Chapter 0 - Agatha Chen

The blinking light on the bedside table meant there were unread messages on Agatha’s phone when she stirred from her bed as evening descended over the Fragrant Harbour she called home. More accurately, it was one voicemail, furiously pinging as if it couldn’t wait. The other was a message, showing as a pop-up notification.

The male voice was both angry and panicked in equal measure. "Ms Agatha, someone knows! They say they know everything! We must talk!" The last word in the message was blackmail, which was anathema to the sorts of private arrangements Agatha Chen had with her clients. Still, it would more likely be a problem for the client, in this case an Alistair Greene, managing director of one of the offshore banks with a subsidiary office in this financial hub, than for Agatha.

The other message showed a more familiar name, Liam, just Liam.

Agatha sat up and looked at her phone. Her brows furrowed and she muttered, "What is this nonsense? Oh Alistair--always the drama queen." She consulted her calendar and saw that she had some free time tonight, so she typed up a measured reply to Alistair, saying, "Good evening. No cause for alarm. Let's speak on this at our next rendezvous. Are you free this evening?"

When she turned to Liam's message, she smiled. Such a good boy..., she thought, and replied, asking, "And how is my property this evening?"

She could almost hear Alistair bite his tongue to prevent himself from answering with Yes Mistress Agatha,, but clearly the man was somewhere public enough to prevent him from doing so, but private enough for him to still be able to talk about the matter. Their next rendezvous was not due till next Monday. "I can't get away tonight," the voice hemmed indecisively but the urgency of the situation pressed on him; Agatha could feel her hunger rise at the thought of his anxiety, the slight damp of perspiration, the elevated heartbeat that could turn a confident banker into a spluttering schoolboy.

"Can you come out for a drink? Lounge Bar, Peninsula Hotel. I can be there at 9." The Peninsula was the most luxurious colonial-style hotel, bar none, commanding a premier location out at Tsim Sha Tsui district. A familiar place in the circles that Agatha moved in.

The tone of Liam's reply was measured, but she could read the subtext of his concern. Nothing to bother you with. Some slander. Worried you might be put out. I can take care of it, Mss.

The reply message was still not as explicit as Agatha could hope for, but two from two clients, one immediately after another, could not be coincidence.

Agatha frowned at Alistair's reply, thinking, He's dictating to me where we shall meet? I shall have to punish him for that. For now, though, I shall allow it. After all, I am not a cruel Mistress (except for when I am); he is obviously in distress, so I shall see what I might do to assuage his concern.

She typed a reply, saying, "Very well, Allistair. I shall humour your request, only out of concern for your well-being. But you are not to stipulate our meeting place again. Do I make myself clear?"

And to Liam she replied, "Though I appreciate your concern for your Mistress, allow Her to decide what will and will not 'put Her out'. I shall instruct you concerning what to take care of. Now, be a good boy and tell you Mistress what it is."

Alistair grunted a pained reply, Agatha could tell he was dying to blubber into the phone in that wheedling voice he adopted when in her thrall. He got off the phone abruptly, but his desperation meant that she was sure he would arrive early at their rendezvous, and that he would've chosen a private-enough spot for them to talk about what panicked him so. 9pm was some two hours away, plenty of time for her to look into the other matter first if she chose.

Extortionist. Threats against Mss and her status. Message says they know your secret, secrets? Did Mss receive similar messages? Not to be concerned, I will look into this cowardly act, came Liam's reply.

It was easy to infer that the same demeaning ultimatum was delivered to both clients, but the reactions it triggered were vastly opposite. If it were a singular instance, the matter could have been a client problem. But with both men confronted, this meant it was a matter directly concerning her! Did she need their help in solving this, or could she wield her own influence to get to the bottom of this frankly insulting predicament?

Agatha knew that Liam was highly competent when he wished to be, especially when acting under her command, so she felt comfortable that he would not make matters worse, at the very least. Not like Alistair, who had to be managed, or else he could go off the rails. She sighed, frustrated by this turn of events, and sent a brief message to Liam, saying, "Very well. Look into it, but do not put yourself in a compromising or uncomfortable position -- that's my job." She knew that Liam would enjoy that, because he would recognize it for what it actually was: a way for her to say thank you. After all, putting him in such positions was what he paid her for; it was his particular pleasure.

Satisfied for the moment with the state of affairs concerning Alistair and Liam, she slid her phone into her handbag and prepared to go out. Once dressed and made up, she sat at her computer and checked her emails and other messages, seeing if she had any enquiries from prospective new clients, or perhaps any threats from possible blackmailers.

Agatha very much managed her business independently, although she was not adverse to still receiving referrals from the exclusive two or three agents she maintained. She could conceivably take the initiative to reach out to Terence Yue first. The hospitality manager of the Royal Aberdeen Club was more well-connected than his title suggested. Or perhaps a fellow escort of her equivalent status. The problem of striking out on her own was that her network wasn't as robust as in the years where she enjoyed her British expat network.

Such was the case on her computer screen, nothing new to pique her interest in her emails. And certainly nothing remotely looking like direct threat or blackmail. If it were either, the perpetrator seemed to have chosen to antagonise her through her clients, whatever that meant. What still worked for her, without fail, was her fame in select circles, coupled with her legendary beauty. That she could leverage on if she wanted to garner help: turn up at the right places, and let her presence draw in the admirers like moths to flame.

The thought of this made the hunger rise within her, the delectability of worship, of all eyes on her pale skin, the headiness of flesh and pheromones, and how sex and blood were one and the same for her. She needed to sate it, if it wasn't someone else, it might just end up being Alistair when they finally met.

Seeing that she has a few hours before she meets Alistair, Agatha decides to have a snack to tide her over. She checks her appearance in the mirror--impeccable, as always--and she heads to the door, descending from her high-rise condo to the garage, where her red Audi TT--a small, sporty two-seater--awaits.

She zooms through the evening, pulling up to a fancy club with valet parking. She hands off her keys and a HK$100 bill (that's how she can ensure her car is treated well) and enters. Inside, several large men stand behind red velvet ropes, receiving patrons, checking their names against a list of members and approved guests. Seeing her approach, they say, "Good evening, Ms. Chen. Your private booth is waiting for you. Enjoy your evening." She smiles slyly and enters, as the large men hold open the leather padded doors.

Inside, the luxury heightens, but the vibe definitely changes, for this is The Dragon, a high-end BDSM club. The main area is a sprawling series of distinct play areas; to the left, four suspension anchors attach to hard points on the ceiling, three of which currently feature different forms of rope play. There's some tasteful shibari, another with a woman in an uncomfortable predicament, and a final one with a full suspension. To the right are several impact play scenes, including a St. Andrews Cross, a spanking bench, and more. Further inside, someone is doing wax play, and a couple are engaging in a high protocol D/s scene. Around all of these small stages, several hundred well-dressed, likely wealthy, people mingle, mostly whites with a smattering of Chinese as well.

Agatha nods to a passing server she knows and takes a seat in her booth. The management here loves Agatha--she is beautiful, she engages in light sexual play with random guests, and she doesn't engage in prostitution. As far as the management is concerned, Agatha is like a form of unpaid entertainment for their wealthy, horny clientele. And, indeed, more than a few regulars notice when Agatha enters. After all, a few of them have experienced an evening with her before and, she hopes, will be craving more.

The sex-club scene in Hong Kong was culturally entrenched and normalised in contrast with the more prudish Western civilisations, given the historical traditions of imperial harems run by perverse eunuchs to cater to the emperor's every whim. But it was the arrival of the colonial British with their gentlemen's club strictures than repurposed the sexual mores of the Chinese into organised private establishments, run by some of the more powerful Hong Kong triads. Agatha had to look no further than her arrangements with Lord Worthington to recall the precarious power balance of such communities.

Now Agatha was herself an individual of influence in such circles. The Dragon was located along the busiest stretch of the Lan Kwai Fong nightlife district, obvious in location but smaller in venue, a marked contrast to those located in sprawling private mansions up on Victoria Peak. The entrance proper was discreet, so that random drunk partygoers would not inadvertently stumble into an unexpected kind of club. She knew its layout intimately: the common hall was the most 'relaxing' of spaces where people indulged in lighter foreplay, before sprawling out to its various zones. An adjoining room was for the masked, for those who needed the anonymity, whereas the private alcoves up the mezzazine afforded both seclusion as well as a view of the centre room.

She could rattle off quite a number of the guests' names, some she serviced personally, some still at the level of fawning acquaintance. But without fail all eyes were on her when she made her entrance, for there was hardly anyone who did not know of her stunning appearance and her impossible agelessness. The price of such fame was instant recognition; she could hardly accomplish anything unnoticed, at least not in her circles. Agatha's modus operandi was to lean in that, boldly and unabashedly. If she would have blood, it would be part of the play, offered by a willing victim who would be thrilled by the very act of being punished that way.

But whom did she want to taste tonight? Would it be Li Ka Leong, scion of a shipping conglomerate, whom she spied near the racks with a leather-clad doyen pressed up against him? Or Harris Weaver, venture capitalist, a less frequent visitor nowadays thanks to his China business forays, but a connoisseur of what he considered traditional Chinese instruments of pleasure from his private collection? And what acts would she engage in to make it happen?

From her mezzanine private booth, Agatha spies several candidates for the evening's festivities. At first she thinks to invite Mr. Li up, but he has company and she would rather not navigate a second person at the moment. Perhaps Mr. Weaver, then.

She approaches the railing, her presence there drawing more than a few appreciative glances from the crowd, including Weaver's. When he looks, she locks eyes with him. He half-smiles, clearly aroused, o she arches an eye brow, offers a half-smile, and nods subtly to her booth, before returning to await him. She knows he will understand the subtle cue and be along soon.

When he arrives, she invites him to join her, gesturing that he sit close to her in the booth. When he does, she slides one hand onto his shoulder and the other onto his thigh and looks him intensely in the eyes, open got inspire Awe, o that she can drink freely, leaving him in ecstasy by her Kiss.