Chapter 12

We got dolled up for our night at the club in Lan Kwai Fong, helping each other perfect our makeup and hair with smoky eyes and tousled waves that screamed seduction. I kept my chastity cage locked snug around my tiny, shaven dick, the flat metal pressing firmly against my skin, and I eased in an anal plug with a glittering jewelled base that nestled deep in my ass, its weight a constant, thrilling reminder. Garters clipped to sheer fishnets hugged my thighs, and I went without a bra tonight, my fresh nipple hoops glinting under the plunging neckline of a tiny, shimmering clubbing dress that skimmed just past my butt cheeks, held precariously in place by secret tape. Van skipped panties too, her bare pussy outlined under a skin-tight tube dress that barely contained her curves.

We knocked back pre-drink shots of baijiu-laced vodka at home, and by the time we hit the club line amid the neon chaos of D’Aguilar Street, we were giggling uncontrollably, our inhibitions dissolved in the humid night air. The club throbbed with pounding hip hop bass that rattled our bones, lights strobing wildly. It was ladies’ night, so no cover charge for us gweipo and local queens alike.

A couple of lau por guys tried chatting us up in line, flashing cheesy grins, but Van brushed them off like yesterday’s dim sum; she was a woman on a fierce mission to get fucked tonight, her eyes scanning the crowd with predatory hunger.

The bouncer, a burly expat with tribal tats, waved us through with an appreciative nod, and the party exploded around us in full swing—sweaty bodies grinding under laser lights, the air thick with perfume, smoke, and lust. We shoved past the dense crowds, elbows jostling, until we burst onto the dance floor, where we grabbed a tray of glowing shots from a passing waitress, downing them in one fiery gulp as the rhythm pulled us into its hypnotic pulse.

Our bodies moved in sync, hips swaying to the relentless beat, my jewelled plug shifting deliciously with every grind, the creampie from earlier still slick in my panties, mixing with fresh arousal. Van pressed close, her hands roaming my waist, our new tattoos and piercings tingling under the fabric—’slut’ scripted across my belly, ‘queen’ inked on her shoulder—as we danced like sirens amid Hong Kong’s electric nightlife. Laughter bubbled between us, shots fueling the fire, drawing eyes from every corner: suited finance bros, tattooed locals, tourists wide-eyed and eager. In that throbbing heart of LKF, our twisted bond ignited brighter, a defiant blaze of shared depravity and unbreakable sisterhood, propelling us toward the raw, pounding ecstasy we craved under the city’s unyielding neon sky.

We burst onto the dance floor amid the throbbing chaos of the club in Lan Kwai Fong, the air thick with sweat and synthetic fog, hip hop beats pounding from massive speakers that vibrated through our heels. Bodies writhed everywhere, neon lights slashing across bare skin, and the scent of spilled drinks mingled with cheap perfume. Just as Van and I locked into our rhythm, grinding hips together with my jewelled plug shifting deep in my ass, I spotted him through the strobe haze: Marcus, the towering black giant whose massive cock had wrecked Van right in front of me back when I was still pretending to be a man. He had shoved that monster down my throat and reamed my virgin ass too, marking me forever. Beside him loomed Trevor, his equally built buddy, both laughing uproariously amid a cluster of rowdy mates.