Chapter 69 Of Blue Stones and Blood Stains
The tiny, sapphire-tipped nipple clamps had been the one costly gift from
George Chan that his mercenary concubine had begged him not to buy for her.
Even at a glance, she could tell that the jaws of those clamps would lock onto
an erect nipple with the tenacious bite of Malayan fighting dogs, which held
fast to their prey even after death. But heedless of her wishes George had
bought them anyway, as curiosities he had said, and that had been the end of
it.
She had almost forgotten their existence until one evening a few months
later. After a pleasant hour of sexual dalliance, George Chan had used a sturdy
male ostrich feather to stimulate her mahogany-tipped nipples into truly superb
erectness. Then, to Ming-tsu's dismay, he had produced the sapphire-encrusted
clamps, which he said he had been saving for a special occasion. Over-ruling
her soft moans of protest, the younger son of Jiang Shao Chan had proceeded to
attach them to her blood-engorged lust-nubbins, and then told her to dress for
the banquet that he was hosting that evening.
For that august occasion, George had purchased a stunning dress in that
deep shade of red which seemed to warm her skin tones so attractively. The
scandalously plunging neckline of the Parisian gown revealed the delectable
valley between her close-set breasts; the cocktail dress was further enhanced by
an elaborate floral bodice which supported and lifted her love-mounds in a way
that would surely delight all but the most jaded of dinner companions, while
hiding from view the horrible sapphire-studded hinges that tore at her aching
nipple-buds.
The dinner, which had been held in a richly appointed private room in one
of Sung Lo's elegant restaurants, had turned out to be an endless multi-course
Chinese banquet. Ming-tsu had been the only woman among the party; its dozen
attendees were primarily rich merchants, traders, and political dignitaries that
George was trying to impress. Being the only flower accompanying eleven
middle-aged thorns, the lovely, almond-eyed concubine had been the unquestioned
center of attention. George had seated her at the foot of the long banquet
table, facing him, and rare was the moment, even after a series of sumptuous
appetizers and entrees that would have sated the most hearty of appetites, when
one or more of the diners was not directing a hungry glance at her revealing
decolletage.
To make her her suffering even more unbearable, George had warned her,
upon entering the restaurant, that she was to be a radiant and gracious hostess,
that she was to smile at all times, and that she was to pretend to be having a
wonderful evening, even as the clamps ravaged her tender nipple-buds. That the
slightest indication of discomfort on her part would earn her a ferocious
flogging upon their return home; he also promised, however, that if she were to
succeed in hiding her pain from their guests, that he would buy her the night
club that she had been pressing him to buy for her. It was, he said, an
exercise in submission.
As the night wore on, with each course that was served, with every round
of drinks that was ordered, with every tedious toast that was offered, the
cruelly-hinged clamps bit deeper into her tender nipples. Midway through the
evening Ming-tsu was sure that the dress of dark crimson had been chosen as much
to camouflage the tiny beads of blood that she could feel leaking from her
tortured nipple-crests as to show her liquid-gold complexion to best advantage.
And so, for hour after interminable hour, she had regaled George Chan's
dinner guests with warm smiles while the fierce sapphires ravaged her nipples
just out sight of their salacious gaze. As always, George had thought of
everything; at the very first of many toasts, when she had asked the pretty
young waitress to pour her a glass of wine, hoping that even a few sips of the
excellent rice wine might douse the flames of pain that were licking at her
love-buds, George had politely instructed the waitress not to oblige her, saying
that the wine might dull the marvelous wit which the assembled company enjoyed
so much.
Concealing the fire in her eyes and the waves of pain that coursed through
the tips of her semi-nude breasts with a seemingly submissive smile, Ming-tsu
could do nothing but lift her water glass and tip it in toast-like homage toward
her domineering patron, as if acknowledging the most gracious of compliments...
