Chapter 16 Ming-tsu and the Tale of the Bamboo Splints
Chapter 16 Ming-tsu and the Tale of the Bamboo Splints
Ming-tsu knew that of the hundred embraces that they had enjoyed, Li had
been most aroused the night she had let him thrust his throbbing phallus between
the close-set mounds of her luscious breasts. His hands, always manly and
strong, had been rougher than usual on her tender breasts that night, crushing
them tightly around his cock. So much had he enjoyed it, on that lone occasion
when she had submitted to a sweaty, strenuous tit-fucking, that she had withheld
that ultimate favor since, telling him, not untruthfully, that her breasts had
been sore for days aftewards.
But tonight, under orders from George Chan to produce more information
about her lover and his background, she had decided that she would do whatever
was necessary to inveigle herself into his confidence. The Chans were lavishly
generous to those who served them with unswerving loyalty, -- the club, her
comfortable living quarters, even the European-style bed in her bed-chamber,
were ample testimony to that -- as was the very chemise, still hanging by one
thin shoulder strap, that she wore. George Chan had acquired a taste for French
lingerie while studying in Europe, and had often rewarded her finer erotic
performances with the latest (and usually the most shamelessly revealing)
creations of the couturiers de Paris, most of which Ming-tsu had been obliged to
pack away once she had begun her liaison with Li Chang.
But not withstanding all his gifts of jewelry, clothing, and gold, few had
better reason than Ming-tsu to be fearful of of earning the Chans' displeasure.
How could she not remember that unforgettable night about a year ago when
George Chan, after wringing every last ounce of erotic pleasure from Ming-tsu's
superb and willing young body, had told his ambitious young concubine that he
had chosen her to spy on Li Chang, the newest lieutenant of the Black Scorpions.
It was a precaution, he assured her, that the Chans never failed to take when a
new man acceded to that office. Ming-tsu had accepted the mission, anxious to
win further favor with her wealthy paramour, and a short time later she had
approached Li Chang at the club and seduced him for the first time.
It had not been hard to entice him to her bed, nor had it been difficult to
half-fall in love with him, even though her mercenary loyalty inevitably
remained with George Chan, a man of infinitely more wealth and power. Li Chang
was young, good-looking, admirably virile, and most importantly, a quick learner
of the things that pleased her most. He had satisfied her as few of the many
lovers in her young life ever had.
Ming-tsu had no reason to doubt Li Chang's allegiance to the Scorpions --
the elan with which he had flogged her after their lovers' quarrel -- the Night
of the Forty Lashes, as they called it later -- the willingness with which he
had taken part in the pleasurable punishments of the girls from Madame Wong's --
not to mention the stern treatment that he had helped her to administer to their
blonde galley-slave -- all seemed to provide indisputable evidence that he had
the proper personality for a high-ranking officer of the Black Scorpions.
But George Chan wanted more information, and information she meant to
provide. Not long ago, after months apart, George Chan had summoned her to his
home, and he had subjected her to a vigorous and protracted bout of love-making,
during and after which they had partaken liberally of several bottles of rice
wine. On that occasion, for once his ever-present insincere smile had left him.
Giving her a look of utmost seriousness, he had warned her that the intelligence
that she had provided so far about Li Chang was insufficient, and, admonished
her strongly not to disappoint him. Then, his judgment, perhaps clouded by the
amount of alcohol he had consumed, he proceeded to tell her the story of
Chia-lin, who once had been his favorite concubine, but who had been disloyal to
the House of Chan.
Chia-lin had been a sultry, sloe-eyed pleasure-girl from Kowloon who had
attempted to betray the Chans by passing along information about a shipment of
opium to a rival Cantonese gang. George Chan had told Ming-tsu how he and his
brother Richard had arranged for two of their minions to abduct the
south-Chinese beauty in the middle of the night; how the pair of black-robed
Scorpions -- none other than the gap-toothed Dao, and the huge bovine-faced
guard who had admitted George Chan and Erika Weiss to the grounds of the Black
Pagoda -- had dragged the young beauty, clad only in a filmy nightgown, to the
dark cellars of the Black Pagoda; how the Brothers Chan had begun by humiliating
her, forcing her to disrobe in front of her leering lower-class abductors, until
she had stood shamefully nude before the four men.
George had given a signal to Dao and Zheng - the ox-faced man - then, and
the two Scorpions had thrown her roughly to the floor. Dao had pinned her arms
while Zheng had unsheathed his huge fleshy weapon and proceeded to pound it into
Chia-lin's wriggling body. Then, when the Ox had finished his brutal assault,
he and Dao had flipped the beleaguered beauty over on to her knees, so that Dao
could thrust his thick cock deep into the hot, tight little rosebud that George
had plundered so many times before. Chia-lin, George recalled, had squealed
like a Peking piglet, until the Ox had silenced her by stuffing her mouth full
with his monstrous cock.
When the Scorpions were done enjoying these pleasant perquisites of their
office, George ordered them to tie the girl, with her arms extended high
overhead, to one of the stone pillars in the dreadful dungeon. Then he gave
them instructions to wrap lengths of thin white cord around her thighs, her
waist, and just below her jutting breasts, in order to fasten her to the
circular column. At George's command, Zheng used all of his considerable
strength to crank a special windlass that tightened the ropes around Chia-lin's
body so cruelly that the marks from the fiendish cords would be visible for
days.
That last mission accomplished, George Chan had dismissed the Scorpions,
leaving the helpless Chia-lin alone with George and Richard Chan -- and a small
porcelain bowl filled with several dozen razor-sharp bamboo splints...
George had sat up on the edge of his huge round bed then and gestured for
Ming-tsu to take her accustomed position kneeling between his legs while he
continued his story. Ming-tsu had obediently begun stroking the insides of his
stocky thighs, while her pretty head dipped forward in the direction of his
semi-tumescent penis and his hairy testicles. They had made love three times
already that night, but the recollection of the ordeal to which they had
subjected Chia-lin had begun to arouse him again...
The Masters of the Black Pagoda had begun their interrogation of the
alluring young turncoat by inserting splints, one excruciating sliver at a time,
into the meaty parts of Chia-lin's upraised arms and shoulders, not neglecting
her tender, fear-moistened, armpits. Richard had taken one side of Chia-lin's
young body and George the other, and after each had driven a few sharp splinters
into an upraised, they had proceeded to plunge a series of cruel spines into
the Cantonese beauty's supple thighs.
Ming-tsu had listened, mesmerized, as she worshipped the younger Chan's
sturdy cock with her mouth, and suckled his bulging testicles as if they were
the most delicious fruit of the lychee tree. She remembered how her heart had
pounded so loudly - with both fear and excitement - that she feared George
would hear her as he continued his cautionary tale of the Chans' revenge.
Ming-tsu soon learned what the strange hunchback had come to know, that
George Chan was a master story-teller. As he continued his terrifying and
titillating tale, Ming-tsu could almost imagine herself bound to that fearful
pillar, the thin-lipped, cruel-visaged Richard Chan to one side, his deceptively
beaming brother to the other. Her lovely body, like that of Chia-lin in the
story, cold with fear, even though it was covered with rivers of perspiration
and thin streamlets of warm, red blood...
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Both aroused by and fearful of that memory, Ming-tsu continued to caress
her swollen nipple-bud with one hand. Li Chang, flushed with excitement, was
stroking his towering erection now. As she watched him pleasure himself,
Ming-tsu parted her legs slightly and her left hand lifted the hem of the
chemise, letting Li Chang get a visual taste of the sweet, damp petals of her
womanhood. Knowing that he enjoyed watching her touch herself, she stroked her
vulva artfully and ardently, and closed her eyes, remembering...
------------
His excitement mounting from her oral caresses, George had gone on to
relate how the whimpers of the pretty Cantonese pleasure-girl had grown louder
by the time the brothers had embedded the first twenty splinters in her soft
flesh. Sensing that her resolve was weakening, but in no hurry to rush the pace
of their cruel inquisition, they had continued asking questions about the rival
gang, its leaders and their plans as they turned their attention to Chia-lin's
inviting midsection, burying splinter after splinter deep in the resilient flesh
of her flanks and belly.
Chia-lin had begun to talk on the twenty-seventh splint. But it was not
until Richard Chan had forced several torturous splinters into the soft rise of
her exquisite mons and George had driven three inch-long bamboo slivers into the
inner curves of each of her tempting breasts, that her grudging disclosures
swelled into an anguished torrent of information, accompanied by despairing
pleas for mercy.
One by one the names of some of Chia-lin's confederates were extricated
under the unrelenting torture. But it was not until Richard Chan had screwed a
seventh vicious sliver into her right breast, that she was forthcoming with the
whereabouts of the two brothers who had put her up to her treachery.
But even this capitulation had not deterred the Brothers Chan from
continuing their pleasurable task. In between occasional sips of brandy from a
bottle of Richard's collection of Napoleonic-era French cognac, the two brothers
had continued to take turns thrusting what remained of the fifty bamboo
splinters deep into her flesh, enjoying each fresh groan of pain that spilled
from Chia-lin's pretty mouth.
Her cries of suffering had been rewardingly anguished, George recalled,
even before he and his brother had lit the first slow-burning splint...
George had gone on to tell a secretly shuddering Ming-tsu how he and his
brother had used a small taper to set the slender ivory-colored slivers alight,
one by one, and watched, in thrall to their sadistic lust, as each tiny flame
crept inexorably closer to Chia-lin's smooth golden flesh, and then beneath it,
before burning itself out. They lit the spines they had driven in to the fleshy
parts of her arms and legs first, preserving the more painful ones that they had
jabbed so enthusiastically into her torso, her mound of Venus, and her
nubile-nippled breasts for last.
During their preparations, George had stabbed each of Chia-lin's perky
chocolate-chip breast tips with a long splinter, and Richard had done the same
with the fleshy pink petals of her prominent labia. The nefarious brothers had
saved these cruelest slivers for their grand finale, when there were already
dozens of small smoky marks all over the front of her body.
Richard had gone first, lighting each of the labial splints in turn. As
they burned down, they singed what was left of the tiny tendrils of pubic hair
which framed Chia-lin's love triangle, still raw from her bullish rape by the
bovine Zheng.
George had paused to chuckle to himself, and to pull Ming-tsu's pretty head
down more firmly on his swollen cock, before telling his fellatrix how, before
applying the lit taper to the first nipple splint, he had upended the bottle of
cognac over Chia-lin's left breast. He had carefully poured an ounce or two of
brandy over that delectable breast that he had fondled and kissed and playfully
bit so many times. He had had to exert a little care to avoid soaking the
length of the splint itself, while his former concubine watched in shocked
disbelief. Chia-lin's plump breast was sweaty and sweet and sticky with brandy
when George held the taper to the tip of the dagger-like stick of bamboo that
protruded from the base of her impudent left nipple.
Chia-lin must have had some idea of the reason why her breast had been
bathed in brandy, because she had begun to whimper fearfully as soon as George
set the nipple splint alight. Her whimpers blossomed first into hysterical
cries and finally into full-throated screams as the tiny orange triangle burned
its fiery trail toward the damp, rounded surface of her breast. When at last
the flame reached the place where the bamboo spike was painfully lodged in her
crinkly aureole, it ignited the alcohol with a sudden flash of light, and for a
split-second Chia-lin's breast was bathed in a glowing ring of fire.
George had smothered the blaze almost instantanteously, but not before the
tortured beauty had passed out -- more from shock than from pain. George had
been compelled to pour a little of the brandy down Chia-lin's throat to revive
her. The lovely concubine was still choking and sputtering and begging for them
to stop, when the younger Chan had drenched her other love melon with the
liqueur. George had then bowed and offered the taper to his elder brother, who
had ceremoniously returned the bow. And then Richard Chan, the tyrannical ruler
of the Black Scorpions, had lit the second nipple-splinter. Their
double-dealing prisoner had convulsed in fresh paroxysms of fear and pain as
soon as the alcohol in the brandy flared briefly into flame, before that brief
conflagration, too, was quickly stifled by her ever-smiling former lover.
The brothers had untied their tormented sex slave then and had taken her
over to the very divan on which Peony had been so recently sodomized. There,
they had raped her in every way imaginable, both singly and in combination,
until she had passed out again.
Chia-lin, George had concluded his story in warning, had returned to
consciousness three days later, when she had been woken by the pressure of the
hot bowl of an opium pipe against the youthful curve of her left breast. She
was lying naked on a filthy cot, surrounded by thick clouds of noxious smoke.
Her arms were being held down by a couple of foul-smelling, pig-tailed coolies
while two or three other glassy-eyed men groped her tender young flesh, and yet
another man, crazed by the Chans' contaminated opium, tried to climb on top of
her.
George Chan, beaming and jovial once again, had assured Ming-tsu that
Chia-lin would not enjoy her new career -- as a take-on-all-comers whore in an
opium den not far from the docks. And then he had fallen back on the bed in
erotic bliss as he let Ming-tsu finish milking his manhood with her mouth and
hands.
After a few more minutes his climax came and he emptied his organ of
lust-juice, firing burst after burst of thick, creamy semen down Ming-tsu's warm
throat, as she pondered what her own fate might be if she were to fail at her
mission of extracting Li Chang's secrets.
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It was thoughts like these that had passed through Ming-tsu's mind that
evening as she had awaited Li Chang's return, and as she had given him the
restorative massage. The Chans were more than generous to those who served them
well, as she had good cause to know. But they would show her no mercy if she
failed. Accordingly Ming-tsu had determined that she would give them the
information they wanted. At whatever cost.
