Mafia Kings: Roberto: Dark Mafia Romance Series #5

Once I returned to Hong Kong, my life fell into an outward semblance of order.

Graduate school didn’t start for another six weeks, but my internship began immediately.

During the day, I did mind-numbing, entry-level work at one of the largest investment banks in Hong Kong.

At night, I would lie awake in bed for hours and relive that evening in Bangkok.

Being tied up…

A gorgeous man touching me…

Bringing me to an ecstasy I had only dreamed of.

Finally, my frustration reached a peak. I knew I couldn’t keep up my boring life without some sort of release…

So I went hunting.

I started with the internet and educated myself about BDSM.

Not just the fantasies of Fifty Shades of Grey –NôvelDrama.Org holds this content.

But actual, real-world activities.

It turned out I had a bondage kink. Definitely not sadism or masochism, and probably not being dominated. (Or so I thought for a long, long time.)

I looked into various forms of bondage and decided I liked ropes and scarves – softer things. Not chains or shackles.

Once I had a better understanding of what I wanted, I began to seek it out.

I looked online for clubs similar to what I’d seen in Thailand –

But Hong Kong is a much more conservative place, with extremely strict laws limiting sex-for-hire (even if there was technically no sex involved).

I couldn’t find any brick-and-mortar business listings, so I began to comb internet fetish sites.

I gradually learned that there were underground BDSM parties in private homes throughout Hong Kong.

After making three female acquaintances online, I asked if we could meet in a public place for coffee so I could ask them questions.

I was extremely wary. Part of me was afraid my new ‘friends’ might actually be male serial killers posing as women to find new victims.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

To my surprise, they were very much like me: professionals… upper-middle-class… and two of them were college-educated.

One was single; two others were married with children. The married women’s husbands were also their partners in BDSM.

On the surface, they lived mundane lives filled with jobs, meetings, errands, child-rearing, grocery shopping, and domestic chores.

Their only escape was secretive parties in private homes, where they lived out the fantasies that made them feel truly alive.

I immediately hit it off with all three women, and they offered to help me break into the ‘scene’ by taking me to private parties.

And so began my education in the world of underground Hong Kong fetish clubs.

The first party took place in a stately mansion in the Peak, only a few miles away from my parents’ home. (Which made me irrationally nervous at first. I had to keep reminding myself that my parents weren’t going to burst in looking for me.)

The owner of the mansion had built a dungeon underground – a concrete room filled with all sorts of elaborate equipment.

I stayed on the sidelines, nervously sipping champagne as I watched others get paddled, flogged, and tied up.

I felt out of place in my little black nightclubbing dress. Everyone else was dressed in leather and latex and more traditional BDSM garb.

I got plenty of offers to partake – usually from middle-aged men – but I politely declined.

For my first time, all I did was watch.

The next gathering I attended, I came in a strappy leather outfit more suitable for the environment –

And I came ready to play.

I nervously volunteered to be tied up.

It wasn’t as hot as my experience with the gorgeous man back in Bangkok – once I was tied up, no one brought me to orgasm – but there was a different sort of pleasure in being watched by so many admiring eyes.

I was hooked.

I began going to every party I could gain access to.

By day, I was a boring graduate student in economics who worked 20 hours a week at an investment banking firm –

But at night, I was a kinky angel seeking to fulfill my darkest desires.

At the same time, my father kept trying to set me up on dates with prospective suitors.

I kept refusing – but on more than one occasion, I came home to have Sunday dinner with my parents, only to find a strange man about my age sitting at the table.

The first man was pleasant but boring.

The next guy was a smug, narcissistic asshole who got along famously with my father.

After the first occasion, I told my father not to do it again, or I wouldn’t drop by anymore.

When it happened a second time, I kept my word: I stopped coming to Sunday dinner.

I got plenty of angry texts and phone calls from my father – and a few from my mother trying to guilt me into coming back – but I stuck to my guns.

Besides, I had a lot of other things to do instead.

Burning the candle at both ends began to take its toll.

As a result, my grades in graduate school suffered.

Then the investment bank offered me a paying job.

It wasn’t nearly enough to live on in Hong Kong – not above the poverty line, anyway – but I was still being subsidized by my father. Because of his monthly deposits into my bank account, I had a beautiful apartment and stylish clothes.

I took the job and quit school, which gave me more time to pursue my true passions at night.

However, I didn’t tell my father about graduate school.

I figured I would cross that bridge when I came to it.

Within a few months, I met a handsome single guy at one of the fetish parties. He was just a few years older than me and loved tying me up.

In the privacy of his apartment, he brought me to orgasm after orgasm with my hands and feet bound.

I finally felt happy and fulfilled.

In fact, I began throwing my own parties. With the money I received every month from my family – and support from a few rich friends – I would rent out a loft on the weekend and transform it into a fetish wonderland full of whips and chains and leather things…

And rope.

Always plenty of rope.

I loved it. I loved making my desires into reality where others like me could play.

In fact, people started telling me, “Your parties are the best I’ve ever gone to. Too bad you can’t do this full-time.”

Yeah…

Too bad I can’t do it full-time…