Chapter 66 Erika in Chains: Coming of Age in Shanghai
Chapter 66 Erika in Chains: Coming of Age in Shanghai
After receiving the order from Richard Chan to summon Ming-tsu to the Black
Pagoda, Chiang Chan and his three groggy comrades had quickly piled into the
horse-cart and set off for the lodgings of his father's courtesan. Chiang had
had some difficulty in rousing the Scorpions from their half-drunken,
post-coital slumber after their long night of debauchery with Peony and Ci-ci.
But once Dao and the others became aware of the purpose of their mission, their
lack of sleep had been quickly forgotten.
As they proceeded haltingly in a westward direction in the rough-hewn cart,
Chiang Chan marveled at the bustling, colorful throng of citizens that filled
the urban streets of Shanghai during the daylight hours. Raucous-voiced hawkers
of every description, countless workers hastening to and from their places of
employment, innumerable housewives slowly navigating their way from baker to
butcher to green-grocer, beggars of all ages and descriptions, many dressed in
little more than rags, some of them blind or lame.
From time to time they passed a musician or a juggler trying to earn
enough coins to fill his family's stomach for another day. Every few blocks,
they came upon the doorsteps of gambling houses, seedy brothels, and dingy opium
dens -- all controlled by his father and uncle -- each of them peopled with men,
young and old, their eyes bright with whatever sinful passion could be satisfied
at that particular establishment. It occurred to Chiang Chan, not for the first
time, that the vast power and wealth of the House of Chan depended, to a great
extent, upon the weakness of men.
The upper classes of Shanghai typically avoided the vast sea of people in
the streets, preferring to let their servants handle most daily tasks. But
Chiang Chan had taken it upon himself to learn his father's business from the
ground up; his father and his uncle, Chiang felt, had expanded the powerful
empire bequeathed to them by his wily grandfather, Jiang Shao Chan, but were in
danger of losing touch with the workaday details of their vast criminal
enterprise. No organization could long sustain such detachment by its rulers,
Chiang felt. One needed to look no further than the emperors of China
themselves, who had long since delegated -- some would say abdicated -- their
responsibilities to the legions of sycophants and corrupt favorites who
populated the Forbidden City. Chiang Chan, it need hardly be said, had no
interest in being the last emperor of the House of Chan.
As the cart rumbled its way slowly through the crowded streets, each of its
four occupants was intrigued by the notion of "apprehending" Ming-tsu and
bringing her back to the Black Pagoda -- but for different reasons. Chiang Chan
was puzzled that Richard Chan would dare to confront his father's mistress and
anxious to see how that unusual triangular drama would play itself out. Dao and
Lin were hardly averse to an encounter with Ming-tsu -- had she not treated them
both with a healthy measure of disdain on the Night of the Tiger? Given their
master's permission, those two Scorpions would find great satisfaction in taking
the arrogant mistress of George Chan down a peg or two. As for the
simple-minded Ox, Ming-tsu was just another plaything, albeit a plaything far
more precious than any of the feminine toys with which he and Dao had amused
themselves during their years as Scorpions.
When Chiang Chan brought the horse to a sudden halt because of an angry
altercation in the street among some angry tradesmen, Dao, who was seated in the
front seat alongside Chiang Chan, turned around to face his comrades in the
rear. "Boys," he began enthusiastically, "you should have been with me at the
Black Pagoda last night!"
While they waited for the melee to end, Dao proceeded to regale his
spellbound listeners with a recounting of the events that had transpired at the
Black Pagoda after Richard Chan had dismissed them the night before. The skinny
teenager and the burly Ox had taken part in the abduction of Qieu, of course,
but once the young bride had been safely ensconced in the dungeons of the
Pagoda, the ill-featured duo had been sent back to the Pit.
But Dao, of course, had stayed on to assist in the interrogation, and he
told his friends how he had stripped the elegant young beauty and chained her,
naked and fearful, to the Nanking Kneeler. How he had flogged Qieu's lovely
bottom with the denxia cane until it was striped and quivering. How he had tied
her hair to the Kneeler so that she was arched backward, utterly immobile, while
Richard Chan worked the needle of the Bloody Corsage into the taut, straining
nipple of her luscious left breast.
Lin the Drooler leaned forward in his seat, the whites of his eyes
glittering with excitement, his acne-scarred cheeks flushed with arousal. As
Dao continued his tale, relating how he had used the ass-hide flogger to stripe
Qieu's thighs and belly and breasts, Lin felt his man-shaft swell with passion.
But Dao was just warming to his subject. He proceeded to tell his fellow
thugs how Richard Chan had imprisoned Qieu in the dreadful toils of the
Mongolian Nipple-gag before setting off for the opera, and leaving the naked
beauty at the mercy of Dao and his denxia cane. How he had taunted the
beautiful but foolishly stubborn young woman while she had hung naked in her
chains for more than three quarters of an hour before her endurance finally gave
out, giving him his first opportunity to slam the flexible, fast-moving cane
into the soft curves of Qieu's tender breasts. How after that first sublimely
satisfying blow, Qieu's level of resistance had steadily weakened, affording him
the cock-pleasing satisfaction of whipping the wicked cane into the firm flesh
of her tortured love-gourds at ever-diminishing intervals. Feng himself, he
boasted confidently to his attentive companions, could not have done better.
Zheng and Lin had listened enthralled by Dao's exciting tale of
interrogation and punishment, but Chiang Chan's thoughts soon turned to
Ming-tsu. Would today be the day when Ming-tsu would be at his mercy, even as
she had been at his father's on that memorable day not so long ago? {Chapter
24}.
Chiang's Chan felt his cock stiffen as he recalled the voyeuristic delight
he had felt while he had secretly watched Ming-tsu taking up the position of the
Unfolding Lotus on his father's desk. Her weight back on her naked bottom, her
slim and shapely legs extended upward and outward, her toes pointed
balletically, the petals of her love-flower gaping, moist, inviting. The four
lurid lines across her delectably dark-nippled breasts, courtesy of the wooden
straight-edge his father had used to do sums in his ledger books. The rhythmic
clicking of the ben wa balls as his father had plundered her juicy cunt, and the
unmistakable gasps of pleasure from Ming-tsu, who clearly had a taste for rough
sex.
The tradesmen having settled their differences, Chiang Chan urged the horse
pulling the cart forward. There was a chance, Chiang Chan remarked to himself,
that, his father and uncle permitting, the sultry, hot-blooded slut might get
more rough sex today than she had bargained for, once he and the boys got her
back to the Black Pagoda...
********
Dao was still recounting to the others, with unabashed pride, the details
of Qieu's torment. When he described how the gnawing, inexorable agony of the
Nipple-gag had forced his comely captive to cough up the spiked-ball time and
again, and how the leaden orb's interrupted descent had all but torn Kieu's
lovely, brown-crested nipples off, Lin was forced to use his dark sleeve to mop
the telltale drool of sexual frenzy from his lips.
When the cart was forced to come to another temporay halt by a crowd of
boys playing in the street, Chiang happened to notice the wild-eyed look of
excitement in Lin's eyes. He remembered the first time he had seen such a look
on a man's face. But it had not been just any man that he had seen transfixed
by depravity in that manner; it had been none other than his father, George
Chan.
Chiang Chan had known since his adolescence that his father, was a man of
prodigious carnal appetites. Had his father not taken him to Madam Wong's on
his sixteenth birthday to initiate him into the manly world of lust?
But it had only been a few months ago that he had come to learn of the
darkest side of his father's sexual nature....
********
On one memorable afternoon some months earlier, Chiang Chan had decided to
skip Professor Leung's lecture to gamble with some of his pals. The game of
dice had broken up when two of his friends were called away suddenly. Chiang
had somewhat dejectedly returned home only to find that none of the servants
were about. As if they had all been dismissed...
There seemed to be no one at home, but then, noticing that his father's
private den was unlocked -- an odd circumstance in itself -- he had entered
silently. Then, hearing a movement behind the golden curtain, behind which his
father had assured him were the private archives of the Chan business empire,
Chiang Chan decided to peek through the golden curtain for the first time.
Parting the curtain slightly, Chiang had gawked open-mouthed at what lay
behind it. There, in what he had later come to think of as his father's
"gymnasium", he had seen the unforgettable sight of Erika Weiss, clad in the
filmy white costume of a harem slave, hanging from the ceiling in chains. The
statuesque young blonde had been a "house-guest", for so his father had
described her to him, for only about a fortnight at that time. But a strange
sort of houseguest -- one whose tone in addressing his father seemed quite
disrespectful considering that he was a man of twice her age.
Erika was facing in his direction, although she could not see the unseen
watcher who peered eagerly through the narrow slit in the curtain. The gorgeous
blonde was gagged with a silken scarf of the same purest white as her diaphanous
costume, her long hair a golden storm upon her shoulders, her blue eyes bright
with pain and fear.
For each of her wrist shackles was pulled upwards and outwards at a
forty-five degree angle by sturdy chains that were anchored to a stout overhead
rafter. Her pretty bare feet were lifted an inch off the floor -- a most
tantalizing, torturous inch indeed, as events were to prove. The comely
fraulein struggled desperately to free herself from her X-shaped bondage,
rattling her chains frantically as she sought purchase on the floor to relieve
the appalling strain on her arms and shoulders.
Erika's filmy two-piece costume was a voyeur's dream. Her low-slung
pantaloons were long and loose-fitting, and hugged her rounded hips no more than
a centimeter above the upper edge of her hairline. Her skimpy top, scooped low
in front to reveal a U-curved abundance of bare flesh, clung to her superb
breasts like a gossamer-thin second skin. Between those two pieces of
gauze-like silk her abdomen stretched, tawny, flat, and alluring, her lovely
skin stretched taut over her lower ribs, her deep-notched navel winking
invitingly at her secret watcher.
Chiang Chan had felt his ardor rise as he feasted his eyes on Erika's
suspended body. Her bridal-white two-piece garment was no more opaque than a
cobweb. Had he been closer, Chiang Chan felt sure he could have counted her
golden pubic hairs through the tissue-thin pants; her proud nipples pressed
audaciously against the top, their eye-catching pinkness like a delicious
topping on a luscious dessert.
Just then George Chan had stepped back into view, carrying a large pitcher
of what proved to be water. He whispered something to the suspended goddess,
and she blushed furiously; even the peaches-and-cream complexion of the upper
slopes of her breasts reddened with shame.
And then his father lifted the pitcher and began pouring the cold water on
Erika's semi-nude breasts. The big-breasted blonde's body jerked in her
metallic bondage at the icy shock as he did so, but her violent spasm did not
deter George Chan, who slowly moved the ewer from side to side, drenching first
her left breast, then her right and then, holding the pitcher a little more
upright, he passed it back over both of her splendid globes in turn, making sure
that each was thoroughly soaked.
As soon as the cold water, hit them, Erika's pale coral lust-nubbins sprang
robustly to life, swelling to chilled, puckering points of pink perfection. Her
aroused pleasure-nubs thrust proudly against the wet wisp of silken nothingness
which pretended to conceal her sculpted pleasure-globes. With her arms lifted
cruelly aloft, Erika's magnificent, glistening breasts surged proudly upward, as
if in sacrificial offering to what ever cruel god ruled the harem inhabited by
such an alluring slave.
For the moment that cruel god was none other than his father, George Chan,
who, after emptying the first pitcher on her upper body, refilled it from a
basin, and doused her loins and legs in the same manner. Chiang Chan watched
with steadily rising excitement as his father stepped behind the hanging goddess
and poured a third pitcher of water down her back, into the waistband of her
pantaloons and down the backs of her thighs. When he was done the wet, gauzy
silk clung to the curves of her body like the skin of an over-ripe grape.
Now that the charms of his harem slave were more provocatively displayed
than if she had been nude, George stepped out of sight for a moment, allowing
Chiang Chan to ogle the German fraulein's magnificent body for an all-too-brief
half-minute before his father once again crossed his field of vision.
Brandishing a menacing black whip.
George Chan cradled the beautifully-carved whipstock in his hand, testing
the weight of the five-foot-long single-tailed whip briefly, before cracking its
tapered, leathery tip expertly in the air, its loud report as resonant as a
rifle-shot. It was no wonder that the servants had been dismissed, and that the
blond beauty had been tightly gagged, Chiang mused. The crack of the whip
itself was explosively loud, even without the thrilling supplemental sound of
the whip making contact with the spectacular curves of Erika's beautiful body.
Or the anguished cries of pain that were sure to follow in its wake...
Chiang had drawn in his breath in excitement. Rare indeed is the young man
who has never dreamed of seeing a beautiful young woman subjected to a cruel
whipping, who has never lain awake at night imagining the crisp, crackling sound
of leather biting into girl-flesh, and the ensuing cries of suffering -- the
initially stoic gasps of pain gradually becoming louder and more anguished moans
before graduating into full-throated screams of agony. Fortunate indeed was he
to live out such a fantasy, only half a room away from this drenched and
dripping blonde goddess who was about to feel the burning, cutting kiss of his
father's whip.
And who better to teach a young man the facts of erotic life, than his
father? George Chan's familiar glacial smile was wider than ever, but his eyes
were dark with menace as he cracked the snake-like whip again, while Erika
struggled helplessly in her chains. It was clear to Chiang Chan, from the
evident mastery with which his father handled the whip, that this was far from
the first time that his father had pursued sexual pleasure in such a manner.
Chiang's young manhood throbbed with pleasure as Erika shook her head from side
to side pleadingly. Can there be a more powerful aphrodisiac than the pleas for
mercy of a semi-nude captive? Especially one endowed by nature with such
classic loveliness of face and such opulence of figure as young Erika Weiss?
Chiang Chan had watched as if mesmerized, his sexual excitement mounting,
his heart pounding furiously, his breathing ragged, while his father had flogged
the nearly-nude body of his blonde harem-slave for the better part of an hour.
Had the gorgeous young fraulein offended her master by some insult or refusal?
Or was his father merely indulging himself in one of the fantasies suggested by
the masterpieces of erotica that lined his study and the secret punishment room?
Chiang Chan was never to know; and to Erika Weiss it probably did not
matter. Suffice it to say that George Chan's first dozen lashes reduced her
sodden, tissue-thin garments to red-stained rags, cutting through them
ruthlessly to expose the bare and tender flesh beneath.
His father had flogged his nearly-nude captive leisurely, circling her with
a panther-like patience and intensity, allowing a minute or more to elapse
between blows, so that Erika had time to savor the full measure of pain
inflicted by each blow before tasting the cruel sting of the next. Those long
seconds of anticipation between blows were as intensely erotic as any moments
Chiang Chan had ever known.
What an unforgettable sight it had been! The tall blonde, hanging in
chains, every muscle in her arms and legs and torso stretched to an
astonishingly stimulating tautness. By the fifth blow, Erika's moist
peaches-and-cream skin was further dampened by a thin film of perspiration,
which grew damper and thicker with each succeeding CRACCKKK!! of the punishing
whip. Until his father's dreadful lash fell on nearby skin and sprayed the
beads of moisture into the air, while his captive writhed in unspeakable agony.
And then the intensely pleasurable waiting would begin again as he watched
Erika's countless sensual shudders of remembered and expectant pain. The
fearful rippling of the muscles in her long, golden thighs, the tremulous
tremblings of her tummy, the quivering oscillations of her big, bold-nippled
breasts as they waited for the next blow to fall...
George Chan whipped his harem-slave from neck to ankles, sparing no part
of her magnificent body. Within fifteen minutes the fronts of Erika's long,
luscious thighs sported a number of lurid red-edged gashes. Although he could
not see them, Chiang was quite confident that the soft skin on her back, her
opulent buttocks, and the well-toned backs of her tanned thighs -- which had
drawn no less attention from the sadistic 'harem-master' -- were equally
striated.
But it was to Erika's surging pink-tipped turrets of breast-flesh that
George Chan returned most frequently, attacking her jutting pleasure-globes with
the cruel lash from every conceivable angle. At first he took a stance almost
directly behind her, and flogged her taut-skinned back, skillfully permitting
the last stinging foot of the thin whip to curl under Erika's upraised arms so
as to find and singe the delicate outer curves of her breasts. A little later
he moved so that he stood slightly behind her and a few feet to one side, so
that he could bring the whip flashing horizontally through the air to visit her
nearer breast with its stinging kiss. Or he might step still further forward,
but still off to one side. That, Chiang judged, was his father's favorite
stance, standing to one side, and slightly in front of his pain-wracked victim
so that he could curl the black-tailed whip around both of her quivering
lust-melons at once, raking her proud pink nipples with its fiery kiss.
Erika's frantic, chain-rattling writhings which followed every blow
delivered from that point of attack seemed to validate George Chan's choice of
stance. From that optimal angle his father had the pleasant choice of a
launching a frontal assault on either or both of Erika's succulent red-streaked
breasts. In addition, he was in position to attack the plump upper-curves of
Erika's pain-wracked pleasure-globes with wicked overhand whip-strokes, an
opportunity that George Chan was most conscientious in exploiting to the
fullest.
But there was something to be said for the psychic rewards of a frontal
position too, Chiang noted, as he watched in excited awe, admiring his father's
masterful technique. When his father stood directly in front of Erika Weiss, he
could savor the pain in her tear-filled blue eyes better than from any other
angle. From that vantage point, his father generally launched the whip from a
three-quarter delivery, whistling it forward so that the black leather etched a
stinging diagonal mark that often extended from one shoulder, obliquely down and
across a heaving full-nippled breast and then down her smooth-skinned torso,
often as far as her navel.
Having delivered his final masterful stroke, George Chan had moved behind
the full-breasted blonde goddess and undid his fly, revealing an imposing
erection. Then he had ripped away the flimsy, blood-stained remnants of her
pantaloons. Pressing his body close against Erika's, he had forced himself into
her with one violent thrust and then, seizing Erika's incarnadined lust-melons
in his powerful hands, he proceeded to rape her with a feral savagery unusual
even for him.
Chiang Chan had never let on to his father that he had witnessed the
thrilling session with Erika Weiss. As a result he had never learned what, if
anything, the gorgeous big-breasted blonde had done to so offend his father as
to merit such a cruel flogging. Not, as he was to learn later, that his father
necessarily needed an excuse to indulge his sadistic nature, especially when in
possession of a lust-slave of such unexampled beauty.
A short time later Erika had disappeared from the house for several days,
and when she returned -- from a stay in the mountains his father had said -- she
seemed far more docile than formerly. Her experiences in the mountains seemed
to have cured her of her rebelliousness.
Chiang Chan had been so aroused after viewing the vicious but stimulating
scourging of Erika Weiss that he had hied himself to Madame Wong's and spent a
most pleasant hour or two with Fatima, the middle-eastern dancing girl with whom
his father and Ming-tsu had dallied not long before. He had forced Fatima to do
a sensuous belly dance while she rode him, the moist cavern of her pussy
straddling and engulfing his ardent cock. Whenever her erotic gyrations seemed
to flag, he had given each of her dusky dark-tipped breasts a crisp slap. Each
time he did so, he heard the sharp reverberation of his father's whip in his
mind's ear as he relived the voyeuristic thrill of seeing his father whip rip
into the golden globes of Erika Weiss. But his relatively playful slaps,
however stinging they might have seemed to Fatima, seemed rather meek compared
to the fierce blows of his father.
It was on that afternoon that Chiang Chan resolved to follow in the
footsteps of his father, and to plumb for sexual excitement in the darkest
realms of his consciousness. To use women as his father and uncle did, as
instruments of his own pleasure.
It was on that fateful day that young Chiang had truly become the heir to
the House of Chan....
