Katrina’s Psychedelic Salon

I saw the red light and after a few nights wondering what to do, I decided to go over. I rang the bell. There was a buzz almost immediately, and I swung the door into the lobby of what seemed like a classical European hotel. The space was dim and lit red, and a candle burned on the counter. A woman stood up and introduced herself as Francesca.

“Would you like to book an hour?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, without asking the price.

“That will be one seventy-five,” she said, and I handed her my credit card. She did the transaction, I signed for it, and she scanned through a large schedule written in pencil. She picked up the fone and spoke a few words in Dutch.

“I have one girl free — Katrina. Please,” she said, gesturing me to follow her. “She’s on the fourth floor.” We went up one short flight to an elevator, which had a gate she swung open and then closed. There were no buttons, just that big handle on a wheel, that controls the speed and the direction of the lift car.

The fourth floor was a studio; there was no corridor – the elevator opened into her space, where she sat in a black skirt and looking out from behind lightly tinted glasses. We were introduced and Francesca slipped into the elevator and disappeared.

Katrina was beautiful to look at: something from my phantasies, dark and small and articulate.

She asked me what I did. I said I was a writer.

“I’ve always wanted to be a writer,” she said, in an accent that sounded like a morph of Italian and Swiss. I asked her what she would write about.

“I would write about extraterrestrial sex. With themselves and with humans.”

I knew I would enjoy her company. We chatted for a few more minutes, and then she looked in my eyes with a pulse of energy and said, “I have something special tonight.” I raised my eyebrow in inquiry. She reached onto a table and picked up a small jar with a large cork sealing the top. In were what looked like a few red bean sprouts.

“They are mushrooms,” she said.

“Mushrooms?” I asked, having heard her perfectly but not recognizing them.

“They are intense and they are erotic,” she said.

I looked at her and without hesitating said, “I want to.”

“Undress first,” she said. She pointed to a black daybed a few meters across the room. I sat down and watched as I removed my shoes and clothes and arranged them in a little pile. As I did this she dimmed the lights and walked over to me, now in a while kimono. I sat naked in front of her.

“Take a breath,” she said. I did. “And another, deeper and slower.” I did.

“Open your mouth please.” I did, and with tweezers she placed a mushroom on my tongue. I could see as she did that it was transparent gathering the light with a slight glow.

“Chew and swallow,” she said.

I closed my eyes as I did so. My mindspace began to glow red. I knew this was the rapid onset of whatever hallucinogen they contained. That space suddenly became vast — I was enormous inside. There was such depth of pleasure as I felt that spacious quality within myself and I moaned a little.

“That’s a good boy,” she said, and she stood holding and coddling me against her belly. I clasped her hips with my arms.

She gradually let go and stepped back slowly. Her kimono opened up and she slipped out of it, as it cascaded downward around her feet.

“Let’s talk about what you want,” she said.

She pinched her nipple with the fingers of one hand, and I could swear that I saw white liquid spray out in several directions.

I looked at her longingly, so obviously thirsty.

She turned around and showed me her ass, and parted her legs. Dangling between them was her outer labia, which hung down by an inch…or more…and I could through the air rushing into my nose taste her scent.

She turned around and faced me and squatted down, gazing into my eyes as she split apart her vulva and showed me all of its lips and its wet core. My mouth was hanging open. I felt like I was directly in front of her, then flashed back to where I was sitting, not having moved.

“Oh yeah” she said looking at me. “Maybe this is it,” massaging her clear secretion into the thick, full lips. Then she gathered some and massaged her breasts, milking them again. If I put my mouth there I cold taste cunt and milk.

“Or maybe this is it.” She knelt in front of me and massaged my stiff, delightfully aching cock. Yeah maybe that’s what you want.”


my own voice.

A finger slipped up my asshole and leaned on my bulb — feeling and squeezing and touching the climax that was gathering. She seemed to do this forever, intentionally. I said



as she continued.

The room around me swirled like a carousel, in glowing trail of red. I was awakened to my senses by the sound of the elevator gate opening and a female voice and the presence of a man as well, but I did not look. I drowned a moment in this presence, my body rippling with the unexpected, and then Katrina brought me under her control, cock and asshole.

Immediately there was the sound of fucking and of suspended, elongated orgasm.

I looked at her, aware of my sweaty face and hair. My eyes bulged naked and hers gazed at me approvingly, delicately even, and she said, “Let’s do this together.”

I nodded okay and as I did, synchronously, I heard the deep call of a man’s orgasm. The female voice went silent; Katrina breathed quietly near me as he first growled and then grunted with what I knew and felt were the pulses of his ejaculation. The third one rippled into me.

“Together,” she said and I understood that she would be with me as I released.

“That’s right, release,” and it felt like my guts let loose. My hot bulb throbbed in one religious gushing release, and when I thought that’s all there would be, another, and now I was aware of semen gushing through my body and out and out and out into her hands cupped around me, over and over…I was unsure if I was hallucinating ejaculating this much or…that was my last coherent thought before I was gulping my semen out of her hands — one and then the other, and another and…I swallowed once and then again and then she whispered once more and my face and mouth were soaked.

“Open your eyes,” she commanded. I was sprawled out like a black rose, with my petals hanging. A psychedelic prostitute stood near me showing me her soaked hands and then I looked at my face, at first unrecognizing myself, then a flash of…freedom…shame…infant self indulgence…as my eyes focused on this couple — a woman whose whitish gray hair streamed down. Her lover was masculine, almost savage, and young: I was unsure whether my mind was not making all of this up.

All except for Kartrina, who seemed to understand this whole sequence of thoughts. I followed her and felt that she…empathized with this being the thing of my creation. Faced with her yawning vulva and the milk of her breasts, I had chosen to gulp cupfulls of myself from her hands.

From whose? Where am I am what year and I open my eyes and I am facing myself alone…it occurs to me that I have died and this is my parting contour of the world. My tears break. They burst, contained for an aeon. That is me, this is me my mouth is sweet with the familiar taste of my semen. I understand the next step is to admit that I might be dead and…I just did that…I am aware of my ass penetrated and I am horny to cum again right now. I rock into making love. I rock into me. I am aware of Katrina masturbating on her knees facing herself.

She spread her knees apart a little more and pulled open the lips of her twat, making a strange sound as she did, a sound of pleasure and indulgence and raw shameless narcissism.

“You don’t need to penetrate,” she said to me. “You don’t need to penetrate women and you don’t need to ejaculate into them.”

She spread herself wider, pulling her lips impossibly apart with her fingers. “But I want to, I want to,” as I wanted to penetrate her and pulse hot semen into her right then, daring even to consider this.

“You don’t need to.”

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