Chapter 74 The Devil's Wager
"You must learn to be more careful with your words, my dear," Chiang Chan
advised his struggling, raven-haired prisoner with a scowl, after Dao and Lin
had dragged the disheveled beauty back into a remote corner of the dungeon.
Ming-tsu' face, chest and bare legs were soiled with the dank, muddy grime from
the floor of the passageway.
"She's a big-mouthed, lying bitch is what she is!" observed Dao with a
scowl, as his comrades nodded their assent.
"Ah, but we shall teach her how to keep her lying mouth shut, my friend,
never fear. But we'll give her plenty of opportunity to use it later!" Chiang
Chan added as he winked at Dao. "String her up boys!"
With those words The Ox grunted as he and Lin seized Ming-tsu's wrists and
quickly looped a long, heavy rope around them. When her hands were bound
together, they dragged their struggling, scantily-clad prisoner over to a heavy
iron hook that hung from a chain that led upwards into the dimness of the
rafters above. They secured the ropes that bound her wrists to the sturdy
hook, and then Gaptooth turned the crank of a windlass which lifted the chain
and the dangling Ming-tsu, until her toes barely remained in contact with the
ground.
The Whipping Pit, as Chiang had called it, would not have seemed impressive
to a casual observer. Its only unusual feature seemed to be that the floor
below the over-hanging hook was sloped downward into a depression so that
Ming-tsu's bare feet stood on a sort of large metal grating, perhaps two yards
across, in the center of which was an ancient drain.
A drain that the flickering torchlight showed to be stained a hideous shade
of dark red.
A drain which had been installed so that the blood of the nubile victims of
the Whipping Pit would not collect on the floor...
********
Dao's heart beat faster and his heavy cock pulsed with man-lust, as he
watched the lovely young woman struggle futilely to free herself, her bare legs
thrashing in the air in a most alluring manner one moment and then searching for
purchase on the receding floor the next.
One night, not long after Dao had joined the Scorpions, he and Feng had
been the last two survivors of a night-long bout of drinking. With their fellow
Scorpions passed out all around them, Feng the Butcher had sworn the new recruit
to secrecy and then recounted a blood-chilling tale about a fiendish wager and
the part the Whipping Pit had played in the cruel adventure.
At the time, despite Feng's earnest manner, Dao had found the story
impossible to credit. But it had not taken him many months of service to the
Chans to realize that in the Black Pagoda all things, no matter how cruel, how
inhuman, are possible.
The Devil's Wager, as Feng liked to call it, involved a beautiful
brown-skinned Javanese girl, just turned seventeen, whom Richard Chan had dubbed
'Papaya', by virtue of her sweet disposition, her soft yielding flesh, and her
well-rounded figure.
But it had been her virtue that had been Papaya's undoing. One night,
after a banquet worthy of a Lucullus, Richard Chad had ordered Bao-tseng, his
obsequious chamberlain, to bring the young housemaid to his room. Upon her
arrival there, Chan, in company with his equally sadistic younger brother, had
raped and sodomized the full-breasted young virgin until she had lapsed into
unconsciousness. George Chan had made his adieus then, and Richard, all of his
appetites sated, had uncharacteristically lowered his guard and dozed off on a
comfortable divan.
When Papaya had come to, and found her tormentor still sleeping, she had
seized an ornamental dagger and was just about to plunge it into him, when an
unlucky fate caused the ruler of the Black Pagoda to waken just as his naked
attacker began her downward stab. Turning aside quickly, Richard Chan had
escaped with only a glancing blow. He called out for Bao-tseng, who, as always,
had had an eye to the keyhole much of the evening taking vicarious pleasure in
his master's virile conquests. The two men had quickly wrestled the knife from
the girl, and Richard Chan had held the sharp blade against a pert,
semen-stained nipple while the chamberlain, had summoned the guards. Four
Scorpions arrived a few minutes later and the beautiful young miscreant was
soon escorted, kicking and screaming, to the dungeons of the Black Pagoda to
await what would surely be an inconceivably dreadful fate.
Richard Chan, still in the throes of a towering wrath, had studied the nude
body of his prisoner from every angle as he pondered his revenge. Papaya's
wrists and ankles had been fettered to a wall in the shape of a delicious X, and
Richard Chan lingered long over her lovely, golden-brown legs, the exquisite
petals of her sperm-coated love-nook, and the dark-nippled breasts that had
proven to be as ripe and juicy as her name suggested. After some forty minutes
considering the possibilities for erotic and sadistic pleasure afforded by his
beautiful prisoner, the idea of the Devil's Wager suddenly came to him in a
flash of inspiration.
Richard Chan called for Bao-tseng, whose greedy eyes never left the
stunning body of the nude prisoner while his master explained that the
chamberlain was to go in search of his brother and a teacup. Bao-tseng had
raised a quizzical eyebrow and given Papaya's luscious curves a last lustful
glance before setting off on his strange errand.
Bao-tseng returned not long thereafter with both his brother and an
exquisite hand-painted porcelain teacup from Richard's favorite collection of
China. When Richard set the cup down on a small table, the dark-eyed Javanese
beauty stared at the macabre scorpion some talented artist had painted on the
teacup and shivered with fear.
Upon his brother's arrival in the dungeon, Richard had offered him the
following sporting proposition -- that for one hundred pieces of gold, he,
Richard, could whip a teacup's worth of blood from a young woman's body in an
hour. And prove it.
George had eyed the scorpion-cup briefly before accepting the bet. He
didn't doubt that his elder brother possessed both the will and the savagery
required to tear the island girl's tawny body to shreds, but he remained
skeptical that his brother would be able to demonstrate that he had spilled a
cupful of blood with only a whip.
As soon as they had exchanged bows, thus consummating the wager, the elder
Chan had proceeded to suspend the girl, much as Ming-tsu was now suspended,
above the grating. Then he had unscrewed the heavy iron framework, and mounted
a shallow metal pan, capable of collecting liquids, to the underside of the
drain at the center of the grating before replacing the circular grating in the
depression in the dungeon floor.
Then, after turning an hourglass upright next to the teacup on the nearby
table, the Lord of the Black Pagoda had selected a horrible whip from the
collection on the wall of implements. The chosen whip had six heavy leather
tails that had been embedded with bits of glass and sharp pieces of stone. The
suspended hand-maided had taken one look at the dreadful weapon and fainted dead
away.
But Richard Chan's first withering blow not only roused her from blissful
unconsciousness, it drew blood from her tawny-fleshed back. Each succeeding
slash compounded the girl's agony. The wiry Lord of the Scorpions had circled
his would-be murderess like a grim vulture, lashing out furiously her every
fifteen seconds or so, with each blow of the barbed whip falling between her
shoulders and knees. Within a few minutes, the raven-haired island girl's cries
of agony were echoing off of the massive walls of the dungeon; no sooner had one
scream subsided when another slash of the whip drew yet another tortured wail
from the beautiful captive.
No part of Papaya's delicious body was spared -- not her lean, tapering
back, nor the deeply-cleft buttocks that the Chans had plundered so thoroughly,
nor the lithe and sensuous legs that had begun to dance a seemingly endless,
agonizing dance commencing with the first slash of the brutal whip. Papaya's
belly, too felt the ravages of the flesh-tearing lash, as did the tender insides
of her thighs, and not least, the ripe-nippled roundness of her firm young
breasts which the Lord of the Scorpions took special delight in flogging from
every possible angle.
By the time the last grains of sand were racing into the lower half of the
hourglass, there were dozens of red rivulets streaming down Papaya's tortured
body, flowing down her long slender legs and emptying into the drain. When the
time had expired, Richard Chan once again unscrewed the grating, removed the
pan, and ever so carefully poured its crimson contents into the teacup the two
brothers had chosen to arbitrate their wager. Soon the cup was brimming, and
there were yet six remaining drops of Papaya's scarlet nectar in the pan, which,
when added to the cup, caused it to overflow, thus winning the bet for the older
brother.
********
Such had been Feng's strange story. And after today, Dao guessed, the
Tale of Ming-tsu would add another erotic chapter to the grim lore of the
Whipping Pit of Richard Chan.
