Chapter 54 Debut of a Dungeon-master
Dao had been somewhat surprised when Richard Chan had left him alone with
Qieu. On the one hand the sadistic thug had been gratified that he had been
entrusted with such an important charge, but on the other he was a little
annoyed at the master's imperious edict that he was not to touch his shapely
prisoner unless and until she spat out the Mongolian nipple-gag. He wondered
spitefully whether such constraints would have been imposed on the prior
dungeon-master, the much-dreaded Feng the Butcher. He half-suspected that his
bearded, barrel-chested predecessor would have had carte blanche to flog this
slim dark-haired beauty until the wooden frame of the Nanking Kneeler was more
red than brown.
Even so, Dao consoled himself, he had little to complain about. His was
hardly onerous duty. What more pleasurable assignment could a budding
dungeon-master wish than standing guard over a tightly-fettered young beauty
whose delicious nudity was all but complete save for a fierce-biting pair of
nipple clamps? Clamps which were anchored to punishing chains which pulled the
crests of Qieu's lovely breast-plums cruelly upward toward the spiked ball in
her mouth -- to which the other ends of the short sturdy chains were securely
affixed.
Dao had circled his lovely prey endlessly, like a malevolent earth-bound
vulture, richly enjoying the spectacle of Qieu pinioned helplessly to the
diabolical Nanking Kneeler. Her slender wrists still lifted aloft by the
ascending chains, her abraded ankles still shackled to the rings embedded in the
wooden frame on which she knelt. Her bare knees still tormented by the
unforgiving edge of the other side of the frame.
Fiery flambeaux mounted in the pillars of the dungeon provided the only
illumination in the prison of the Black Pagoda. The shimmering torchlight in
the subterranean cellar seemed to cast new and exciting highlights and shadows
upon the ripe curves and gentle hollows of Qieu's lovely sweat-sheened body with
every passing second. One moment the uneven flames seemed to spotlight her
pretty tear-streaked face; a second later they might splash their eerie ochre
glow on her taut belly, her whip-streaked thighs or her cruelly distended
breasts.
The great mirror that ran along one wall enhanced the scene as well; Qieu's
anguished writhings were no less eye-catching in its ghostly reflection. Richard
Chan had once called the macabre optical effect of his dungeon's flaming torches
"The Devil's Impressionism" in tribute to the fascinating artistic creations he
had seen in Paris during his visits there. Dao, of course, knew no more of
Manet than he did of the Man-in-the-Moon, but the erotic play of light and
shadow on warm, quivering female flesh had the same half-stimulating,
half-mesmerizing effect on him as it did on his infinitely more refined master.
Thus it was that during their long encounter, Qieu's cruel voyeur never tired of
admiring his nude captive.
As Dao stalked her, he occasionally snapped the denxia cane sharply down
against the upper edge of the wooden frame of the Kneeler just to remind Qieu of
the ferocity of its bite. He ogled her sensuous young body from every possible
angle, always with a brutish indifference to her suffering, his lustful eyes
clinging leech-like to her naked flesh.
When he stood behind her he congratulated himself on the symmetry of the
four livid cane-strokes he had left on Qieu's plump buttocks earlier; he had
spaced them precisely an inch apart and delivered them with skillful authority,
so that every part of her ripe bottom-ovals had felt the atrocious sting of the
cane in equal measure.
When he came around to stand in front of her, his lascivious gaze crawled
slowly up and down Qieu's soft, sleek thighs. Her tender thigh-flesh still bore
the dark imprint of the four-tailed flogger. From time to time he would crouch
down between her legs and examine her dark-thatched womanhood with gynecological
intimacy, while Qieu desperately tried to bring her knees closer together. But
the shackles which fettered her ankles to the iron rings of the Nanking Kneeler
afforded her little possibility of doing so.
After about twenty minutes, Dao was fairly confident that Richard Chan had
long since left the Pagoda and that therefore he was not in danger of being
disturbed. So he took the liberty of liberating his throbbing organ from his
black trousers. He stroked its veiny length leisurely, mockingly, while Qieu
looked on with with a queasy mix of apprehension and revulsion.
"How about it, wench? I'll bet your bastard traitor of a husband hasn't
got anything like this between his legs," he bragged as he massaged his hairy
cock. "When the boss gets back, I'm hoping you and me can have some real fun
together." Dao walked around behind her again, still massaging his swollen
prick. Qieu could almost feel the heat of his lustful stare on her cane-striped
buttocks.
"Mmmm, nice. I sure want some of that sweet ass, wench! I bet you like
it up the ass, too, baby, don't you? Hot and long and hard. And that's just
how you're going to get it, slut. Soon as the boss gives me the go-ahead."
Qieu flushed with shame; she had heard of such things, but could not
imagine Dao's brutish blue-veined man-weapon violating her narrow
nether-passage.
As the minutes passed with torturous slowness, Dao continued to prowl
around her, taunting her. "C'mon, sweetheart, do us both a favor and cough
that rock up for me. Your juicy tits gotta be hurting like hell. Especially
those pretty nipples. You know, that's the only thing I don't like about this
whole business. With those clamps on, I can't see those pretty brown nips of
yours."
Dao leisurely slid the rigid cane against the rounded undercurves of Qieu's
up-tugged breasts, while he studied the effect the nipple-gag was having on her
lovely globes. "Yeah, they're hurting, ain't they? I screwed those clamps on
so tight my fingers hurt." He paused to stroke his throbbing erection again.
"Mmmmm. No doubt about it, they gotta be hurting bad. Real bad. Especially
the one that the boss ran the needle through. Bet that one's really on fire,
ain't it?"
Qieu wasn't sure why she bothered to answer her ugly gaptoothed tormentor,
but she nodded a plaintive "Yes." A thin trickle of blood resulting from the
piercing by the bloody corsage contrived to escape the clamp's ligature and roll
down the distended underslope of her left breast.
"That's right. I can see the tears in those pretty brown eyes. And that
ball in your mouth has gotta be cutting you up something bad. Look!" And Dao
took a grimy finger and daubed at the red-tinged saliva that was issuing from
the corners of her mouth and showed it to her.
"You know," Dao began again a moment later. "Maybe you and me can work
something out, sweetheart. "If you tell me how I can lay my hands on your
husband, I can take those nasty clamps off you right now. I promise." Dao
hadn't really been authorized to make such a deal, but it didn't hurt to ask.
He knew that Richard Chan's true interest (aside from sexual dalliance) lay in
Luk Yee, not in his lovely wife. In any event, if Qieu did take him up on his
Machiavellian offer, there was nothing to force him to remove the tit-clamps
from her tasty brown nipples. Failing to observe the precepts of honor and
chivalry was unlikely to lead to his castigation by a man like Richard Chan --
or any of the Black Scorpions.
Qieu had stared disdainfully back at him and cursed him through the gag; it
was just as well that the leaden ball rendered her outburst unintelligible.
"All right then. You'll see where your stubbornness gets you, wench." And
Dao had continued to wait impatiently for the Mongolian Nipple Gag to take its
dreadful toll. The cane he held in his thick fingers seemed to grow warmer in
his hand, as if somehow it sensed that it would soon be launched at Qieu's
defiant breasts.
Qieu was a paragon of strength and courage. She held out valiantly against
the breast torture for minute after minute, even though the spiked ball was
wreaking havoc on the soft tissues inside of her mouth, and her tender nipple
buds were screaming with pain. She remained steadfast in her silence, not so
much to forestall the dreadful punishment Richard Chan had ordained -- one
cane-stroke across her nude breasts for each time she spit the wicked gag from
her mouth -- but simply to deny her captor the barbaric pleasure of
administering the punishment he so obviously yearned to inflict.
"C'mon, baby, you're holding on to that thing as if it was your mama's tit
-- be a good little girl and spit it out for papa."
Qieu had just glared at him, refusing to submit to the atrocious pain that
was ravaging her nipples. She tried to force herself to think of something
pleasant, to conjure up images of her wedding -- the vows, the music, the
dancing. Those pleasant memories had helped a little, but visions of paradise
itself would not have been enough to soothe the suffering in her inflamed
breasts.
Dao had grown increasingly restless by the time the fortieth minute had
elapsed. Had not Richard Chan himself said that few women could manage much
more than thirty minutes of the Mongol nipple torture without capitulating and
coughing up the spiked gag?
"Foolish wench!. It's only a matter of time. You know you can't hold out
forever, and you're only making me angrier, the longer you draw this out."
By the forty-fifth minute, the taste of blood was strong in Qieu's mouth.
She tried to tilt her head forward to minimize the tension the ball-chain-clamp
device was putting on her straining breasts, but with her wrists chained high
over her head, her mobility was greatly curtailed.
'C'mon, cunt,' Dao whispered silently to himself. 'Spit the damn thing
out'. He wanted to slam his cane into the tender young breasts of this defiant
slut so badly he could taste it.
The forty-sixth minute passed. The spiked gag even prevented Qieu from
gritting her teeth to make it easier to bear the pain.
Although no one had touched the clamps, Qieu's shameless wriggles and
writhings seemed to tighten rather than loosen their ghastly grip on her tender
love-crests; her every twist and turn made it feel as if the screw-clamps were
being tightened another notch by some fiendish unseen torturer.
Forty-seven minutes gone -- how long was the opera that Richard Chan had
gone to? Qieu wondered desperately. She didn't look forward to seeing him
again, but almost anything would be better than this terrible war of attrition
that was being waged on her breasts. She prayed that her husband was safe and
that the spirits of her ancestors would give her courage.
"Talk bitch! Do you think your bastard husband would suffer like this for
you?"
Qieu dared not linger long on such a question, for she was not at all sure
of the answer. Why would Luk Yee risk all for her, a wife whose dark dreams and
fears had foolishly denied him the joys of the marital bed? It was enough that
Luk Yee was a good man that she made this sacrifice for him. No good man or
woman, regardless of his fortitude, deserved to fall into the hands of the Black
Scorpions.
Forty-eight minutes. Forty-eight minutes of nipple-searing breast bondage
that grew worse with every tick of the great clock on the wall. Forty-eight
minutes with her love buds trapped in what felt like the jaws of a
fire-breathing dragon. But still she stood fast.
Forty-nine minutes. Dao had to give the little slut credit -- who would
have thought this shapely but petite young woman would have been able to hold
out so long? She had paid a severe price -- her golden body was dripping with
pain-sweat, blood oozed from the corners of her mouth, and her brown
almond-shaped eyes had the frenzied look of a tortured animal.
But at last, on the fifty-first minute, Qieu could bear the pain in her
mouth and her breasts no longer, and with a soft, despairing "Nnnnnnggggghhhhh,"
she put her pink tongue behind the spiked ball and pushed it out of her mouth to
release the horrible pressure on her nipples. She tried to brace herself for the
tug that was going to come when the lead ball plummeted downward only to be
interrupted in mid-flight by the nipple chains. But there was no way to truly
prepare oneself for the breast-wrenching pain, and it was nearly unendurable
when it came.
"Aaaaoooooowwwwww!" she moaned. It felt as if her tender brown
love-nipples had been ripped from her body.
But worse even than that pain was the prospect of the cane-blow that Dao
would surely launch.
"Ahhh, at last," Dow gloated, as he slapped the cane sharply against the
palm of his left hand. "Now we're going to have some real fun!" Then his left
hand returned to his throbbing erection, stroking it more and more furiously.
Qieu could only hope to stall him for a moment, delay the blow, and
possibly give her mouth a longer respite from the torture of the spiked ball.
It felt good to be able to speak again, if only for a moment.
"Please ... Don't you think ... don't you think that I would tell you, if I
knew where he was?" she lied. "Can you think that I am enjoying this?"
"No, baby. And it's gonna worse before it gets better. A lot worse."
Still stroking his man-cock, the ugly gaptoothed thug lifted the denxia rod
and playfully tapped the heavy leaden ball that hung from Qieu's cruelly
stretched love-nuggets, adding to her agonies as she moaned in pain.
Then Dao edged to his right and turned slightly so that the length of the
denxia cane rested against the upper curves of Qieu's breasts, halfway up the
proud top-slopes.
Qieu began to sob convulsively, as the thug sawed the hard rounded surface
of the cane back and forth across the tender flesh of her taut pleasure
-globes. His big left hand was a blur at he jerked vigorously at his bestial
cock.
"Last chance, wench! Where's your stinking husband?"
A paroxysm of fear coursed through Qieu's body, but no word came from her
lips. She bit down on her lip in anticipation of the coming pain as Dao slid
the cane more quickly back and forth across her breasts. She closed her eyes,
and a moment later she sensed that the warm friction of the cane was gone from
her breasts, meaning that ...
THWACKKKK!!!! ... the blow was about to fall. And fall it did, with the
shattering force of a lightning bolt, high across both of her love- melons not
far from where the upslopes of her breasts melded so attractively into her chest
wall.
"AAAAAAAAAAIIIEAAAAAYAAAHHHH!!
The agony was maddening, excruciating. And the horrendous pain in her
breast-globes was hardly assuaged by their humiliating anointing a few seconds
later by jet after jet of Dao's gooey thug-sperm. Thick gobs of semen rocketed
from his lust-crazed phallus in a looping trajectory whose downward arc led most
of the sticky droplets to the breasts he had so viciously cane-whipped.
When he finally stopped ejaculating, Dao gave Qieu little time to recover
from his atrocious blow, reaching down, grabbing the semen-dripping spiked ball
gingerly and lifting it back upward, once again reversing the awful strain on
Qieu's tortured nipples. When he tried to insert the ball, now daubed with
thick white as well as thin red droplets, back into her mouth Qieu turned her
head away.
"You'd better open your pretty mouth, wench, or by the sword of Genghis
Khan, I'll give you another one across the tits right now!"
Faced with that dire prospect, Qieu succumbed, parting her full lips so
that the gaptoothed villain could cram the obscene torture device back into her
tender mouth.
And thus the cruel cyclical ordeal had continued, with Qieu undergoing long
minutes of silent suffering until she could endure the dreadful breast bondage
no longer and coughed up the bloody spiked ball-gag yet again. Six times she
spat out the nipple gag and six times those endless minutes of slow torture were
punctuated by swift punishing cane-strokes to her succulent breasts. After the
first double-breaster, Dao had elected to focus the cane's wrath on one
love-mound at a time, delivering, over the next few hours, three breast-burning
cracks to the gleaming upper contours of each of Qieu's golden treasures.
Each slashing down-stroke had set her breasts a-bobbling, adding to the terrible
strain the fallen leaden weight put on her tender nipples.
Then, after each stroke had been delivered, Dao waited until the
red-streaked leaden ball stopped swinging, then picked it up, placed it between
her lips, and the awful cycle began anew....
********
Richard Chan and Mai-Lee had arrived back at the Black Pagoda more than
three hours after Richard had entrusted Miss Wu to the care of his
crooked-toothed, cane-wielding Dungeon-master. After escorting Mai-Lee to the
elegant azure-draped Sapphire Room the Lord of the Scorpions had excused himself
for a moment and descended the long staircase that led to the lower depths of
the Pagoda.
The head of the House of Chan had entered the gloomy dungeon silently,
unnoticed, and remained lurking in the shadows near the doorway for a time
unobserved, watching the eerie torch-lit images of the cane-wielding Scorpion
and his fetching captive in the great mirror that ran along one wall.
The delectable Miss Wu was much as he had left her. Her lovely brown eyes
were still damp with fresh tears. She was still fettered to the Nanking
Kneeler. She was still young and nude and beautiful. And she was still held
prisoner in the horrendous mouth-and-breast bondage of the Mongolian Nipple-gag.
The chains of the spiked ball still tugged brutally at the vicious screw-clamps
that were affixed to her updrawn breast-buds.
But there were two important differences between her appearance now and
the way she had looked when he had left her earlier in the evening. First of
all, thin streams of bloody drool from the cuts in her mouth had trickled
downward, bathing her chin, her throat and her tortured love-plums in a
crimson-tinged foam. Secondly, Qieu's saliva-slick breast-globes bore silent,
unimpeachable witness to the fact that she had spat the unbearable leaden ball
from her mouth on several occasions. When she leaned forward slightly to ease
the tension of the clamps, The Tyrant of the Black Pagoda could see lurid
red-edged gashes adorning the tempting upper curves of her nipple-clamped
breasts. Despite his three powerful orgasms at the opera, Chan felt his ardent
manhood pulse with rekindled desire at the sight of those lust-arousing
breast-stripes.
"Where is your worthless husband, slut?" the crude Dungeon-master
presumptive was asking, no doubt for the hundredth time. "Who are his
friends?" Knowing it was growing close to the time of his master's return, after
Qieu had last coughed up the dreadful ball, he had wiped the evidence of his
several prodigious orgasms from Qieu's breasts with his filthy sleeve. And then
her inhuman jailer had forced her to clean his disgusting sleeve with her lips
and tongue, under the dire threat of additional cuts of the cane. Those perhaps,
had been for Qieu, the very worst moments of her long dreadful ordeal. To be
forced to ingest the foul detritus of Dao's bestial lust had been degrading
beyond the darkest nightmares of her imagining.
"The names, slut! Make it easy on yourself, woman. The Master will be back
soon. Besides," Dao added with an evil grin, "it would be a feather in my cap if
I could extract the truth where he had failed."
Richard Chan frowned at such impertinence, but remained out of sight as
Qieu, gagged by the dreadful device, shook her head slowly and painfully from
side to side. The Lord of the Scorpions watched silently from the shadows for
several minutes while Dao circled the young beauty with hyena-like rapacity.
The ghastly Nipple-gag of Genghis Khan continued to take its terrible toll
on the comely victim who writhed seductively in pain until at last her tender
love-crests could take the torture no more. Qieu's upper body shook with a
final brief convulsion of anguish before she coughed up the heavy ball for the
eighth time. A fraction of a second later her torso jerked in predictable
agony when the leaden sphere's flight to the floor was once again cut short by
the short chains which were attached to the dreadful clamps which imprisoned her
afflicted nipple-nuggets.
"Aaaauuuuuughhh!!"
Richard Chan was pleased. One of his favorite inventions - or rather
adaptations - was working precisely as he had imagined it would.
With the leaden ball hanging downward, Cherry Wu's firm young breasts were
slightly elongated into a pair of throbbing taut-stretched cones. With a less
firm-breasted woman, the strain of the downward-pulling metal ball might have
been less aesthetically pleasing, but Miss Wu's young, healthy breasts seemed to
have been sculpted for just such a purpose. In her case the strain on her
tempting breasts was deliciously stimulating rather than disfiguring.
"No ... please ... not again..." Freed from her mouth-bondage, Qieu was
once again able to vocalize her terror.
"Foolish girl! Do you still think that your pleas will cheat me of my
pleasure?" Dao asked scornfully, as he touched the cane to Qieu's pendulous
breast-fruits. "You have three seconds to begin naming your husband's friends,
wench, or your tits will feel the bite of the cane again!"
"Don't ... please ..."
"One!"
Qieu watched Dao's thick fingers tighten on the dreadful denxia cane.
"Two! Names, damn you! Or it'll be both tits again this time, wench!"
The gaptoothed man pulled the cane up and back -- even higher than he had
on the seven previous occasions. Either premonitions or remembrances of pain
caused Qieu's lovely breasts to quiver with agitated apprehension. But she
gasped out a strangled, "No."
"Three!"
"Yeeahhhhh!" Dao roared as he started the cane in motion. Even in the
glimmering torchlight, Richard Chan could see the way the flexible cane seemed
to bow slightly in flight, as if storing up its prodigious pain-dealing energy,
before releasing all of its pent-up fury with ballistic explosiveness when it
ripped into the delicious roundness of Qieu's nude breasts.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIEAAAAHHHH!!!"
The brave and beautiful wife of Luk Yee screamed long and loud as the cane
burned its way deep into her breastflesh once again.
The gaptoothed thug's aim had been unerring. Using a slightly
downward-slashing stroke he had bisected the sweat-sheened upper curves of both
of Qieu's taut love-gourds with all the concern for her suffering of an East
Indian farmer hacking at jungle undergrowth with a machete.
Richard Chan listened to Qieu's after-moans of distress. He had come
reluctantly to the conclusion that she really did not know her husband's
whereabouts. But there was more than one way to catch a traitor...
The Lord of the Scorpions had stepped out of the murky shadows of the
dungeon then and given the startled Dao orders to release his prisoner from her
atrocious breast bondage. It took the ugly thug a minute or so to unscrew the
vicious nipple clamps, and when he pulled the tight-gripping devices off and the
ball and chains away, circulation returned to Qieu's tortured love-nuggets with
a vengeance. She hung there in her chains, panting heavily, her body vibrating
with pain.
"Take her down, Dao." As her ill-featured jailer undid the chains that
had held her wrists captive for hours and then the shackles that held her ankles
on the Kneeler, Qieu fell awkwardly to the ground. Her ankles and knees were
raw and bleeding from their prolonged encounter with the confining device. She
lay on her side for a moment disbelievingly, her hands cupping her tortured
breasts gently, trying to quench the flames of pain that assaulted them.
As Dao pulled the naked newlywed to her feet, Richard Chan addressed her.
"Miss Wu. My apologies." He spoke with the unruffled aplomb of a merchant who
had committed no offence more serious than showing a customer the wrong bolt of
fabric. "Perhaps I have misjudged you and your husband. One of my men will see
you to the corner. But may I respectfully suggest that you speak to Luk Yee and
caution him to make no attempt to interfere with my plans in the future."
Qieu, liberated from her suffering, and astonished to be released, slipped
back into the remnants of the beautiful red dress she had made -- the dress
which Dao ripped apart a few hours earlier. A few hours that seemed like half a
lifetime. When she had covered herself as best she could, Dao, slightly
angered that he could not further slake his animalistic lusts on this lovely
creature, led her to the subterranean entrance to the dungeon where one of
Richard Chan's servants was waiting, as promised, to assist the pain-wracked
young newlywed to the nearest major intersection.
What Miss Wu did not know, Richard Chan remembered with satisfaction, was
that he had secretly dispatched a second servant to follow her after the first
one had parted company with her. If she were to go to her husband, or if he
were to come to her, Luk Yee would soon be within his grasp....
