Pyongyang: Inside the secret brothel of North Korea’s elite

[adonis]

Thanks notti boi. I must give some r. pts to u. Some things about this story puzzles me. How can the PRC journalist, Chu, be sure this hidden place will be there 6 years from the time he first heard about it? He only heard a hazy comment about it by a drunk, quite highly ranked North Korean military officer which he might be mistaken about. It might've been moved before Chu returned to Pyongyang, North Korea. Chu spent quite some time and effort learning about the coal industry to prepare his cover story? He had liaised beforehand with the official North Korean coal bigwigs and they replied him. They didn't liaise with other real PRC coal bigwigs? Chu's midnight escapade was predicated on Gyeong being able to speak Mandarin. What if he didn't? What if Gyeong didn't need to go to the toilet at the same time as Chu?

I wished Chu had described what he did with the North Korean spa girl, Sun Young for 2 hours.

Chu's account can be true because the personal sushi chef of the late father (sorry I forgot his name) of the present leader of North Korea wrote or was interviewed about such secret goings-on. He's a Japanese man who wears glasses and is bearded. He likes to wear a bandana. He described the previous North Korean leader's debauched, over decadent life like the Roman emperor, Nero. The previous North Korean leader was watching a troupe of beautiful North Korean girl dancers in his private room. It could've been a theater. He chose a few of the dancers and asked them to strip naked. They did so. He asked his Japanese chef if he liked any of the girls. I think the Japanese chef declined. Then the North Korean leader stripped naked and had sex with the girls, The Japanese chef managed to get back to Japan much later and never went back to North Korea.

[sadfa]

Originally Posted by sundial

Most likely some fantasy or to drive traffic to the site

Probably smear tactics by the south Koreans.
Of course the north Koreans are super fucked up hence the comparisons with spore n the story could b possible but nt in the way its written.

[sadfa]

Originally Posted by adonis

Thanks notti boi. I must give some r. pts to u. Some things about this story puzzles me. How can the PRC journalist, Chu, be sure this hidden place will be there 6 years from the time he first heard about it? He only heard a hazy comment about it by a drunk, quite highly ranked North Korean military officer which he might be mistaken about. It might've been moved before Chu returned to Pyongyang, North Korea. Chu spent quite some time and effort learning about the coal industry to prepare his cover story? He had liaised beforehand with the official North Korean coal bigwigs and they replied him. They didn't liaise with other real PRC coal bigwigs?

Chu's account can be true because the personal sushi chef of the late father (sorry I forgot his name) of the present leader of North Korea wrote or was interviewed about such secret goings-on. He's a Japanese man who wears glasses and is bearded. He likes to wear a bandana. He described the previous North Korean leader's debauched, over decadent life like the Roman emperor, Nero. The previous North Korean leader was watching a troupe of beautiful North Korean girl dancers in his private room. It could've been a theater. He chose a few of the dancers and asked them to strip naked. They did so. He asked his Japanese chef if he liked any of the girls. I think the Japanese chef declined. Then the North Korean leader stripped naked and had sex with the girls, The Japanese chef managed to get back to Japan much later and never went back to North Korea.

Go read my post la.
Likely story is fake.
A real journalist or someone writing expose won't write like that.

And the Japanese chef not dumb.
If he fcuked her, they'll make her pregnant n he don't need to go home le.

[adonis]

Will you risk a prison sentence with hard labor in a North Korean prison? May be never to be released? Or even executed? What if Comrade Mun, the North Korean security guard of the underground brothel didn't allow them both in? Too many 'ifs'.

[ryanking1983]

Part 3 out

[notti_boi]

At the front door Gyeong knocked loudly several times, and then cursed after a minute had passed with no response. “Damn it, Mun, have you fallen asleep?” he shouted. Eventually we heard a click and the door swung open slowly. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” said Mun, without the slightest trace of regret. Gyeong was already in a bad mood and this served only to provoke him further, but he wisely chose to ignore Mun’s lack of respect. Instead, Gyeong stormed down the alley at a brisk pace without a backwards glance. I followed him, but stopped a few steps away and turned back to take one final look at the building that housed the brothel. “What are you looking at?” demanded Mun. I quickly turned and continued down the alley trailing closely behind Gyeong.

The journey back to the hotel was uneventful, although I felt my pulse quicken as we approached the loading dock’s guardhouse. Once again, the music was interspersed by the sound of the guard’s snoring and we were able to creep past undetected. Of all the countries to be a lazy security guard, I thought, North Korea was about the worst choice. We descended to the loading dock and I was relieved to see the area remained unlit. Gyeong’s eyesight must have been better than mine as he stealthily navigated the route back to the fire escape in the dark. “I will escort you back to your room,” he whispered, and I was grateful that his earlier bad mood appeared to have dissipated.

We climbed cautiously, with Gyeong pausing several times and listening for signs of anything unusual. Nothing caused him concern, and we arrived back at the ninth floor undetected. “Thank you,” I whispered. “I can make it back to my room from here.” Gyeong shook his head. “There could be guards on patrol,” he said. “Pass me your room key and keep quiet.” I didn’t think it was wise to argue with him, so I followed his instructions as we crept along the corridor. We encountered no guards on our short walk to my room, and Gyeong smoothly inserted the key and twisted the lock without making a sound. He gently pushed open the door and stepped into the room, holding it open for me to pass. “Thank you again,” I said, as we stood in the darkness.

At that moment the light on the side table flicked on, and I turned around in shock. Lying on my bed was a familiar figure. “Hello, Mr Chu,” said Jang Wong-Yon.

[notti_boi]

The third and final instalment of Chu Jingyi’s investigation into a North Korean secret begins with the journalist caught in a most-compromising position. Having spent the early hours of the morning in a Pyongyang brothel accompanied by DPRK coal executive Gyeong Ji-Hu, Chu returns to his hotel room only to find his minder, Jang Wong-Yon, lying in wait. Is the game finally up for this fearless journalist, or are there further secrets to be revealed?

Jang Wong-Yon rose from the bed slowly as I stood frozen in place at the entrance to my hotel room. How much does he know? Despite the seriousness of the situation, I felt a spark of hope that the past few hours could be explained away in an innocent manner. “Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing at the armchair in the corner. It was more a command than a suggestion, and I complied. “Shut the door,” he added, and I was confused for a moment why he’d asked me to sit down first before I realized he was talking to Gyeong, who was still standing at the entrance of the room. Gyeong did so in silence and took a seat on the edge of the bed, giving me a stern expression before turning away to face the door. Jang walked over to the window and drew the curtains open, revealing the first signs of light filtering in from a grey Pyongyang dawn. He stood there for some moments, staring out over the dark concrete buildings that stretched out to the horizon. I felt he was waiting for me to say something, but nothing I could conjure up in my mind seemed appropriate, so I just sat there, sweating despite the cold, hoping that somehow everything would be fine. Eventually, he turned to face me, and I could tell from his expression that things were anything but.

“You are an imposter,” he declared, in Korean. “I most certainly am not!” I cried out, and it was a split-second later that I realized I had replied to him in his own language. Gyeong buried his head in his hands and groaned, while Jang offered me a wry smile. “Well maybe I can speak some Korean,” I ventured, trying to recover from the grave I had dug, “But that doesn’t prove anything.” Jang nodded but didn’t appear the slightest bit convinced. “Mr Chu, let us dispense with these games,” he replied, sounding disappointed. “Your cover was blown before you even arrived at Pyongyang Airport.” As way of explanation, he withdrew a cell phone from his coat pocket and waved it in my direction. “I had a chat with the man you are pretending to be while I was waiting for you at the terminal,” he said, and I knew instantly that all hope was lost. “My guess is that you’re a journalist,” he added, and not having much to lose by revealing the truth, I nodded.

I hope it will be a firing squad, I thought, or at least something quick and painless. Now that my secret was exposed, I knew it would only be a matter of time before I was dragged away by members of the dreaded State Security Department for a lengthy interrogation, to be followed by an inevitable execution. The DRPK has a history of dealing with people like me, and it never ended well. The only question that remained was why Jang had let things go as far as they had, if he had known since yesterday that I was a fraud. I realized that Gyeong had now disgraced himself by taking me to the brothel, and he would likely suffer the same fate that lay in store for me. I was desperate to at least salvage something from this debacle, so I decided to plea for Gyeong’s life to be spared. “Jang, you are right, I am a journalist,” I began, but Jang cut me off. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, before curiously adding, “In some ways, that is a good thing.” Gyeong laughed sarcastically. “A good thing?” he asked. “How can you say such a thing?” Jang didn’t answer but stared at me intently. “I want to tell you a story,” he said to me, and despite my growing confusion at what was happening, I didn’t try to interrupt him.

When he had finished, almost an hour later, his face was stained-wet with tears, and I knew that I would do everything I could to help him, even if it cost me my life.

[notti_boi]

As I sat in an empty meeting room of the DPRK Coal Mining Group some hours later, I began to write from memory Jang Wong-Yon’s story onto a pad of paper. I was exhausted, not in the least from having had no sleep the night before, but also from the stress of sitting through the earlier meeting with a room full of eager coal executives. I had asked for some time alone to perform calculations and make calls, and my hosts had readily agreed to this request. It was a relief to finally have some privacy where I could gather my thoughts, but instead of relaxing I felt compelled to commit to paper the entire story that Jang had shared with me earlier that morning. Even if there was only the slightest chance that Jang’s story could one day be told to the world outside North Korea, I wanted to do everything in my power to make it a reality…

My story begins in early 1993, began Jang. That was when I first met the woman who would become my wife, and the mother of our two beautiful children. I was only 20 at the time, but I had already been drafted into the Korean People’s Army three years earlier having joined immediately after my high school graduation. In the KPA, my first deployment was as a border guard along the DMZ, but I was later transferred to Huchang County, where I joined the protection force tasked with security for the construction of the Chunggang-up missile base. Huchang County is along the northern border with China, and the base itself was just a few miles from Linjiang, a town on the Chinese side. When our monthly leave day came around, it was common for my fellow soldiers and I to bribe the captain of a Chinese fishing vessel with our meagre cigarette ration to ferry us across the Yalu River to Linjiang, where we would marvel at the abundance of food in the markets and the automobiles in the streets. These outings would encourage us all to try to learn Chinese, although among my comrades I was the only one who was able to master the language.

After some months of spending our leave days in Linjiang, fate would intervene in a most unexpected way. On board the fishing boat for the short journey back across the river to the North Korean, the boat struck a high swell and one of my fellow soldiers was pitched out into the treacherous waters. Among my colleagues I was the strongest swimmer, so I quickly shed my clothes and dived in after him, ignoring the captain’s protests that it was a suicidal mission. Indeed, it nearly proved to be the case, but somehow I managed to fight the strong current with my colleague on my back just far enough for us to collapse exhausted on the Chinese side of the riverbank. I tried to resuscitate the half-drowned soldier, but he had swallowed too much water and couldn’t be revived. I soon passed out from exhaustion and fear of the consequences that would await me back at my base. I later woke in the Linjiang Infirmary, where a Chinese doctor told me I was lucky to be alive, having contracted pneumonia from my exposure to the icy waters. I faced a long recovery, and an uncertain future on what would await me once I was healthy enough to travel home.




As I recovered, I was tended to by a Chinese nurse named Chang Guiying. Guiying was an impossibly-beautiful young woman, and it didn’t take any effort on my part to fall deeply in love with her soon after she administered my first sponge bath. Surprisingly, the feeling was mutual, and Guiying incurred the wrath of her head nurse by spending a disproportionate amount of time in my ward and bringing me the choicest morsels from the hospital kitchen. Had I not met her, I would probably have returned to North Korea after being released from the hospital and sentenced to hard labour for abandoning my post. Instead, having met my dream girl, my decision was made easily: I would stay in Linjiang and start a new life with Guiying. Despite the protests of her parents, who warned her marrying a North Korean defector was a terrible decision, we were wed in August 1993, just a few months after fate brought us together.

With the benefit of hindsight, I wish Guiying had listened to her parents, because their warnings proved prophetic. At the time, though, I was blissfully ignorant of the risks I was taking, and the consequences that would later be faced by my wife and our future family. I was convinced that my former masters in the Korean People’s Army had long-since written me off as dead, based on the witness reports of my plunge from the boat and the sub-zero conditions. While I was depressed at the thought I would never be able to see my family back in North Korea again, I took some comfort in the knowledge that they would be informed I had died a hero’s death trying to save a fellow solider. If I was to ever return, it would be in disgrace, and my family would only be rewarded with joining me at the labour camp. With the possibility of returning home firmly ruled out, my concerns shifted to finding employment in Linjiang, and I was luckily able to secure a position as a Korean teacher at a local high school with the help of Guiying’s cousin who worked there.

I look back on this time as the happiest in my life: I was out of the endless, mind-numbingly boring life of a soldier and now happily married, with a loving wife and a job that I found interesting. Even my in-laws began to warm to me, after I proved myself as capable of providing a living for their daughter. Our lives would receive further good news soon after I started working at the high school; Guiying fell pregnant and the following year would give birth to our first child, a beautiful daughter who thankfully inherited her mother’s looks. We named her Yawen, and eighteen months later she was joined by a baby brother, who we christened Chengyan.

[notti_boi]

Our lives could not have been any more perfect, and the past was only a distant memory that I consigned to the back of my mind. While I knew soon after we were married that it was tempting fate to remain living in Linjiang, so close to the border, I could not convince Guiying of the necessity to move to some other part of China. She had her whole family in Linjiang, and while they had slowly come to accept me despite their initial reservations, to move Guiying to another city would have destroyed any goodwill I had slowly earned over the years. To do so after our children were born would have been even more devastating to her relatives, as they were just as enamoured by Yawen and Chengyan as we were. In any event, I felt the risk of my past catching up with me receding as each year went on, and the busy schedule of being a new parent and a teacher left with me with little time to dwell on the past.

The years flew by, and our children began to grow at an alarming rate. I was lucky enough to receive a promotion to a better school in 1997, which greatly helped with the household budget, particularly as Guiying never returned to work after our daughter was born. In 1998, to celebrate Yawen’s fourth birthday, we held a celebration at one of the best hotpot restaurants in Linjiang, which was attended by the majority of Guiying’s extended family. It was a joyous affair, and I remember thinking how lucky I was how my life had turned out. Little did I know at the time how soon things would change. As we were walking home after the party, an old van pulled up in front of us and a group of men spilled out. From their appearance, I knew almost immediately that they were North Korean agents, but I had no idea how they had tracked me down. For the first time in years, I uttered my native language, crying out “Spare my family!” The agents took no notice of my demand, and Guiying was seized by one man while our children were scooped up by another. I tried to tackle the men but was rewarded with a blow to the back of my head, which must have rendered me unconscious as when I awoke it was alone inside a dark cell.

I began to shout and curse as loudly as I could in the darkness, but no matter what I said, I received no response. By my best guess I was in that cell for almost two days before a bowl of watery soup was pushed through a slot in the door, with half the liquid splashing onto the filthy floor. I was so consumed by thirst that I lapped at the spilled moisture as though I were a dog, although no pet would be punished by such a pitiful meal. For the next few days, I remained in the darkness of the cell with only a group of rats to keep me company, and I ended up losing my voice from constantly screaming for my family. There was never any reply, and my mind became filled with all sorts of nightmare scenarios as to what fate had befallen them. I had almost lost all hope when the door swung open, by my rough estimate a week after arriving in the cell. To my surprise, the prison guard who stood at the entrance to my room told me I would be brought to see my family, and I was marched through a maze of corridors before being brought into a large open space. The joy I was feeling soon faded, as I knew exactly what this place was. Hardly any effort had been made to wash the blood stains from where they had soaked into the concrete. There was one prisoner at the other end of the room, and the hood and drab prison garb didn’t disguise the fact that it was my wife.

I fell to the ground and begged the guard but he just kicked my chest and demanded that I stand. When I wasn’t able to do that he summoned a pair of guards who lifted me from the ground and held me up, directly facing Guiying. An old man dressed in the uniform of the KPA entered the room and between my tears I was able to recognize he was decorated as a Major General. “Comrade Jang,” he said, “Did you think we had forgotten about you?” I pleaded with him to release my wife and children but he ignored this, and just shook his head. “You have a debt to repay your homeland, Jang. You must learn the consequences of disloyalty.” I continued to beg him to let my wife go, as she was innocent of any wrongdoing, but he shook his head again. “I’m sorry, but you have brought this upon her. Maybe you can save your children, Jang, but we cannot let your crimes go unpunished.” At that, he turned and left the room, and two men carrying rifles entered from another door. I almost managed to break free from the vice-like grip of the soldiers who held me in place as the executioners aimed their weapons at my dear Guiying and fired.

Back in my cell, I was tortured by the images from that room, which I was unable to stop from playing back over and over again in my mind. The only thing that kept me from going completely crazy was the knowledge that my children may still be alive, and the comments of the Major General that I might be able to save them somehow. I knew I would do anything that I was asked if it could guarantee that Yawen and Chengyan would remain safe. After some weeks living in that miserable hellhole I was hooded by a guard and led out into the fresh air for the first time before being bundled into a waiting van. Several hours later we came to a halt and I was led by two guards up a flight of stairs and into an uncomfortable seat. The hood was removed and I found myself seated opposite the Major General who I had first met at my wife’s execution, and a younger man dressed in civilian clothing who I hadn’t seen before. He had no distinguishing features other than a sour expression that looked upon me with distaste.

“I have been told that you now know the price of disloyalty, Jang.” he stated, devoid of any emotion. I nodded with enthusiasm. “That is good,” he continued, “Because we have a need for your services. You will be assigned to the State Security Department immediately and be tasked with training our operatives who are destined for service within China.” He removed an envelope from a folder in front of him and passed it across to me. “If you fulfil your duties effectively, then I can guarantee no harm will come to your two children.” I clawed open the envelope nervously and found several photos of Yawen and Chengyan, who looked remarkably unaffected by the events of the past few weeks. “When can I see them?” I whispered, and the man’s expression darkened. “That will depend on your performance, Jang. If it meets my expectations, I may be able to arrange a meeting in the future. If it doesn’t…” his voice trailed off ominously. Needless to say, I pledged I would perform any tasks that were asked of me, so long as my children would remain safe. “You will report into me from now on,” said the man. “My name is Comrade Heo.”

[notti_boi]

Heo was an evil man, but I had little choice but to serve his bidding to the best of my abilities. True to his word, he did eventually grant me a visit with my children, but it was not until over a year had passed since I started working for him in the State Security Department. On the first occasion, I was accompanied by one of his trusted agents on a trip to Chonjin, some hours away from Pyongyang in the far north-east of the country. Here, my son Chengyan had been adopted by a foster family, and his new parents had given him the Korean name of Sung-Ho. When I had last seen my son, he was a happy, boisterous toddler a few months short of his third birthday. The boy that I met on this occasion was a sullen, withdrawn child, who shyly peeked out from between his adopted mother’s legs as I was introduced to him as a ‘friend of his parents’. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that my own son, my dear Chengyan, no longer recognized me. The only positive was that the family who were tasked with his care appeared to be looking after him well enough, and I could see no signs that he was being ill-treated. I resolved to keep working as hard as I could for Heo, and hoped that he would continue to honour his end of the bargain.

Later that year, Heo met with me and told me the news I had been both desperately longing for and dreading simultaneously. He had finally decided the time had come for a meeting with Yawen. While one part of me was thrilled at the prospect of finally seeing my daughter again, I was equally fearful that she would have forgotten all about me just as Chengyan had. As it turned out, my worst fears were not realized, because Yawen had not forgotten me at all. Her situation was totally different to that of my son, which I assumed in part was due to her being older at the time of our abduction from Linjiang. Instead of being adopted out to a family, Yawen was living at an orphanage not far from Pyongyang. As Heo explained to me, Yawen had been assigned to two foster families, but proved so disruptive to both that her new parents had returned her. With a menacing grin, he noted that this was fairly common in his experience, and it took a lot of self-control to avoid punching him in the face. I managed to avoid it, though, as it would’ve surely signed both my own death sentence and that of my children. It did make me question, not for the first time, just how many abducted children were trapped in North Korea, with their parents forced to serve the regime.

I was hooded on the journey to the orphanage, and it surprised me as Heo hadn’t required that level of security on my trip to Chonjin. However, as soon as I saw my daughter, I realized why he had gone to extra lengths to conceal her location. In contrast to Chengyan’s sullen and shy behaviour, Yawen was all over me the minute she was brought into the visiting room, and we both spent what felt like hours in a tearful embrace as I reassured her that things would be OK. Despite her tender age, she had a surprisingly mature understanding of the tragedies that had unfolded over the recent past. While I conceded the fact that Chengyan would probably never know that I was his father, I took great comfort from the fact that Yawen would always know the truth. As a pair of orderlies arrived to announce our visit was over, which felt like no time had passed at all, I embraced my daughter once more and told her I would be back soon. “Be strong, my dear Yawen,” I called after her, as she was removed from the room. One of the orderlies turned back with an unpleasant expression. “She’s not called that anymore,” she snarled. “She has a Korean name now.”

Jang’s narrative came to an abrupt halt at this point, and he stared at me intently. “What was her new name?” I asked, but before I had finished my question I realized I already knew the answer. Gyeong turned around and told me. “Her new name,” he said, “was Sun-Young.”

The remainder of Chu Jingyi’s stay in Pyongyang was filled with meetings at the offices of the DPRK Coal Mining Group, and it would come as no surprise to readers of this series that Chu failed to sign a contract, citing unfavourable conditions. However, before leaving the country, he made a promise to Jang Wong-Yon and Gyeong Ji-Hu that he would do everything he could to help with their plan to save Sun-Young from her captivity in the secret brothel. Chu returned to North Korea in February 2016, and the full details of the covert operation he was involved in are due to be published in a new three-part series, Five Miles from the DPRK Border: The Liberation of Sun-Young, beginning on April 22, 2016

[F-boy]

This one more of a spy story then sex story

[xrage]

a refreshing spy story amidst a plethora of erolitica. thanks for sharing TS.