Chapter 22: The Compensation of the Body
The lounge door closed behind the last guests, leaving a deadly silence. The luxurious scent of champagne and perfume was now overwhelmed by the pungent smell of sweat, the pungent smell of semen and the smell of cold lust. Troc stood in the middle of the room, looking at the battlefield before him: the pieces of red dress scattered on the floor like withered petals, empty glasses rolling around and puddles of milky semen smeared on the black leather chair. He was no longer a human, but a pre-programmed machine. At Linh’s command, he began to clean up.
He knelt down, using the tissues to wipe away the sticky semen. Every time he wiped his hand, the image of his sister being trampled by four men appeared clearly in his mind. He was wiping away their traces on the stage where his sister had just performed. He was not only a voyeur, but now he was also the one cleaning up the mess. The feeling of humiliation was so extreme, it was even more painful than being punched in the face.
Linh sat on the sofa, quietly sipping champagne. The cold, powerful Queen from earlier had gradually disappeared, giving way to a feeling of guilt and pain when she saw Troc’s dazed appearance. He moved mechanically, his broad shoulders now looked heavy, as if he was carrying a mountain of shame. She had succeeded, had achieved her goal. But when she looked at her brother who was broken before her eyes, she realized that the price of this “dream” was more expensive than she thought. It was not only her body, but also his soul.
The taxi ride back to the apartment was filled with a stifling silence. The neon lights of Tokyo passed through the windows, shimmering on Linh’s expressionless face and Troc’s pale face. He sat huddled in a corner, not daring to look at her, not daring to breathe heavily. His mind was a jumble of images of Linh moaning under other men, his own helplessness, and the disgusting excitement he had felt. He hated those men, hated Linh for being so lewd, and hated himself most of all for standing there, watching, and jerking off.
Linh no longer felt powerful. She only felt a deep sadness. She wanted to apologize, but she didn’t know where to start. She looked at Troc, and for the first time in days, she saw him not as a “monk” or a “believer”, but as her brother who was falling apart because of her. A strong urge arose within her: she had to fix him, to “make it up” to him.
Back at the apartment, Troc took a quick shower and then sat in the living room, turning on some meaningless TV channel. He was trying to escape from reality, using noisy images and sounds to fill the emptiness in his head.
Linh took a long shower. She stood under the hot shower, scrubbing her body with soap until her skin turned red, as if she wanted to wash away all the traces and scents of other men. But she knew that the filth was not on her skin, it had penetrated deep into her soul. When she came out, she was not wearing a provocative nightgown, but only wrapped in a towel. She walked over, picked up the remote and turned off the TV.
Silence suddenly fell over the room. Bald raised his head, looking at her with bewildered eyes.
Linh said nothing. She slowly knelt down on the cold floor, right in front of Troc who was sitting on the sofa.
“I’m sorry…” Her voice trembled, cracking with pent-up emotion. “I know you’ve been through a lot. I… I don’t know what else to do. Let me… make it up to you.”
She didn’t wait for Troc to answer. She gently removed the towel, letting it fall to the floor. Her naked body, still marked with a few light whip marks and bruises, was completely exposed to him. She lowered her head, started kissing his feet, then slowly moved up.
This was not an act of domination, but of worship, a physical penance. Her tongue slid lightly over his ankle, then along his muscular calf. She was using her own tongue to “cleanse” him of the dirty images he had witnessed. She served him devotedly, asking nothing, only giving.
Linh’s submission did not appease Troc. On the contrary, it was like a match thrown into a barrel of gunpowder. The image of her kneeling to serve him now overlapped with the image of her being trampled by other men. The jealousy, desire and anger that had been pent up for so long exploded.
He wouldn’t let her continue. He growled like a wounded animal, grabbed her hair, and pulled her up. He didn’t kiss her, but took off his bathrobe, revealing his purple, hard cock. He flipped her over, forcing her face down on the cold floor.
This wasn’t a tender lovemaking. It was a punishment, an assertion of dominance. Bald pounded into her hard, almost brutally, without any lubrication. Each thrust was a silent scream: “You’re mine!”
He was fucking and cursing, the jumbled words of a man driven mad by jealousy.
“You bitch… You dare let them touch you? Your pussy… how many guys have fucked you? Huh? Tell me! Whose pussy are you? Whose pussy is this?”
He thrust harder, deeper as if he wanted to use his own cock to stamp his sovereignty on every inch of flesh inside her, to erase the traces of other men.
Linh did not resist. She bit her lip, her hands digging into the floor, enduring his brutality. She understood that this was his only way to release her anger. She accepted his wrath as a punishment she deserved. The physical pain brought her a strange mental release. She moaned, but not from pleasure, but from pain and a sense of cleansing.
Troc’s rage reached its peak. He pulled her up, forced her to kneel doggy style, and then thrust into her from behind, his hands slapping her reddening ass.
“Slap! Slap! This ass… did they hit you? Did you like it? You slutty bitch!”
After shooting wildly inside her, he didn’t stop. His jealousy still burned. He pulled out his cock and turned her over. He looked at her cute little asshole, where he knew Suzuki-san’s tongue had once invaded. A new rage flared up. He had to erase that trace. He had to claim it too.
This was something he normally wouldn’t dare do. He was always afraid of hurting her. But now, jealousy overcame everything. He spat a mouthful of saliva onto his hand, roughly smeared it on her asshole, then aimed his still erect cock and pushed it in.
“Ah… no… honey… it hurts…” Linh screamed, this time it was real pain. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Shut up! You let that old man lick you, but you won’t let me fuck you?” Troc roared, pressing down with force.
A heart-wrenching pain hit her, almost making Linh faint. But in the midst of the pain, she thought of his torment. She clenched her teeth, trying to relax. For him. This was compensation. Gradually, her body got used to the penetration. The pain subsided, giving way to a feeling of tension, a sickening ecstasy. Filled. Completely possessed. Her moans of pain gradually turned into moans of pleasure.
Troc felt the change. He began to thrust harder, brutally possessing her hole. They both climaxed at the same time with a scream. Troc collapsed on top of her, exhausted. Linh lay still, her body exhausted but her heart felt strangely peaceful.
They lay still on the cold floor for a long time. The anger had passed, leaving only exhaustion and a naked, painful intimacy. Trọc gently turned her over, wiping away the tears from her face with his hand. He did not apologize, nor did she thank him. They just looked at each other. In those eyes, they were no longer Queen and Prisoner, but two sinners who had gone through hell together and survived.
He carried her into the bedroom and laid her down on the bed. After a while, when his body had recovered, his cock slowly hardened again. But this time, it was not out of jealousy, but out of love and a desire for ultimate connection.
He kissed her gently on the lips, a kiss that was no longer a punishment but a caress. He slowly entered her, this time a gentle, slow fusion. They made love, whispering to each other.
“Thank you… for everything.” Troc said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “For your sacrifice.”
Linh wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer so they could look deep into each other’s eyes.
“Don’t say sacrifice, dear,” she whispered. “You will always hold an important place in my heart. Consider it… my feelings for you.”
They kissed passionately, their tears mingling together. They had found a new balance. A relationship built on love, guilt, lust, and dependence. It was twisted, sick, but it was theirs.
The next morning, their last day in Japan, they woke up in bed, in each other’s arms. Troc got up early, quietly preparing breakfast for Linh. He was no longer a servant, but a man taking care of his woman.
While Linh was eating, her phone vibrated. It was a message from Duc Anh: “Is everything okay, honey? Tell me.”
Linh looked at the text message, then at Troc sitting across from her, his face calm again. She smiled slightly, a smile no longer cold but filled with complexity. She realized that the play in Japan had ended, but another, even more complicated play was about to begin when they returned to Vietnam.
She didn’t reply to Duc Anh’s text. She put down her phone, snuggled into Troc’s chest, and enjoyed the fragile moment of peace before the next storm hit.