Saving Babylon by Kimolisa Mings

Description

Find more from this author on:

Amazon

Author Site

About the author:

Kimolisa is a poet who became a writer who lives in the small Caribbean island of Antigua

Here is a short sample from the book:

Chapter 2
Like everywhere else in Babylon, the dining hall was simply beautiful. I would liken it to the dining hall of an old and respected institution of higher learning. Dark wood shone under the soft light coming through beautiful stained glass windows. Students and seasoned Inamorati ate under crystal chandeliers and the ever watchful eyes of Masters.
I saw members of my “class” distributed throughout the large hall. Although we were a small group, my peers found ways to separate themselves from each other. I always found humanity to be like oil and water. No matter how much you try to mix them together, they chose to separated into something apart from the other. Coming together around superficial concepts such as race, religion, where they lived and how they dressed. I knew if they knew what I was, it would be one more thing to set me apart from them.
Sometimes, I would watch a member of one group look longingly at another group. When this happened, hope blossomed in my heart because this meant a change, although small, was coming. But hope died when they looked away, pulled back into their group. Most times they were pulled back in by someone who saw what I saw, someone who didn’t like change.
“Chicken or fish?” Bella asked. She was one of the dining hall staff. According to her, she didn’t approve of what we did but the money and hours were good so she did the job assigned to her.
“Fish, please, and I’ll have the veggies and the brown rice, heavy on the gravy,” I said with a wink.
Everyone sucked up to someone. The students to the Masters and seasoned Inamorati. The seasoned Inamorati to the Masters and the agents. I sucked up to the supporting staff. The residents of Babylon did not know the power of those who served them. They did not understand the kind of intelligence the staff possessed. Be it who was ill with what, who was allergic to what and who was saying what to whom. And through the staff, I knew who to trust and who to avoid.
As I sat down at a table in the corner, I recalled my first four weeks at Babylon. The training ran seven weeks, they likened it to the breaking of bones and setting it to heal in the way they wanted it. The first week was the breaking of the bone and the six weeks were how long it took for the bone to fuse back together. Most times than not, the bone would be stronger than it was before. Those who didn’t survive the training were asked to leave after signing an agreement not to disclose what took place in Babylon. I heard that some went to other houses of pleasure, some became independent contractors and the rest got regular job.
The first week was meant to weed out those who fooled themselves into believing they had open minds. After enrollment and orientation all our clothes were taken away. We were to spend the first week as trainees in the nude with the exception of shoes. Not only were we to learn to embrace this state but we were to learn the different shapes and colours humanity came in.
From the muscle bound black man with the average size phallus to the skinny white man with the larger than life one. Variety was found in the female form from bite size breasts to those that hung low like ripe fruit. I also learned that womanhood came in different shapes from mine, clam like with a small pearl at the top, to those that look like exotic flowers, inner lips extending beyond the outer lips.
It was during this week that we met our masters. It was the first time we had sex with them. It was also the first time we had sex in public. I met Master Xavier in the dining hall on the evening of my first day.
He came up behind me, telling me not to turn around and to close my eyes. He then blindfolded me with a silken fabric. In my private darkness, I felt his large hands cup my woman hood. With a deftness, unexpected from such large hands, he found my clit and stroked it. A groan escaped my lips and without my permission, my pelvis pushed back.
I felt his other hand grab one of my breast, he tweaked the nipple, then did the same to the other. He raised my left arm and I felt his mouth suckling my nipple. Somewhere between suckling and nipping at my left nipple and stroking my clit, I opened my legs wider. He took this as an invitation and dipped one of his thick fingers into my honey pot. I said things that would make my mother blush when he found my pleasure spot.
This stranger played my body like an instrument he knew well. He ministered to my nipple, my clit, my spot until he had me begging. Begging for him to fill me, to plunge deep into me till I found the zenith. I begged him to fuck me and he complied.
He bent me over a table and from behind, he slowly entered me. He was thick, he was hard and I wanted all of him in me. He held unto my hips and his thrusts were slow and deep. I braced one hand on the table and stroked my clit with the other. I was getting close, so close and his thrusts came fast and furious. He would slap my ass and I liked it. I lifted my leg and propped my knee on the edge of the table.
“Deeper,” I growled.
Deeper he went and I came, he caught me before I fell. With a grunt and muscles tensed he came. He fell on top of me, pinning me to the table, his phallus filling me with creamy goodness before going limp. He reclaimed control before I did, pulling out. He removed the blindfold, my private darkness melting away to the faces of my peers, seasoned inamorati and masters. I smiled weakly and stood erect.
I turned around to find an ebony Adonis standing before me. His body glistening with perspiration, a self -assured smile on his face.
“My name is Xavier Marshall and I am your master. From this point on, you shall refer to me as Master, Master Xavier or Master X. From this point on your body is mine and you will do what I tell you. Do you understand?” His tone was strict but there was a tenderness underneath.
“Yes, Master,” I said softly.
“I did not hear you.”
“Yes, Master,” I said louder.
“Now lick yourself off my phallus,” he looked me in the eye, challenging me to defy him.
I got down to my knees and licked my essence off of his limp manhood. It was the first time I have ever tasted my own cum, it was sweet and tangy and I tasted the last dregs of his cream.
“That looks clean enough, now go clean yourself up,” I stood up, realizing for the first time that his cum was dripping from my womanhood. As I walked pass him, he cupped my vagina and whispered in my ear, “Remember, this is mine until I say otherwise. Also, well done, you passed the first test.”
I walked out of the dining hall with a big smile on my face and my master’s cum dribbling down my leg.
During the days that followed, my master took me in and outside the walls of New Gotham’s most respected House of Pleasure. A few times, he made me masturbate in front of him. We got to know each other in the first week, learning little nuances that would escape everyone else.
At the start of the second week, our clothes were returned with the exception of underwear. They told us we would not be needing them from this point on. The women were instructed to wear dresses or skirts with tops. The men were instructed to wear kilts, those who had a problem with this had no place in Babylon. Some of my peers had grown to like being in the nude and on their days off, they would roam the halls with not a stitch of clothing on.
During the second, third and fourth weeks, we studied the ancient arts of love making from the Karma Sutra to Tantric sex. In the mornings we attended classes and lectures where we learned theory and observed the acts performed by seasoned inamorati. We also practiced with our peers with the understanding that this should be only done in the classroom.
In the afternoons, we were in our Master’s hands. They followed up with what we learned in class and worked with us to develop our own style and expertise. Master X told me that some of us will give clients a Traditional experience, some will become Dominants or Submissives and some will become Chameleons. Chameleons molded themselves to the desires of the clients. Chameleons never said no, they only asked, “How may I pleasure you?” I wanted to be a Chameleon.
Before I knew it, my tray was empty and I could not recall tasting a morsel. I quickly disposed of the contents of my tray, placing the empty tray with the other dirty trays. I made my way to the library. I had a few hours to research The Spirit before curfew. I wanted to know everything about the thing that “kept me in check”.