The Lady from L.U.S.T. | 69 Pleasures by Rod Gray - Prologue
1967 Genre: Vintage Sleaze / Sexpionage
L.U.S.T. FOR POWER
Things really start to move when The Lady From L.U.S.T. once again goes into action against the forces of evil. In The 69 Pleasures third book in the country's most popular new spy-spoof series, Agent Double Oh Sex, gorgeous super spy Eve Drum, goes after the monstrous Oriental crime cartel called D.R.A.G.O.N. Posing as an exotic dancer (and we'd like to see old James Bond try that), she grinds and bumps her way right into the middle of a dastardly Red Chinese plot to assassinate the President of the United States. Double Oh Sex's orders are simple: kill the killers, even if you have to love them to death. Set against a colorful Hong Kong background, this swift-paced novel has just about everything: girls who do their best thinking in bed, headlong excitement, wild sex, hiss-able villains, mad humor. By the time the world's sexiest spy. gets through with the Far Eastern heavies, she has them wishing they were back baking poisoned fortune cookies for the Russians. If you liked Lady from L.U.S.T. #1 and #2, you will flip over The 69 Pleasures.
Prologue
Lucy Chang was naked under her silken cheongsam.
The touch of the golden silk against her thick brown nipples was sensually exciting, but not so exciting as the thought that this evening she was to earn a hundred American dollars. Money meant a lot to Lucy Chang, more than the sweet Bohea tea which she would drink, more than the exciting caresses which would be lavished upon her creamy body by rich old Ling Pao.
She and two other girls from the Golden Lion ballroom had been hired to appear here at this great villa on The Peak, perhaps the most exclusive residential section in all Hong Kong, and to make love with three rich Chinese merchants. Lucy enjoyed these visits to the mansion of Tz'u Hsi. Tz'u Hsi was a generous host, and he and his friends paid well for their amusements. Lucy Chang was in love with money.
The Poppy had already gone on ahead. Lucy thought she might be dancing, for it gave the lithe Chinese girl much pleasure to display her body; and she was expert in many dances, both ritual and erotic. She herself was lingering in these gardens with the moon bridges and the splashing fountains because she knew old Ling Pao was watching her every move, and because he was very generous to his favorite hsin-kan, his darling one.
Katya Kuchin, the Mongol, was still exchanging pleasantries with pretty K’u-hsien, the gate-girl of these summer gardens. Lucy did not know Katya Kuchin too well. Katya was a newcomer to the ballroom on Nathan Street, and Lucy had never been on a pleasure party with her before.
Lucy Chang was a Eurasian, daughter of a Hong Kong contractor and a Portuguese woman from Macao. From her father she had acquired her love for money and the things it might buy; from her mother, the thick glossy black hair and creamy skin, the brilliant dark eyes with their long lashes, and an opulence of body that made her a beautiful woman. The tint of the Orient was in that skin and in the faint slant of her expressive eyes. From both parents she had acquired a liking for the delights of the flesh.
She began her little waddle-walk along a pathway, hearing a gasp from the stone grill-work where old Ling Pao crouched, staring at the plump buttocks shaking to every step she took, rubbing his wrinkled hands together, envisioning what he was going to do with her this night.
Lucy thought about old Ling Pao, who paid her a little extra money for the privilege of seeing her squat over the earthenware pot just before she made her appearance in front of the others. Lucy Chang giggled. Men were such ridiculous creatures! Imagine paying money for watching such a natural function. Ling Pao was so old, she guessed it was about all he could do was watch. And the five Hong Kong dollars he paid her for the privilege went, like all the other monies she earned, into the Victoria City bank, where she had her private account.
There was K’ang Hu, who was not so old as Ling Pao, who considered himself quite the boy when it came to making love. He was gentle and considerate. Not as young as he once was, he took longer to be aroused, spending his time in fondling, kissing and caressing his woman for the night. Lucy Chang sighed. She did not mind K'ang Hu. He was something of an old dear.
It was the younger, harder, Tz'u Hsi who frightened Lucy Chang. For some reason Tz'u Hsi was brutal when it came to thrusting himself at her soft flesh, as if there were a legendary dog of Foo inside his vitals, gnawing away. She did not think Tz'u Hsi would choose her this night for the wind and moon game, since there was a new girl in the Golden Lion ballroom who had come with them in the antique Rolls Royce that had picked them up on Nathan Road. Tz'u Hsi always chose the newest girl, without fail.
She paused beside the stone fountain that shot colored waters high into the air, listening to the splashing sounds, admiring the play of lights. A high stone wall surrounded the gardens, at one side of which was the villa home of Tz'u Hsi; at the other was a summer house in the shape of a pagoda, of white marble with a red tile roof. It was in the large summer house, which contained several rooms, that the men would meet the ballroom girls.
The spring air was warm, filled with the sound of stringed instruments, the pi-pa and the yung-kum. The musicians were hired to play music to which the girls could dance, and sometimes they acted as performers when the mood of the rich merchants demanded erotic tableaus for their enjoyment. Lucy Chang rather liked the musicians, who were young and virile, not at all like the three rich men.
A footfall swung her around. The new girl was coming from the archway and along the path. She was a Mongolian-or so she claimed-and had dusky features with slanted eyes and long black hair that hung below her shoulders. There was a devil light in her black eyes.
"They pay good, these men?" she wondered. "A hundred American dollars,” Lucy Chang replied.
The slanted black eyes widened. "For each girl? Five hundred seventy Hong Kong dollars?” She gave a little whistle with her soft red mouth, then grinned, slapping her mounded belly. "I give good show for that, you bet."
Lucy Chang watched her run on ahead, seeing her ankles flash a golden cream from the black pajama suit she wore. Katya Kuchin was a wanton creature, Lucy Chang thought, somewhat elemental like the land of the blue sky from which she came. The hot buran wind was in her blood, the fermented mares' milk of her people—airag—had given her the passion of a mink.
She, Lucy Chang, was more reserved, yet just as passionate. Katya was the savage, she herself was the civilized woman. She wondered idly how Tz'u Hsi would like the dark Mongol girl.
Old Ling Pao was waiting for her in the shadows of the pagoda archway, chuckling, nodding his head, his slanted eyes gleeful with anticipation. A long Mandarin mustache railed down his chest on either side of his lips. In Red China, Ling Pao would not be permitted this decadent mustache, but here in Hong Kong he was free to indulge his old-fashioned ways.
"It has been a long time," he cackled, putting a hand on her back and running it down to her plump buttocks, which he stroked gently.
Lucy Chang put her fingers under his beardless chin and tickled him with her long red fingernails, in time to the strumming of the pi-pa and the yung-sum. Old Ling Pao bent over, cackling laughter.
Then she held her palm out, as if for payment. Ling Pao wiped his eyes, and nodded. He fumbled in his long Mandarin coat and lifted out an American dollar bill. Lucy Chang smiled and nodded, taking it from him, folding it carefully, then placing it inside the shoulder purse she always carried with her on these assignations.
She moved past the doorway to the room where Tz'u Hsi and Kang Hu were seated on thick cushions, watching a naked girl dancing the forbidden Rites of the Concubine. Lucy rather imagined that the men knew the odd little game old Ling Pao played with her as a prelude to the evening, and were utterly indifferent to it.
She caught a glimpse of Katya Kuchin glowering near a slender pillar, staring at the Chinese girl mincing through her dance. Lucy Chang smiled behind her hand. Katya was often angry when she was not the center of attention.
Old Ling Pao was ahead of her, turning into the accommodations chamber. There was a bidet in the chamber, installed by Tz'u Hsi for a Frenchwoman who had been his concubine some years before. It was a gorgeous thing of white marble with gilded accouterments, and Lucy Chang always felt a little guilty when she straddled it as Ling Pao knelt facing her.
She watched him sink to his knees, eyes wide and glistening. Smiling faintly, Lucy Chang lifted the slit skirt of her cheongsam, baring her full thighs and lower belly. It was as she edged over the bidet that the music stopped.
She could hear K’ang Hu speaking quite clearly, for the accommodation chamber was separated from the large room only by a stonework grille.
"Everything is prepared?”
"As was planned by Peking," said Tz'u Hsi.
"Ahhh! Then the American President will die as did his predecessor, by the bullet of an assassin.”
"But more cleverly, I trust. There must be no capture of the killer. It is why I have chosen so carefully. Three men who need money desperately, each of them an accomplished marksman, each a hired killer. Yes, I think we shall do very well.”
"It is time that Red China struck a blow at the Imperialists. High time, high time.”
Lucy Chang could not breathe. Red China—through these agents in Hong Kong—were about to murder the President of the United States! Lucy Chang had no love for the United States, though she liked some individual Americans very much. But she knew that the United States was a very rich country. And there must be somebody in the United States who would like to keep the President alive by—
"Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh," old Ling Pao was gasping.
Lucy Chang had no experience of urolagniasts other than Ling Pao. She could not have known that the old man, like so many others afflicted with this form of perversity, had hated his mother and had avenged himself for real or fancied wrongs by soiling her garments in his youth. Nor could she have known of the broad streak of masochism in his nature which made him subservient to all females, even those his money hired for his entertainment.
She might have guessed from his conduct that he considered himself unworthy to do more than watch her perform. Urolagniasts are solitary individuals, reticent, full of inferiority complexes. Basically insecure, they choose this method of showing the world they amount to nothing, that they are to be ignored and let alone, that they are not even valuable enough as a person in their own eyes to punish.
"It is done,” she whispered down at the old man.
He nodded, eyes still glistening, a trickle of spittle running from the corner of his thin lips. Still with her cheongsam tucked up over her golden hips, she moved forward off the bidet, holding out her hand to the aged Chinese.
She assisted him to his feet, as she always did. He was gasping a little, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glazed with the pleasure of the senses. Lucy Chang wondered if he knew about the plan to kill the American President.
Her mind was working at top speed as her solitary garment slipped down her hips and thighs and brushed across her high-heeled Western-style shoes. The Americans would pay a lot of money, maybe even a thousand American dollars, for news of such a coup. Her greed reeled with the thought. One thousand American dollars equaled fifty-seven thousand Hong Kong dollars. She would be a rich woman!
She almost did not hear Ling Pao calling to her, beckoning with a claw-like hand. I must pull myself together. I must not show my feelings, she thought swiftly. I must behave as if I had heard nothing. She knew that old Ling Pao had been too wrapped up in staring at her to have heard the words Tz'u Hsi and Kang Hu had spoken to one another.
As she came into the large room with the old man, she did not look at the two other men. She made her features bland, expressionless. The naked girl was writhing on the floor now, performing the forbidden shu-yin-chu-yang, thighs spread wide like the petals of the lotus at the time of drinking in the sunlight, her hand hiding her private parts, but touching and fondling the flesh.
Lucy Chang knew well enough that her people enjoyed a prolonged period of foreplay, of voyeuristic activity, before settling down to the wind and moon game. These three rich merchants were no exceptions. The girl on the floor, slapping it with her buttocks, was known to Lucy Chang only as The Poppy. She had seen her on other visits to this villa on The Peak above Victoria City and knew her as an expert in this exhibitionistic titillation of the senses.
This period when the eyes were feasted upon the nakedness of female flesh was called 'the sippings at the fragrant tea.' The thighs rippling as they moved, the breasts bouncing and bobbling, the privacies revealed by the spread-eagled posture—all were a part of this most ancient dance of sing-song girls.
The opium that Tz'u Hsi was smoking delicately in a ceramic pipe aided his enjoyment of the dancing. In the Orient, opium is an admitted aphrodisiac, its qualities as such having been known since ancient times, when it was prescribed as medicine. The smoking of the poppy leaf has been popular only since the seventeenth century. It was through opium that the British first acquired the island of Hong Kong and the Kowloon Peninsula.
Lucy Chang knew that Tz'u Hsi was building a mighty lust through the opium fumes and the sight of The Poppy going through the Rites of the Concubine. Desire glittered in his eyes. His lips were parted, and he appeared to crouch upon his cushions as if he would throw himself upon the naked girl. Seated beside him, the fat merchant, K’ang Hu, was in a similar state of excitement.
Lucy padded after Ling Pao. As the old man sprawled upon the many cushions provided for his frame, Lucy lay across his thighs so that her head hung down on one side of him, and her shapely legs on the other. The old man began to caress her body slowly as he fixed his hot eyes upon the nakedness of The Poppy.
Lucy Chang could smell the opium fumes, tart and acrid. Her eyes were half closed as she let languor form in her flesh. The fingers tweaking her stiffened nipples and running down her belly to her pubic mound added to the excitement bubbling in her veins as she contemplated how much money the wealthy Americans would pay to know about the three killers.
As if in a dream, she watched K'ang Hu beckon the sweating, exhausted Poppy to his side. The lithe yellow girl, her glossy black hair falling to below her buttocks, rose gracefully and moved toward the fat merchant. He ran his hand up her inner thigh, staring at his goal, then began to wriggle his fingers.
"Hai-aaa!” breathed The Poppy, crouching with bent knees.
"Haaa-aaagh!" a voice cried in echo.
The Mongolian girl was on the dance floor, lifting her black pajama jacket off over her mane of thick black hair. Her bare breasts shook to her movements, quivered proudly as if set on springs. Their nipples were very dark, almost black, and stood up an inch from the full globes that held them. Katya stood braced on widened legs, barely moving yet keeping her breasts bobbling by sheer muscular control. They shook steadily as if she were shimmying, yet nothing of her body except those firm big breasts was moving.
Even Lucy Chang felt the primal appeal of the Mongolian. There was an earthiness about her actions, about her body, that touched forgotten chords in all of them. Now her arms, covered with cheap bracelets, were at right angles to her body. Her arms began to vibrate so that the bracelets made a faint music.
Slowly, her hips twisted, rotating sensually.
The pajama trousers slid down, baring her navel. Tz'u Hsi rocked back and forth, moaning. Lucy Chang squirmed as she felt the old man probing between her loose thighs. Kang Hu was torn between the naked Poppy, who was posing for him in lewd contortions, and the steppe dance which Katya was performing.
The pajamas went down further, revealing a thick black fleece on Katya's lower belly. Most Chinese call girls were extremely careful about body hair, shaving and using depilatories every day. Katya was a primitive. Her pubic hair was a part of her body. It went where she went, heavy and bushy.
The black silk trousers fell to her upper thighs, began sliding down those slabs of flesh. Katya let her head fall back so that her oily black hair dangled behind her. Now her hips thrust savagely, enticingly, at the onlookers. Tz'u Hsi was moaning louder, the opium pipe forgotten.
Now the Mongol girl was nude, the pajama pooled at her feet. In the Western-style shoes, she seemed even more naked. All the while, her hips rotated, her belly thrust. She was enjoying the embraces of an invisible lover, she seemed to say with her flesh and with her half-veiled eyes.
Tz'u Hsi so far forgot his normal calm as to rise to his feet, licking his lips and staring at this descendant of an ancient foe. Lucy Chang wondered if he were seeing in this girl from the Lake Baikal country a female Genghis Khan.
"Come here,” he bellowed, pointing to the floor at his feet.
Katya laughed harshly and moved forward slowly, step by step, pausing only to let her belly ripple to the huggings of her unseen lover. She must have seen the effect her dance had upon this man who had hired her for the night. He was the yang principle—the male. She was the eternal yin—the female. All life in China is guided by yin and yang. Katya and Tz'u Hsi were no exceptions. All they could think about was each other.
When she was inches from his body, she halted. Her thighs widened. Her hips went wild. She was taking him, there before the others, though there was no connection between them. And Tz'u Hsi was sobbing as if indeed he were caught in her fleshy trap.
Lucy Chang cried out softly. Old Ling Pao had dug his fingers deep into her soft flesh. For the first time since she had known him, he was hurting her. The pain was quite bearable, but at her protests, Ling Pao desisted.
When Tz'u Hsi could stand no more, he stepped forward, opening his embroidered Mandarin coat. He drew her up against him, hissing savagely as he took her. The Mongol woman threw her dusky arms about his neck. She raised her dark thighs to clasp him in the grip known as "the bite of K’u-hsien niang," the goddess of all carnal love.
Holding Katya Kuchin firmly, Tz'u Hsi marched from the room toward the cubicle in his love temple where he and the girl would be alone to enjoy the fang shu, the bedroom techniques, each had mastered.
Kang Hu was lifting The Poppy in his arms, carrying her like a little child. K'ang Hu was a big man, once very muscular but now run to fat. The Poppy was so tiny, she was no burden at all.
"It is now our turn,” cackled Ling Pao.
Lucy slid off his thighs, bent to lift him to his feet. The sight of Katya dancing, of Tz'u Hsi's mindless excitement, had stirred her own flesh. She wished it was Tz'u Hsi or Kang Hu who had hired her. She was in the mood to be enjoyed as a woman, not to be slobbered over by an ancient and left to her own devices in the car which would return her to her little apartment on Carnarvon Road.
Lucy Chang sighed. In her own way, she was something of a philosopher. For money, she was ripe for anything. And so, gradually raising her golden silk garment upward, she padded ahead of the chuckling, gasping old man who tottered at her heels.
First she let him see her shapely calves, then the backs of her knees, then the plumply curved thighs. For the last, just before she turned into the doorway which was the room of Ling Pao, she raised the cheongsam to the middle of her back, displaying her soft buttocks jiggling to her stride. Ling Pao liked to look. She was his favorite because she posed for him all the time.
A thought touched Lucy Chang. Perhaps, by being very bold, she might learn from Ling Pao more details of the plan to kill the American President. She was a little fearful of this. She did not fear the old man, but Tz'u Hsi was suspected of having ordered people slain who knew too much about his activities.
She sat on the edge of the table very carefully, not disturbing the precious blue Yao-pien tea cups and the matching pitcher of boiling water placed here for their enjoyment. Her legs she drew upward, and after kicking off her shoes, rested her bare heels on the table edge. It was a wanton pose, one which she knew the old man would enjoy.
Lucy Chang pouted. Old Ling Pao stared between her legs, then at her scowling face. He was torn between the desire to rush to her and her quite evident displeasure. Ling Pao was of the old school; he liked everything to be smooth and peaceful, like a lily pool at sunset.
"What is bothering you, my pet?” he asked softly.
"An American insulted me earlier this night. He told me I was not worth a Hong Kong dollar," she lied softly.
The Chinese opened his slanted eyes wide. "I do not believe this. You are the fragrant flower whose perfume is enough to make men mad. You are a blend of the East and the West. In you, all is perfection."
Lucy Chang smiled. "I love you, dear old one. But I hate Americans. I wish I could visit some terrible calamity on them all!”
Ling Pao cackled laughter, nodding. “You may get your wish sooner than you know."
He tossed a thick cushion beside the table. He knelt on it, placing both his hands on the inner thighs of the ballroom girl. He bent to kiss her flesh. Lucy Chang gasped as she felt his gentle caress.
"You make me faint with pleasure,” she breathed.
Ling Pao chuckled. "You shall know even greater pleasure in two weeks to a months. Then a great calamity will fall upon all Americans."
"Oh? What calamity is that?”
Ling Pao was too busy to answer. Lucy Chang shuddered, letting the touch of his tongue send spears of voluptuousness through her. Now she did not mind that it was not Tz'u Hsi or K'ang Hu who did not share this room with her. The old man was very knowing in this game of 'carrying fire over the mountain.' He made her squirm and cry out, he made her scream after a little while.
"Ling Pao, my love,” she breathed at last.
"Hmmmm?"
“What calamity is this which shall befall the Americans?”
Ling Pao knelt back on his heels to get his breath. "There shall be three killers leaving Hong Kong, each an accomplished master of the arts of death, one of whom shall succeed in slaying the President of the United States for the greater glory of my homeland.”
"Ling Pao, you're joking with me!"
He cackled laughter. "It is no joke. I myself have put up fifty thousand dollars to be paid to one of these men. Tz'u Hsi and K'ang Hu each has invested the same amount, on orders from Peking."
She gurgled laughter and lifted off her cheongsam so that now her somewhat heavy breasts-inherited from her Portuguese mother—were revealed to the old man. Lucy Chang stood up on the table and laughed down at the surprised Chinese.
"I shall be very good to you for doing this wonderful thing, my tiger lover,” she whispered. “But first we must drink the juice of the Bohea leaves."
Squatting, she placed a cup between her heels and poured the tea. Ling Pao did not miss the symbolism, and clapped his hands with pleasure. Lucy Chang flashed him a brilliant smile with her large red mouth and white teeth.
Unseen by the old man, she had dropped a pellet into the cup. The pellet had been given her by a druggist who visited her apartment once a week, on every Thursday night when his wife was out playing bingo. It was guaranteed to raise the flesh of a Nestor, the druggist told her with a laugh. Lucy Chang did not know who Nestor was, since she was no student of Greek history; but she had gathered that he, too, was quite an old man.
She handed the teacup to Ling Pao, then poured her own drink without the aphrodisiac. They sipped, they smiled, they were very polite. Lucy Chang kept watching the old man anxiously. There should be some sign of the pellet's taking effect, she thought.
"Soon the killers will strike, I hope?" she asked, as if to make conversation.
"Very soon. They are coming now from Rangoon, from San Francisco, from Macao.”
"They must be very important men, to come from such great distances,” the girl murmured.
"Each is an expert at the art of killing. Each has great need of money. Each will do whatever is asked to earn such a sum."
Lucy squirmed as if with excitement, knowing that Ling Pao was following the movements of her naked body with his brilliant eyes. "I wish they were already killing this man. Why do we have to wait so long?"
Ling Pao smiled. “It takes some little time to gather these men. We expect them in Hong Kong by the end of next week. Then the plan will be explained to them by Tz'u Hsi. He is the brain behind the plot. He is a very smart man, Tz'u Hsi, and young enough to cope with such a plot. Me, I am too old. K'ang Hu is too lazy to be concerned with politics. It is enough that he contributes money, like myself.”
"You are marvelous,” Lucy Chang whispered, sliding off the table and advancing toward the older man.
He caught her slender fingers, allowed her to draw him to his feet. There was a questioning look in his eyes. Lucy Chang smiled and undid the sash of his Mandarin robe and pushed it off his skinny shoulders.
For a moment, she thought he might refuse to be undressed. But there was a dawning surprise, a delighted wonder in his face. Lucy brushed the fingertips of her right hand across his loins. Now her own eyes opened wide. The pellet must have ground stag horn and Arabian yohimbin in it to be so potent!
She drew back a pace and stared down at him. "You are marvelous, indeed,” she murmured. “You have become a young man.”
He caught her in his arms, kissing her soft throat and bared shoulders. He was strong for an old one, she thought, aware that his restored vigor was brushing her soft thighs. She must beg, borrow or steal more of those amazing pellets from her druggist friend. They were able to work miracles.
It was now the turn of the rejuvenated Ling Pao to lead Lucy Chang toward the low bed set in a corner of the room. She reclined on her back and opened herself to her aged lover.
Yet even as she played the game of "the drowning of the jade stick,” Lucy Chang was wondering how to get to the American Consulate. It should not be too difficult. Surely one of her many American friends would know.
She must attend to it, first thing in the morning.
Please let us know if you like this story in the comments. If there is enough interest, we will publish more of this story.