Chapter 81 New Weapons
A few minutes later Chiang Chan gave the command and Ming-tsu was once
again suspended above the abyss, her right breast now sporting two coruscating
needle-hilts. Before the Ox had depressed the lever that opened the grating,
Dao had slid her panties down another two inches, so that they formed a black
band around the tops of her thighs, and left her nude, perspiring buttocks
gleaming in the torchlight.
"Gentlemen," Chiang Chan began, "What do you say we attend to our guest's
pretty back now? Above the waist only, for the moment, if you please."
When his suggestion was met with the approving reaction that accompanies
the 'suggestions' of most autocrats, Chiang continued. "Different targets
require different weapons, boys -- may I suggest these?" as he gestured toward a
second layer of pain-dealing instruments on the cart that he had prepared
earlier.
Ming-tsu shuddered as she watched Lin choose a whip of brown rubber, a
more intricate version of the lash that the Chans had offered to Baron Gutmayer.
It was comprised of a sturdy stock, which gave way to a foot of thumb-thick
rubber fore-whip, which in turn blossomed into nine foot-long tails having the
thickness of heavy twine, each of which was budded with three finger-length
tails of its own. Richard Chan had dubbed this creation the triple hydra after
the frightful nine-headed creature that Hercules had slain. It was a light
whip, but each stroke would cause twenty-seven fiery fingers to fall on
Ming-tsu's flesh.
After hefting a number of the floggers and swinging them through the air
lightly, Dao settled on a dreadful-looking whip that had been patterned on the
fearsome knout of the Tartars. Like the others on the cart, it, too, had been
fashioned from rubber, rather than the traditional bull or elk-hide, but like
its Siberian model, and like the one he had used earlier, Dao's six-tailed whip
was "knotted". Menacing, irregular-shaped balls and clumps of molded rubber,
ranging from the size of raisins to the size of small grapes, dotted its
fearsome length.
In keeping with his huge frame the burly Zheng chose the heaviest whip of
the collection -- a ghastly rubber replica of the Russian plet. A full-sized
plet, which was officially used only on the most recalcitrant of the czar's
prisoners, weighed seven pounds or more. Richard Chan had once read of a warden
in a remote Siberian prison camp who claimed to have executed a prisoner in half
an hour with just such a whip. The Ox's whip was not nearly so heavy, but its
five cords sprung from a heavy stock with the thickness of a hawser, which
tapered, a yard later, into circular, finger-thick tips which were clearly
capable of inflicting indescribable pain.
For his own use, Chiang Chan chose another single-tail, a smaller, lighter
version of the bullwhip that New World cowboys used to manage their huge herds
of cattle. Some called it a snake whip, because of its shape, its size, and the
venomous pain it was capable of spitting at its intended target.
The four Scorpions, each armed with his weapon of choice, and each mindful
of the burns he had suffered at Ming-tsu's hands, returned to the vicinity of
the Whipping Pit, eyeing the golden-hued body of the Asian temptress who dangled
so helplessly before them.
Lin the Drooler led off once again, slashing Ming-tsu across the back with
the triple hydra, using a diagonal stroke that scalded her flesh from her right
shoulder blade to her left flank.
Dao eased the adolescent out of his way, and drew his heavy knotted whip
back as his fierce eyes feasted on the plump, juicy buttocks that swayed back
and forth as Ming-tzu's body reacted to the force of Lin's blow. Her panties
were now little more than a silken band beneath the base of her buttocks, a band
that seemed to emphasize and frame their nudity rather than conceal it.
Richard Chan's aspiring dungeon-master wanted to whip Ming-tzu's
honey-gold buttock-ovals so bad he could taste it, to make her bottom burn just
as his own face had when she had ignited the cobwebs in the passageway. He
wanted to lash her heart-shaped derriere until it was warm to the touch, and she
was begging and pleading for him to stop.
Then, when she did, he would walk around to face her and smile and gently
wipe the tears from her eyes.
And then he'd return to his position and whip those lovely, supremely
spankable buttocks some more. Before spreading them apart and forcing his rigid
man-pole so far up into her cock-clutching anal canal that she'd squeal like a
Cantonese piglet...,
But for now, his marching orders were to flog Ming-tsu across the back, and
dutifully he did, slamming the knotted whip across the middle of her back so
hard that her twice-studded breasts seemed to leap toward Chiang Chan who had
positioned himself in front of the dangling girl in expectation of just such an
alluring sight.
********
Now that the Scorpions had learned to vary the rhythm of their attack,
sometimes pacing their blows evenly, occasionally bunching them together in
staccato fashion, Ming-tsu's valiant resistance quickly began to weaken.
She could only watch in the great mirror on the opposing wall, as the
Scorpions delivered blow after shattering blow. It took only nine strokes across
her upper back, before a 1-2-3 volley so weakened her grip on the rings that she
was forced to beg her tormentors to raise the grating again.
The Drooler had given the winning stroke this time. He circled around in
front of the luscious courtesan gleefully, eager to get his hands on the ripe
breast fruits that he had been ogling since he had entered the room. He cradled
them in his sweaty palms and buried his pimply face between them, luxuriating in
the soft roundness, slavering over her breast tips.
When he saw Ming-tsu's eyes widen in disgust at his awful complexion, Lin's
eyes narrowed angrily, and with the impetuosity typical of youth he forgot all
of Dao's admonitions regarding patience. Lin took the smallest of the
gold-tipped pins and with his left hand jammed it viciously into the outer slope
of Ming-tzu's right breast with one quick motion. If Ming-tsu's breasts had
been less full, the tip of his inch-long needle might have met Dao's in
mid-breast.
********
As soon as Chiang Chan gave the signal for Zheng to lower the grating once
again, he realized that Ming-tsu's strength was so depleted, following the
ferocious back-flogging that she had endured, that her arms and shoulders would
soon be unable to stand the strain of the Ring Torture.
He would have to find another way to keep the competition alive.
Fortunately Ming-tsu's prolonged paroxysms of pain when the needles had been
thrust into her breasts suggested a new approach.
What if she were compelled to choose between the needles and the whip?
"Perhaps," Chiang Chan whispered softly, "now you would like to tell us
what you and your villainous lover, Luk Yee, have done with the diamonds."
"Nothing," Ming-tsu panted, as her marvelous breasts rose and fell with
every labored breath, " we have done nothing."
"Such courage! In such a foolish cause," Chiang said mockingly.
Taking a position before the tormented beauty, Chiang Chan offered her a
choice. "Are you enjoying hanging from the rings, my dear? Or would you
perhaps prefer something less strenuous?
Ming-tsu's breathing was ragged, and her thrice-decorated breasts heaved
with her fatigue. Hanging from the rings was bad enough -- but to be flogged
too? Especially with the Ox's plet, which felt like a fiery rake being ripped
across her pretty back each time it landed. Even so, she hung on to the rings
for dear life -- the thought of the fall and the fishes was too horrible to
contemplate.
"P-please ... anything," she gasped.
"Very well; it shall be as you wish. You may let go."
Ming-tsu released the rings with a prolonged sigh of relief; her arms and
shoulders were leaden; she felt sure that she could not have lasted another two
minutes hanging above the abyss. Whatever the future held, she tried to
encourage herself, at least she seemed to have escaped the voracious creatures
in the underground lake.
Dao and Zheng quickly stepped forward to seize her roughly, to forestall
any possible attempt at escape.
Chiang Chan eyed his helpless prisoner as she stood before him in the cruel
grip of his minions, her luscious nudity enhanced by a gleaming patina of
perspiration that clung to her breasts and belly and thighs like the juice of a
peeled peach. His manhood felt hard enough to cut the diamonds for which he
searched. But pleasure deferred, as he had often heard his father say, was
pleasure enhanced.
And he and his scurrilous henchmen were going to extract every last ounce
of pleasure from this proud beauty before they were through with her. Of that
there could be no possible doubt.
Chiang Chan lifted his gaze from the dark, mossy triangle between her legs,
up past her bronze-tipped breasts to look his father's lover in the eye.
"Perhaps I should have warned you, Ming-tsu," he said with a malicious
sneer. "You may come to regret your request." Then the heir to the House of
Chan snapped in a commanding voice, "To the pillars with her!"
