes. Her health benefits were so extraordinary that if the prostitutes wanted an entire village under their health plans, she would provide it immediately and generously without asking questions. Over the years, the prostitutes, through the perversity of the capitalistic market, became slaves not only to her, but also to their family or community

But not all humans were designed to live over long periods of time under her laws. Most were able to make the proper changes to their life or lifestyles and stayed employed under her. But there were those who simply couldn’t take it. And these dogs, in fact, one dog, led to her arrest. He had fallen deeply in love with her, in fact. She had always known that love was the ultimate betrayal and could foresee the betrayal unfolding under her aristocratic nose. Under the contract, he could not legally sue her and did not want to sue her. Under the terms of the contract, he had agreed to be her dog. A loyal dog. He had agreed that he had not been blackmailed into taking the position. He had signed the lengthy 319-page document and under clause 145 section ii, he could leave the position at any time his volition deemed fitting. He simply possessed the natural tendency in its utmost unnatural tendency to want her all to himself. In fact, he offered to provide her, like a cellphone service, unlimited access to himself. At any time and anywhere.

He promised that he wouldn’t be burned out or face roaming charges or go out of service. His love for her would defy the physical laws of the universe. He promised that her pleasure wouldn’t be compromised and that he had the natural ability to recalibrate his virginity, providing her fresh sexual experiences each time. But, in her unshakable logic, under the spell of his clear unreciprocated love for her, she knew that even loyal dogs bite and are fallible and have often bitten off the faces of innocent children. She knew that his kind of love was one built on the reversal or imbalance of power. Under her mansion, he wanted to reinvent the rules. And, under the veneer of the extinct language of love, he had coined this power struggle “true love.”

His dictatorship with love led her into the inevitable world of arrest. She was investigated and handcuffed. He managed to unionize all the prostitutes and convinced them that it was inhuman and unethical for her to turn humans into dogs, sexual dogs.  He convinced the court that she was a woman of inhuman perversity and that her existence was a threat to a stable modern civilization and while the economic world flourished under her leadership and entrepreneurship, the morality of man suffered greatly. The only way to protect the ethical providence of humanity was to quarantine her and convert her back into a human dog, a human-incarcerated dog. His inferiority complex was unable to process and accept a woman in power, and through the propaganda of love he attempted to dethrone her.

In prison, she was a sex figure with enormous prowess and authority. Under her rule, and always handcuffed, the inmates and security officers, all under her prison contract, were trained to lick her like virgin prostitutes. They even imported and served her iceberg lettuce, gin, avocado and nutmeg. And even salt.

 

 

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“Sexual Dogs” by Vi Khi Nao, from A Brief Alphabet of Torture: Stories, copyright © 2017 by Vi Khi Nao. Used by permission of The University of Alabama Press, publisher of FC2 books.