Book II of the Jade Pavilion was the second episode written, but comes first chronologically, in the multi-part saga of Li Chang. This long story was first published in another form a couple of years ago; I am in the process of revising it extensively -- there is a completely new prologue, for example. I will be submitting it in several installments, as I have time to complete the revisions. This is a historical fantasy that depicts love and lust, rape and torture. As such, is it intended for adults only. The author in no way condones any form of non-consensual sex. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.
The Jade Pavilion, Book II
The Rise of Li Chang
Prologue
CRAACCCKKKK!!! "AAIIAGHHH!"
The tall, gaunt, silver-robed figure stood in the eerie shadows of the
subterranean room, watching with cock-throbbing lust as the naked girl swayed in
the taut ropes which held her fast, the soft skin of her plump buttocks streaked
with yet another angry mark. He nodded toward his minion, and the ugly
pig-tailed underling whipped the slender bamboo ane enthusiastically across the
back of the girl's tender thighs, causing her to cry out in pain once again.
"Please," she panted desperately, "Why? ... Why have you brought me here?"
The suspended girl was surprisingly beautiful, thought Richard Chan, the
man in the silver robe. Who could have guessed that this shy shopkeeper's
daughter, newly arrived in Shanghai from Nanking, would have been blessed with
such a desirable figure? It was only as his powerful confederate had stripped
her of her modest attire, that the comeliness of her shapely body had become
apparent. She could not have been more than twenty, he judged, as he admired
the dark-eyed temptress who hung suspended by her wrists between the two ominous
pillars of the underground room. Her face was striking, with alluring
almond-shaped eyes, pronounced cheekbones and invitingly kissable lips that
trembled as she hung before him. Her body formed a sensuous Y, the muscles of
her arms and shoulders stretched painfully taut by the rough ropes that
imprisoned her wrists, her pretty feet dangling several inches above the ground
The raven-haired Chinese girl's back, shoulders, and superbly contoured
buttocks were red-streaked from some two dozen flesh-searing strokes from the
cutting bamboo. At a signal from the figure in silver, the cane-wielder applied
another ferocious stroke to the young beauty's quivering derriere, eliciting
another soft scream as her body shuddered in reaction to the punishing blow.
Her crimson-streaked back and dark-clefted bottom glistened with a fine film of
fright-induced perspiration; Chan's thin-slitted eyes studied the erotic vision
of loveliness before him, bathed most attractively in the flickering glow,
reminiscent of the fires of a Christian hell, given off by the twin torches that
were ensconced in the columns on either side of her.
"I have brought you here because your father is an unreasonable man, Miss
Wu." The speaker's disembodied voice came to her out of the shadows, fraught
with menace. From the darkness he gestured toward his black-garbed servant who
proceeded to step around in front of the girl. Cherry Wu, affectionately
so-called because of her inordinate fondness for the sweet ripe fruit as a
child, regarded the ugly, pig-tailed brute with horror, as his eager fingers
clenched and unclenched around the vicious bamboo cane. Her tormentor's eyes
swept over the lush curves of her body as his mouth contorted into a lecherous
gap-toothed grin. And then he lifted the cane again ...
"No....please...not th..."
CRACKKK!! The cane whipped across her tender midriff, stinging her
deep-notched navel with its fiery kiss.
"AAIIIIEEEHHHH!" she cried out in pain. Her misery was hardly
diminished by the way the dark-robed cane-wielder leered at her stiff-nippled
breasts.
"Just because he is a newcomer to Shanghai, your stubborn father seems to
believe that he is under no obligation to observe our time-honored local
customs." The silver robe rustled softly as the speaker moved with sinister
intent and an almost silent tread around the room so that he was facing the
struggling girl. Could she have seen the man that peered at her from the
dimness of the room, she would have noted that his eyes were as cruel and
heartless as his voice.
Feeling himself becoming even more aroused, Richard Chan drank in the full
measure of her loveliness in the torchlight once again, -- the silky thighs of
ivory gold, marked front and back by a dozen random strokes from his henchman's
bamboo cane, her legs struggling futilely for purchase as she hung in her
bondage. The dark thatch of silky pubic hair which framed the inviting folds of
her womanhood. The billowing womanly hips that curved so nicely into a tiny
waist. The graceful curve of her belly, now reddening as a result of receiving
its first blow. And a pair of perfectly shaped breasts, not overly large, but
beautifully dark-tipped, and blessed with the indescribably delicious firmness
of youth.
At a signal from the shadows, the cane-wielder paused to blindfold the
hanging girl. When he had completed that task, the man in the silver robe
stepped forward and reached between her luscious thighs, amused by her virginal
squirms of revulsion. "Chief among our customs being that each businessman of
our great city is expected to contribute to the Fellowship of the Black
Scorpions, who do him the great service of protecting him in a dangerous world."
Cherry, repulsed by her tormentor's shameful manual caresses, kicked out
awkwardly in his general direction.
The man in the silver robe avoided her foot easily and stepped back into
the dark shadows. "Foolish girl. And daughter of an even more foolish father."
He studied her nude loveliness for a moment, and then let a hand trail over the
sublime softness of her left breast, circling it sensuously with a long finger.
'Cherry' was an appropriate name for this sweet-fleshed goddess, Chan mused as
his long-nailed fingers closed on a tasty looking nipple. He squeezed, softly
at first, and then harder and harder still, cruelly pinching the tender nubbin
between his relentless talons, as his shapely prisoner shuddered with pain.
Moments later then he lowered his mouth to the delectable bud, tasted its
sweetness with his lips and tongue, and smiled again.
Then he stood back, pointed, and gestured to his companion to continue.
The gap-toothed man grinned again, and stepped slightly to the girl's right,
all the while ogling the suspended girl's dark-tipped breasts. The pig-tailed
goon lifted the cane again, brandishing the thirty-inches of punishingly rigid
bamboo, and then, with the practiced skill of a man who had tortured scores of
women, brought the rod flashing out of the darkness to explode across the girl's
sweat-streaked pleasure globes.
"AAAAAAGGHHHH" the blind-folded girl screamed in dreadful agony again as
the blow turned her breasts into two suffering mounds of pain.
"Not only has your father refused to pay his rightful share to our ...
benevolent society, but he has been so bold as to boast of his defiance to his
neighbors." The thin-lipped man added another word, "Again," in an ominous
voice.
"No.. please...."
CRACCKKKK!! "AAAAAIIIIII!!" The hellish cane visited her tender breasts
once more, its angry tip scalding the throbbing bud of her left breast.
The voice came from the shadows once again. "So you see, I have no choice
but to demonstrate to him, how strongly we of the Black Scorpion feel about our
customs and his avoidance of his civic responsibility." The voice died away for
a second, and then returned in a husky whisper. "Secure her legs, Dao."
The grinning, gap-toothed lackey, held the instrument of her punishment
crosswise and offered it to the lips of the tortured girl. "Hold this for me,
slut!"
When Cherry spit the cane from her mouth, the man in the silver robe
stepped from the shadows to retrieve it. And while his henchman roughly
wrestled with first her left ankle and then the other, roping them to stout
hooks near the base of each pillar, Richard Chan gave the helpless squirming
girl three more vicious cuts with the cane, each more heinous than the last. The
first was a blood-drawing cut across the supple roundness of her right thigh.
He followed with a second brutal stroke across her abdomen, hitting her so hard
that Cherry felt as if her nether hair might burst into flame. The third was
another nipple-seeking slash to her panting honey-gold breasts.
Three times Cherry screamed, in rapid succession, as each stroke fell.
Three times, the thin lips of the man in the silver robe curled into a demonic
sneer of sadistic satisfaction.
Then, with the delicious Miss Wu's lovely legs widely spread-eagled, her
captor touched the cane lightly to the alluring cleft between her legs, sawing
the freshly scarlet-tinged bamboo rod back and forth between the soft vulnerable
folds of her virginal pussy. Then, with a gesture that left no doubt as to how
the ugly gap-toothed man was to continue, the man in the silver robe handed the
cane to his henchman and indicated that her blindfold was to be removed. As he
turned and stepped backward into the shadows, the blindfold was torn away, and
through her tear-filled eyes the pain-wracked girl noticed the frightful image
of an ebony scorpion that emblazoned the back of the silver robe. And then the
mysterious figure had melted into the murky shadows of the room again, just as
the one called Dao slowly drew the cane down low, preparing for a vicious
uppercut...
******************************************
At just before dawn the next morning Mister Wu, a dealer in ivory and
porcelains, heard a dull thump that woke him from a sound sleep in the room
above his shop in the bustling old quarter of Shanghai. He had retired early;
his daughter had gone out early in the evening to visit friends, as she did
frequently. Rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes, he was startled to find that
she was not in her bedchamber. While he pondered the meaning of that strange
occurrence, he heard a faint scratching at the shop door. He rushed downstairs
to the front door of the shop and opened it, only to feel his daughter's body,
naked, bleeding, and covered with the tell-tale residue of multiple sexual
assaults, slump helplessly against his feet.
At noon that day, when a trio of Black Scorpions made their rounds of the
neighborhood, their leader, a homely man with a gap-toothed grin, suggested
scornfully that Mr. Wu might like to make his contribution to the Fellowship of
the Black Scorpions in full view of all his neighbors. And so he did, while his
daughter, Cherry Wu, turned fitfully in a restorative sleep, dreaming, as she
would a hundred times again, of her endless night of horror...
Chapter I The House of Wen-chi
Li Chang, who was destined to become the Mandarin of Crime in the teeming
Shanghai of the 1880's, had been an orphan. He grew up in the streets,
surviving as a pickpocket and petty thief until the fateful day when he
attempted to pilfer the coin purse of a very old gentleman who was strolling
along the riverfront. The gentleman, who had seemed such an easy mark because
of his advanced age, reacted swiftly however, and caught the boy of fifteen in a
surprisingly firm grip, preventing his escape.
"Come with me, young one," said the septuagenarian sharply, his eyes bright
with anger that this boy of the streets should dare to accost him. He held the
weak and hungry boy tightly by the arm and marched him off. Li could only
imagine that he was about to be dragged before one of the justices of the city,
who were notorious for their corruption, and that a lengthy term in prison
awaited him. On the pair trudged, wordlessly, for a mile or so, through the old
quarter of the city until at last the twosome stood before a house. A house the
likes of which Li had never dreamed.
The spacious pagoda-like structure was ringed with gardens bedecked with
flowers of every color of the rainbow. As they entered the house Li could only
look on with wonder as they passed from room to room, admiring the furniture,
the wall-hangings, the miniature paintings and sculptures that enhanced the
beauty of every inlaid table, every hand-carved cabinet, every graceful lamp.
Once they were in the salon, the old gentleman, whose bearded countenance
reminded the lad of an image he had once seen of the ancient sage Confucius,
gestured to the nervous boy to take a seat. Li, still dazzled by his
surroundings, studied the shrine, apparently dedicated to the old man's
ancestors, that filled one corner of the rooom. Li could not imagine why he
had been brought to this house, so familiarly Chinese, yet as alien to his
desperate struggle for existence on the streets, as if it had been on another
planet.
The withered old man spent a moment or two in silence in front of the
well-kept shrine before approaching the boy and taking his own seat amid the
rich silk fabrics. He stared at the boy searchingly for a long moment and then,
at last, the venerable figure broke his silence. "Why would you steal from an
old man?" he asked. The moment before the shrine seemed to have sapped the
sharpness from his voice, and to have dulled the anger in his eyes.
"To get money so that I can buy food, sir. I have no parents, no home."
The old gentleman nodded sadly. "Well, my young friend, there are thieves
enough in Shanghai without you. You don't look like such a bad sort, and you
speak well. Perhaps you can stay here with my grand-daughter and me."
At that, the old gentleman clapped his hands, and a slender young girl,
perhaps twelve or thirteen, with the face of an angel, entered the room bringing
tea, and a selection of edibles. Li drained the cup of tea in a flash, and
reached for the delicacies that Liu, for that was her name, had offered on the
tray.
The old man watched with amusement as Li quickly finished off the dozen or
so morsels of dim sum that Liu had set before them. As the girl poured a second
cup of green tea, the old man spoke again. "Well, I see we shall have to teach
you some manners, but there is plenty of time for that. What is your name,
boy?"
"Li Chang, sir"
"Li Chang, eh?" said the ancient gentleman as he stroked his pale, pointed
beard. "I think the world will hear more of you, one day, Li Chang. My name is
Wen-chi. Welcome to my home."
Chapter 2 The Black Scorpions
And so, Li lived for some years in the house of Wen-chi. The old man had
many books, and taught the orphan the classics of Chinese and world literature,
an appreciation of Chinese art and music, and a sense of Confucian ethics. Li
was an earnest student, attentive and intelligent and profited greatly from the
wisdom of Wen-chi. Liu, too, took part in many of the lessons, which surprised
Li. Who had ever heard of a girl studying such things?
One spring day, several years later, not long after Li had turned 23, the
old gentleman took him aside, as they strolled through the verdant gardens of
Wen-chi's estate. "Perhaps you have wondered, Li Chang, how it was that I came
to bring you into my house." The old man's brow was furrowed with worry, and
his ancient hand trembled slightly as he spoke. "My son, there is a terrible
scourge that haunts the people of Shanghai. My own son, Liu's father, died
trying to fight this terrible menace."
"There is a gang of criminals --some call them a triad, or tong --that is a
parasite upon the decent citizens of our city. They call themselves the Black
Scorpions. They extort money from every business, every family. They control
the iron triangle of vice in Shanghai - opium, gambling, prostitution. They
have enslaved the bodies of hundreds of young girls in their brothels, and the
souls of thousands of young men in their opium dens."
The old man's voice paused, quavering a little, as if in self-doubt. "I do
not have much time left in this world, nor much strength." So I brought you
into my house, that you might one day be my strong right arm. That you might
bring the Black Scorpions down. Perhaps this was unfair of me; I hope you can
forgive me."
"Of course, Wen-chi. But how are we to we bring down this evil empire?"
"It will not be easy. But there are thousands in the city who would love
to throw off their yoke. Many young students, in particular, know how these
jackals prey upon the citizens of our great city. And they will rise to fight,
if we can but give them hope. The key is that we must infiltrate the inner
ranks of the Black Scorpions, so that we know their every move before they make
it. If we can gain that kind of intelligence we can thwart their schemes."
"But how are we to infiltrate the Scorpions, Wen-chi?"
"Li, that is where you come in. You are bright, resourceful, and, I hope,
brave. You are our one hope. But to succeed, you must leave my house, forsake
your identity, and take up a life in the streets, and become one of their many
operatives. I have confidence that your cleverness will allow you to rise
rapidly within the hierarchy of the Black Scorpion. Within a year or two, if
all goes well, you will find yourself in their inner circle, so that you are
aware of their plans. If we know where the Scorpion intends to sting before he
strikes, we can oppose them successfully, I am sure."
For the next hour or so Li listened carefully as Wen-chi outlined his plans
to subvert the Black Scorpions. Later that evening, he was walking in the
garden alone, pondering this unexpected news when he saw Liu, clad in angelic
white, exit the house and walk toward a bed of freshly planted flowers, water
pitcher in hand.
While in some respects Wen-chi had treated them like brother and sister, Li
was unquestionably aware that his "sister" had blossomed over the years into an
exquisite young woman. She was less than five feet tall, and weighed less than
one hundred lbs., but was blessed with lustrous dark hair, soulful brown eyes,
and her tiny frame was perfectly proportioned. And she moved with the grace of
a whisper in the wind.
He recalled the occasion, perhaps a year earlier, when, thinking that she
and Wen-chi had gone to the market, he had unwittingly entered the room where
Liu was bathing. Liu had been lost in a dreamy reverie, and did not hear him
enter. Knowing that he should withdraw, but unable to tear himself away from
this erotic vision, Li slipped silently behind a screen, trying desperately to
control the breathing which seemed to rasp from deep in his chest, and the
rhythmic pounding of his heart as he watched her.
Liu stood at right angles to him, thigh-deep in a steaming tub of water.
One delicate hand held a sponge above the gently sloping contours of her
beautiful breasts, permitting the sensuous mixture of perfumed soap, steamy
water, and the most fragrant of bath oils to christen their silky softness. Her
other hand slid back and forth through the downy silk of her pubic hair, gently
stroking the sweet love-nook that no man's eyes had yet beheld. Li's eyes drank
in the whole of her shapely form, the slender, nicely curved legs, the tempting
concave curve of her bottom, the graceful lines of her torso. He lingered
longest on her tempting breasts, and the pert brown nipples, frothy from her
bath, that capped them. The droplets of water that fell from the sponge kissed
her soft skin with a moist embrace. One long, frothy rivulet of soapy water ran
down her graceful back and into the perfect cleft of her inviting buttocks.
Li watched silently, almost reverently, for some minutes as the oblivious
vision of loveliness before him washed herself. Li marveled at her appealing
figure, always before hidden away under layers of silk, as her tiny hands
explored her body. Little did Li know that Liu's thoughts were on him, that
even as he watched, she was fantasizing that it was his hands that were bringing
her body to such a sweet state of arousal.
When at last Liu stepped from the tub, leisurely towelled her glistening
body dry, and donned a robe of shimmering turquoise and slipped into her
adjoining bed-chamber, it was everything Li could do to restrain himself from
following her and throwing himself upon her. But to do so would have been a
violation of Wen-chi's trust. Even so, Li Chang stood motionless behind the
screen for long minutes trying to fix in his memory the voyeuristic vision that
he had chanced upon, of the slim young goddess in her bath.
..........................................................
The time soon came for Li Chang to leave the house of Wen-chi, as his
mentor had instructed. He had little trouble ingratiating himself with the local
boss of the Black Scorpions, and over time, seemingly proved himself to be a
loyal and resourceful member of the gang. A year or so later Li saw to it that
that local lieutenant "accidentally" drowned in the harbor. And Li was soon
entrusted with that position.
And then it was, in that year of 1881, that Li came to meet the Masters of
the Black Scorpion - the Chan brothers. "Richard" and "George" Chan had both
been educated at Oxford, where they had taken on the Anglicized names. The
Chans were organizational geniuses and had built a pyramid of power that
depended on countless nameless minions at the bottom, a cadre of loyal and
ruthless officers in the middle, and a council of twelve lieutenants at the top,
who answered only to the Chans.
Extortion was the cornerstone of the Chans' criminal pyramid, and nearly
every enterprise in Shanghai was enmeshed in its nefarious web. Any business,
no matter how small, that refused to pay the required tribute, soon ran into an
unaccountable streak of bad joss, a seemingly endless cycle of vandalism, arson,
and assault. The fate that befell the occasional entepreneur who resisted what
came to be called The Bite of the Scorpions, served only to further terrorize
the populace.
As Li worked his way up the ladder, he came to appreciate more fully the
wisdom of Wen-chi's plan - it was only by infiltrating the inner circle of the
Black Scorpions, only by knowing when and where the Scorpions would strike,
that, concerted resistance would be possible.
Chapter 3 Ming-tsu
One night, about a year and a half after becoming a Scorpion, Li was
drinking with two of his underlings at a night club in the waterfront district.
Li was well into his second drink and talking to his companions, when he felt
the warmth of a thigh pressing against his own. And he looked up to see the
most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Raven hair, flashing eyes,
prominent cheekbones, ruby lips, perfect, smiling white teeth. She was about
his own age and wore a Venetian-red cheongsam that was at least a size too
small. The skirt was slit up almost to her hips, revealing flashes of sleek
golden thighs. The top had a bodice lined with ten black buttons, but only the
bottom four were fastened. The nipples of her pouting breasts were clearly
defined, pushing boldly, as they did, against the thin silken fabric. The open
buttons displayed the dark valley between her close-set breasts, and the fine
silver chain that nestled comfortably against their upper curves. Li had
difficulty removing his eyes from these charms, as the young woman began to
speak.
"So you are Li Chang, the new neighborhood VIP? Good, the last one was too
fat! But you, you look like you might actually be worthy of the name Scorpion!
I am Ming-tsu" The dark-haired beauty lifted her slender wrist in a graceful
arc indicting their surroundings. "Welcome to my club." Ming-tsu gave him a
dazzling smile as she continued, "I have some business I'd like to discuss with
you, Li Chang, if you can bear to spend a few minutes away from your cronies."
And with a toss of her pretty head, she beckoned him to follow her
hip-twitching figure through a series of doors, until at last he found himself
beside her in a darkened room. She lit several candles that revealed a
bedchamber filled with beautiful tapestries, silks, and porcelains. An
enigmatic rich incense battled for supremacy with the fragrance of orange
blossoms that enveloped her.
She moved her body closer to his, until the proud turrets of her breasts
burrowed into his chest. "I was wondering, Mr. Li Chang, if I couldn't find
another way to secure "protection" from the Scorpions? Money is such an
impersonal way of conducting business." She pressed her lips, tasting of tangy
clove, to his, and thrust her hot moist tongue deep into his mouth and ground
her body against him. Her nipples were fleshy daggers, shamelessly pressing
into his chest.
Li Chang had sought pleasure in the brothels of Shanghai on rare occasions
in the past, but he remained relatively inexperienced. He returned her kiss
with manly enthusiasm for a moment, then pulled her lips from his, and pushed
her ever so slightly away, so that he might let his hungry eyes drink in the
shapely contours of her body. "I think we can come to an accommodation,
Ming-tsu," he said as he moved closer to her again, letting one hand cup a
nicely rounded buttock. "Money is not the only commodity of value."
Ming-tsu pulled away briefly, smiled coquettishly, displaying her pearly
white teeth, and said, "I'm so glad; your predecessor was only interested in
money. Let me look at you, Mr. VIP."
And her hands flew to the buttons on his shirt, and skillfully undid them.
As she pushed the shirt back over his shoulders her eyes lit up at the sight of
his lean but muscular chest and shoulders. As he finished stripping the shirt
off, Ming-tsu dropped to her knees before him, and her nimble hands eagerly
grabbed at his pantlegs. When they were at his ankles, she pushed him backwards
into a nest of pillows, and drew the rest of his clothes from his body.
"Mmm, nice. Very nice," she purred. "You have a beautiful body, Mr. VIP,
lean and hard. I wonder if you know how to use it?"
A moment later she was straddling him, still wearing her blouse and slit
skirt. She reached up and undid two ivory hair-clasps, letting a waist-length
ebony cascade fall about her shoulders. And then, throwing the masses of black
fair forward, over her shoulders, she began moving her dark silken tresses up
and down the length of his legs. The silky kiss of her hair electrified every
nerve ending in his body.
As he reached out for her, she said, "Not yet!", and continued the slow
stroking of his body with her hair. Up one leg. Then up the other. Whispering
briefly across his tumescent manhood, her hair went on to caress his flat
stomach, his nearly hairless chest, his shoulders, his face.
After some minutes of this delicious torture, she ripped open the buttons
of her bodice, slid down his body and took his right foot and captured it
between her tempting breasts, and then pushed her delicious mounds together
around his foot. Then she released his foot and dragged her hard-nippled
breasts slowly up the entire length of his right leg, The contrast between the
soft warmth of her breasts, and the hard coolness of the silver chain that
dangled between them was electric.
When she neared his throbbing crotch, Ming-tsu paused briefly to stare
deeply into his brown eyes while she ran her moist tongue over her sensuous
lips; she then retreated to his other foot and repeated the delicious teasing
motions up his other leg. Again she paused at his midsection, this time to slide
her breasts tantalizingly over his testicles and his now throbbing penis. She
let the chain slide around his organ, and teased him with it, letting the
silvery links slide up and down his excited manhood.
She pressed one hard nipple briefly into the opening at the tip of his
glans, rubbing it back and forth, and then enveloped his cock between her firm
lust-globes for a brief moment, before moving on up his body, stroking his belly
and chest with the tips of her ripe melons. And then, her hands holding his own
hands down, she slid above his face, offering first one breast and then the
other to Li Chang's eager mouth.
The scent, the taste, the feel of her breast-flesh was intoxicating. Warm
and soft and firm and delicious, her breasts were the quivering recipients of
his adoration. He made love to them with his mouth, while above him Ming-tsu's
body shivered in shameless ecstacy at his touch.
It was only now that she permitted Li to use his hands, as she began to use
hers. His hands first sought out the deep slits in her skirt, and made their
way up and down her silky thighs, until he found the clasp that held the skirt
together. When he undid it, the skirt fell away from her lower body revealing
her moist pussy lips. Meanwhile she cast aside the long since unbuttoned top.
Her delicate hands drew his strong hands up to her delectable breasts, which he
cupped with the reverence he would have extended to a delicate figurine.
"They are not Ming vases, Mr. Li; they won't break. Squeeze them."
Ming-tsu's right hand had found its way between her legs, and she stroked the
pink cleft between her legs with ever-increasing abandon.
Li Chang's hands closed gently over the tender flesh of her
pleasure-globes, tentatively cupping them, as he stroked her thrusting nipples
with his thumbs.
"Harder!"
He tightened his grip a little more.
"I thought I had invited a man to my room tonight, not a monk!"
His hands closed down still harder. While hers reached down and encircled
the base of his cock. "Pinch them!" His thumbs and forefingers closed on the
buds. "Pull them! Hard!" He twisted her breast tips this way and that. One of
her hands was by now cradling his walnut-sized testicles, while the other was
stroking up and down the length of his rock-hard phallus.
By now, Li was beginning to understand how to please the volcano of lust
that was astride him. He leaned forward and bit gently into the flesh of her
right breast, while his right hand continued to pull and twist the nipple of her
left. "Mmmm, Yes!" she mewed in delight, while her agile hands went on caressing
him. Soon she scooted down his body, and took his balls into the sweet warmth
of her mouth, rolling them around her tongue, while both hands continued to
stroke his manhood.
After a few minutes of this testicle worship, her mouth released them and
moved to the underside of the base of his cock. Then she drew her tongue slowly
up its entire length. And returned to the base, a little to the right of where
she had begun, and licked her way up the pulsing tower again. After four
repetitions of this oral cock-polishing, she swung around and pulled herself
into a sitting position astride his torso, facing his feet, and did equal
homage to the neglected upper surfaces of his cock.
This position put the roundness of her buttocks within easy reach, and this
time without encouragement, he brought the palm of his right hand sharply down
on the upper curves of her ass. "Mmm," she moaned, "More," as her lips kissed
every inch of his penis. Li Chang thought surely he must be in Nirvana. Right
hand, left hand, right hand, left hand - his strong arms continued to pound away
at her buttcheeks. After a dozen resounding spanks, he could feel the soft skin
growing warmer against his punishing palms. By now Ming-tsu was nibbling and
sucking at the tip of his cock, greedily licking at the droplet that had formed
there.
Smack! Smack! The hands continued their relentless assault. Ming-tsu's
derriere was squirming in delight. She now took his penis into her moist mouth
and engulfed it, first an inch, then two, then three, and after a minute or so
of practiced head-bobbing, she was taking the entire seven inches of his manhood
halfway down her throat, until Li thought that he was going to explode. Finally
he tugged at her waist length hair, pulled her lips from his throbbing cock,
and then threw her on to her back.
"Yes, Li, now!" His hand moved between her wriggling legs and came away
dripping with the juices of her passion. He slid his erection teasingly against
one inner thigh and then the other. Finally she could wait no longer and grabbed
his penis and thrust it between her legs, where she held him in a vise-like
grip, while he drove into her pussy with deeper and deeper strokes. She moaned
in delight as his powerful hands mauled her breasts as he pounded away while she
seemed to climb from one shuddering orgasm to the next. Finally, after many long
minutes, he could sustain the excitement no longer and he erupted inside her,
and rolled over beside her, utterly spent.
Ming-tsu got up, left the room, returned three minutes later, freshly
bathed and scented, knelt over him and began to suckle at his depleted penis,
until it began to spring back to life.
For six hours she took him on an exhausting sexual odyssey. She had both
the ferocity and the stamina of a lioness. At the end of the marathon, Li was
able to drift off to sleep for a few hours. At dawn he rose and dressed, so
that he could begin his long day's work. As sunlight spilled through the window
dappling the beautiful body on the bed, he noticed that his hands had left dark
marks on her breasts and thighs.
She stirred drowsily, drew back a few silken tresses that partially
obscured her lovely face, ran her tongue meaningfully over her full lips, and
said, "You are an exceptional student, my VIP; can you return tonight? There is
much more to learn."
Chapter 4 An Argument and New Pleasures
And thus began an erotic carnival that continued almost nightly for several
months. Ming-tsu was not only inexhaustible, she was endlessly inventive, a
banquet of sexual delights. She was also a lively and witty companion, besides
being a great beauty; a joy to be around both in and out of bed. They enjoyed
long walks through the city together, boat rides in the harbor, and bicycle
rides in the country - all of the rituals of courtship.
One night though, they argued about the way she rather shamelessly flaunted
her body for the customers at the club. She maintained that it was part of her
job, while he felt that she took the suggestive flirting much too far. And for
three nights he stayed away, still angry and jealous.
On the fourth night, though, a messenger handed him a note as he left a
meeting of the local cell of the Black Scorpions. The note, written in her
exquisite calligraphy, read, "Come to me tonight, Li Chang. Please. I promise
you that you will not regret it."
**********************************************************
When he returned that night, and tapped at her door, she called out, "Come
in, master." Surprised at her subdued voice, so unlike her usual vivacity, he
opened the unlocked door, and stepped into Ming-tsu's bed-chamber, redolent, as
always, with an exotic incense. But it was not only the rich aroma of the
perfumed room that caused him to draw in his breath.
Before him, kneeling on the carpeted floor, was Ming-tsu. Wearing only a
red flower behind each ear, she was an enchanting vision of honey-skinned
nudity, adorned only with a pair of wristlets of burnished gold, and a silver
chain. But tonight the chain was not one of the silver necklaces that she often
wore; tonight the shiny chain she wore linked two fierce-looking nipple clamps
which bit deeply into the crinkly brown buds that rose from her lovely breasts
as if in offering.
In her mouth she held the shiny black stock of a short but menacing whip.
Not raising her eyes to him, she said submissively, "I flirted with some
customers, today, Li Chang. Perhaps I should be punished?"
Li Chang had certainly enjoyed the rough sex that Ming-tsu often craved,
but had never really considered the possibilities of taking things any further
than spanking. But he, too, had found the rough play most stimulating...
Li Chang studied her provocative pose for a moment, his cock stiffening at
the sight of his naked mistress. Then, having made a decision, he locked the
bedroom door. There would be no backing out, tonight! He proceeded to lift her
up by the silver chain, painfully elongating her breasts. He then moved a chair
to within a few inches of the door he had closed behind him. He placed her,
kneeling, on the chair, facing the chair back and the locked door. Then he took
the silver chain and wound it securely around the door knob, looping it twice,
and then he slowly inched the chair away from the door, watching with
undisguised delight at the way the chain pulled on her tightly clamped nipples.
He then pulled hard on the beautiful black hair, and asked, "How many
customers were in the club today while you flaunted your shameless body?"
"Perhaps forty."
"Then you shall feel the sting of this whip forty times, Ming-tsu. You are
to keep your hands on the top of the chair back at all times. Understood?" She
nodded.
Being a novice at using the whip, at first he slashed the split-tailed whip
rather clumsily across her back. Even so, she gasped in pain. Or was it
pleasure? With each stroke, though, the feel of the black handle in his hand
grew more comfortable, and after about a dozen strokes, his timing and
technique had grown much better, and each blow was landing with a sharp CRACK!,
inducing louder and louder groans, and leaving bolder marks on the soft golden
skin of her back.
After every three or four strokes, he had to pause and pull the chair away
from the door, to restore the proper tension to the nipple-gripping chain. He
delivered the first twenty strokes across her back, attempting to space them
about an inch apart. By now real tears were interspersed with Ming-tsu's moans
of pleasure/pain, and his ardor was heightening with every gunshot-like crack of
the whip. A feeling of virility the likes of which he had never known seemed to
surge through his veins; his genitals were heavy with unrequited lust.
The twenty-first stroke came down with a fiery CRACKK!! across the upper
slopes of her buttocks, causing her to wiggle her sweet butt most enticingly.
Eleven more strokes whistled down on the increasly blushing curves of her
tempting ass, each louder and sharper than the last, as he painted a colorful
horizontal grid across Ming-tsu's beautifully rounded nether cheeks.
With eight blows remaining, he moved directly behind her and delivered
three vertical strokes to each lovely buttock, turning the rosy grid into a
rubescent plaid. Ming-tsu's bottom was moving in slow sensuous circles now,
dancing in time to the unhurried rhythm of his strokes.
With but two strokes left, he walked around to face her, and roughly
pulled the clamps from her throbbing nipples.
"Ooooooohhhhh!!!!!" Ming-tsu mewed softly in pain as the blood rushed
back to the taut crests of her lovely breasts, but there was no mistaking the
lust in her eyes. His hand felt between her legs, and came away damp with the
nectar of her arousal.
Moving the chair out of the way, he told her to stand in the center of the
room and to put her hands behind her head. This lifted her tempting breasts
into even bolder prominence, and for a moment Li Chang lazily let the length of
the whip trail amorously over the ripe curves, as if familiarizing her succulent
lust-globes with the feel of the midnight-black leather that contrasted so
appealingly with the ivory-gold flesh tones of her body. Li lifted the
instrument of her suffering to her quivering lips. "Kiss it. Worship it!"
Ming-tsu submissively took the black handle into her mouth and tongued it
lewdly for a few moments, her eyes never leaving his, while her young master
pinched and twisted her nipples until they were once again fully distended.
Then Li Chang withdrew the whip from her lips, shook it out on the floor, and
took a few steps back from the girl.
"Feet wide apart!" Ming-tsu widened her stance.
"Stand up straight!" She did so.
"Stick your chest out!"
"You bastard!" she gulped, but made an effort to comply.
"Further!" Li Chang's voice was thick with lust. He had never felt more
alive than he did at that moment, the evil whip gripped tightly in his right
hand while his eyes feasted on the panting targets of his new-found dark side of
desire. Ming-tsu took a deep breath, which thrust her naked pleasure-globes
even more provocatively forward.
"Keep your hands behind your head girl, if you know what's good for you!"
His voice was deeper, more dominant, than Ming-tsu had ever remembered.
Satisfied now with her pose, Li Chang drew back his now-practiced right
arm, and using every ounce of his considerable strength, snapped the split-tail
wickedly across Ming-tsu's proud breasts catching her just above the nipples.
"AAAEEEEEEIIIIIIIIII!" This time Ming-tsu could not suppress a
full-throated scream. But somehow she managed to keep her fingers laced behind
her neck. She leaned forward in agony, as if somehow that stance would soothe
the flames of pain that coursed through her deliciously pendulous breast-fruits.
"Stand up straight, I said!"
Tears were streaming from Ming-tsu's eyes as she resumed the desired
position.
"Feet apart! Tits out!" It was if another man, a stronger, more masterful
man, had taken possession of his body. Li Chang had never used such language
to a woman in his life.
The infinitely desirable object of his lust spread her legs and once more
thrust her chest forward, offering herself to the whip.
Li Chang licked his lips, drew the whip back, took dead aim and sent the
wicked black tails whizzing through space again. This time his aim was perfect!
He split the ripe mounds exactly in two, catching both breast-tips in the fiery
trail of the whip. Ming-tsu cried out again, her voice the high-pitched cry of a
wounded animal. And only now that the forty strokes were done, was she
permitted to cradle her red-streaked breasts in her delicate hands, comforting
the flaming flesh.
But only for a moment. Within a few seconds she had dropped to her knees,
tearing at his clothing, hungry for Li Chang's lust-swollen cock, which had long
since been at full arousal.
"What a woman!" Li marveled to himself as her lips closed on his
throbbing organ, as he moved his hips forward in response to her hungry mouth...
Chapter 5 Adventures a trois
Seeing how much Li enjoyed that encounter, Ming-tsu would, every now and
then, hire a girl from the nearby House of Madam Wong. Madam Wong's girls were
always young, pretty, and superbly well-trained.
On the first such occasion, he had returned in the evening to find a
slender but shapely young girl, lying face-up with her head at the foot of the
bed. She wore only the crimson cords that fastened her wrists and ankles to the
four corners of the bed.
"Li Chang," Ming-tsu began, "This is Peony, one of Madame Wong's most
beautiful girls; she will entertain us this evening. Or should I say, we will
entertain her."
Ming-tsu wore only a two-piece crimson rope-like affair, whose color
matched the bonds that held Peony. The scarlet strands that held the two pieces
together were tied behind her neck and at her hips; the garment, such as it was,
emphasized her breasts and private parts more than it covered them. Ming-tsu
knelt at the head of the bed, and offered him one of a matching pair of light,
but stinging whips. Peony's head fell back over the end of the bed. "Peony
wants to give you pleasure, Li Chang. Don't you Peony?"
When the girl hesitated, Ming-tsu added some sharp encouragement with a
quick flick of the whip high on Peony's inner thigh.
"Aaahh!!" The girl grimaced, but dutifully said, "Yes, I am here to please
you, sir; in any way you wish."
"Arch your back, girl! Offer yourself properly!" Ming-tsu commanded.
As the girl strained to follow Ming-tsu's orders, Li drank in the
proffered loveliness of her position; skin stretched taut over abdomen and
ribcage, the perky nipples of her exquisitely shaped breasts pointing right at
him.
"I wish this," he said, and opened his fly and presented his penis to the
face of his bound victim. Again, Peony paused, but when Ming-tsu flicked her
again across the thigh, she quickly relented, and opened her lips to Li's entry.
Then, whenever Peony's back tired, and the arch began to collapse, Li Chang
cracked his whip crisply against first one breast and then the other, until she
returned to the proper position, with only her shoulders and hips touching the
bed. Meanwhile Ming-tsu tended to Peony's tender, wide-spread thighs, mixing
licks and kisses with occasional sharp snaps of the whip.
After about twenty minutes of Peony's skillful oral attentions to his
pulsing cock, Li exploded down her throat, and he and Ming-tsu changed places.
Ming-tsu positioned her femininity above the poor girl's mouth and then undid
the braided scarlet strands that covered her own velvet grotto. Then, Ming-tsu,
too, insisted on the fatiguing bowed-back position; and when Peony tired,
Ming-tsu rained a cascade of biting lashes down on Peony's soft breasts, until
Peony had once again managed to assume the proper position. Throughout, Peony's
dainty tongue was compelled to explore the soft folds of Ming-tsu's womanhood,
paying special homage to her sublimely sensitive clitoris.
During this interlude Li's hands continued to gently stroke their
prisoner's legs and belly. After a few minutes his cock began to stir again, and
from his kneeling position, he forced himself firmly into the quim of their
helpless prisoner, penetrating her with long, deep strokes, in time with
Ming-tsu's purrs of delight.
After each had come, Ming-tsu undid the scarlet cords that held Peony down
and re-positioned Peony crosswise on the bed, face-down. A few more sharp
cracks from the whip on her rounded bottom induced Peony to spread her legs.
Then Ming-tsu bent the girl's left knee and ankle back hard, until her ankle was
flush against her hip. "Marvelously flexible, isn't she, Li?"
Li Chang nodded, admiring the view, as Ming-tsu pulled the girl's left arm
down and back so that, with her velvety back magnificently arched, Peony's hand
reached her bent-back ankle. And then Ming-tsu tied wrist to ankle dexterously
with the crimson ropes.
After Ming-tsu had repeated the process on her right ankle and wrist,
Peony's body was bent cruelly backward in a perfect bow. The tremendous
tension in her back added definition to her stiff-nippled breasts; the parting
of her widespread, satiny thighs afforded a wonderful view of her most intimate
parts. Both her pink-lipped vagina and puckering anus invited further
treatment.
And over the next several hours, each was visited time and again by
instruments of both flesh and leather. All in all, a most memorable evening.
Chapter 6 Yin and Yang
On another occasion, Li had came home to find a voluptuous Eurasian beauty
sitting in the chair on which Ming-tsu had knelt so prettily some weeks before.
"This is Mila, from Macao, Li. I asked Madam Wong to send over a girl with
enchanting breasts tonight; I hope you approve." The girl looked up at Li Chang
fearfully.
And with good reason. Mila's forearms were tightly tied together behind
the chair back. She wore a short V-necked western-style dress of white silk,
buttoned down the front. A large and beautifully sculpted pair of breasts
pushed insistently against the tight-fitting dress. The dress rode halfway up
her thighs, revealing a pair of nicely curved legs.
"I do approve, indeed, Ming-tsu. She is exquisite. Madam Wong has chosen
well."
"Well, let us see how exquisite." And Ming-tsu slowly undid the buttons,
one by one, that held the white silk together. As each button was undone, Li
Chang was afforded a better glimpse of the twin treasures beneath.
When Ming-tsu had finished with the last button, she slowly pushed back the
left side of the bodice, revealing one mouth-watering, full-nippled globe, and
then moments later, she flipped aside the other triangle of silk, displaying its
mate. Mila's surging hillocks rose and fell with her deep breathing.
"Since I have some surprises in store for our new friend Mila, would you
please blindfold her, Li Chang?" Ming-tsu offered him a black scarf, which he
dutifully wrapped twice around the girl's fearful, flashing eyes.
When he had finished, Ming-tsu bent her head to Mila's left breast, and
began to worship it with her lips and tongue, bringing soft sighs from the
sightless girl. She mouthed the top, the sides, the undercurve, kissing,
licking, sucking the ripe flesh into her mouth. After having circumnavigated
the perfect globe, she zeroed in on the brown nipple, sucking and gently biting
it until it stood out achingly. Mila was lost in a wordless rapture, enjoying
Ming-tsu's sensual oral caresses.
After several minutes of this delightful erotic torture, Ming-tsu stood up
and said, "Mila, since you are not Chinese, you may not be familiar with the
principle of yin and yang. Yin and yang are very important in Chinese
philosophy. They refer to the balance in the universe. Between day and night.
Between good and evil. Between pleasure and pain."
"Your breast has experienced much pleasure; but now it is time to restore
the balance. You should know, though, that what is to come, is not my doing,
but Li Chang's. The other night he insulted me by saying that I was
insufficiently skilled in the domestic arts. That he doubted that I even knew
how to use needle and thread. I am sure that you will be pleased to help me
demonstrate to him that I can use both most dexterously."
Then Ming-tsu reached over into what appeared to Li to be a new sewing box
and removed a spool of white thread. She unwound a length about a yard long,
and then she cut the thread with a tiny scissors. "This thread is of a type of
silk so strong, that I cannot break it off, and so must cut it," she explained.
And then she positioned the midpoint of the tough silken thread underneath
the center of Mila's jutting right breast, lifting the breast so that the thread
lay flat against her chest wall. Ming-tsu then looped the silk around the base
of the breast once, causing Mila to gasp. But it was not until Mila pulled with
all her strength at each end of the silken fiber, removing every hint of slack
from the loop, that Mila began to experience true discomfort. Ming-tsu wrapped
a second loop around the base, pulled hard on the ends again, and then a third
and a fourth, before tying the ends tightly together. Ming-tsu then turned and
bowed to Li Chang. "Do you like my threadwork now, Li Chang?"
Li Chang looked on with admiration at Ming-tsu's craftsmanship. Mila's
right breast was ingeniously constricted at its base, causing the ripe melon to
bulge most appealingly. The succulent mound seemed to have swollen to a full
size larger than its twin.
Li could see tiny beads of perspiration forming on the girl's forehead
above the blindfold, and on her breasts. Ming-tsu also noting this, said, "Li
Chang, our guest appears to be overheated. Perhaps we should use this fan to
cool her off."
Ming-tsu then picked up a large hand-painted Chinese fan from her dresser,
and for a moment or too, fanned the face and upper body of the helpless
blindfolded girl. The girl smiled, thinking that perhaps the worst was over.
"But there is a yin and a yang to fans, too, Mila. They can cool the
flesh, or..."
And Ming-tsu snapped the fan together, and the delicate paper folds of the
fan were suddenly enclosed between the two rigid wooden supports that the paper
was anchored to. And she snapped the hard wooden rectangle sharply down against
the inner curve of Mila's swollen right breast. "Mmmff," from the girl in the
blindfold.
Li Chang, would you care to honor Mila with some yang, while I attend to
the yin?"
She bowed and handed Li Chang the fan, and then returned to her adoration
of Mila's left breast, caressing it with hands, mouth and tongue. While the
girl's free breast seemed to strain to reach the tantalizing mouth, its tightly
bound twin appeared to quiver in apprehension. Li marveled at the throbbing
flesh before him and then, holding the fan firmly in his right hand a few inches
above the tempting target, placed the fingers of his left hand under the far end
of the fan, pressing firmly upwards, bending the end of the fan back as far as
it would go, creating a spring-like tension. Then he simply pulled his left hand
away and let the fan snap down with a resounding THWACK! on the upper surface of
the imprisoned breast. "Ouuww!" from Mila.
For ten minutes Li THWACKed the engorged target, distributing the nasty
bite of the fan evenly over the entire fleshy gourd, while his lady continued
laving the golden orb that was her responsibility with liquid licks and kisses,
paying particular attention to the pert brown crest. "And now, Li Chang, let
us change places."
And then it was Li's turn to pay homage to the left breast while Ming-tsu
cracked the fan down every ten seconds or so on the other bulging tit-ball;
Ming-tsu took a special delight in attacking the stiffened nipple, THWACKing it
with a series of withering blows from above, from below, from either side, and
finally several times with a direct frontal assault.
After several minutes of this enjoyable pastime, Ming-tsu gasped, "Oh, Li
Chang, I almost forgot. I have shown you my talent with thread; may I show you
my skill with the needle?"
Li Chang, having no idea what was coming, bowed, "By all means, my love."
Mila shook her blindfolded head, "No", with great agitation, and wriggled
agitatedly in her bonds, but to no avail.
And Ming-tsu reached in to the sewing box, and removed a shiny new needle,
perhaps two inches long, holding it up to the Chinese lantern, so that Li could
appreciate its silvery sharpness. And then she lightly jabbed the poor bound
breast in a dozen places, pricking the surface of the stretched skin but never
quite puncturing it. And then, while Li was busy tantalizing the other breast,
Ming-tsu gripped the needle firmly, and slowly, slowly, pressed its entire
length into the succulent breast from above, burying the needle to its hilt.
This time Mila whimpered in agony.
By now it had been almost twenty minutes since they had tied the right
breast, and the injured globe was beginning to become quite discolored. Ming-tsu
unwound the white thread, liberating the punished right breast, and gestured to
Li that he should give it the same oral attention that they had bestowed on its
mate earlier. Mila gave an audible sigh of relief, and relaxed back in her
chair enjoying his oral caress.
Until she felt the white thread under her left breast and realized that her
ordeal was but half over. She was about to learn another aspect of yin and yang.
Chapter 7 The Training of Erika Weiss
In mid-August of that year, Ming-tsu suggested that Li and she should
escape the sweltering heat of the city; she mentioned to Li that she had a
wealthy acquaintance who had a lakeside lodge in the mountains west of Tsingtao,
about halfway between Shangai and Peking, the seat of the Empire. Her
acquaintance would be traveling to Singapore on business in August, and he had
placed his lodge at her disposal.
After leaving instructions with his associates on how to manage his affairs
in his absence, and paying his respects to Wen-chi and Liu, Li Chang and
Ming-tsu set off on their journey. They traveled northwest overland, following
the course of the Grand Canal which had been begun over two millenia earlier,
during the last years of the life of Confucius.
Though he had read much, Li had not traveled widely, and he was much
impressed by the lush fertility of the coastal regions which led to the North
China Plain, and the seemingly endless succession of small farms -- farms that
typically grew rice in the flatlands and tea at the higher elevations. It was
well that the land was fertile; it was the sole support of tens of millions of
people. Tens of millions of people, mostly poor, but, taken together, a market
of tremendous economic potential. Li kept careful notes during his travels,
hoping that one day his growing knowledge of his vast homeland could be turned
to commercial advantage.
On the eighth morning of their journey Li roused himself at the country inn
in which he and Ming-tsu had spent the night; they had made love long into the
night, his mistress's erotic inventiveness never waning. On the preceding night
she had nursed at his testicles as if they were the sweetest of the fruits of
the orient, teasing them, tonguing them, tantalizing them until they had swollen
to an almost painful virility. And then her moist lips and talented tongue
addressed his rock-hard manhood, licking and sucking at his cock until he
thought he would scream for release.
And only when his noble phallus was at its saliva-coated peak of passion,
did Ming-tsu fall to her knees on the straw mat of the inn, and let him bury his
throbbing organ in her clutching, spasming, rectum. Again and again Li drove
his dark-veined cock into her wriggling ass, his tender lust-filled balls
smashing against the soft curves of her buttock flesh with every ardent lunge.
They had climaxed together, in an explosion every bit as spectacular as the
fireworks shows they had seen on royal holidays.
As he reflected on the erotic adventures of the prior night, Li prepared
breakfast tea for them both; they had arrived at the inn after dark the night
before and Ming-tsu had hinted that they were approaching journey's end.
Ming-tsu's beauty, as she slept in the pre-dawn candlelight, remained to him an
endless source of wonder. The honeyed complexion which lent her skin an almost
palpable warmth. Her firm breasts, so perfectly shaped, so provocatively
pointed. The graceful lines of her torso, her legs, sleek and slim and long for
a girl of her height; the ever-inviting dark-fringed cleft between her silky
thighs, infinitely desirable, now half-covered by a hand more modest in sleep
than in wakefulness.
The tea was nearly ready when Ming-tsu yawned, stretching her graceful body
languourously, and sat up on their rustic bedding of straw mats.
"You were a lion last night, Mr VIP," she smiled. "I'm still a little
tender." Ming-tsu turned her back to him and teased him by wriggling her
heart-shaped bottom. "But do not worry... it is a most pleasing tenderness."
"Here, try this," Li suggested, offering a small cup of the steaming brew.
"The tea of this region is said to be very fine."
"Thank you," Ming-tsu gave him a warm smile as she accepted the cup. "But
do not dawdle long over it, my love. For today, we shall reach our
destination."
When they were done with their tea, they bathed quickly, dressed and
stepped outside into the foggy coolness of a summer morn in the mountains.
Ming-tsu wore simple dark trousers, and a thin silk shirt of bright crimson,
studded with a series of black buttons that descended from her collar to a point
midway between the breasts which pressed so provocatively against the sheer
fabric.
They had only put a few yards between themselves and the inn when Ming-tsu
began to run toward a trail that led into the woods. "Come! I have a surprise
for you."
Li jogged after her with alacrity, wondering, as he often did, what his
mistress of suprises had up her sleeve this time. When they had arrived at the
inn the night before, he had carried their gear to their sleeping quarters,
while she had spent some minutes engaged in conversation with a rather
unsavory-looking innkeeper, pointing out the window in the general direction
toward which they were running. Apparently everything had been settled to her
satisfaction, for she ended up thanking their host and rejoining him and sharing
a simple dinner of soup and rice, before returning to their room for their
intense bout of love-making.
Li chased the laughing Ming-tsu for a couple of hundred yards down the
serpentine trail, catching up with her just as she emerged from the wooded area.
Together, they stood on an elevated bluff overlooking the vast expanse of a
mountain lake, as blue as an azure sky, that stretched before them. The first
rays of sunlight inched up the hilly horizon in the east, bathing the still,
sparkling water in its morning glow.
The fog had lifted, as if at Ming-tsu's command, and from their position on
high ground they could see for miles across the lake; there seemed to be an
island far in the distance. Directly below them, a small boat stirred gently in
the water. The boat was moored to an ancient wooden dock that extended into the
lake from a rustic boathouse.
"Is it not a beautiful view, my love?" Ming-tsu asked. "Come," and she
took his hand, and led him down a steep trail that led down toward the lake.
When they reached the bank, they walked along its edge toward the dock.
The boat rocked gently in the water. It was a beautiful craft, clearly the boat
of a wealthy man, with a pair of comfortable seats, facing forward, at the stern
of the boat. A rowing bench bisected the boat horizontally and a pair of oars,
apparently its only means of propulsion, extended from the sides of the boat
into the gently rippling water.
Li eyed the oars warily as they approached; while very fit, he had never
done much rowing, and this lake appeared to be many miles across. He began to
roll up his dark sleeves in preparation for the task.
He felt the softness of Ming-tsu's hand on his wrist. "No, my love. This
is to be a day of pleasure. You will not have to row today. I have made other
arrangements." With that she turned toward the boathouse and clapped her hands.
Moments later, the door to the boathouse opened, and from it stepped the
heavy-set innkeeper Ming-tsu had spoken to the night before, and another,
younger man, whose facial resemblance to their host suggested that he might be
his son. And between them, wearing only tiny scraps of soft brown buckskin
that only half-covered her surging breasts and her womanly hips was a tall,
beautiful, European woman. Young and blonde and helpless, her bare feet encased
in shackles, her wrists in nautical rope. Despite his night of love-making, Li
felt his manhood begin to stiffen at this erotic vision.
"Ahhh," Ming-tsu exclaimed, "She is every bit as beautiful as I had heard."
She turned toward the inn-keeper and spoke sharply. "You did not touch her,
Hong? You and your boy?"
Hong, the surly innkeeper bristled a bit. "No, miss, everything has been
done as you wished. We brought her from the master's lodge last night." He
inclined his head toward the adolescent, who could not take his hungry eyes off
the delectable breast-flesh of the blonde goddess that fortune had brought to
their mountain hostel. "But it has not been easy getting the young one to keep
his hands in his pockets."
The boy was perhaps sixteen, and slight of build compared to his father.
Like the innkeeper, his face was pock-marked by some appalling skin condition.
Tiny flecks of spittle leaked from both corners of the boy's thin-lipped mouth,
as he ogled the blonde temptress that he and his father had presented to
Ming-tsu.
Li could well understand the lad's impulses. The young woman was
spectacular -- perhaps twenty, possessed of long, straight, blonde hair that
rustled gently in the morning breeze. She had eyes of a blue to match the
crystalline clearness of the lake, chiseled cheekbones and full, kissable lips.
And her body was even more eye-catching than her face . She was an inch or two
taller than Li, although he was slightly above the average height of a Chinese
male. The skin of her arms and legs was lightly tanned, as if she had spent
some time in the summer sun; but the pink-tinged milkiness of the splendid
breasts that spilled over the linked triangles of buckskin, was ample testimony
to the natural fairness of her complexion.
Her flimsy top was held together by two knotted laces in the center of her
bare back; her loin-cloth, for it was little more than that, also had no sides
at all; knots at each hip were all that kept the diminutive buckskin garment
from falling at her feet. The young woman's long, luscious legs were bare save
for the two slender laces at her hips that held her nether garment together.
Ming-tsu was watching Li as he appraised the leggy blonde. "She will be
our oarswoman today, Li," Ming-tsu said in a coquettish voice, "so that we may
enjoy the beauty of this summer's day. What do you think of her?"
Li examined the silent blonde with frank admiration -- he didn't know if
she was up to rowing across the lake, but her figure was indeed athletic, her
muscles toned, her body lean and hard, notwithstanding the opulent curves of her
generous breasts, and her hourglass hips.
Within minutes, Hong had led the young woman to the boat, seated her on a
rower's bench, untied her wrists, and then shackled them loosely to the oars,
and linked the shackles on her ankles to hooks that were affixed to the floor of
the boat.
When the prisoner was in place, facing the bow, Li Chang and Ming-tsu
stepped over the rowing bench and ensconced themselves in the comfortably
cushioned seats in the stern of the boat. The pimply-faced boy undid the hauser
that moored the dory to the dock, and then, with a shove from the innkeeperg,
the threesome cast off and began the journey across the mountain lake, toward
whatever lay on the other side.
The innkeeper and the boy watched for several minutes as the blonde rower
began her long journey across the lake, and exchanged ribald jests as to what
they'd like to do to her at journey's end, before finally turning their back on
the lake and making their way back to the inn.
Meanwhile Li and Ming-tsu made themselves comfortable in the small boat.
They had been well provided for -- Li's alert eyes quickly made out the baskets
of food, and containers of water and rice wine. And one thing more -- he also
noted two springy buggy whips which were mounted on the sides of the small boat.
From behind, Li watched the broad, but gently rounded shoulders of their
sensuous oarswoman struggle with the heavy oars; within a few minutes a fine
film of gleam of perspiration covered her back. Tiny dew-drops of sweat
trickled down into the inch or so of dark buttock-cleft that her tiny costume
made visible.
When they were safely out of hearing range from the shore, Li could no
longer resist asking, "Who is she?" he asked, wondering how such a stunning
blonde European woman had come to be something of a galley slave on a boat in an
isolated lake ten thousand miles from her homeland?
"Her name is Erika Weiss," Ming-tsu explained as she leaned her head
against his shoulder. "She is magnificent, is she not? She is the adopted
daughter of Lutheran missionaries who came to China some years ago. Her parents
were drowned when a crowded ferry sank crossing the Po Hai, the gulf that
separates Port Arthur from Tientsin. Somehow, miraculously, Erika survived the
shipwreck."
As the blonde strained at the oars, Li wondered if perhaps she wished that
she, too, had been lost at sea.
" With her parents dead," Ming-tsu went on, as she shielded her eyes from
the increasingly bright sun, "Erika became the ward of her father's brother, a
drunken sot of a gambler. He was heavily in debt to the gaming houses of your
Black Scorpions, and decided to get out from under by selling his niece by
adoption into whoredom. Unlucky for her, Li Chang; but very lucky for you and
me."
"Her new master calls her "The Golden Girl"; an apt name is it not?"
It was indeed, thought Li Chang, as he watched the blonde goddess work the
oars.
"Her master demands that Erika be at the peak of condition; a great deal
of stamina is required for her new duties." Ming-tsu was stroking his thigh now
as she talked. "But last week our golden girl failed her new master; she was
assigned the task of pleasing a dozen of his business clients, but by the time
she got to the eleventh man her efforts were no more than perfunctory. The
client complained. And when her master mentioned the story to me, I volunteered
to assist in her further training."
Ming-tsu's left hand was on Li's crotch now. Her right hand reached out
for the light buggy whip. "It is just seven o'clock now; it is about ten miles
to the island in the middle of the lake. Erika has been told that she has
until noon to reach that island. Or she will be punished most severely."
Ming-tsu made a quick movement with her wrist, and the tip of the whip struck
Erika on the right shoulder leaving a small red mark on the fair skin. "The
whips are here, my love, to make sure that she does not falter."
Li knew little of rowing; ten miles in five hours was only two miles an
hour. The boat was beautifully crafted, and seemed to slide easily through the
cool mountain lake; but five consecutive hours at two miles an hour seemed a
daunting task, even for a woman in peak condition.
The first hour passed quickly, with Li and Ming-tsu amusing themselves
by delivering occasional stinging cuts of the light whip. By eight the sun had
risen above the tree-lined hills on their left, as the golden girl strained at
the oars, propelling them in a southerly direction.
"Her task will become more arduous, Li Chang, as the sun grows warmer."
Ming-tsu rose and approached the scantily-clad Erika. Moving her fingers
deftly, she undid the knot that held the blonde's top in place, and pulled the
buckskin brassiere away. Erika was breathing harder now, the muscles in her
thighs, shoulders, and back rippling with her efforts. From his position behind
her and slightly to her left , Li could only catch occasional glimpses of the
ripe curve of her left breast as it bobbled gently with her exertions.
Ming-tsu had re-taken her seat next to him; her fingers opened the fly
of his trousers and stroked his manhood, made more ardent by the sight of the
nearly nude blonde slave before him. The August sun was warm, and as the
morning wore on, and the sun rose higher in the sky, it grew hotter and hotter.
Ming-tsu spent a moment or two erecting an ingenious parasol/sun screen that
spared the seats in the stern from the worst of the sunlight. But gradually,
while Ming-tsu soft, skillful hands stroked him, Li became aware of the toll
that the heat of the summer sun was taking on the fair skin of their galley
slave.
When Li mentioned that possibility, Ming-tsu winked at him. "You are
beginning to understand the nature of our golden girl's ordeal, my love. But I
have something here that may assuage the worst of your fears." Ming-tsu reached
into a small compartment and removed a small vial of liquid. "It is a lotion,
Li, that will protect Erika's skin from any long-term damage. Go ahead, rub it
on her."
Li steadied himself in the boat and crept forward towrd the rowing
bench. "Pour a little in your hands." He followed Ming-tsu's direction,
letting a creamy unguent ooze from the container; it smelled of lemon and
alcohol. "And now rub it into her back."
As soon as she felt the lotion touch her perspiring back, Erika gasped
and jerked. When she stopped rowing for a moment, she felt the kiss of
Ming-tsu's buggy whip across her right shoulder.
"I'm told the sun-oil stings quite badly," Ming-tsu murmured coyly.
"And it will do nothing to prevent or reduce the sting of the sunburn; but it
will prevent the skin from being permanently damaged."
Li's hands eagerly smoothed the lotion into Erika's back and shoulders,
causing her to shudder at the stinging sensation. He quickly covered the entire
surface of her upper back and shoulders, and then anointed his hands again and
moved them lower to the hollow in the small of Erika's back, and lower still,
to the very edge of her loincloth. Despite his insistent touch, the
missionary's daughter continued to row, even as Li's hand slipped beneath her
sole remaining garment to feel the roundness of the upper curves of her charming
buttocks.
Ming-tsu spoke again. " Bear in mind that we are travelling southward,
Li. Do not neglect the front of her body; it will receive the worst of the
sun's rays."
Nodding enthusiastically, Li positioned himself on the rowing bench
behind Erika, splashed more lotion on his hands and reached around to rub it
into Erika's flat stomach, wet from sweat, and warm from the sun. He oiled her
shoulders, arms and wrists, noticing that her hands were beginning to shows
signs of wear and tear from her handling of the oars. He massaged the tops of
her creamy, supple thighs, applying the liniment liberally, until her athletic
legs were gleaming from the lotion.
And then, reaching under her arms as she rowed, he attacked her big,
firm, pink-nippled breasts, rubbing the stinging lotion deep into her tit-flesh.
He gave her pale lust-globes a thorough going over, mesmerized by their glorious
size and shape. Li had never seen a European woman's breasts before, much less
those of a western goddess like Erika, and he took particular interest in her
coral nipples, mounted in delicious aureoles. Their pinkness was a delightful
change from the no less exquisite brown nipples of the Asian women he was
familiar with; his thumbs teased Erika's responsive breast-tips into a pair of
taut nubbins.
When he turned around to face Ming-tsu, the black buttons of her scarlet
shirt were undone, and one of her tiny hands was playing with a breast, while
the other was inside her silk trousers, stroking herself. Li quickly rejoined
her in the stern of the boat, his lips finding hers, as she pressed her body
against him.
Within a few moments he was seated again, but with a naked, moaning
Ming-tsu straddling him, her juicy breasts dancing before him, impaled on his
throbbing erection.
They made love in the stern of the boat in the shade of the
parasol/screen all morning, Ming-tsu displaying her usual creativity in finding
new ways to couple, new positions to tease him with. At one point, Ming-tsu
stood behind the blonde galley slave, feet spread wide, and bent over so that
her hands were on Erika's hard-working shoulders. Meanwhile, Li drove his
fleshy lance into her from behind. All the while Ming-tsu whispered into Erika's
ear, reminding her that she would be punished if they were so much as a minute
late reaching the island.
The blonde redoubled her efforts, though nearly every muscle in her arms,
shoulders, back and legs had to be screaming with pain and fatigue. As Ming-tsu
had predicted, the lotion did little in the short term to protect Erika's fair
skin from the harsh sunlight. Her flesh became more and more rosy as the long
morning drew on.
At about 11:30 the island grew visible in the distance across the water;
her target now in sight, Erika worked feverishly to accomplish her task, her
well-oiled muscles rippling in the bright sunlight, the palms of her once-soft
and feminine hands covered with blisters.
But the distance was too great -- despite Ming-tsu's relentless application
of the buggy whip to Erika's sunburned flesh, the sun was some minutes past its
highest point in the sky before the sleek rowboat slid alongside the primitive
dock on the island.
"You have failed, Golden Girl," Ming-tsu intoned without the least trace of
disappointment. "I will have to consider what your punishment should be."
Erika slumped forward on her oars in despair, her hands raw from her
labors.
"Surely it was a good effort, Ming-tsu; might we not spare her?"
Despite his suggestion of clemency, Li wanted nothing more than to dominate
the beauty; like most Chinese he was resentful of Europeans and their
imperialism which had done much to bring trouble to the country. Besides, in
his months with Ming-tsu his qualms about causing others' pain, particularly
when the others were young, female, and beautiful had all but disappeared.
Ming-tsu, who leaned provocatively backward in all her naked glory against
the stern of the boat, gave Li a puzzled look, as if she were shocked by the
notion of a lieutenant of the Black Scorpions contemplating mercy. And Li was
compelled to remind himself to stay in character -- it would be dangerous for
both of them, were Ming-tsu to know his true identity. He would need to be
doubly stern with Erica Weiss to re-win Ming-tsu's confidence.
Ming-tsu's enigmatic glance passed quickly, however, and she gave Li one of
her dazzling sensuous smiles and said, "Let's swim -- the water will be nice and
cool on such a hot day."
And with that she stepped gracefully off the dock into the thigh-deep
water, her pubic hair stroked this way and that by the shimmering movement of
the gentle ripples she had caused.
Li joined her moments later and they gamboled playfully, nakedly in the
lake for an hour, had a brief lunch, and then made love yet again, this time in
the soft green grass not far from the water's edge.
All the while, Erika, sat chained to her place in the dory, while the
relentless August sun beat down on her nakedness. By the time the lovers
rejoined her, she had been baked a rosy shade of pink save for her shins and the
backs of her legs, which had been shielded by her position in the boat.
"Wasser.." she begged in German. "Bitte... wasser..."
But there was no kindness in Ming-tsu's reply. "You shall have water,
slut, but not until you have been punished for your failure....."
A few minutes later one of the heavy mooring ropes from the weathered
island dock had been put to good use. The golden girl hung by her wrists from
a stout tree limb, her feet dangling a few inches above the ground.
"Bitte... please ..."
But Ming-tsu was deaf to her entreaties. She undid the buckskin lace on
Erika's flank that held one side of the loin cloth together, letting it fall,
giving Li Chang a partial glimpse of the blonde angel-hair that framed her
inviting womanhood. The other knot lost its battle to Ming-tsu's clever fingers
a moment later, and the loincloth slipped to the ground leaving the sexually
enslaved missionary's daughter completely, shamelessly nude.
Erika's buttocks, loins and the backs of her thighs were starkly pale
compared to the rest of her sun-glazed body; but Ming-tsu would see to it that
they did not remain so long. Using a fisherman's knife from the boat, she cut a
pair of sturdy switches from the tree from which their captive hung. Ming-tsu
and her lover proceeded to put the whippy branchlings to good use, punishing the
unblemished milky-white backs of her thighs, and the pale rotundities of her
writhing buttocks. Ten, fifteen, twenty times, the vicious switches bit deeply
into the firm flesh of her deeply-cleft derriere, each leaving a mark more livid
than the last.
The blonde had suffered stoically all morning, but as the number of
punishing blows mounted into the dozens her brave gasps evolved into soft
murmurs of pain, then into cries of anguish, and finally into full-throated
screams of agony as stroke after stinging stroke fell upon her tortured bottom.
But there was no one to hear her on that remote island, save for the man and
woman who took such refined pleasure from her suffering.
Every now and then, while Li continued to flog Erika's sublimely spankable
buttocks, Ming-tsu would move around to stand in front of the girl, and
administer a scathing slash or two to the fronts of her sun-burned thighs.
After Erika's lush thighs were well-streaked, Ming-tsu turned her attentions to
the blonde's rosy-skinned belly, and then, with an unexampled zest, to her
sun-inflamed breasts. It was on these splendid targets, tipped with such
tempting bulls-eyes, that the Chinese tormentrix wielded her evil switch with
special relish, as if jealous of the European beauty's ripe, swollen breasts.
It was rare indeed that Ming-tsu had encountered a woman to whom nature had
been as generous as to this comely fraulein.
Time and again the switch visited the fleshy spikes that crowned the
centers of Erika's rosy globes, each horrendous blow causing their blonde
captive to writhe in shameless gyrations and to voice her unfathomable agony in
plaintive tones. Several times, too, Ming-tsu elicited high-pitched cries of
pain by sweeping the wicked switch swiftly upward between the golden girl's
parted legs.
Meanwhile Li Chang continued to rain blow after blow after blow onto
Erika's rounded buttcheeks, punishing their perfection with a diligence matched
only by his enthusiasam. Within an hour, the proud Norse goddess who had manned
the oars of their watercraft a few hours earlier was but a memory. In her place
was an exhausted, whimpering, blood-streaked victim who was reduced to begging
for mercy at each stroke from Li's strong right arm. Finally, when it seemed
that the fair-haired beauty was nearing the limits of her endurance, Li and
Ming-tsu cut her down, bathed her scores of tiny flesh-wounds in the cool waters
of the lake and then took her to their sleeping quarters in the lodge on the
island, which Erika's master had left for their use.
But the training of Erika Weiss was not yet complete.
For the next two days Li and Ming-tsu were ruthless in exploiting every
possible sexual pleasure from the luscious body of their subjugated captive.
They used her in every way imaginable even though their every touch to Erika's
whipped and sun-scorched body was excruciating. Not the least of her tortures
was to kneel above the recumbent Li Chang and take his swollen organ into her
agonizingly sore hands, scraped raw from the rowing blisters, and be forced to
stroke his potent phallus up and down, while Ming-tsu's sharp-tipped nails raked
the sun-seared flesh of her back.
On the morning of the third day they chained Erika back to the oars, and the
beleaguered blonde was compelled to row them back across the lake to their point
of embarcation. They left her crumpled in exhaustion over her oars, in the
dubious safekeeping of Hong and his drooling son, as they began their long
journey back to Shanghai. Ming-tsu was confident that she could assure Erika's
master that he would have no more difficulty with her.
Chapter 8 Liu
Throughout these months, as Li fell deeper and deeper under Ming-tsu's
erotic spell, he continued with his plans to subvert the Black Scorpions.
Despite his almost nightly amorous adventures with Ming-tsu and their occasional
ventures into some of the darker corners of lust, he remained intent on the
mission Wen-chi had given him.
More and more frequently his knowledge of the Scorpions' plans allowed
him to alert some of Wen-chi's loyal followers, who would then intercept the
Scorpions, seize their weapons, send them off to join their ancestors in the
spirit world and throw their bodies into the harbor, so as to make the Chans
think that their men had simply left the city.
Once every month or so, Li would disguise himself, so as not to be
recognized or followed by his Scorpion henchmen, and visit the house of Wen-chi,
to let the old man know how their plans were progressing.
On one such afternoon, after secretly making his way across the city to
Wen-chi's home in the old quarter, he found Liu, as was her custom, in the
garden, lovingly tending to a flower-bed, her gentle hands caressing each stem,
each leaf, each bud with an almost maternal tenderness. She was dressed in a
simple, but elegant tunic and trousers of the same color as the fragrant lilacs
that grew alongside the gazebo near the rear of Wen-chi's estate.
When she heard Li's footsteps, Liu rose to greet him, her smile as warm
as the late-summer sun that held them in its afternoon embrace. He had decided,
this day, to tell his adopted 'sister', his oldest and best friend, of his
love for Ming-tsu.
Li went on at some length, as Liu listened politely, praising Ming-tsu's
classic Chinese beauty, her intelligence, her sense of humor, eager to have
Liu's blessing.
It was not easy for Liu to mask her disappointment, but she gently
smiled at him, and said, "I have heard of her, Li. She is a great beauty without
a doubt. But I have heard stories told of her that make me wonder if
grandfather would approve."
Li smiled down at her. Today her long dark tresses were piled decorously
in two old-fashioned crescents on her petite head. "Then it is best that she
should remain our little secret, my little flower; there will be plenty of time
to tell Wen-chi later. But why such a long face, little one? So what if
Ming-tsu is a bit on the wild side? It's not as if anyone else ever cared about
me in this way before."
At this Liu's soft brown eyes turned away and she bent to pick a handful
of flowers from the garden. She lifted the improvised bouquet to her face as if
to inhale its sweet fragrance; but in truth she was just trying to shield her
eyes from his view. She held the flowers before her face as she rose and faced
him again.
"Being in love is like floating on air, Liu. One day you will see."
"Not always, Li, not always," she said softly. And then she pulled
herself together, smiled brightly and said, "I'm very happy for you, Li. You
deserve a great beauty, and I'm glad you have found one who makes you so happy."
"I hear grandfather returning. I must speak to him before I go. Remember,
not a word to him about Ming-tsu." She smiled shyly as he gently kissed her on
the cheek and turned to leave.
After he had left, her hand reached up to her face as if to try to preserve
that kiss forever. Only the butterflies that floated gently above the garden
were witness to the tear made its way down a lovely cheek as she walked slowly
back toward the the gazebo, took a seat and looked skyward, just in time to see
a single cloud in an otherwise cloudless sky drift in front of the bright
September sun. Moments later the first leaf of autumn fell from the Chinese elm
whose leafy arms formed an emerald canopy over the garden of Wen-Chi.
When Li joined the venerable Wen-chi in his study inside the house, he
noticed that the old man had aged considerably since his last visit. Liu had
told him on his last visit that her grandfather's eyesight was rapidly failing.
After greeting him warmly, Wen-chi, his face lined with worry, changed
the subject. "My son, I hear that you have taken up with a woman named
Ming-tsu."
There was an unvoiced question mark at the end of his sentence.
Shamefacely Li nodded. He had hoped that Wen-chi would not learn of his
dalliance.
"I am told that she is a great beauty," Wen-chi continued.
"Yes, my father, she is; and very intelligent too," Li volunteered
eagerly, hoping that this knowledge would win the old man over.
"I am sure she is, Li, I am sure she is. But is she a woman of virtue?"
Li was silent.
The old man continued, "Confucius, our ancient Master, taught 'That I
have found none who love good as they love women"."
Li, somewhat ashamed of how his lust had led him to pleasures his
revered grandfather would have rightfully condemned, only nodded silently.
"Is this woman, 'good', Li Chang, or merely beautiful?"
"She is good for me, father; I am happy when I am with her."
"My son, you seek to overthrow the Black Scorpions; I honor your pursuit
of that quest. But if you succeed, someone must govern in their stead. At times
I fear for you. The Master said, "What is governing to him who can rule
himself? Who cannot rule himself, how should he rule others?" The old man
paused, his eyes sad. "But lately I am not so sure that you can govern
yourself."
Li Chang, torn between his reverence for his wise mentor, and his
reluctance to forsake the forbidden pleasures offered by Ming-tsu, knew that
these words were true.
"I will leave you with these last words, Li Chang. They are from the
pen of Lao-Tze. "He who overcomes others is strong, but he who overcomes
himself is mighty." Then the old man slowly rose to his feet, and took Li's
hands in his. "Thank you for coming my son; I have not too many more years to
live. Soon, I will no longer be able to see with these tired old eyes. But the
vision of a good heart never wanes. Never forget that, Li. You must carry on in
my work when I have gone. You must do so wisely."
Li regarded the cloudy eyes, the pointed white beard and the worried
brow of the man he revered as no other. "I know father, I know."
"Have you spoken to Liu today? I believe that she is in the garden.
She misses you very much, you know."
"I know father," Li responded. "And I miss her. And you of course, as
well." After glancing at a beautifully enamed clock on the wall, he said,
"Father, I must be going. I have an important meeting of our cell in half an
hour. May our ancestors protect you."
"And you my son, and you," the old man said sadly as Li made his way out
of the door.
A moment later, his grand-daughter approached him as he stood staring
out the window ruefully after his adopted son.
"Grandfather," she asked, her eyes downcast, "What is love?"
The old man's wrinkled brow furrowed in thought for a long moment. And
then he smiled at Liu and whispered, "Confucius teaches us that "Love is slow to
speak."
There was a tremor in Liu's soft voice. "To be slow to speak! Can that
be called love?"
The old man gave a long sigh. "The Master said: "That which is hard to
do, can it be lightly spoken?"
Wen-chi took his grand-daughter's small hand, slightly smudged by the
earth of the flower bed, in his, and they stood there together for several
minutes watching the diminishing figure of Li Chang gradually vanish as he
walked eastward into the distance, away from the afternoon sun.
Chapter 9 The Black Pagoda
On a late-September evening a week or two later, a smartly-dressed couple
made its way through the teeming streets of Shanghai past a hundred crowded
stalls where hawkers sold everything under the sun, and turned into a narrow
gated passageway. At the gate, the guard, a huge, hulking man clad entirely in
black, recognized the male visitor, and admitted the man and his attractive
companion into the tree-lined walkway. The bovine-faced guard, mesmerized by
the beauty of the European woman, stared after them as the couple continued on
their journey toward the entrance of the most feared building in Shanghai -- the
magnificent home of Richard Chan known throughout the city as the Black Pagoda.
True pagodas are places of worship or memorials to the dead; the Black
Pagoda, despite its massive eight-sided configuration, and its four towering
stories, was neither of these, though many had prayed for deliverance and more
than a few had died in its cavernous underground dungeons.
A doorman, an ugly gap-toothed guard, also clad in black, admitted them
into the foyer of the palatial residence. Moments later, a pretty young girl,
who could have been no more than fifteen or sixteen, came to greet them, bowing
deferentially, and ushered them down a long, carpeted corridor and into the
salon of the Master of the Black Pagoda.
Standing with his back to them, admiring the agile, brightly-colored
occupants of a gigantic aquarium, stood a tall, silver robed figure.
"Your brother is here, Master," the young girl announced.
"Thank you, Ci-ci," Richard Chan addressed his youngest concubine. "Bring
us some tea, please." The demure servant nodded, bowed and left the room.
Richard Chan, lean and sharp-eyed, turned toward his guests. "Welcome back
from Singapore, George," he greeted his brother briskly. "How was your stay
there?"
George Chan was a few years younger and several inches shorter than his
older brother, who, at forty, was his fellow lord of the Black Scorpions, and
thus, of the underworld of Shanghai. While his slender brother wore an elegant
silver robe, cut in the classic Chinese style, barrel-chested George was dressed
in a dark business suit, courtesy of one of his occasional visits to Hong Kong.
Whereas the icy Richard rarely smiled, George seemed to be perpetually beaming.
But his intimates knew not to misinterpret his seemingly sunny countenance with
good humor. Beneath the jovial facade lay the soul of a man no less ruthless
than his elder brother.
George took the seat Richard offered. "It went very well, Richard; there
should be no more trouble with the..." he paused, and then caught himself,
remembering the blonde at his side, "shipments," he concluded.
"So this must be the new ... companion ... you mentioned in your letters,"
Richard asked as he appraised the tall, elegant blonde woman at his brother's
side admiringly. In his days at Oxford, he had read of "a face that launched a
thousand ships" and such was hers, a face of classic beauty with cheekbones that
might have been sculpted by a Phidias. She must be a sun-worshipper, thought
Richard Chan, to be possessed of a skin of such burnished gold. Her eyes were
the color of pale sapphires, a deeper darker blue than he had ever before seen.
A touch of rouge added color to her cheeks, a dash of lip-wax enhanced the
fullness of her lips. The scarlet cheong-sam she wore was slit high up her tawny
thighs but was buttoned to her throat. But even though it covered her upper
body completely, the crimson silk could barely contain the proud surge of the
majestic pair of breasts that pressed boldly against the sheer fabric.
Awestruck by the magnificence of her surroundings, the trembling young
woman's gaze made a slow tour of the room, dazzled by in the opulence of its
furnishings. Silken wall hangings, intricately hand-woven carpets from far off
Persia, porcelains that she suspected were hundreds of years old. One large
glass showcase held a priceless collection of antique swords; a smaller one held
a carefully arranged collection of time-worn objects that were shaped like
primitive spades and knives -- some of the early coinage of an ancient dynasty.
A magnificent bookcase along one wall contained hundreds of volumes; atop it
were what appeared to be scrolls of parchment engraved with Chinese characters
of an elegance such as she had never seen before. This certainly was the
sanctum sanctorum of one of the richest and most powerful men in China.
"Yes; she is quite lovely, is she not? Erika is German, you know, but has
lived here for some years and understands our languge," George added, as he slid
a hand possessively up the slit skirt of the young woman who stood submissively
alongside his chair, enjoying the warmth and softness of her thigh-flesh. The
girl tried her best not to shudder at the cold, reptilian touch of his hand.
"And, after a period of rebelliousness, she has learned to be quite ...
affectionate. In addition to possessing quite remarkable stamina."
"Really?" Richard raised an inquiring eyebrow, as he luxuriantly inhaled a
whiff of the swirling cloud of aromatic incense that permeated the room. "Tell
me more."
"A legation from the Emperor's council in Peking was in the city last week
while you were in Hong Kong. They had expressed some concern about some of
our," George paused, searching for the right word, "business practices."
Just then Ci-ci returned, carrying an exquisite enamelled tray, laden with
a teapot and three hand-painted cups. Ci-ci gracefully served tea to the
brothers Chan, and then offered the third cup to the trembling hands of their
exotic European guest, who seemed so out of place in the home of Richard Chan.
There was fear and desperation in those beautiful blue eyes --- a look Ci-ci had
come to know well in her brief stint at the Black Pagoda.
"Thank you Ci-ci; you may leave us." Bowing to her silver-robed master,
the graceful young concubine backed away on silent feet, letting the heavy
wooden door to the salon close ominously behind her. "A lovely creature, young
Ci-ci, isn't she?" Richard asked his brother as his eyes followed the retreat of
the winsome young beauty. "And she is only fifteen. A budding flower of rare
delight. Her skin is as soft as a baby's," Richard continued, before pausing
and once again facing his brother. "Forgive me, George. I have interrupted
you."
"She is charming, indeed. You have good taste, Richard."
"As do you, my brother, " Richard reciprocated, indicating George's
guest. "You were saying..."
"Ah, yes," George continued. "The legation was alarmed by some nasty
rumors that had made their way to the capital. But after an all-night soiree at
which Miss Weiss here, was the ... featured attraction ... they came around to
our way of thinking." George Chan smiled in remembrance. "As I surmised, most
of His Imperial Majesty's royal counsellors had never had a European woman
before, much less a Norse goddess like this one."
George's hand had slid up between Erika's legs to the juncture of her
thighs now. When she stiffened in disgust, the younger Chan gave her a menacing
look; obediently she moved her feet a little wider apart, giving the groping
hand free access between her legs.
Richard smiled thinly as he watched the missionary's daughter squirm in
shame and revulsion, envious of his brother's new possession. He wondered what
regimen of punishment had prompted her swift, shameless, obedience to his
brother's glare. His brother, he knew, was no less inventive than he.
Aroused by the thought, Richard rose, saying, "Come down to the cellar
with me, George, so that you can see why I have invited you here tonight. There
is someone waiting for us. And" he added a moment later, "We have pressing
matters of business to discuss."
George removed his hand from between Erika's legs and held it up to her
nose that she might smell the pungent musk of her femininity. "Not just yet,
Richard. Erika insulted one of my servants today; I have brought her here
tonight that she might learn a little humility."
Rising to his feet, George addressed the statuesque blonde at his side.
"On your knees, slut! No, not there. Facing the door."
His slave fell obediently to her knees, and then shifted around on the
green carpet so that she was about a yard away from the closed door that led out
of the salon.
George circled around to stand in front of her, just inside the doorway,
where he was soon joined by his taller brother.
"On your haunches, fraulein, as I have taught you."
Blushing with shame, Erika spread her knees as widely apart as the
tight-fitting cheong-sam permitted, and then leaned back on her heels, a picture
of erotic submission.
"The skirt!" George ordered.
Mortified beyond measure, the German girl's hands moved to the front
panel of her high-slit skirt, and slowly rolled the crimson fabric back, baring
inch after sensuous inch of gorgeous thigh flesh, while Richard Chan's eyes
climbed her long legs with the methodical thoroughness of a spider building a
web. He could feel his manhood thickening by the moment.
"You have chosen well, my brother; she is superb," Richard exclaimed,
his voice hoarse with lust.
"Thank you, Richard. I am delighted that she pleases you." George
turned back to his comely captive, the same deceptive smile never leaving his
face. "Now spread your thighs wider, whore -- spread them I say!" With the
skirt rolled up almost to her waist, Erika was indeed able to move her thighs a
few inches wider apart. She felt herself blushing furiously as the four dark
eyes of the Chan brothers raped the delectable blonde-fringed quim that winked
at them from beneath the crimson band of silk.
"The blouse -- unbutton it ... slowly, as you have been taught."
Erika's manicured hands moved to the top button of the cheongsam and
undid it nervously, before moving on to the next. There were twelve ebony
buttons, spaced about an inch apart, that held the flame-red top of the
cheongsam together from neck to navel. One by one she undid them, as the
brothers Chan watched with rapt attention. When the fourth button fell away
from its buttonhole, Richard and George got their first glimpse of the upper
slopes of Erika's splendid breasts, and the opening of the next two buttons
revealed even more succulent breastflesh.
Richard watched intently, his jaw working, his fists opening and
closing. A study in lechery.
The beautiful blonde's hands were shaking as she undid the seventh
button baring the inner curves of her magnificent breasts, and the inner edges
of her crinkly and kissable brownish-coral aureoles.
The last five buttons followed in quick succession, leaving a gaping
V-shaped opening in the crimson cheonsam. Richard Chan was struck by how much
sun her breasts and belly had been exposed to -- her flesh was tinted a
delicious shade of pale caramel.
When the last button had been freed, Erika's hands were free. Conscious
of the fact that her surging breasts were half-exposed to the lecherous gaze of
the brothers Chan, Erika crossed her arms in front of her in an attempt to
block their unobstructed view of her charms.
George responded to that violation of slave protocol by admonishing her
in a steely voice, "You have precisely three seconds, slut, to put your hands
behind your head and interlace your fingers, or you will wish that you had never
been born. One.... Two...."
Erika reacted to this threat by doing as directed. As soon as she did
so, she realized that that posture, caused her majestic lust-globes, bared
almost to the nipples, to jut out more provocatively than ever.
"Never, ever, try to hide your magnificent body from me again, fraulein.
Remember... it is no longer yours; it is mine."
"Nice... very, very nice," Richard whispered with admiration. He had had
European women before, during his studies in England, and here in Shanghai. But
he could not remember a body of such sculpted perfection. The German girl's
tanned thighs were long and strong, the product of youthful hikes in the
Schwarzwald; her superb breasts were gravity-defying in their youthful firmness.
A few faint striations on her mouth-watering pleasure-melons indicated that
Erika's juicy tits had not escaped their fair share of attention during her
regimen of training.
"Would you ring for Dao, please, Richard?"
"Certainly." Richard Chan moved toward a bell cord, never taking his
thinly-slitted eyes from Erika's luscious body. Richard pulled the cord firmly
and a minute or two later, the ill-featured Scorpion who had admitted George and
Erika earlier in the evening knocked briefly and then opened the door of the
salon. He was shocked to find the well-dressed European woman he had bowed to
her earlier kneeling half-naked on the floor, the beautiful silk dress up around
her waist, and open to her nicely-notched navel.
Dao drank in this full-breasted vision of Aryan loveliness for a moment
or two before pulling himself together and addressing his employer. "Yes,
Master?" he bowed obsequiously. Erika noticed again the gaping spaces between
the man's teeth.
Richard Chan gestured that he was to take orders from George, who wasted
no time giving directions. "Dao, Richard and I will be gone for an hour or so.
You are to remain on guard in the hallway. You have two things to remember."
"Yes, sir?"
"One : No one is to enter this room."
Gap-tooth's lip curled slightly in disappointment. Every now and then
Richard Chan rewarded his most loyal lackeys with young women; who could forget
that memorable night a few years ago when Chan had awarded him the
cock-stiffening pleasure of caning that pretty young shopkeeper's daughter in
the grim cellar of the Black Pagoda. He had whipped her sensuous body from
shoulders to knees, front and back, reducing no fewer than three bamboo canes
to ragged, scarlet-tinged stalks before she had passed out for the third time.
At that point, the Master had let him summon three of his comrades and
the four of them had revived the tortured girl and then taken turns plundering
the shapely wench's delicious young body until shortly before dawn.
Dao's attention returned to the present; George Chan was speaking.
"Two: See to it that Fraulein Weiss, here, does not separate her hands. Do you
hear, Erika? You are to maintain that position until we return; I can assure
you that you will not enjoy your punishment should you disappoint me."
After George Chan had issued that stern warning, Richard spoke, "Come
George, I have someone I want you to meet. And we have important business to
discuss."
George preceded Richard out of the door of the salon, and then as
Richard was about to close it, George said, "No. Leave it open, brother. Part
of my new slave's lesson in humility is that she is to be on display, to even
the lowliest of servants of the Black Pagoda, the humblest of footsoldiers of
the Black Scorpions.
"Very well, then, George. But, come, we have other matters to attend
to." And they proceeded down the hall, leaving the semi-nude Erika Weiss
kneeling a yard from the open doorway where Dao stood guard, his lust-crazed
eyes feasting on the carnal delights afforded by his prisoner's voluptuous body.
Moments later George joined his brother in a slow descent down the
sinister staircase that led to the bowels of the Black Pagoda -- toward a room
whose purpose he knew only too well.
Chapter 10 Prisoner in the House of Chan
It was forever night in the underground dungeon of the Black Pagoda. Dark,
forbidding, and to those suffering the Scorpions' sting, seemingly endless
night. On this particular evening, the gloomy and oppressive chamber was host to
yet another unwilling guest.
"There must be a traitor in our midst, George," said Richard Chan as he
brought the thin leather strap down sharply for the fifth time, this time across
the rounded shoulders of the attractive young Chinese woman who cowered face
down on the floor. "Aaaaaahhh!!" she cried out as she tried to crawl away. But
her slender body was constrained by a long chain that fettered a pretty ankle to
a sturdy iron ring at the base of one of the pillars that dominated the central
part of the dungeon. The lengthy chain afforded the girl considerable freedom
of movement, and her frantic scrambling to escape the blows delivered by her
tormentors was stimulating in the extreme. Bright-burning torches mounted on the
pillars cast dark shadows on the wall behind her, depicting a towering figure,
angular and wrathful, standing above his helpless, nubile prey.
The half-naked girl who crawled desperately along the floor in a futile
attempt to escape the next next blow was none other than the soulful-eyed Peony,
whom we have met at the house of Ming-tsu. Peony worked for Madam Wong in one
of the brothels the Chan brothers controlled in Shanghai. She was fortunate
enough, and pretty enough, to work in the bordello that catered to rich
foreigners. But that afternoon Peony had balked at inserting her pretty pink
tongue into the anus of an elderly British admiral. The admiral, enraged at
such squeamishness, had complained to Madam Wong. Within a matter of hours, a
pair of Scorpions had come for the obstinate young woman of pleasure and
delivered her to the secret underground entrance of the Black Pagoda. Where none
other than Richard Chan himself, along with his brother George, was punishing
her for her willfullness.
Now, stripped naked save for the brief wisp of white silk that hugged
her tempting loins and rounded buttocks, she knelt at the feet of the dual
commanders of the Black Scorpions. Shimmering torchlight, the only illumination
in the fearful cellar, dappled the girl's red-streaked hips.
"No-o... please ... I will be do what you say from now on..."
In her terror, Peony saw a second shadow, shorter, stockier, but no less
malignant, join the first. This dark image, too was armed with a weapon. Above
her a beaming George Chan stood with a whippy wooden cane which he whistled down
with a violent THWICKK!! against the back of a soft, silken thigh, several
inches above Peony's knee. The brothers Chan liked to enforce discipline on
their wayward employees personally now and then. Particularly when the wayward
employee was a young, dark-eyed beauty like Peony.
As the flogging continued, The Oxford-educated brothers continued to
discuss business matters in English, so that their victim could not overhear
their plans, lapsing into Chinese only when they were directing their remarks to
Peony. George considered his brother's statement as he admired the graceful
curves of Peony's young body. "A traitor? Hmm. It may be, Richard, that you
are right. We have lost more than twenty men in the last six months alone; it
is as if they had vanished from the face of the earth."
George Chan twirled the yard-long cane expertly in his fingers, before
addressing the almond-eyed beauty at his feet. "You must learn that the
customer is always right, Peony. Richard and I are only interested in improving
what the Europeans would call your 'work ethic'." George paused to take his
suitcoat off. He draped the jacket over a nearby divan and rolled up his
sleeves, baring his well-muscled forearms. But still he smiled, even as he
lifted the cane high overhead and then brought it sweeping down with brutal
force, leaving another angry mark adjacent to the last.
CRACKK!! "AAAAGHHH!! The older brother's strap tore into the wretched
girl's gently curved buttocks again, causing her to cry out and roll over in
pain. Only to be greeted by the fierce THWICKKK!!! of George's cane across the
sweet, soft flesh of her thighs. "AAAHHH!!" she yelped before writhing in
sensual gyrations of agony.
The elder Chan lashed the dark-haired beauty across the base of her
shoulder blades, leaving a garish mark. Peony's long dark hair was her pride
and glory, but Richard Chan had thrown it forward over her shoulders so that she
was deprived of even its slight defense.
"Someone must be tipping off our enemies, Richard - it's as if they knew
our every move." George tightened his grip on the stiff wooden rod and slammed
it into Peony's flank. "AAAIIEAH!"
"Please ... sir ... in the name of our ancestors... let me ...."
CRACCKK!! the strap strafed the tender hollow in the small of her back once
again.
" I won't do it again.... I prom... "AAAAIIAHHH!!!"
THWICKKK!! George had ripped the cane into the backs of Peony's shapely
thighs with renewed gusto.
"Over that barrel, girl!" The elder Chan's voice was menacing as he
directed the unfortunate Peony to lie face down across a huge wooden barrel that
lay on its side in a corner of the dim dungeon. Fearfully the teary-eyed girl
scrambled to her fleet, her hands in front of her as if somehow they could
shield her from further blows. She backed painfully away from them, her lengthy
ankle chain rattling with each step. Her retreat gave the nefarious brothers a
splendid view of the front of her body, her pouting breasts tipped with dark
tear-drop nipples, her intricate navel, the alluring outline of her love grotto
clearly defined against the white silk, her long slim legs, punctuated front and
back by a fair number of dark streaks. When Peony felt the great barrel
against the backs of her legs she paused.
"I said, 'Over the barrel', you worthless slut! And be quick about it,"
Richard hissed.
Trembling, Peony turned and leaned against its rough, curved surface. She
could feel splinters from the aging wood digging into the softness of her
breasts and thighs. "Embrace it, tightly, now, as if it were your lover, you
disobedient little whore!"
From her new position Peony realized that she was facing a huge mirror that
ran almost the entire length of one wall of the dungeon. A mirror which not
only allowed her to see the delivery of each stroke; it allowed her fraternal
tormentors to savor every grimace of pain on her pretty face, and every
agony-induced contortion of her body.
Just then the great door to the cellar swung open with an ominous creak,
and through it walked Mai-Lee, Richard Chan's ravishingly beautiful #1
concubine. Mai-Lee Tan was the daughter of a beautiful Chinese actress and a
handsome Portuguese sailor, and was blessed with the best physical attributes of
both parents. Taller, at 5'- 7", than most Asian women, and fuller-breasted,
but with the lustrous dark hair, prominent cheek bones, tiny waist, and graceful
carriage of her mother. Her eyes, demi-ovals that were green one moment and
black the next, depending on how the light struck them, showed the influence of
each parent, as did her honey-gold complexion.
Mai-Lee, an erotic vision in a richly embroidered burgundy dressing
gown, stepped inside the dingy dungeon, taking in the scene at a glance. "I was
waiting for you to come to bed, Richard," she purred seductively. "I didn't
realize that you and George had a guest. Oh, Peony!" she exclaimed,
recognizing the girl whose body was draped most alluringly over the rough wooden
cylinder. "It's you. How sad." Mai-Lee's voice dripped with insincerity. "Have
you been difficult again, little one?"
While Mai-Lee's beauty boasted of the best of two worlds, her personality
was comprised of the worst of the two cultures. She had the rudeness of the
teeming urban masses of western China, coupled with the self-centeredness of a
European imperialist. Richard had discovered her at Madame Wong's some months
earlier and had been instantly captivated by her beauty and erotic skill. Within
a week he had summoned her to the Black Pagoda, so that her talents were
available to him around the clock.
"May I watch, Richard? This little tramp has deserved a beating for a long
time."
Mai-Lee had been the top girl at Madame Wong's and she and a small clique
had lorded it over most of the others. They had particularly looked down on
girls like Peony, girls of no background or education. Peony had tried
studiously to avoid Mai-Lee, but had been her bitter enemy since she caused
Mai-Lee to lose face by telling two or three of the girls that one of her
clients had tipped her better than Mai-Lee.
"Be my guest, dear. You don't mind, George?"
"Not at all. You look lovely tonight, Mai-Lee." George's bow and smile
concealed both his dislike for the haughty Mai-Lee and his envy of his brother
for possessing the most beautiful concubine in Peking.
Meanwhile, Richard had moved toward the barrel, over which Peony's
quivering body was draped in a sensuous arc. He had set the leather strap aside,
and now held a thick, oval-shaped paddle tightly in his right hand.
"I'm so sorry," Richard sneered sarcastically. "We've been neglecting you,
Peony, haven't we? You have my apologies."
Richard's 'apology' consisted of pulling her sheer white panties down over
the plump curves of her bottom and then blistering her delightful buttocks with
the paddle.
WHAPPPP!! "Aaieahhh! Please...I will be goo..."
THWICKK! "Aaghhhh!!" The brothers ignored Peony's repeated pleas for
mercy, and continued their energetic flogging of her sweetly curved derriere.
WHAPPPPP!! "AIIIAAHHHH!"
THHHWIICCCKK!! "AAAAAHHHH!!"
Each brother seemed to be trying to outdo his sibling in viciousness, as
they delivering blow after punishing blow to Peony's sweet buttcheeks, each of
which forced her tender young body more deeply into the sharp-splintered embrace
of the drum. Peony's despairing cries became louder and louder with each
well-placed stroke.
Mai-Lee had taken a seat across the room, directly behind Richard, and out
of his view. Her breath quickened as she watched Peony's tempting buttocks jump
with each stroke of the paddle and the cane.
The Chans had given their naked captive another three or four
bottom-burning strokes apiece, when Richard returned to the business matter that
they had been disussing earlier. "About the traitor in our midst -- I have a
plan, George." Richard, said, speaking more softly now, so that Mai-Lee could
not overhear. She understood English surprisingly well, he knew. Richard wiped
the sweat away from his eyes; it had been a while since he had administered so
vigorous a beating. "It seems to me that our enemy must be one of our twelve
lieutenants - only one of them would know enough of our plans to be able to
cause this kind of trouble."
Richard Chan paused to relish the scene before him. Peony's back, buttocks
and legs were bathed in a perspiration born of fear and suffering. He watched
with amusement as one large bead of sweat slid downward from her neck, along the
gentle indentations of her spine, and then nestled in the upper edge of the
tantalizing groove between her rounded asscheeks. Then, taking careful aim he
smacked her bottom soundly, his blow landing with a resounding WHAPPPP!!!
sending that lonely pearl-drop into oblivion.
George's cane followed, as if on hot pursuit, THWICKK! leaving its
scalding signature emblazoned in the rosy wake of the most recent paddle-mark.
"AAAIIIIEE!"
"Are you going to do what you're told next time, bitch?"
"Yes... in the name of heaven... y..."
WHAPP!! CRACKK!! "AHHHHHHH!! The two instruments of torture had fallen
simultaneously, one on each blushing bottom-oval.
Richard Chan approached the shuddering girl and ran his strong hands all
over Peony's reddening asscheeks, delighting in the softness of her skin and the
plucky resilience of her over-heated bottomflesh.
Then he steppeded back and swung the thick paddle again. WHAPPP!!! it
exploded on the rosy summits of her buttocks, causing the muscles in her pretty
buttocks to convulse in pain. The cheeks of her bottom were still vibrating
from that blow when George added another cruel THWICCCKKK!! with his rod.
"Please... no more....please." Peony's pleas were piteous.
George Chan glanced up from Peony's lividly-wealed bottom to note in the
wall-length mirror that the wine-colored robe had fallen away from Mai-Lee's
silken thighs. Her face flushed as she lost herself in an erotic reverie.
In between strokes the brothers Chan reviewed the names of their twelve
lieutenants. Of the dozen, ten seemed beyond reproach, having been with the
Chans for many years. That left two men new to the gang -- Kai Fong and Li
Chang. "Has Tam had any luck with Kai Fong?" Richard asked.
WHAPPP!!! "AAAAHHHH!! Richard Chan's lean arm punished the ripest
curves of Peony's desirable buttocks with yet another paddle-stroke.
"No more ... please... I'll do whatev... "AAIIEEE!!"
THWICKK!! "OOOUUUWH!! The cane followed quickly in its wake.
"I'll do anyth... AAGGGHHH!"
WHAPPP!! The paddle straddled her buttock crease with a punishing blow.
George responded with a vicious TWHICCKK!! to the base of her writhing, rounded
derriere.
Mai-Lee's right hand was buried deep in the folds of the burgundy nightgown
now; she was oblivious to the occasional scrutiny she was receiving from George,
who didn't know which fetching scene to enjoy most - the squirming, flame-red
buttocks of the beauty on the barrel, or the mirror-image of the temptress who
was pleasuring herself across the room.
George Chan considered Richard's question. Tam was a sexy former co-worker
of Peony's who had been promoted to "Internal Security" in the Chan operations.
"So far, Tam says that Kai Fong is the perfect lieutenant -- there has been
nothing suspicious at all."
With those words, George, beside himself with lust, said, "Let's turn the
bitch over; I want to get at those juicy tits!" And the brothers flipped Peony
over on the barrel, this time lashing her wrists to crude pegs that had been
driven into the ends of the great wooden drum. Her naked body curved outwardly
toward them in a provocative posture that offered the entire front of her body
to their sadistic intent. Peony's shapely legs thrashed wildly, but futilely --
there was no escaping the bonds that held her wrists fast to the pegs.
Richard picked up the strap again, and lashed Peony across the front of of
her supple thighs, about a foot above her thrashing knees.
His brother countered by slashing the same sensuous thighs, but higher up,
no more than an inch below her beckoning pussy.
Richard's heartless eyes feasted on the apex of her thighs, while George
lasciviously surveyed Peony's tempting torso; the flat tummy, beautifully
indented by her lower ribs, a navel that positively invited an exploratory
tongue, and her small but deliciously pouting breasts whose mahogany-colored
nipples would have seduced a saint. George Chan could feel his manly organ
swollen into prodigous erection in his trousers. "How about Ming-tsu?" he
managed hoarsely, "Has she had any luck with Li-Chang?"
CRAACKK! Richard scorched an inner thigh. THWICCKK! His brother singed
Peony's lovely abdomen.
George responded, "He seems to be head over heels in love with her. Who
wouldn't be? You'll recall, Richard, that she was my mistress for several
months before I gave her the Li Chang assignment. I assure you that she is
worth every cent we're paying her. I hope Li's probationary period ends soon;
I'm anxious to get her back. I've only been able to be with her once or twice
since she seduced him." George concluded these observations by delivering a
solid THWICKK! across Peony's rib cage, leaving a red mark just below her soft,
quaking plum-sized breasts.
Out of the corner of his eye, George could see Mai-Lee squirming in her
chair. "Fortunately, Fraulein Weiss has spared me the pangs of celibacy these
last weeks," he added with a salacious grin.
Richard unloaded, CRAACK!! leaving a dark weal across Peony's gently
curved pubic mound. And then, again, CRAACKK!! This time the strap found its
way directly to Peony's pussy-lips. Her scream would have roused the dead, had
they not taken the precaution of administering this discipline deep in the
bowels of The Black Pagoda, Richard's fortress-like mansion. George could sense
Mai-Lee's sudden intake of breath.
TWHICKK!! THWICKK!! THWICCKK!! "AAAHH!! "AAAHHH!! "AAAAIIEEEAAHH!!!"
Three times George's awful cane blistered Peony's pert breasts, each stroke
more violent than the last, the third finding her taut, tender nipples. The
beautiful girl from the slums of Shangai thrashed her raven hair wildly from
side to side, and rattled her ankle chain in a frenzy of pain, but there was no
escaping the yard-long instrument of her suffering.
THWICKK!! Another nipple-stinger! "AAIIIII!!"
CRACCKK!!! Richard's strap joined in the assault, scalding the
undersides of both pouting globes.
THWICKK!! George drove the rod deep into her breast-flesh yet again.
Peony felt as if her breasts were aflame.
Richard, excited beyond measure by her frenzied writhing, dealt her another
stinging lash across the pubic mound.
Meanwhile George had picked up the paddle Richard had used on her bottom.
The younger Chan eyed Peony's cane-streaked breasts, the tongue protruding from
the corner of his mouth betraying his sadistic elan. Gripping the paddle,
George drew it back and then he slammed it into the youthful firmness of Peony's
right breast. WHOPPP!!! "UNNNGGGGHH!!"
George, still smiling, gave Peony about fifteen seconds to recover from
that atrocious blow before delivering another just like it, this time a
merciless blow whose force seemed to crush Peony's other love-gourd back into
her chest.
WHOPPPP!!! "UNGGGGGHHHH!!!"
But only for a moment -- Peony's breasts had the luscious resilience of
youth and sprang back, even more appetizingly than before.
"Nicely done, George, nicely done! This is my plan - we will tell Li Chang,
and only Li Chang, of an operation to be conducted at a certain residence, in
his quarter of the city. But we will not conduct the operation; instead our men
will just watch to see if anyone alerts our opposition. If the opposition
materializes we will know Li Chang is the traitor. If not, we will try the same
ruse on Kai Fong in a couple of weeks."
George nodded, "Yes; we can tell him that we are going to burn the shop of
someone who refuses to pay "protection" to the Black Scorpions. Then we watch
the building, and if it appears to be guarded, we will have our man. Has
Ming-tsu had any success learning about Li Chang's background? He seems to be a
mystery man?"
"Not yet, but she has been softening him up for months - she should be
close by now. I'll let her know that time is running short."
Mai-Lee interjected, "Richard, come upstairs now; there is something I
must discuss with you. She was standing now, flushed, her panting breasts
swelling the maroon silk with each irregular breath.
Richard eyed his obviously aroused mistress and thought that he must invite
her down to the dungeon more often. "Yes, Mai-Lee. I believe that George will
be able to finish up here?" he eyed his brother questioningly.
George had untied the wrists of their pitiable prisoner yet again, and
placed her kneeling, still chained by a chafed ankle, on a low divan, facing
its back.
"I believe so, yes, brother," George smiled. "I enjoyed our evening
together. Who was the fool who said that one should never mix business with
pleasure?"
"Confucius said, 'That when not in office, discuss not policy', George,"
Richard observed. And then he added, as his thin-slitted eyes raked Peony's
tortured nakedness. "But the Master probably never had a second office like
this." He gestured at the dark chamber. "Nor an amanuensis like our little
Peony."
As Richard Chan's silver robes disappeared in the wake of Mai-Lee , George
walked around to face the tear-streaked girl. Knowing what was expected of her,
Peony's hand went to his waistband, freed his erect penis, and her mouth
descended to its degrading task.
"Get it nice and wet, you little whore; I can assure you that you'll be
glad you did!"
George's strong hands tightened their grip on her long black hair, forcing
her pretty head forward, so that Peony's ripe lips and agile tongue could wrap
themselves slavishly around his engorged cock. George made a mental note to
bring Peony back for further encounters.
George Chan enjoyed the pretty sight of Peony's cheeks flattening out and
then puffing up again, as she frantically sucked at his rock-hard manhood,
hoping to forestall further suffering. Her desperate tongueing and licking sent
wave after wave of pleasure through him; but even as he sank deeper into the
throes of lust he speculated as to how tight this cock-sucking little whore's
rectum would be; would it, he wondered, welcome his thick prick with half the
enthusiasm of her talented mouth?
It had better, he thought grimly.
Or her flogging earlier would prove to be merely a foretaste of even
sterner measures...
And with that happy thought George surrendered himself to the sensual
ecstasy of Peony's servile oral caresses.
What a lovely aperitif she was to the banquet of debauchery that he had
planned for Erika Weiss later that evening...
Chapter 11 On Shameful Display
As the brothers Chan turned the corner of the hallway on their way to the
secret staircase to the dungeons, Erika's keeper, Dao, began to put his none
too subtle mind to work trying to figure out how to capitalize on his good
fortune. Keeping an eye on this gorgeous blonde was the most pleasant
assignment he'd had in months. The leering goon's eyes moved up and down Erika's
body, admiring her stunning figure, clothed only in the scarlet skirt that
wasn't much more than a wide sash around her upper thighs, and a bodice that
revealed almost as much of her man-pleasing tits as it hid.
Dao didn't like the way the German girl returned his lecherous gaze with
contempt -- snotty bitch! Just like a European cunt, he thought to himself.
She probably thought she was the the Empress of China! But take away her
dignity, as the Chans had done, and she'd find out soon enough that she was no
better than a whore!
Dao continued to ogle Erika, making no attempt to disguise his lust; his
virile manhood pressing against his uniform of midnight black felt as thick and
hard as the Great Wall. He swore he could see wisps of golden cunt hair
underneath her hiked-up skirt -- and those tits!! Nothing against the women of
his own country, but you hardly ever saw Chinese girls with tits like that --
big enough to fill even his own large hands, and firm as under-ripe melons. "By
the sword of Genghis Khan, I'd like to get his hands on them!" he swore under
his breath.
Dao silently cursed George Chan's injunction that no one was to enter the
room; he'd like to make this blonde bitch sweat! In his mind's eye he saw
himself ripping that red fabric off her body, crushing those mouth-watering tits
in his hands, and slamming his man-meat into her pussy up to the balls. Again
and again and again, until he'd fucked the blonde beauty into insensibility.
But he couldn't -- he knew that if he violated George Chan's dictum, he
wouldn't have balls to fuck with for very long. But there had to be some way of
having some fun with this German cock-pleaser...
Just then he spied a pair of Richard Chan's maids walking down the hallway
toward him. The Black Pagoda was a huge edifice with scores of servants, not to
mention the retinue of several dozen Scorpions that was constantly on duty.
Most of the servants, of course, knew little of the Chans' dealings, and nothing
at all of what transpired in the pagoda's frightful underground chambers.
One of the maids, an angular, graying woman in her forties, was carrying a
broom; the other, plumper woman was much younger, carried a feather duster and
was cheerfully chattering away in a sing-song voice.
Dao was about to turn them away when he remembered George Chan's words that
Erika was to be on display to even the lowliest servants, and he decided to let
them pass.
When the pair of housekeepers reached the open doorway the younger woman
gasped at the site of the blonde who knelt no more than a yard inside the
doorway.
"Ayeee yah!" the maid exclaimed, "Look here!"
The older woman leaned over her shoulder, "Ah! It's the one I saw earlier.
When she came in. She looked at me as if I was the dropping of a dog!" The
skinny housemaid shook her broom at the kneeling maiden, "Ha! -- who's dogshit,
now, you hussy?"
Dao grinned in amusement, but when the women made as if to enter the room,
he scolded them. "No one is allowed in the room; orders from the Master!"
"I'd like to scratch her face," muttered the shrewish woman. "Guard! Did
he say we were not to touch her?"
Dao thought back. "Well, no, I don't think he did. But if you can't go in
the room..."
"Good! Look at the tramp, Hsien -- she has the udders of a cow," she said
spitefully, but her sneering tone could not conceal the envy, the hatred she
felt for this woman whose natural endowments made her feel even plainer than she
was.
Hsien, the chubby maid, giggled. It struck the gap-toothed Scorpion that
if cows had udders as shapely and firm and ripe-nippled as those of Erika Weiss,
he'd be more than willing to give up city life and start a dairy farm out in the
countryside.
The maid took her broom and, being careful not to step in the room, reached
forward and directed the end of the broom handle inside the gaping opening in
Erika's bodice. She moved the pole up and down, sliding it between the inner
slopes of the German woman's close-set love-melons. The shapely blonde,
condemned to keep her hands behind her head, could do nothing to fend off the
long pole.
"Stop it, Yian! You'll get us both in trouble," Hsien cautioned.
"Hush, girl. He didn't say we couldn't touch the yellow-haired cow." Yian
proceeded to use the broom pole to push the red silk to the side, baring the
rest of Erika's left breast, including its tasty pink nipple-nugget. Dao's eyes
brightened; he could feel his cock pulse with lust at the sight.
Erika could do nothing. Her repulsive guard was leering at her, enjoying
her humiliation, his open-mouthed salacious grin displaying what was left of
his scattered, yellowing teeth. Thank God, she thought. At least the grinning
pig of a guard isn't allowed to do anything more than look.
"Ayeee-yah! Look! When this one is with child, she will need triplets to
nurse her dry!" Yian pushed the other side of the bodice back with her
broomhandle, revealing the German girl's other majestic breast in all of its
nude splendor. Yian had edged the crimson fabric aside carefully, so that it
was tucked under the outer curves of Erika's full-nippled breasts, lifting them
slightly, deliciously.
By the god of the China Sea! thought Dao, "What a pair of tits!"
Yian had pulled the broomhandle back now, and Hsien, giggling like a
schoolgirl, reached out shyly with her feather duster and swept it gently over
the upper slopes of the blonde's love-gourds, as if she were dusting a pair of
rounded figurines. Despite herself, Erika's breasts quivered at the touch of
the teasing feathers.
Hsien playfully circled each breast, first clockwise and then
counter-clockwise. Erika's breasts seemed to swell at her teasing touch. Then,
holding the duster firmly, Hsien moved it from side to side across a ripe pink
nipple, and giggled again when it began to respond to the stimulation. Near the
center of the dusting end there was one short, stiff quill, which caught
slightly as the chubby young maid slid the duster sideways across Erika's
burgeoning breast tips.
'And what a pair of nipples they were!' thought Dao. They grew under his
burning gaze, swelling into ever-longer, ever thicker, bite-sized nuggets of
pink perfection as the tantalizing feather worked its magic on them.
Shamed by her body's response, Erika's tanned upper body took on a roseate
hue, becoming even more erotically compelling than before.
"Blue-eyed hussy! Look at her sluttish teats!" Yian exclaimed in disgust.
Then she elbowed Hsien to one side and then, holding the broom firmly in both
hands just above the long yellow bristles, she extended the handle once again.
She laid the pole end of the broom atop Erika's right breast, with its end flush
against the blonde's chest. The shrewish little woman then tapped the luscious
globe's rounded firmness twice and then lifted the handle about six inches above
Erika's breast and brought the pole down sharply on the tanned breast-top.
Erica winced at the blow, more in surprise than in pain. "Why are you doing
this? I have done nothing to harm you," Erica asked in bewilderment.
Yian's eyes darkened with fury. "Because you Europeans brought opium to
China. And your cursed opium destroyed my husband." THWOCCK!
"Owwwww! But I did noth..."
"And my son!" THWOCKK!! "Aaah," Erika gasped softly, and then decided
that protesting was only making things worse.
Hsien continued to tease her other breast playfully with the duster, while
the older woman friend rapped the German girl's breast again. And again. And
again. At one point Erika made as if to lower the hands that remain laced behind
her pretty blonde head in order to protect herself, but a sharp, "Hey!!" from
Dao forestalled her. Painful experience had taught her that failure to obey
George Chan's commands, no matter how distasteful or unpleasant, would only lead
to even further mistreatment.
No one of Yian's blows was terribly painful, but falling one atop the
other as they did, they soon became very unpleasant indeed. After she'd
THWOCCKK!ed the meaty part of Erika's breast into a sensitive pinkness, Yian
exchanged places with Hsien, who by now had teased Erika's left nipple into
stunning erection -- the blood-engorged nubbin protruding a good half inch out
of the lovely aureole bed from which it had arisen.
Yian adjusted her aim slightly, and began to attack Erika's other breast,
this time aiming directly at the blonde's tender coral roseate and her swollen
nipple. Three, four, five, six times she clipped the sensitive pink spike from
above, and then, growing more expert with her awkward weapon, Yian smacked
Erika's tits from side to side with the long pole, while Dao watched, both
amused and aroused by the punishment being inflicted on the superb breasts of
the kneeling blonde.
Yian had given each of the German girl's jutting breasts about a dozen
solid smacks with her improvised club when she suddenly lifted the pole to
Erika's lips. Erika turned her head away in disgust.
"She wants you to open your mouth, slut," ordered Dao. "You'd better do
it, honey, or it'll be me smacking those big tits of yours next!"
Erika gave the black-garbed Scorpion a look of implacable hatred, which Dao
returned in full measure.
Hsien had gasped at the guard's crude language, but Yian had nodded in
enthusiastic assent and held the broom handle to Erika's full lips. Erika Weiss
opened her mouth slightly and her spiteful tormentrix forced it between her
unwilling lips.
"Suck it, blue eyes!" Yian snarled. "Put some of your sluttish spit on
it!" she ordered as she screwed the thick wooden pole into Erika's open mouth.
A moment later the hateful little woman pulled the pole out, examined the
end to make sure that it was reasonably wet, and then she dropped to her bony
knees in the carpeted hallway.
"Let's see how the hussy likes this!" she muttered, as she slid the thick
wooden knob across the carpet between the widespread knees of Erika Weiss, so
that the rounded tip of the pole was flush against the tender lips of Erika's
vagina. And then she pushed harder still...
Chapter 12 Mai-Lee
Meanwhile, Richard Chan had followed Mai-Lee to the doorway that led to the
secret staircase, after leaving George alone with the beleaguered Peony.
Richard, now aflame with a lust ignited by the brutal flogging of the comely
young pleasure-girl, was about three steps behind Mai-Lee as they climbed the
narrow staircase.
Mai-Lee had only reached the fifth step, when without turning around, she
reached down and began to lift the floor-length burgundy nightgown.
By the seventh step the gown was up to her knees, her shapely calves pale
in the torchlit passageway. By the ninth step the gown was at mid-thigh;
Richard, a few steps below, drank in the sight of those long, dancer's legs just
above him, her muscles tensing and relaxing, as her feet came to rest on each
step.
By the twelfth step, Mai-Lee had lifted the silken garment so that it
revealed half of her tempting, twitching derriere. Her bottomcheeks seemed to
do a lewd dance in Richard's face, as he followed her closely, his face no more
than a foot from her churning buttocks. His lover had anointed her body with
the fragrant oil of mimosa this night; the sweet scent of her body freshened the
still air of the dark staircase.
For the next few steps, Mai-Lee deftly raised and lowered the wine-colored
robe, first showing her lord and master half of her deep, dark butt-cleft, than
nearly all of it, then hiding it again save for the lovely place where her
bottom curved into her supple thighs. Richard Chan reached out and touched her
warm, rounded bottom, marveling at the infant-like softness of Mai-Lee's skin,
the result of a daily regimen of pampering and massage.
It was strange, thought Richard. Not two minutes ago he had been flogging
a completely nude beauty in the dungeon. Arousing? Beyond question. But no
more so than the seductive now-you-see-it-now-you-don't sexual witchcraft of his
#1 concubine.
Moments later they had turned the corner of the first landing, and were out
of sight of anyone entering the staircase from below. The Eurasian beauty let
the robe fall as she turned to face her Master.
Her green-black eyes flashed at her lover, as she fumbled with the sash to
her gown. "I've been waiting for you to come to our bed-chamber for hours, Lord
Chan," she exclaimed with a most fetching submissiveness, as she undid the
silken knot, letting the gown fall open, but holding it together at her waist.
The silver-robed ganglord's thin-slitted eyes were drawn magnetically to
the deep, narrow V at the front of Mai-Lee's gown, the inner slopes of her
succulent breasts being frankly revealed to his gaze.
"Please master, you first." Mai-Lee bowed and gestured for him to edge
past her on the narrow landing. Disappointed that he would no longer be in a
position to watch her climb the staircase, Chan frowned but squeezed past her,
feeling the bullet-hard nipples of her breasts pressing against him as he did
so. His cock was as hard as the stone walls on either side of them. Richard
Chan was used to wielding absolute power over his trusted officers and his
thousands of foot-soldiers. But it was pleasant, now and then, to relax and let
Mai-Lee orchestrate their carnal interludes; neither her beauty, her skill, nor
her erotic imagination had ever been found wanting.
Passing her, Richard Chan had climbed three more steps, his back to his
concubine, when he heard Mai-Lee's voice, soft and husky. "Master?" Chan
slowly turned, to see Mai-Lee standing two steps below him, her hands on the
railings of the staircase, the opening in the robe at least a foot wide.
Despite the hundreds of hours he had spent with her during her sojourn at
the Black Pagoda, he still could not get enough of her body; in his days at
university in England he had had occasion to see the ethereal sylphs of
Botticelli, the voluptuous women of Rubens, the frankly sensual nudes of Manet.
But for all their vaunted skill, none of these masters had captured on canvas a
woman more beautiful than the one that stood before him.
She was the answer to a satyr's prayers, a lecher's dream come true. Long,
silky raven tresses cascaded down upon her soft sensuous shoulders. The
flickering torchlight seemed to accentuate the flashing highlights of her
green-black eyes, the prominent thrust of her cheekbones, the confident, knowing
set of her mouth and chin. Her breasts, though not quite so large as those of
the far taller Erika Weiss, were equally fine -- lusciously full, yet blessed
with all of the appetizing firmness of youth. The tastiness of Mai-Lee's
love-melons was enhanced by a pair of smallish brown aureoles, tipped with
nipples as rich and tempting as chocolate chips. The very tips of her breast
buds gave the illusion, as he had noticed before, of being constantly aquiver,
as if gently oscillating to the pulsing beat of some unheard rhythm.
Mai-Lee's torso, longer than that of most Chinese girls, tapered teasingly
to a waist slender enough to please the most stylish couturieres of Paris; her
navel was a deep and dainty invitation to pleasure. Mai-Lee's rounded hips were
rather broad for an Asian woman, and her legs, well-toned by hours of rigorous
exercise, much of it in the bed-chamber, were shapely and athletic without being
overly muscular. Between them was a dark-rimmed feminine treasure that she kept
carefully groomed with a tiny pair of ivory-handled clippers. Her labia were
alluringly prominent, her clitoris was positively glistening with desire.
Such was the delicious sight that greeted Richard Chan when he turned to
face his paramour. But he had only a few seconds to take this vision of
loveliness in, for Mai-Lee's hands were at his waist, tugging at his clothing.
Within seconds she had stripped off his shining robe, leaving the crime lord
standing two steps above her, his ardent cock straining upward and outward on a
sharp angle from its nest of dark pubic hair.
"Ayeee-yah! You are so hard, Lord Chan!" Mai-Lee exclaimed breathlessly.
A split-second later, Mai-Lee's graceful head dove for that swollen prize,
as if she were one of the fabled Japanese cormorant fishing-birds, and his
manhood was the tastiest product of the seven seas. The first touch of her
moist pink lips on his throbbing blue-veined organ was electric, as it always
was. Richard Chan emitted a soft "Ahhhh" of delight and held on to the railings
of the staircase, while the beauteous Mai-Lee, standing just below him,
worshipped at the fleshy altar of his lust.
There were tens of thousands of attractive women in Shanghai; perhaps a
thousand of whom could rightfully be called beautiful -- and the Lord of the
Black Scorpions had had many of them. But there were none, in his experience,
who were blessed with the mouth, the lips, the tongue, and the erotic wizardry
of Mai-Lee Tan. She was a fellatrix nonpareil.
The ravishing temptress seemed to have an almost mystical sense of a man's
nervous system; it was as if she had a diagram of the precise location of every
nerve ending in a man's body, so skillful was she. At first her mouth closed on
just the tip of her master's stalwart organ, moistening it, and then she pulled
back momentarily, letting his proud staff pulse hungrily in the air for a
moment.
"Ahhh. So big-g-g, Master! And so, mmm, mmm, delicious!" Mai-Lee
enthused, with just the right degree of servility, licking her ruby lips with a
moist pink tongue, while looking up at her lord with worshipful jade-green eyes.
Mai-Lee was arrogance personified with nearly every one else in the Black
Pagoda, but with Richard Chan she adopted the seductive persona of a submissive
maiden.
Mai-Lee not only had the mouth of a virtuosa - a mouth that seemingly could
play a thousand tunes of desire on a male organ, but she had the soulfully
submissive eyes of a classic seductress. She had a way of looking into a man's
eyes, while she teased him to tortured ecstacy, that made him feel as if he were
the most handsome, the most heroic, and - especially - the most virile man among
the teeming multitudes of Cathay. Richard Chan had no doubt whatever that those
incandescent green eyes could have seduced the most righteous of monks from the
eight-fold path.
A moment later, Mai-Lee was lifting his throbbing penis high with her left
hand, while her tongue attacked the base of his shaft, at the excruciatingly
sensitive juncture of his scrotal sac. Then cupping his testicles -- so
semen-laden that they had swollen from the size of young Chinese apricots to
that of ripe walnuts -- she laved the underside of his penis with a series of
long, moist, tingling tongue-strokes.
Chan groaned in delight. After a minute or so of that exquisite oral
caress, Mai-Lee released his quivering maleness and his lust-filled balls, and
put her soft hands on the outsides of his naked thighs, and stroked his legs
expertly with the edges of her long scarlet nails while she took him into her
talented mouth again. She swirled her tongue around his mouth-filling erection,
tasting him, licking him, sucking him, as if his stiff manhood were some thick
confection.
The Eurasian beauty's knowing hands had climbed to his ass now, and played
over the muscles of his buttocks, applying gentle pressure suggesting that he
thrust forward at her command. Chan obliged her; still holding on to the
staircase railings for balance, he begin to move his hips forward, in time with
her digital pressure.
Mai-Lee, unaccountably at such a young age, had mastered the art of throat
control; Richard Chan had throat-fucked hundreds of women, some of them willing
partners, most decidedly not. Few had there been who had not been susceptible
to choking on his swollen spear when his lunges had become longer, harder, and
deeper. Which, from the point of view of imposing his will on a resisting woman
was very satisfying; but purely from the point of view of sensual pleasure, he
was grateful that his #1 concubine could take every centimeter of his engine of
lust into the moist warmth of her mouth and throat, and somehow manage to
applying oral pressure and pleasure to every square inch of his cock at once.
The commander of the Black Scorpions was grunting with lust now at each
thrust forward; with her unfailing knack for sensing his point of no return,
Mai-Lee let his saliva-coated member slip from between her lips, lifted it up,
and then dipped forward so she could take his hairy balls into her mouth. She
suckled at them adoringly, rolling them around in the hot cavern of her mouth,
even as one soft hand stroked his penis from root to tip while the other
clutched at his buttocks. A knowing finger inserted itself into his anus, as
she sucked him, gently prodding his sensitive prostrate gland.
Mai-Lee's oral love-making continued for several more minutes, time and
again drawing Richard Chan up to the very edge of the precipice of ecstacy,
before pulling him back. Her left hand was between her own legs now, damp with
her own juices, while her right hand was wrapped around the base of her master's
cock as her teasing tongue tantalized its tip.
Finally, she released him and scampered past him up the stairs. Breathing
heavily, Richard turned around, facing upward. Mai-Lee had stopped and bent
over, her heart--shaped bottom high in the air, her legs spread wide, her pussy
positively glistening with lust.
"Now, Master. Put it in me! All of it!"
Richard Chan was on her in a flash. Standing one step below his willing
sex-slave, The Master of the Black Scorpions inserted his saliva-covered,
blue-veined engine of lust between the fleshy folds of Mai-Lee's inviting
treasure, and thrust inward, burying his lance deep inside her. Mai-Lee Tan
cooed with sensual delight as the criminal mastermind began a series of long
deep strokes, filling her tingling pussy with his maleness.
Mai-Lee was bent over double, her weight supported by her hands which clung
tightly to one of the steps, while Richard drove into her squirming, suctioning,
cunt. He grabbed onto the side rails of the staircase for extra leverage, and
lunged even harder, burying himself to the balls, as her pelvis seemed to move
in three directions at once -- in slow, sensual circles, from side to side, and
forward and back, milking his maleness with a sexual artistry unlike any he had
ever known.
"Harder, Master! Deeper!" Mai-Lee mewed suggestively as she worked her
pelvic muscles, urging Chan to fuck her even more aggressively, which he
promptly did.
After a few more minutes of this erotic bliss, The Lord of the Black
Pagoda, grunting and sweating like a common coolie, erupted inside his exquisite
dark-haired concubine even as she shuddered in the throes of her third orgasm.
The two of them remained welded in that position for a long minute until
Richard withdrew, and they both dressed. They were almost completely
presentable when they heard the door to the dungeon, two flights below creak
omen, signalling George's ascent up the staircase.
They quickly trudged up the remaining two flights of stairs, and opened the
door leading to the main hall of the first floor. Just before they they did so
they heard a piercing whistle. Followed by a rush of footsteps, as if a dozen
people had taken flight.
Which is, in fact, precisely what had happened. Hsien, the plump
house-keeper, had suggested to Dao that they notify the entire household of the
exotic sight to be seen in the doorway of Richard Chan's salon. And for the
last hour or so a steady stream of voyeurs, mostly men, but a few women too,
had filed past the bare-breasted blonde posed so shamelessly in the doorway.
Dao had collected a coin from each one, and a terra cotta urn in the hallway was
half-full with the revenue from Hsien's clever enterprise.
Meanwhile Erika Weiss had been forced to kneel in abject humiliation, a
degraded sexual spectacle served up for the benefit of the seemingly endless
parade of chimneysweeps and cooks, of garbage-haulers and gardeners, of
laundrymen in sanitary white and foul-smelling latrine-cleaners that slowly
filed by. The muscles in her arms and shoulders were screaming with fatigue,
having been held behind her head for over an hour. But that pain was much less
hurtful than the cruel ridicule to which she was subjected.
Every man that passed elbowed his neighbors in line, commenting lewdly on
her taut-nippled, pole-battered breasts, taunting her with the filthiest of
remarks and the most lurid of gestures. One by one they trudged slowly past in
single file, mocking her near nudity, pointing at the rude wooden pole that
protruded from her cunt. Joking crudely about wanting to trade places with that
fortunate broom-handle.
For a second coin, a passer-bye was entitled to give the thick broom handle
a good twist and dozens of men had taken advantage of this once in a lifetime
opportunity to debase a European, some slight solace for the way in which the
alien intruders had plundered their proud land.
Dao had dispatched Hsien to listen at the staircase for the return of the
brothers Chan, and when she had heard the footsteps of Richard Chan and his
concubine, she had issued a shrill whistle, and within seconds, the few
remaining stragglers had dispersed.
When Richard Chan approached the door of the salon, he found Dao at his
station, Yian sweeping at imagined cobwebs high on the plastered walls and Hsien
dusting the terra cotta urn on the small table opposite the entrance to the
salon.
Erika Weiss was as they had left her, save for the fact that the crimson
cheong-sam seemed to have fallen away from her mouth-watering breasts, and tears
of humiliation were streaming down her face.
Moments later, George Chan rejoined them, somewhat winded from as thorough
an ass-fucking as he'd ever administered. Peony had at first been something
less than whole-heartedly appreciative of the younger Chan's thick cock at her
rear portal, but another dozen stripes of the hardwood cane across her sweetly
rounded buttocks had soon induced her to greet the massive intruder with a
little more enthusiasm.
And he had fucked her in the English manner, long and hard, his cruel hands
digging into the tender cones of her breasts while he jack-hammered his way into
her deliciously tight rectal channel. He had left Peony chained, naked, and
exhausted, a thick trail of semen dripping from her lovely ass.
Beaming, as always, George greeted his brother and Mai-Lee, who did not
seem altogether pleased to find a nearly naked Nordic goddess in her lover's
den.
"I hope you enjoyed your stay here, Fraulein Weiss," George chuckled,
enjoying her debasement. "Tell me, -- it was Dao, wasn't it? - did my new pet
obey my command? Did she keep her elbows up and her tits out?"
The ugly guard, remembering the looks of hatred Erika Weiss had given him,
gave her a sardonic style. "No sir. Five minutes after you left, she complained
that she was tired and put her arms down."
Erika shook her head frantically, "Nein, nein!"
Dao went on, "I warned her twice, sir, but she wouldn't listen -- and she
said that you didn't have the balls to punish her." Dao pretending to just
notice Mai-Lee's presence, added "Excuse my language, miss," in a fawning voice.
Erika was seething with rage "Lugner!" She looked about her in despair,
"He's lying. Mein Gott, you must believe me...." But she was greeted with
nothing but stony glares, and quickly her rage melted into fear. "Someone...?
Please...?"
"It is as Dao said, sir," Yian chimed in from the hallway. "I passed by
several times; I am ashamed to repeat the names she called you and the Master."
Yian gave Erika Weiss a wicked sneer, turning her broom as she spoke.
The beautiful blonde, a captive in a cruel world, put her face in her
hands and wept. She had no doubt that George Chan would exact a heavy price for
her seeming non-compliance.
George Chan's face was a mask of fury. He had been made to lose face in
front of his older brother. "So you still have not learned obedience, Miss
Weiss? I can see that harsher measures may be necessary. On your feet! And
cover yourself! Were you intending to show your shameless breasts to every
tradesman in Shanghai on our return journey?"
Then turning to his brother he added, "Richard, I shall see you later
tonight at the meeting of the Council, and we can finalize our plans."
Richard nodded and looked on admiringly as the tall blonde slowly rose to
her feet, pulled the crimson sheath down over her supple thighs and tried to
fasten the buttons on the cheong-sam. It took several minutes, so badly were
her hands trembling in apprehension of whatever cruel fate George Chan had in
mind for her.
Chapter 13 Tempted into Cruelty
Later that evening George Chan was seated at a Louis XV escritoire in his
richly appointed study, his hand flashing across the counters of an abacus
almost faster than the eye could follow, when his son, Chiang Chan, tapped at
the door.
"Professor Leung is here, father."
"Thank you, my son. Show him in."
A moment later George Chan drew in a shocked breath as his son ushered his
professor into the room. For it was no ordinary man of fifty or thereabouts
that stepped into George Chan's study; it was a grotesque figure who stood no
taller than George's collarbone, his spine horribly twisted by some congenital
malformation. Chiang had told him that his professor of philosophy and history
was crippled, but the warning had not prepared George Chan for this contorted
hunchback with an over-large head, a prognathous jaw and wild unruly hair.
Nature had been doubly cruel to the strange professor; he was the only
person in his family to survive a terrible outbreak of smallpox that had ravaged
the city some forty years earlier. Not only was he skeletally deformed, but his
face and body were cratered with the repulsive pock-marks for which the disease
is known.
Notwithstanding his bizarre physical appearance, Professor Leung had the
reputation of being one of the most learned men in China. He had, it was said,
committed the Analects of Confucius and the eighty-one poems of Lao-tze's Tao Te
Ching to memory. In his classes he spoke of the monarchs and philosophers, the
poets and painters of ancient dynasties as if they had been his familiars,
seeming to know every detail of their lives, and every thought that they had
ever recorded.
Leung was noted for being a man of incorruptible character; an ascetic, he
lived very simply on tea and rice. Once a month, on the day following the full
moon, he allowed himself half an orange -- giving the other half to a beggar --
and a small glass of rice wine.
"Chiang, please have one of the girls bring us some tea. And then tell the
staff they may have the night off."
"Green tea, for me, please, if you don't mind."
"As you wish, professor."
Chiang Chan bowed and stepped out of the room only to return a moment
later. George Chan rose from behind his desk and bowed to greet the newcomer.
"Professor Leung, it is indeed an honor to meet you."
Leung returned his greeting coolly, bowing in turn. His host gestured for
the strange little man to take a seat, and the professor, clad in a drab gray
robe, scuttled sideways across the floor, looking around him in wonder like a
crab washed up on an unfamiliar beach.
George Chan's den, no less than his brother's, was that of a man of great
wealth. But whereas the Black Pagoda had been full of historical artifacts and
beautiful objet's d'art, the home of George Chan was merely crass and opulent, a
showplace of ostentatious display.
George, beaming as always, studied his guest carefully while Chiang Chan,
his good-looking twenty-one year old son stood expectantly on his father's
right. Professor Leung looked around the room with quiet disdain, clearly
unimpressed by the rich furnishings. Crystal and silver and jade were
everywhere; a wide, eye-catching golden curtain, embroided with a depiction of
some epic battle, stretched across the room behind George's desk. The
professor's glance passed over these evidences of his host's wealth quickly. His
eyes did, however, seem to linger on four erotic paintings, one Japanese, one
Indian, one Persian, and one Chinese that graced the walls on either side of
him.
A few moments later a pretty young housemaid tapped at the door and entered
bearing a tray with tea for three. It so happened that she crossed the room
with her eyes down, not glancing at the visitor. When she did look up she was
so startled by the sight of his repugnant visage that she screamed softly and
nearly upset her tray.
"Miss Teng! Please be more careful," George Chan scolded, noting that his
guest was flushed with embarrassment and anger; the reddening of his face only
served to enhance his grotesqueness.
"Professor, please accept my apologies," George Chan began, as Miss Teng
fled the room. But before she had closed the door behind her, the threesome
heard a whispered conversation with a fellow servant, followed by a series of
high-pitched giggles. "Women can be very unkind, can't they?" he continued.
Professor Leung was the picture of humiliated misery.
"Professor," George started in, attempting to change the subject, "You are
probably wondering why I have invited you here this evening."
"Not really, Mr Chan. I believe I know the reason for my summons. Your
son is in my class at the University."
"Yes, of course. He has told me many times how edifying he has found your
lectures. Have you not, my son?"
"Yes, father," Chian responded dutifully in a bored voice. His instructor
regarded him with interest; the boy clearly had done nothing of the sort. The
young man looked as indifferent tonight as he did in his classroom each day.
"Professor, there has apparently been some sort of misunderstanding; my son
tells that he may not graduate next month; that you are not going to give him
credit for his work in your course."
"Work?" the red-faced professor answered disdainfully. "With all respect,
your son has not worked, Mr Chan. He and a handful of other sons of wealth
spend their nights drinking, whoring, and gambling, rather than with the texts
of the ancients. And now you complain to me that his graduation is in jeopardy?
It is he who has chosen his path, not I."
"Well," George beamed amiably, trying his best not to gape at his guest's
unsightly face or his ungainly hump. "Boys will be boys, Professor Leung.
Surely you sowed some wild oats in your youth?"
The misshapen hunchback looked sharply at his host. "Look at me, Mr. Chan.
Do I give the appearance of a man who has 'sowed some wild oats'?"
It was, in fact, not easy to take one's eyes off the grotesque little man.
It was not only his twisted body that attracted one's gaze; his eyes were those
of a man who had taken little joy from life. There was sadness there, as well
as anger and resentment.
"Perhaps not, professor, perhaps not. But surely you understand my
family's position, our place in the city. My son would lose face, should he not
graduate; I would lose face."
George Chan's facial expression was deadly serious. 'Losing face' in
nineteenth century China was the greatest of calamities. As Professor Leung
well knew.
"I am sorry, Mr Chan. As I said earlier -- your son chose this course, not
I." The little man rose clumsily to his feet. "Will there be anything else?"
"Surely, Professor, we can come to some accommodation. I am a very
wealthy man..."
Professor Leung turned away as if he had been insulted. He took a deep
breath before speaking. As he tried to regain his composure, his gaze returned
once again to the Japanese painting on the wall to his left; the painting showed
a lovely young courtesan, clad in an elegant kimono that had been partially
stripped away, being pursued through a forest by three malevolent-looking
horsemen. The painting had been skillfully rendered; the terror on the girl's
face and the eager rapacity of her pursuers had been brilliantly captured.
After a long pause, Leung returned George Chan's inquiring look. "Can your
money straighten my spine, Mr Chan? Can it remove the scars from my face?" he
asked sardonically. When there was no reply he added, "I thought not. Good
day, Mr Chan." And Professor Leung rose, bowed awkwardly toward father and
son, and turned toward the entrance.
"Professor! Please do not be angry. We are all gentlemen here; I'm sorry
if I offended you. Before you go, if you have another moment, I have a book I'd
like to show you."
At the word 'book' the hunchbacked scholar hesitated and then turned back
to his host. "I would be greatly surprised if you have a book with which I am
not familiar, sir."
"All the same, I doubt that you have seen this, professor. It is quite a
rare volume; in fact, I believe that there is only one copy. And it did not
come into my possession until just a few days ago. Please, tell me what you
think of it."
With that George Chan reached into a deep drawer in his escritoire and
removed a large tome, perhaps a foot square and an inch or so thick. He turned
the book toward his guest and opened the cover.
Curious, Professor Leung turned the first page and recoiled with a start.
"The book was illustrated by a mysterious Japanese artist named Nakamura.
Almost nothing is known of him." George Chan waited while his visitor slowly
turned over another few pages. "Do you not like it, Professor?" George Chan's
voice was hushed, conspiratorial.
Professor Leung turned another page, his hand shaking.
"The illustrations are magnificent, are they not? Have you ever seen
anything like it?
"N-no," the hunchback responded nervously, as he turned another page.
"It's a fairy tale of sorts you see, professor. But hardly one for
children. It is the story of a beautiful Japanese princess who unwittingly
strayed into the domain of an ugly, one-eyed giant one day."
At the word 'ugly', the professor flushed again. Chan regarded his guest
closely; his lips were dry, his hand shook slightly. All was going well.
"Now, the giant was not evil by nature, but when she saw him, the princess
was repulsed by his appearance and reviled him with cruel and abusive words ..."
"La Belle et la Bete," whispered the scholar under his breath.
"What's that?" When Leung waved his hand indicating that his remark had
been of no importance, George Chan went on. "The haughty princess scornfully
called the giant a disgusting monster. And worse."
Transfixed, Professor Leung continued to slowly turn the leaves of the
book, an unholy glint in his eye growing brighter with each illustration he
examined.
"The giant, much offended by her disrespectful words, made the young
princess his captive and took her to his dark fortress." George's voice was
little more than a whisper now.
"Where he proceeded to exact his revenge on the impudent young beauty."
George studied his guest for another long moment before continuing. "Do you
like this one professor? The giant has stripped Princess Yuki's silken gown
from her body and tied her to the whipping post in his courtyard. Look at the
way the artist has captured her beauty! Have you ever seen flesh tones so
warm?"
Leung nervously put one hand to his pock-marked face, and then as if driven
by an overpowering compulsion turned the page.
"Ahh, I love this one, professor -- look at the marks the lash has left on
Princess Yuki's perfect buttocks! One can almost hear the fierce crack of the
whip."
Leung nodded breathlessly, and turned the page again. And once again was
greeted by the voice of temptation.
"Isn't she exquisite? What firm young breasts! Doesn't the painting make
you want to crush them in your hands? And those nipples! So taut, so
responsive."
"Y-yes," choked the professor, who moved to conceal the growing erection
that pushed aggressively at his simple robe. George Chan noted with
satisfaction the fire in the hunchback's eyes. He had judged his man well.
"Ooohhhh, this one is a favorite of mine -- Can you not see the embers of
rage burning in his eye, the expression of conquest on his ugly face? Notice
the tendons in the giant's forearm as he flogs her. The brutal musculature of
his biceps. See how Nakamura has captured the princess's agonized expression,
as the whip slices into her tender breasts. Magnificent!"
"W-why are you showing m-me this?" the professor stammered as he
hypnotically turned the page once again.
"You do me an injustice, professor. Since my son told me of his problem a
few weeks ago I have had my ...associates keep an eye on you."
The hunchback looked around in a panic. "Then you know..."
"May I tell you a story, professor?" George Chan sat back in his chair and
looked upward as if he were addressing the ceiling. "It is about a man who was
both blessed and cheated by nature. The goddess of nature gave him one of the
finest minds of his time; but she cursed him with a face and a body hideous
beyond belief."
Leung covered his face with his hands for a long moment.
George Chan went on. "As a young man he no doubt had all the instincts,
all the passions of any other man. He surely must have made a few abortive
attempts at female companionship; but each was doubtless met with mockery and
derision. Frustrated, this poor soul sought out the company of prostitutes, but
even the most common of streetwalkers were repulsed by him and refused to take
his money."
The hunchback, his head bobbing up and down in wordless despair, emitted a
strangled sound.
"As the years went by, the young man's natural affections hardened into
hatred for everything young and beautiful. Late at night, after his studies
were concluded, he would haunt the neighborhoods of the brothels of the city,
hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the young beauties who worked there. In
hopes of taking some pleasure, if only from a distance, from the sight of a
beautiful face or a graceful body -- those charms of which his cursed fate had
deprived him.
"One night, many years later," George continued, as he moved forward in his
chair again, his voice growing more intense, "this man stood, huddled in his
cloak, outside the House of Madam Wong, the finest bordello of the city. He had
learned to take enjoyment from watching the pleasure-girls file in, each more
beautiful than the last; on one such night some months ago, he crept a little
too close to the entrance and a few of the girls saw him lurking in the
darkness. When the full moon emerged from a cloud and illuminated his face and
body, the girls rebuked him cruelly, called him names, and summoned two of the
black-garbed 'enforcers' of the brothel. They proceeded to beat him soundly and
threw him in a ditch.
The hunchback's body shook with shame and remembered rage.
This time it was George's turn to turn a page in the book, as professor
Leung looked on. "Ahhh, this is a nice one -- see how Yuki's body is contorted
with pain as he pulls the cord tighter around her breasts? It is only fitting
that the beauty should suffer for condemning his ugliness, is it not?"
Professor Leung's cock throbbed with lust as he examined the picture
carefully. His protruding jaw worked spasmodically; his disfigured face was a
study in wrath.
"Where was I? Oh, yes ... the man in my story was lying half conscious in
a ditch behind the House of Madam Wong. As he regained his senses he heard
cries of pain coming from the bordello. As it happens the ditch was only a
short distance from a 'punishment room' which was situated in the rear wing of
the brothel. A young woman, no doubt one of the pleasure-girls, was being
beaten. The man listened eagerly to each blow as it landed on soft female
flesh, followed momentarily by a plaintive cry for mercy from the victim."
George Chan looked at his guest. From his gloomy, shame-faced countenance,
it was clear that his 'story' had hit its mark. After a moment he continued, "I
suspect that the man tried to guess which of the girls was being whipped; no
doubt he visualized one of the girls who had treated him badly as being the
victim. I imagine that he stood there in the shadows, taking righteous
satisfaction in each fall of the lash, each cry of suffering."
George turned another page of the book. "Ahh! Here we have the giant
raping Princess Yuki from behind while he crushes her luscious breasts in his
powerful hands. It appears that his mighty phallus will split her in two, does
it not?"
The grotesque little man's eyes were glowing with perverse desire, and his
fists were clenched with cruel resolve as he drank in the illustrations
depicting the violation of the lovely Japanese princess. His manhood rose
ardently from his crotch, as hard as an ingot of iron.
Continuing his story, George went on. "The man of whom I speak fell into
the habit of returning to that lonely ditch each night. The windows of the room
from which the screams came were obstructed by thickets of brambles, so he could
see nothing. But each night at midnight one or more girls were disciplined,
either for some petty wrongdoing, or merely to satisfy the perverse pleasure of
some sadistic client. Each night, regardless of the weather, he would repeat
his illicit ritual, standing alone in the darkness, listening with rapt
attention, always imagining the victim to be one of the girls who had mistreated
him. After a time, no doubt, he learned to discern the difference in sound the
various implement of torture make when they are used on a soft female body."
Leung was a picture of a man in the throes of lust. "Bamboo is the
best..." he stammered, "... a sharp, smacking sound when it strikes the flesh
... it must be very painful ... the cries ... exquisite..."
After a momentary pause, George continued, "And each night, no doubt, he
dreamt of what it might be like to have a beautiful young woman at his mercy."
George sipped from his tea, as he watched his guest continue to turn the
pages of the erotic volume with frenzied fingers.
George Chan flipped yet another page over. "Ah...Look here. The one-eyed
giant has forced the young princess to take his monstrous organ into her
virginal mouth." Turning the page quickly, "And here, see how his plum-sized
testicles smash into her pretty chin with every thrust?"
"Well, professor, what do you think of my story? Do you think such a man
would be willing to bargain an insignificant grade in a philosophy class, for a
chance to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh? To spend an hour with a woman whose
beauty would eclipse that of most of the pleasure-girls of Madame Wong?"
Professor Leung writhed miserably, indecisively in his chair. His pitted
face was damp with perspiration as his eyes devoured each illustration.
George turned another page. "Ahhh, and now she's taking the monster's cock
in her sweet young ass. What about it, professor? Are you not tempted by such
a prospect? Are you not anxious to fulfill your own fantasies?"
"Yes!" The professor slammed a fist on the desk. "Yes, though my soul be
cursed for it! Where is this woman you would offer me?"
George, smiling, signaled to his son who stood at one end of the
full-length golden curtain behind him. Chiang pulled on the draw-string of the
curtain and the ornate tapestry slowly parted, revealing a small room beyond.
The room seemed to contain only two objects; a narrow table, covered with
a black velvet cloth, had been placed on one one side of the room. Far more
striking was the thick circular post that rose from the tiled floor in the
center of the room. It was an eye-catching cylinder of polished obsidian, some
nine inches in diameter and standing about four and a half feet high -- eye
level for the professor.
Magnificent as the post was, it paled into insignificance when compared to
the nude, kneeling, blindfolded woman who was lashed to it, facing the three
men. The slender wrists of Erika Weiss were tied together with tight white cord
and tethered, with less than a foot of slack, to a gleaming brass ring that
protruded from the top of the post.
"Come closer, professor. Take a good look." George Chan winked knowingly
at his son, as the deformed savant stared at the exotic vision before him.
Erika had been freshly bathed since her afternoon ordeal; her freshly washed and
dried blonde tresses were a golden storm on her bare shoulders. Even from
several feet away he detected that her perfectly sculpted body had been scented
with the tantalizing tincture of clove. The short tether held her wrists
imprisoned above her head, and forced her kneeling body to remain upright, the
front of her body only an inch or two from the stout post.
Professor Leung approached the blindfolded girl hesitantly; he felt as if
he were in some strange dimension, midway between dream and reality. The
gleaming black post obstructed his view of much of the girl's ripe body until he
approached to within a few feet of her. When he got close enough to see her
tanned figure in profile, he marveled that the first woman he had ever seen in
all her nude loveliness was this most exquisite of creatures. Moments later he
heard the sibilant, serpentine voice of temptation again.
"By the way, Professor Leung, the curtain through which we have just passed
is very heavy; Erika, here, could hear nothing of our conversation earlier.
Well? What say you? Do we have a bargain, professor? Isn't an hour with her
worth a bit of compromise?"
The grotesque little man's blazing eyes feasted on the nude vision before
him. The long tanned flanks, the ripe curves of proud breasts and rounded
buttocks; upon hearing voices in the room, the young woman's body had nestled
closer to the pole in at attempt to shield her sumptuous pleasure-mounds and the
golden fringe of her pubic hair from their view.
"May I," the diminutive visitor grunted, his voice thick with lust, "touch
her? Just for a moment?" The blindfolded blonde's shoulders shuddered
slightly in apprehension.
"Certainly you may, professor," George responded pleasantly, as the crime
lord slowly edged toward the center of the room. When Leung began to sidle
clumsily toward Erika, he added, in a much less pleasant tone. "As soon as you
agree to my condition. Have we a bargain?"
"Yes, damn you, yes!" The professor moved closer to the girl, his face
florid, the legion of lesions on his face having grown even more unsightly as a
result of his perspiring profusely.
"Excellent, professor, excellent!" George Chan observed as he moved behind
Erika. "It is customary, I'm told, to begin a courtship with a kiss."
Trembling, the professor approached the naked young woman. Standing, his
face was on a plane with that of the kneeling girl. Slowly, slowly, he bent to
touch his scabrous lips to her luscious ones.
The professor's face was only inches from hers when George Chan stripped
away the blindfold, permitting Erika to see the hideous face of the man bending
over her.
Erika screamed and screamed and screamed again, as Professor Leung recoiled
in shock and anger. George Chan smiled to himself; it was good that he had
dismissed the servants. Especially since he was quite confident that these
would not be the last of Erika's screams this night...
Alarmed by Erika's deafening screams, the professor had backed away and
bumped into the narrow table. Those screams of fear and disgust, which echoed a
hundred past rejections, caused something in him to snap. In that moment the
professor changed from a timid pedant into a man bent on avenging a lifetime of
indignities.
"I am appalled by Miss Weiss's behavior professor; fortunately tonight you
do not have to suffer in silence." George moved toward the hunchback, who was
staring at the blonde with thunderbolts in his eyes. George reached toward the
small table and drew back its black velvet cover.
The hunchback looked on with wonder at the array of implements displayed
that had been hidden by the black shroud. Three types of whips, two bamboo
canes of varying diameters, a yard-long polished wooden rod, an evil-looking
leather strap, and an ominously thick black paddle.
"Here is your chance professor," George remarked softly as he and Chiang
Chan moved toward the curtain. "To avenge every affront, every humiliation you
have ever suffered at the hands of women. Make good use of it. My son and I
have an important meeting; we will be back in an hour or two."
George had almost pulled the curtain behind him when he turned back and
addressed the quivering blonde, who had finally stopped screaming but was
regarding her grotesque captor with dread. "As for you, fraulein, perhaps this
next hour will teach you not to dishonor me by displaying insubordination in my
brother's house.
"But I didn't ...I di..." Erika cried desperately. But it was too late.
The Chans were gone. And the horrible hunchback had picked up a
frightful-looking four-thonged whip, and was inching slowly toward his sexual
scapegoat in a strange crab-like gait, a fanatical hatred born of years of
suppressed rage burning in his eyes...
Chapter 14 The Hunchback's Revenge
"Bitte...Please...I'm sorry I screa ..."
CRACCKK!! She felt the searing tails of the whip across her shoulders.
"Aaaaahh!"
"Quiet, woman. I've heard quite enough screaming from you tonight."
The hunchback edged stealthily to his right and then swept the punishing
four-thonged lash across Erika's shapely bottom, leaving a quartet of rosy
blemishes. Despite her submissive position, Professor Leung was still somewhat
in awe at the sight of the blonde's magnificent body, so artfully posed for
punishment. The tight wrist ropes not only lifted her arms up; they also kept
her body kneelingly erect, thus making every inch of the back of her body
accessible to his whip.
Leung, a deranged look in his eyes, slashed feverishly at Erika's tanned
thighs, first the right, then the left, each of the four cruel thongs of the
whip leaving its own tell-tale imprint on her golden flesh. Then he re-directed
his malignant purpose to her ripely rounded behind, whipping her deeply-cleft
buttocks with every ounce of strength he could muster. He was determined to use
this hour to make up for every insult, every derisive laugh that a woman had
ever cast in his direction.
Now that he was well inside the curtained-off room, the professor noted
that the walls on either side of him were lined with a priceless collection of
erotic paintings and drawings. They hailed from the far corners of the
continent, each of them depicting a different Asian beauty in erotic jeopardy.
Full-breasted Arabic houris, supple south-Asian nautch girls, slender nymphs
from Cochin-China, Thai temple dancers. Not too mention a pleasing assortment
of Chinese and Japanese maidens -- each being subjected to some form of cruel
and barbaric rape, bondage, or torture. Sometimes all three at once. Clearly
this was an art-form of which George Chan had proven himself an unquestioned
connoisseur.
Erika's slim and shapely calves felt the next few stings of the hunchback's
multi-thonged instrument of torture. Fearful of even worse treatment from her
gnome-like tormentor, Erika did her best to stifle the groans that begged to be
released. It was amazing, she thought, that a body so twisted, so deformed,
could be possessed of such strength.
Indeed, the crazed professor felt rejuvenated. He attacked her flanks next,
aiming for the gentle protrusion of the feminine ribcage that pressed against
her flesh. Left! Right! Left! Right! he flogged her sensitive sides, letting
the tongues of the thongs creep around to visit her flat belly.
Erika tried desperately to use the foot or so of slack to move away from
the frenzied little man, but all she could really do was clumsily circle the
ebony cylinder to which she was bound, moving slowly counter-clockwise, while
the relentless hunchback stalked her, lashing furiously at her legs and bottom.
Once she tried to stand, but in doing so it was necessary to part her legs
for balance, and when she did so her tormentor swept the lash viciously up
between her smooth golden thighs, blinding her with pain and driving her back to
her knees in agony, even before he had finished saying, "Back on your knees,
whore! Or you'll get a dozen more just like that one."
Defeated, Erika slid to her knees in despair. Moments later Professor
Leung began a slow march up her spine with the whip, alternating fierce
forehands with brutal backhand strokes, enjoying the way the blonde cringed in
response to each painful impact. Each stroke of the lash fell slightly higher
than the one preceding, until the strokes were raining down, one after another,
on her broad but softly rounded shoulders, well-muscled from her recent stint as
Ming-Tsu's galley slave.
The soft expanse of Erika's back was ablaze with the pain of a score of
lashes when the professor elected to try a new weapon. Forsaking the thonged
whip, he took the black rectangular paddle from the table, gripped it tightly in
his small hand, and gave the forlorn blonde a series of vicious whacks high
across the back of each supple thigh, before devoting himself to a second
thorough thrashing of her plump buttocks.
WHACCKK!! the black rectangle burned into the base of Erika's milky
buttocks as she squirmed in pain. The professor felt the sublime, unique thrill
of dominance course through his body, as each blow seemed to send pleasurable
jolts of carnal electricity through his cock and balls.
WHACCKK!! He gave her a blazing blow across the left asscheek, leaving a
burning rectangle of rubescent flesh.
Re-gripping the paddle, he WHAACKK!!ed her across the ripest curves of her
shapely bottom. "AAAGGHH!"
"Silence, I said!" WHACCKK!! "Unghhh" was Erika's muted cry.
WHACKK! WHACCKK!! WHACKK!!! he pounded her gloriously resilient buttocks
with the hellish paddle.
Erika still tried to edge away from him, but since all she could do was
slide around the perimeter of the polished black pole, her futile efforts to
avoid his blows perturbed him not in the least. As he WHACCKKed her well-toned
thighs once again, he was reminded of a book he had read many years ago, "Notre
Dame de Paris", in which the hunchbacked bellringer was put in a pillory while
the beautiful Gypsy girl, Esmeralda, watched. But he had altered Hugo's classic
somewhat; tonight it was the beauteous Esmeralda who was in bondage, and it was
he, the admiring hunchback, who was administering the punishment.
Setting the paddle down for a moment, he crouched behind her and seized a
rounded buttcheek in each of his small hands, delighting in the radiant heat
given off by her well-whipped derriere. He pulled her wriggling buttocks
apart, revealing her delicate anal rosebud. And then with a quick thrust he
drove the thick middle finger of his right hand deep into her puckering anus,
while he slapped her warm bottom with his left. The blonde's pelvic gyrations
to escape the intruding finger amused him; but she angered him when she
eventually did free herself by squirming suddenly to her right.
Professor Leung scowled, determined to crush her resistance to his
advances. "WHACCKK!! he smote the blonde right across the deep groove of her
buttock cleft.
"Bitte...please ..."
"I'll teach you to pull away from me, slut!" Then, drawing the sinister
paddle back, he gave his prisoner a resounding WHACCCKK!! on exactly the same
reddening spot. And then a third punitive WHAACCKK!! precisely on top of the
second.
"AAGHHHH! Gott!"
Having painted the golden girl's buttocks a blazing red, the professor
flung the paddle away and seized the long brown leather strap from the table.
Unbeknownst to him the strap was the dreaded double-thick Tadzhik yak-strap --
one of the most punishing implements of discipline ever conceived.
Leung took the dark strap back over his shoulder and then sent it rocketing
downard at the back of Erika's shapely thighs. The strap cut through the air at
the speed of lightning before exploding into her flesh with a most stimulating
CRAACCKKKK!!!! "EEAYAHHH!" Erika screamed in agony.
The golden girl was no longer able to suppress her pain and suffering.
Each subsequent stroke seemed to draw from her a fresh expression of anguish.
CRACKKK!! "AAAUUHHH!! Gott!!" A scalder to her meaty buttocks.
CRACCKKK!! "AAIIAAGHH!!" High on her smooth legs; Erika's body was
vibrating deliciously in pain now between each stroke of the punishing strap.
CRACCCKKK!!! "UAHHHH!!!" Across the shoulderblades that pressed so
deliciously against the reddening skin of her back.
CRACCKKK!!! "AAAGHH!" Another searing blow to her surprisingly tender
calves. Virtually every inch of her backs, buttocks and legs was on fire now.
The wild-eyed hunchback stared down at his moaning victim -- the scapegoat
for his vengeance and his lust. He felt more vibrantly alive than ever before
in his life, as if his prior existence had been a mere prologue to this exciting
encounter.
But he wanted one thing more... and he would have it. He thought back on
the countless times he had begged, or would have begged, for female
companionship. But tonight this blonde goddess of lust, the representative of
every woman who had rejected him, would be made to beg HIM for his sexual
favors. Or suffer mightily for failure to do so.
Professor Leung walked over to the curtain and peeked through to make sure
that the Chans were not in sight. Satisfied that they were indeed gone, he
began unbuttoning his dull gray robe.
During their whole encounter, Erika Weiss had done her best to avoid
looking at her gruesome tormentor, afraid that her facial expression might
betray her disgust for his appearance and lead to even angrier retribution. For
the most part she had kept her eyes submissively down while he had beaten her.
But now, although her eyes were downcast, she sensed that he was returning
toward her, discarding his garments as he did so. Shortly he was standing before
her, naked, his erection robust and randy.
"Look at me!" the crazed little man bellowed. Only the ebony cylinder
separated them. Once again Erika hugged the pole a little closer, in an obvious
attempt to hide her wondrous breasts and alluring pussy from the raving monster.
Slowly Erika lifted her sapphire-blue eyes only to be confronted by the
contorted body of her tormentor. It wasn't so much the twisted, scoliotic
spine, and the veinous hump on his back that she found repulsive; it was the
scores of pock-marks that ravaged his skin, some large, some small, some scaly,
some moistly festering. There was nothing wrong with his purplish penis, though
- it was at least a match for any man of normal build. The hunchback's swollen
testicles swung heavily from his scaly crotch. His pubic hair was rather sparse,
perhaps owing to his skin disease; his belly, thighs and loins were pitted with
the tell-tale craters of his childhood illness.
"Hasslich Zwerg! she muttered softly under her breath, as she shook her
long blonde hair from side to side in disgust.
"Fraulein, fraulein," Leung responded scornfully, his accent flawless, as
he walked around behind the kneeling nymph, still holding the terrible
yak-strap. "Perhaps your Master did not inform you that I have taught myself
seven European languages. I don't appreciate being called an 'ugly dwarf' in
any of them. "Turn around. Face me."
"Nein... bitte... please... God...no..."
"Very well," the hunchback responded, and he looped the chocolate-brown
strap around Erika's pretty neck. "Will you turn around?"
"N-no ... please ... let me gghhk" Erika's voice disappeared in a strangled
gasp, as he pulled the strangling strap tight. "Will... you...turn?" he
demanded, as he wrenched the the strap tighter with each syllable.
"Aghhkk! Hagghkk!! ... y-y-yes" she choked again. When the enraged
professor released the pressure just enough to allow her some freedom of
movement, she rose into a crouch, dipped her shoulders under her extended arms
and turned 180 degrees.
Erika was now facing him, in a squatting positon, her elbows pulled up
parallel with her face, her white-corded wrists still roped to the gleaming
brass ring above and behind her head. The golden fringe between her legs failed
miserably at concealing her delectable woman-slit. "Back on your knees!" ordered
the half-demented little man, and Erika was soon kneeling once again.
"Back up, so that your hips and back are flush up against the pole, and so
that your lower legs extend backward on either side of it. Schnell!" The
hunchback lifted the yak-strap threateningly.
Erika scrambled to do as she was directed, trying not to look at the naked
hunchback. The glossy obsidian felt blessedly cool against her burning thighs
and buttocks.
Professor Leung took a moment to savor once again the voluptuous body of
this sacrificial scapegoat doomed to suffer his cruel revenge. With her elbows
lifted high, her breasts were lifted up in silent offering. There were beauties
aplenty in George Chan's art collection, but none had breasts that could compare
with those of this young German nymph. He stroked his rigid manhood lewdly as
he admired the surging mounds that rose from Erika's chest, round and firm and
gloriously pink-nippled.
Leung fell to his knees in front of Erika and reached for those inviting
globes. Despite herself, the German girl could not help but shudder in
revulsion as the scaly hands reached toward her. But her shudder, noted with a
scowl by the professor, could not prevent him from touching her breasts, and
caressing them gently -- at first. Moments later he took her ripe melons into
his small hands and began squeezing them, tentatively at first, and then more
vigorously.
How many nights had he lain sweating on his simple cot wondering if it
would ever be his lot to hold a woman's breasts in his hands. What would they
feel like, he had wondered? Would they be warm? Soft? Firm? Would they be
scented with some sweet perfume? How would they taste?
But never, even in his wildest erotic fantasies, had he imagined that he,
the most ill-featured of men, would have at his disposal a body such as the one
that cowered before him now.
Leung made up for lost time, reveling in her breast flesh, manipulating her
delicious pleasure-mounds with his eager fingers while he inhaled the faint,
tangy aroma of clove that enveloped her enticing body. But when he bent his
head to worship her swollen melons with his scaly lips, to take those tempting
nipple-nuggets between his eager teeth, Erika could not help giving another
involuntary shudder.
The professor's face darkened in anger at this rebuke and he drew his right
hand back and slapped Erika's left breast hard, as she winced in pain. Pleased
by the way her lust-globe bobbled at the impact, he smacked her other breast
with his left hand, enjoying the sold impact of palm striking breastflesh. He
spanked each of her firm, young tits a few more times before reaching for her
quiescent pink nipples, trapping them between the thumb and forefinger of each
hand.
He twisted and twirled her nipple-nuggets gently for a second, and then not
so gently, as he felt them swell in his hands. When they were pleasingly erect
he warned Erika in a stern voice. "I'm going to pull on these, Fraulein. I'm
going to pull on them very hard; but you are to keep your back pressed firmly
against the post. Verstehen?"
"Y-yes... I... und-derstand." she replied, quivering with fear. The next
few moments, she rightly sensed, would test the limits of her endurance
severely.
"Good." And the grotesque little man intensified his grip on her breast
buds, rolling them roughly between his fingers, until they were a pair of
pinkish peaks of desire surging outward from her crinkly coral aureolae.
When Erika's nipple buds were a satisfying half-inch long he altered his
grip, digging into the tender nuggets with his powerful thumbnails. "Keep your
back against the post, fraulein," he reminded her, and then he began to tug on
her aroused nipple-crests, cruelly distending Erika's honey-gold pleasure-melons
as he did so.
His nails clamped down with crushing force, even as his hands pulled ever
harder on her abused nipples. Erika felt her blue eyes fill with tears of
agony, as she tried her best to maintain the position she had been ordered to
hold. The pain was unimaginable as his nipple-grip stretched her tortured
breasts into two suffering cones of flesh.
At last she could bear the pain no more, her courage failed her, and she
slowly leaned forward from the post so as to relieve the terrible strain on her
stiff-nippled breasts.
"I warned you not to do that," the crazed hunchback said in a grim voice.
"I assure you that the pain you have just avoided will be as nothing compared to
that which you will endure for your disobedience."
Professor Leung rose to his unimpressive full height, retrieving the yak
strap as he did so. He stroked his angrily swollen cock for a moment or two,
and then, taking careful aim at Erika's succulent breasts, he lifted the strap
high over his over-sized head and then slammed it down with a resounding
CRAACKK!! across the upper slopes of her magnificent melons.
"AAAAIIIIEEAII!!' she screamed. "Please... not my br..."
"I warned you!" CRAACCKKK!! The professor whipped her luscious tits with
the thick strap again, leaving another garish streak on her proud love-gourds,
and drawing a tortured cry from his beautiful prisoner.
CRAACKK!! He followed those breast-busters with a stinging horizontal slash
across her sweat-slick thighs.
CRACCKK!! A diagonal blow that left a long, livid streak from just below
the blonde's left breast to the base of her right hip.
"AAGHHHH! please...no m-more..." Erika gasped in despair
"No more with the strap? That seems like a reasonable request." Leung
crab-walked to the table. "Perhaps you would prefer this?" And he held up the
thinner of two bamboo canes -- index finger-thick, and studded with rounded nubs
along its length.
"N-n-no... I meant..."
WHACKK! The cane ripped into her soft mid-section as Erika groaned in
agony.
Leung nodded knowingly when he heard the first fearful impact of the cane
-- he had heard the unmistakable sound of bamboo ripping into naked girl-flesh
many times in that lonely ditch below the punishment room at Madam Wong's.
WHACKK! He blasted Erica across her tanned, well-toned thighs once again.
And then twice more WHACCKK! WHACKK!! in rapid succession, as each stroke
elicited the forlorn cry of a wounded animal from his beautiful captive.
The crazed hunchback let her recover from those three vicious
thigh-cutters, before he poked the tip of the cane directly into the center of
Erika's mouth-watering left breast. The end of the cane bored into her roseate
as she grimaced in tit-pain. Leung was standing directly in front of her now.
He used the cane to push her shoulders back against the black post.
"Keep your head back, fraulein," he admonished her, and then, facing her,
he lifted the cane straight out from his body and held it about ten inches above
her left breast and then swept it down with a vicious "THWACKK" marking the
upslope of her tender breast from chest wall to nipple.
"AAIIIEEAAHH!" The cutting cane had proven to be even worse than the
strap. "Please...no m-more... I can't stan..."
THWHACKK!! The incredibly aroused hunchback delivered an excruciating
tit-splitter down the upper slope of Erika's other's breast.
"Bitte...bittte..." the golden girl moaned pitieously.
The professor, unhinged by sadistic lust, changed his stance slightly, and
stood at right angles to his sensuous prey. He cupped his swollen scrotum in
his left hand, fondling his balls pleasurably as he eyeballed her perspiring
tit-globes hungrily for a long moment. His hand moved to his swollen manhood,
sliding leisurely up and down its ruddy length, as he delighted in the proud
creamy-gold breasts that still jutted toward him defiantly, as if daring him to
do his worst. Erika's taut nipples were provocative up-tilted targets indeed,
centered perfectly in those ripe, juicy melons. Leung drew the rigid bamboo rod
back on a horizontal plane, and then swung it fiercely forward letting it
explode into Erika's swollen nipples with all the force at his command.
WHACKKKKK!!! "EEEEAAAAYYYYYAAAHHH!!!'
He tightened his grip and, focussing on Erika's delicious pink rivets, went
nipple-hunting again, attacking them with barbaric savagery.
WHACCKK!! "AAAUURGGHHHH!!!"
WHACCKK!! "AAIIIAAHH!!' He revisited her straining thighs, drawing blood
for the first time, as one of the uneven nubs near the end of the wicked cane
accomplished its fearful, flesh-tearing mission.
WHACKKKKK!! "AAUGHHH!!" A ferocious stroke from the cane set her belly on
fire, sweeping across the soft flesh between her pelvic bones.
WHACCKK!! The cruel hunchback ripped the cane into the firm undercurve of
Erika's left breast, opening a thin laceration on the sumptuous flesh.
"Ouwwhhhhh...please....no mo..."
WHACKK!! "A punishing blow to her other lust-globe, breaking the golden
skin, allowing a thin stream of claret to trickle gently down the splendid
contour of her fleshy globe.
Somehow the sight of blood seemed to restore a vestige of sanity to the
frenzied professor; through the thick fog of lust that surrounded him, it
occurred to him that George Chan had given him permission to discipline this
girl with whom he was displeased, not to destroy her beauty. And in any event,
every nerve cell in his twisted body was screaming for sexual release.
He edged forward in his peculiar gait and offered his swollen manhood to
his distraught victim.
The teary-eyed blonde swallowed hard. The hunchback said not a word; he
did not need to. He merely tightened his grip on the dreaded cane, and Erika's
mouth, impelled by unreasoning fear, moved toward his fleshy spear.
Erica's rigorous weekend of training at the hands of Ming-tsu and Li Chang
had included a number of painful lessons directed toward improving her skill at
the fine art of fellatio. Her lips closed over the hunchback's throbbing penis
and within seconds her oral caress had nursed his arousal, which had been at the
precipice of orgasm for many minutes, to the brink of climax.
The sexually inexperienced professor stepped back, and shuddered with lust
as his veiny knob shot burst after burst of sperm arcing through space onto
Erika's lovely face, neck, and chest. Who would have thought the little man to
have had so much spunk in him? Erika thought, as she felt a gob of male juice
trickle down one graceful cheek; similar creamy streams joined the thin crimson
trails that had formed on each of her lacerated breasts.
Erica breathed a sigh of relief. The hunchback had been satisfied, and
now, perhaps, he would be content to be on his way.
But Professor Leung had other ideas. He hadn't waited nearly forty years
to be satisfied with one orgasm. He stepped closer once again, pressing his
dripping cock against her lips again, indicating that she was to tongue it
clean. And then the poor blonde prisoner was forced to lick and suck his slimy
organ back to full erection.
Several minutes later, after she had accomplished that degrading task to
his satisfaction, the misshapen little man forced her to turn her body around to
face the polished black cylinder once more. The newly-aroused professor had her
stand this time, but bent over at a right angle so that her blonde head rested
on her wrists atop the obsidian post.
Then he retrieved a six-foot-long braided leather whip from the table and
sent it CRACCKKing into the soft contours of her long smooth thighs. The sharp
report of the single-tail was familiar too, from his nights of audio-voyeurism
in the ditch behind the bordello. The hunchback pleasured himself as he
alternated savage strokes to Erika's sensuous thighs with blazing blows that
curled lovingly around the ripe curves of her buttocks, so temptingly proffered
by her inclined position. Twice he clumsily swept the snake-like whip up
between Erika's wide-spaced legs toward her inviting gash; luckily for her,
those blows at least, were rather awkard, and did not do much damage.
Six, eight, ten, twelve more times the evil, snake-like whip ripped into
Erika's body before the hunchback attacked her from behind, thrusting his ardent
lance into her. The sensation of intercourse, the working of her cuntal muscles
on his throbbing maleness, was as deliciously overpowering as her oral caresses
had been, and it did not take long for him to come to another overpowering
climax.
After that second triumphant orgasm Professor Leung withdrew his cock from
the brutalized blonde, as she collapsed to her knees again and curled up into as
fetal a position as her constraining wrist-ropes would allow.
Leung, somewhat dazed by his exertions, trudged over to pick up his
discarded robe. As he fastened the familiar, well-worn garment around himself,
he felt as if he were wrapping the comforting fabric of humanity around the
dark, twisted lusts and desires that the seductive machinations of George Chan
had summoned from the depths of his soul.
It was as if he were emerging from a horrible nightmare -- his hands shook
as he took a long look at the beautiful young girl cringing silently in the
center of the room, her graceful body covered with the angry marks he had
inflicted. Then he glanced toward the table of implements. The dark paddle and
the thonged whip lay there, still glistening with Erika's perspiration. A
droplet of fresh breast-blood clung to the end of the evil-looking bamboo cane
which hung over the end of the table; he watched as the crimson bubble swelled
slowly in size before dropping soundlessly to the tiled floor, where it seemed
to symbolize a scarlet period at the end of a sad chapter.
His gaze swept around the room, taking in the erotic paintings, which
seemed distasteful to him now, and the array of weapons, tinged with sweat and
blood, that he had used to satisfy his base desires. He shook his head, as if
trying to clear it of the cobwebs of madness.
The professor stood there, lost in thought, for a long moment. Then he
seemed to make a decision. He sidled back over to the cylinder and undid the
ropes that bound Erika to the brass ring. He grabbed the long leather strap,
folded it, and inserted into a deep pocket in his robe. And then he dragged the
naked young woman to her feet and forcibly through the curtain and into George
Chan's den.
Spying the illustrated volume by Nakamura that had played such a large part
in his fall from grace on the desk, he stared at it for a long moment before
closing it with an air of finality. Then he stopped to scrawl something on a
piece of paper. He stared at what he had written for a long moment, and then
pulled Erika, who was too weak to resist, toward a closet in which he rummaged
around until he found and withdrew a long cloak.
Handing it to her he ordered, "Schnell! Quickly!" The terrified girl,
could only wonder "What next?" as she slipped into the cloak.
A few minutes later passersby outside were puzzled by the strange site of a
misshapen little man in a dull gray robe leading a tall cloaked figure by the
hand. The shorter of the two moving slowly in an odd sideways shuffle, his
companion moving as if every muscle in that person's body was wracked with pain.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
On the following morning several people in Shanghai were greeted with
unexpected suprises. After the council meeting of the Black Scorpions, George
Chan and his son had adjourned to the house of Madam Wong's. There they had
celebrated their success in the matter of the philosophy grade at the expense of
Mila, the girl from Macao whose superb breasts had afforded Ming-tsu such
stimulating practice with needle and thread.
Father and son had each consumed several drinks at the bordello, before and
after administering a vigorous simultaneous double-fucking to their sensuous
hostess de soir, and upon returning home they had retired early without checking
on their blonde captive.
Needless to say, George Chan was apopleptic when he discovered Erika's
absence the next morning. He was in a raging fury all day, and he took out his
wrath at midnight that evening at the House of Madame Wong. He ordered the
delectable Peony to be brought to the the punishment room, and when the slender
beauty was brought before him, he broke in a fiendishly cruel pair of silver
nipple clamps that he had bought with the intention of using on the swollen pink
nuggets of Erika Weiss.
The only good news that George had all day, was that based on Peony's
tearful pleas to be released from the sharp-toothed devices, the amount he had
spent on the clamps had been money well spent.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The Assistant Secretary of the German foreign office, one Klaus Schumacher,
had been the first to arrive at the consulate in Shanghai the morning after
Erika's abduction. There, curled up in the doorway of that stately building near
the main square, he had found a cloaked figure sleeping, with a note in her
hand, written in perfect German, saying that the possessor of the note was a
German citizen who had been abducted by persons unknown, had managed to escape,
and wanted nothing more than to return to her homeland.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The third suprised person on that fateful morning was the housekeeper of
Professor Leung. The professor was a habitually early riser, and typically
embarked for the library at the break of day. He had long since entrusted the
housekeeper with the key to his tiny aparment, so that she could clean it in his
absence.
When the housekeeper opened the door to the professor's lodgings she cried
out softly in horror when she saw the professor's small, lifeless body hanging
from the ceiling, clad in the old gray robe she had seen him wear hundreds of
times. His body slowly spun back and forth, suspended from a sturdy planter
hook, his grotesque face and body even more gruesome in death. A dark brown
leather strap encircled his strangled neck; an overturned chair lay on the
floor beneath his body. His last act on earth had been to kick the chair away
with one of his spindly legs.
The professor's little desk, which was usually covered with an assortment
of books and papers, had been carefully cleared, except for one item, his grade
book. After sending someone to get help, the aged housekeeper bent over the
book, wondering what the professor might have written or read that might have
prompted his suicide.
The book was opened to a page entitled Chiang Chan. A number of remarks
about Chiang Chan's academic career, none too flattering, had been inscribed in
slightly faded ink at the top of the page.
At the bottom of the page, in the place where the student's final grade was
to be entered, the professor, a man of his word, had inscribed in fresh red ink
the ideographic equivalent of an "A".
Chapter 15 A Fateful Seduction
Late one night, a week or so after the cruel beating of Peony, during which
the Brothers Chan had mapped out their plan to trap the presumed traitor within
the Black Scorpion gang, Li Chang was lying face down on Ming-tzu's comfortably
cushioned bed while she massaged his aching muscles. That night he had spent
several hours training some of Wen-chi's loyal followers in various martial arts
and in the handling of small arms. His students had learned their lessons well;
one over-zealous young protege had thrown him violently to the floor a couple of
times. As a result his lower back was very sore. But the benefits were certain
to outweigh the rather painful cost. The cadre of men that he had trained,
several of them little more than boys, would do well when pitched battles with
the Scorpions came, as they inevitably must.
Li Chang was under no illusions as to the perils he faced; he was playing a
supremely dangerous double game, and the slightest misstep could lead to his
undoing. Over the last several weeks he and his men had dispatched a number of
mid-level Scorpions to an eternal rendezvous with their late ancestors, and the
villainous Chans had to know that this strange series of "defections" was more
than coincidental.
It had been several nights since he had been with Ming-tsu, and she,
usually so animated, was strangely quiet tonight. When he had returned,
exhausted from a long day, she had bathed him gently. When his bath was done,
she had him lay on the very bed on which she had given him so much pleasure,
while she lit the candles which stood on a pair of end tables, and retrieved a
small vessel of hand-blown glass that contained her finest massage oil. As soon
as she undid the cap, a delicate but pleasing aroma tinged with hints of vanilla
and coconut seemed to diffuse throughout her bedchamber. Her skillful fingers
felt good on his body as she worked the sweet savory oil into the muscles of his
neck and shoulders. He tried to unwind, and forget, if only for an hour or two,
the ever-present danger of his situation and bask in the sensuous caresses of
his nimble-fingered mistress.
"Relax, my love," his brown-eyed concubine murmured through rose-colored
lips. "You are too tense."
Ming-tsu was straddling the backs of his legs now, her rounded bottom,
naked beneath the scanty chemise, felt soft and warm against his muscular
thighs. She dug her talented fingers into the pliable flesh in his lower back
for several minutes, applying a soothing mint-based balm that she had acquired
from a Siamese apothecary. The balm burned the area around his lower vertebrae
for a few seconds, but within a minute or two, thanks to the deep-healing balm
and Ming-tsu's skillful fingers, he began to feel like a new man.
A moment or two later Ming-tsu poured another half ounce of the fragrant
oil into her talented hands, which she proceeded to rub deeply into his tense
buttocks, kneading his taut gluteal muscles with practiced fingers.
After rubbing them vigorously for a few moments she began using a chopping
motion on his buttocks and the backs of his thighs. As not infrequently
happened, Ming-tsu awakened nerve endings Li Chang didn't know he had. Even in
his fatigue he felt his manhood stirring beneath him.
After a minute or two Ming-tsu abandoned the chopping strokes, and bent
forward so that her ripe lips touched his shoulder blade. Ming-tsu had always
taken as much enjoyment from his lean, hard body as he had taken from hers, and
tonight was no exception. She began to kiss him, leaning forward so that her
barely clad, brazen-nippled breasts grazed his quivering flesh, while her lips
drew a series of sensuous patterns on his back. His body was redolent with the
musky scent of masculine virility, coupled with the faint overtones of coconut,
vanilla, and mint.
His lower back was damp and tingling from her hot breath, when she moved
still lower, squeezing his buttocks and sinewy thighs with her hands even as her
lips descended to kiss and nibble at his buttcheeks.
Ming-tsu slid forward a little, letting her silk-covered breasts slide
tantalizingly over Li's manly body, her flinty nipples seeming to set off
electric sparks every place she touched; Li tried to roll over, so that she
could attend to his pulsing cock, but she pushed him back down, and whispered
breathily, "Not yet, my love." Then she leaned forward again and slowly slid
her sumptuous breasts up and down his thighs, buttocks and lower back, while Li
closed his eyes and enjoyed the dreamy sensuality of the moment.
A few seconds later he opened them again and glanced over his shoulder just
in time to see Ming-tsu insert an index finger into her mouth, and suckle it for
a few moments with her lips and tongue. His semi-rigid organ, envying that
lucky digit, stiffened even further in response. A moment later he felt his
mistress's graceful fingers pressing against the backs of his upper thighs,
gently forcing them apart. He complied willingly, sliding his legs outward
slightly as he felt her manicured fingers slide between his legs and stroke his
perineum, that exquisitely sensitive region between the base of his penis and
his rectal opening. A moment later that saliva-coated index finger slid
smoothly into his anus, and soon he felt a fingernail scraping teasingly at the
walls of his rear orifice, sending sharp tingles of pleasant electricity halfway
up his colon.
His exhaustion forgotten, his swollen manhood rampant with desire, Li
rolled over so that Ming-tsu could see the state of his arousal. His cock was
an angry shade of red, and tipped with a viscous drop of semen.
"Ayee-yah, my stallion's lance will please me well tonight!" Ming-tsu
cooed, licking her lips lasciviously as she eyed Li's throbbing organ hungrily.
But then, unaccountably, she stood up and backed away from him.
The shapely almond-eyed seductress was dressed only in a brief, low-cut
turquoise chemise that failed to reach even to mid-thigh. Li stood up and moved
toward her, encumbered somewhat by his rampant erection. But each time he drew
close, Ming-tsu playfully glided out of his reach, laughing a silvery laugh each
time she eluded his grasp. After a minute or two of this graceful evasion, she
slipped behind a round table, ready to dart either way. Seeing that he had
grown weary of the chase, Ming-tsu turned slightly and posed for him. Standing
obliquely to him, she extended her bare right foot onto the top of the low
table, and then stretched forward with both hands to touch her ankle, a movement
which gave her sensual body the graceful lines and curves of a artist's model.
Then, slowly, caressingly, she drew her soft hands up the slender curves of
her lower leg, past her knee and up along a shapely thigh, smoothing satiny
skin that was perfectly smooth to begin with. At mid-thigh, she caught the hem
of the flimsy turquoise garment, and lifted it as her soft hands continued their
delightful odyssey up her long, luscious legs. A few moments later, her
gleaming, golden leg was bare to the hip, and Li Chang could just make out, in
profile, a few enticing tendrils of dark pubic hair that had somehow eluded the
artful shield formed by the graceful lines of her leg.
The tantalizing exhibition did not last long. A moment later, Ming-tsu let
the hem of her tiny garment fall back in place and she turned to face her lover,
a petulant expression on her pretty face.
"I am angry with you tonight, Li Chang," she pouted. "Always you want to
make love to me. Always you say you want to marry me, one day. But you keep
your life a secret from me." Ming-tsu leaned forward so that the mouthwatering
upper slopes of her lush breasts spilled shamelessly over the scooped neckline
of the flimsy chemise.
"You won't even tell me who your parents are," she scolded him, "or where
you come from. I'm tired of making love to a phantom," Ming-tsu murmured,
befored gliding behind a chair and teasingly lifting the hem of her brief
garment even higher on her ivory-gold thighs.
Even after all their months together, Li remained as enthralled by the
hypnotic beauty of Ming-tsu's face and figure as he had been on that
unforgettable first night when she had taken him to her bed. "I have told you,
my darling," Li Chang replied, a little impatient with the way Ming-tsu kept
sliding so provocatively away from him. He wanted her; he wanted her badly. But
he had long since learned not to rush his encounters with her. Anticipation, he
had discovered in her welcoming arms, is the most perfect of aperitifs. "I am an
orphan. I grew up on the streets."
"But you are obviously well-educated. You must have gone to school. You
must have friends. Why do you keep these things secret from me, my love?" She
could almost feel the heat of his lustful gaze on her body. "Tell me, Li Chang.
If you do, I promise you something special." Ming-tsu gave him a dazzling
smile, bold with the promise of unspoken erotic delight.
After a moment she gracefully lifted her arms to release a hairpin,
noticing how the movement attracted Li's intense gaze to her sharp-nippled
breasts. Removing the hairpin, she let waves of glossy black hair drift lazily
down over her shoulders and smiled lasciviously at Li. She swept her moist pink
tongue across her ruby lips, and then approached him again.
Li reached for her, but she waved a finger at him naughtily and whispered a
breathy, barely audible "Uh-uh," and gently pushed him back down onto the bed.
Standing above him, Ming-tsu cupped a rounded breast in each hand through the
thin silk, and lightly scraped at her nipples, her eyes hot on Li Chang's
swollen cock. And then she turned her back to him, allowing her lover's gaze to
slide up her smooth silken thighs, as she inched the hem of the chemise higher,
and then higher still, giving him an all-too-brief glance at the base of her
alluring buttock cleft.
Then the teasing dark-eyed beauty pivoted around to face her lover again,
while she continued to revolve her hips to some unheard sensual rhythm. Pursing
her lips into a perfect 'O', her left hand lifted the hem of the aquamarine
slip, letting Li admire for a moment the sleek golden roundness of one hip.
Then, standing only inches away from him, she shrugged a softly rounded
shoulder, letting one of the thin straps of the chemise slide down her upper arm
and away from her left breast, baring its rounded perfection down to its taut,
tempting nipple.
Li Chang's jaw tightened with lust as Ming-tsu slid her right hand lazily
across her flat belly, and then upward so that it cupped the underside of that
newly-bared breast, a breast bejeweled by nature with a kissable brown crest
that matched the rich color of her beguiling almond eyes. Li Chang's palms were
sweaty, but his throat was dry with frustrated desire as he watched her slide a
sharp, scarlet thumbnail slowly back and forth across her quivering nipple.
"You like?" she purred huskily.
Chapter 16 Ming-tsu and the Tale of the Bamboo Splints
Ming-tsu knew that of the hundred embraces that they had enjoyed, Li had
been most aroused the night she had let him thrust his throbbing phallus between
the close-set mounds of her luscious breasts. His hands, always manly and
strong, had been rougher than usual on her tender breasts that night, crushing
them tightly around his cock. So much had he enjoyed it, on that lone occasion
when she had submitted to a sweaty, strenuous tit-fucking, that she had withheld
that ultimate favor since, telling him, not untruthfully, that her breasts had
been sore for days aftewards.
But tonight, under orders from George Chan to produce more information
about her lover and his background, she had decided that she would do whatever
was necessary to inveigle herself into his confidence. The Chans were lavishly
generous to those who served them with unswerving loyalty, -- the club, her
comfortable living quarters, even the European-style bed in her bed-chamber,
were ample testimony to that -- as was the very chemise, still hanging by one
thin shoulder strap, that she wore. George Chan had acquired a taste for French
lingerie while studying in Europe, and had often rewarded her finer erotic
performances with the latest (and usually the most shamelessly revealing)
creations of the couturiers de Paris, most of which Ming-tsu had been obliged to
pack away once she had begun her liaison with Li Chang.
But not withstanding all his gifts of jewelry, clothing, and gold, few had
better reason than Ming-tsu to be fearful of of earning the Chans' displeasure.
How could she not remember that unforgettable night about a year ago when
George Chan, after wringing every last ounce of erotic pleasure from Ming-tsu's
superb and willing young body, had told his ambitious young concubine that he
had chosen her to spy on Li Chang, the newest lieutenant of the Black Scorpions.
It was a precaution, he assured her, that the Chans never failed to take when a
new man acceded to that office. Ming-tsu had accepted the mission, anxious to
win further favor with her wealthy paramour, and a short time later she had
approached Li Chang at the club and seduced him for the first time.
It had not been hard to entice him to her bed, nor had it been difficult to
half-fall in love with him, even though her mercenary loyalty inevitably
remained with George Chan, a man of infinitely more wealth and power. Li Chang
was young, good-looking, admirably virile, and most importantly, a quick learner
of the things that pleased her most. He had satisfied her as few of the many
lovers in her young life ever had.
Ming-tsu had no reason to doubt Li Chang's allegiance to the Scorpions --
the elan with which he had flogged her after their lovers' quarrel -- the Night
of the Forty Lashes, as they called it later -- the willingness with which he
had taken part in the pleasurable punishments of the girls from Madame Wong's --
not to mention the stern treatment that he had helped her to administer to their
blonde galley-slave -- all seemed to provide indisputable evidence that he had
the proper personality for a high-ranking officer of the Black Scorpions.
But George Chan wanted more information, and information she meant to
provide. Not long ago, after months apart, George Chan had summoned her to his
home, and he had subjected her to a vigorous and protracted bout of love-making,
during and after which they had partaken liberally of several bottles of rice
wine. On that occasion, for once his ever-present insincere smile had left him.
Giving her a look of utmost seriousness, he had warned her that the intelligence
that she had provided so far about Li Chang was insufficient, and, admonished
her strongly not to disappoint him. Then, his judgment, perhaps clouded by the
amount of alcohol he had consumed, he proceeded to tell her the story of
Chia-lin, who once had been his favorite concubine, but who had been disloyal to
the House of Chan.
Chia-lin had been a sultry, sloe-eyed pleasure-girl from Kowloon who had
attempted to betray the Chans by passing along information about a shipment of
opium to a rival Cantonese gang. George Chan had told Ming-tsu how he and his
brother Richard had arranged for two of their minions to abduct the
south-Chinese beauty in the middle of the night; how the pair of black-robed
Scorpions -- none other than the gap-toothed Dao, and the huge bovine-faced
guard who had admitted George Chan and Erika Weiss to the grounds of the Black
Pagoda -- had dragged the young beauty, clad only in a filmy nightgown, to the
dark cellars of the Black Pagoda; how the Brothers Chan had begun by humiliating
her, forcing her to disrobe in front of her leering lower-class abductors, until
she had stood shamefully nude before the four men.
George had given a signal to Dao and Zheng - the ox-faced man - then, and
the two Scorpions had thrown her roughly to the floor. Dao had pinned her arms
while Zheng had unsheathed his huge fleshy weapon and proceeded to pound it into
Chia-lin's wriggling body. Then, when the Ox had finished his brutal assault,
he and Dao had flipped the beleaguered beauty over on to her knees, so that Dao
could thrust his thick cock deep into the hot, tight little rosebud that George
had plundered so many times before. Chia-lin, George recalled, had squealed
like a Peking piglet, until the Ox had silenced her by stuffing her mouth full
with his monstrous cock.
When the Scorpions were done enjoying these pleasant perquisites of their
office, George ordered them to tie the girl, with her arms extended high
overhead, to one of the stone pillars in the dreadful dungeon. Then he gave
them instructions to wrap lengths of thin white cord around her thighs, her
waist, and just below her jutting breasts, in order to fasten her to the
circular column. At George's command, Zheng used all of his considerable
strength to crank a special windlass that tightened the ropes around Chia-lin's
body so cruelly that the marks from the fiendish cords would be visible for
days.
That last mission accomplished, George Chan had dismissed the Scorpions,
leaving the helpless Chia-lin alone with George and Richard Chan -- and a small
porcelain bowl filled with several dozen razor-sharp bamboo splints...
George had sat up on the edge of his huge round bed then and gestured for
Ming-tsu to take her accustomed position kneeling between his legs while he
continued his story. Ming-tsu had obediently begun stroking the insides of his
stocky thighs, while her pretty head dipped forward in the direction of his
semi-tumescent penis and his hairy testicles. They had made love three times
already that night, but the recollection of the ordeal to which they had
subjected Chia-lin had begun to arouse him again...
The Masters of the Black Pagoda had begun their interrogation of the
alluring young turncoat by inserting splints, one excruciating sliver at a time,
into the meaty parts of Chia-lin's upraised arms and shoulders, not neglecting
her tender, fear-moistened, armpits. Richard had taken one side of Chia-lin's
young body and George the other, and after each had driven a few sharp splinters
into an upraised, they had proceeded to plunge a series of cruel spines into
the Cantonese beauty's supple thighs.
Ming-tsu had listened, mesmerized, as she worshipped the younger Chan's
sturdy cock with her mouth, and suckled his bulging testicles as if they were
the most delicious fruit of the lychee tree. She remembered how her heart had
pounded so loudly - with both fear and excitement - that she feared George
would hear her as he continued his cautionary tale of the Chans' revenge.
Ming-tsu soon learned what the strange hunchback had come to know, that
George Chan was a master story-teller. As he continued his terrifying and
titillating tale, Ming-tsu could almost imagine herself bound to that fearful
pillar, the thin-lipped, cruel-visaged Richard Chan to one side, his deceptively
beaming brother to the other. Her lovely body, like that of Chia-lin in the
story, cold with fear, even though it was covered with rivers of perspiration
and thin streamlets of warm, red blood...
------------
Both aroused by and fearful of that memory, Ming-tsu continued to caress
her swollen nipple-bud with one hand. Li Chang, flushed with excitement, was
stroking his towering erection now. As she watched him pleasure himself,
Ming-tsu parted her legs slightly and her left hand lifted the hem of the
chemise, letting Li Chang get a visual taste of the sweet, damp petals of her
womanhood. Knowing that he enjoyed watching her touch herself, she stroked her
vulva artfully and ardently, and closed her eyes, remembering...
------------
His excitement mounting from her oral caresses, George had gone on to
relate how the whimpers of the pretty Cantonese pleasure-girl had grown louder
by the time the brothers had embedded the first twenty splinters in her soft
flesh. Sensing that her resolve was weakening, but in no hurry to rush the pace
of their cruel inquisition, they had continued asking questions about the rival
gang, its leaders and their plans as they turned their attention to Chia-lin's
inviting midsection, burying splinter after splinter deep in the resilient flesh
of her flanks and belly.
Chia-lin had begun to talk on the twenty-seventh splint. But it was not
until Richard Chan had forced several torturous splinters into the soft rise of
her exquisite mons and George had driven three inch-long bamboo slivers into the
inner curves of each of her tempting breasts, that her grudging disclosures
swelled into an anguished torrent of information, accompanied by despairing
pleas for mercy.
One by one the names of some of Chia-lin's confederates were extricated
under the unrelenting torture. But it was not until Richard Chan had screwed a
seventh vicious sliver into her right breast, that she was forthcoming with the
whereabouts of the two brothers who had put her up to her treachery.
But even this capitulation had not deterred the Brothers Chan from
continuing their pleasurable task. In between occasional sips of brandy from a
bottle of Richard's collection of Napoleonic-era French cognac, the two brothers
had continued to take turns thrusting what remained of the fifty bamboo
splinters deep into her flesh, enjoying each fresh groan of pain that spilled
from Chia-lin's pretty mouth.
Her cries of suffering had been rewardingly anguished, George recalled,
even before he and his brother had lit the first slow-burning splint...
George had gone on to tell a secretly shuddering Ming-tsu how he and his
brother had used a small taper to set the slender ivory-colored slivers alight,
one by one, and watched, in thrall to their sadistic lust, as each tiny flame
crept inexorably closer to Chia-lin's smooth golden flesh, and then beneath it,
before burning itself out. They lit the spines they had driven in to the fleshy
parts of her arms and legs first, preserving the more painful ones that they had
jabbed so enthusiastically into her torso, her mound of Venus, and her
nubile-nippled breasts for last.
During their preparations, George had stabbed each of Chia-lin's perky
chocolate-chip breast tips with a long splinter, and Richard had done the same
with the fleshy pink petals of her prominent labia. The nefarious brothers had
saved these cruelest slivers for their grand finale, when there were already
dozens of small smoky marks all over the front of her body.
Richard had gone first, lighting each of the labial splints in turn. As
they burned down, they singed what was left of the tiny tendrils of pubic hair
which framed Chia-lin's love triangle, still raw from her bullish rape by the
bovine Zheng.
George had paused to chuckle to himself, and to pull Ming-tsu's pretty head
down more firmly on his swollen cock, before telling his fellatrix how, before
applying the lit taper to the first nipple splint, he had upended the bottle of
cognac over Chia-lin's left breast. He had carefully poured an ounce or two of
brandy over that delectable breast that he had fondled and kissed and playfully
bit so many times. He had had to exert a little care to avoid soaking the
length of the splint itself, while his former concubine watched in shocked
disbelief. Chia-lin's plump breast was sweaty and sweet and sticky with brandy
when George held the taper to the tip of the dagger-like stick of bamboo that
protruded from the base of her impudent left nipple.
Chia-lin must have had some idea of the reason why her breast had been
bathed in brandy, because she had begun to whimper fearfully as soon as George
set the nipple splint alight. Her whimpers blossomed first into hysterical
cries and finally into full-throated screams as the tiny orange triangle burned
its fiery trail toward the damp, rounded surface of her breast. When at last
the flame reached the place where the bamboo spike was painfully lodged in her
crinkly aureole, it ignited the alcohol with a sudden flash of light, and for a
split-second Chia-lin's breast was bathed in a glowing ring of fire.
George had smothered the blaze almost instantanteously, but not before the
tortured beauty had passed out -- more from shock than from pain. George had
been compelled to pour a little of the brandy down Chia-lin's throat to revive
her. The lovely concubine was still choking and sputtering and begging for them
to stop, when the younger Chan had drenched her other love melon with the
liqueur. George had then bowed and offered the taper to his elder brother, who
had ceremoniously returned the bow. And then Richard Chan, the tyrannical ruler
of the Black Scorpions, had lit the second nipple-splinter. Their
double-dealing prisoner had convulsed in fresh paroxysms of fear and pain as
soon as the alcohol in the brandy flared briefly into flame, before that brief
conflagration, too, was quickly stifled by her ever-smiling former lover.
The brothers had untied their tormented sex slave then and had taken her
over to the very divan on which Peony had been so recently sodomized. There,
they had raped her in every way imaginable, both singly and in combination,
until she had passed out again.
Chia-lin, George had concluded his story in warning, had returned to
consciousness three days later, when she had been woken by the pressure of the
hot bowl of an opium pipe against the youthful curve of her left breast. She
was lying naked on a filthy cot, surrounded by thick clouds of noxious smoke.
Her arms were being held down by a couple of foul-smelling, pig-tailed coolies
while two or three other glassy-eyed men groped her tender young flesh, and yet
another man, crazed by the Chans' contaminated opium, tried to climb on top of
her.
George Chan, beaming and jovial once again, had assured Ming-tsu that
Chia-lin would not enjoy her new career -- as a take-on-all-comers whore in an
opium den not far from the docks. And then he had fallen back on the bed in
erotic bliss as he let Ming-tsu finish milking his manhood with her mouth and
hands.
After a few more minutes his climax came and he emptied his organ of
lust-juice, firing burst after burst of thick, creamy semen down Ming-tsu's warm
throat, as she pondered what her own fate might be if she were to fail at her
mission of extracting Li Chang's secrets.
------------
It was thoughts like these that had passed through Ming-tsu's mind that
evening as she had awaited Li Chang's return, and as she had given him the
restorative massage. The Chans were more than generous to those who served them
well, as she had good cause to know. But they would show her no mercy if she
failed. Accordingly Ming-tsu had determined that she would give them the
information they wanted. At whatever cost.
Chapter 17 Warm Breasts and Hot Oil -- The Valley of Pleasure
Li Chang's breath had grown ragged with lust as his raven-haired temptress
had pleasured herself, her eyes closed, clearly lost in some romantic reverie.
He was accustomed to her occasional ventures into fantasy and minded them not at
all; he was, after all, eventually the beneficiary of any erotic image or memory
that excited her.
Li Chang's eyes darted rapidly back and forth between the naked breast she
caressed so skillfully, and the dark, damp triangle at the juncture of her
supple thighs. Suddenly Ming-tsu's eyelids parted, her fantasy apparently
concluded. Her rich brown eyes were strangely bright as she looked down at him.
Bright with what? Li Chang wondered briefly. Desire? Determination?
Ming-tsu moved even closer to him, so close that she could feel his hot
breath on her bare left breast. Then, without slowing the subtle sensual
gyrations of her rounded hips, she lowered her hands to the hem of the chemise
once again. She gripped the edge of the blue-green silk gently and then slowly
lifted it, inch by revelatory inch, up over her newly naked loins and torso.
She hesitated momentarily when the chemise was little more than a silken
rope bisecting the curves of her succulent, brown-tipped breasts. She let the
silken band slide up and down over her distended nipple-nuggets, prodding them
into ever more ardent erection, before at last pulling the delicate garment over
her head, leaving her standing young and proud and naked before her lover.
"You like?" she asked again in an erotically charged whisper, her pink
tongue protruding slightly from between her moist lips.
"I like!" Li growled, just before Ming-tsu pushed him back down on the
cushions and threw herself on top of him, surrounding his swollen cock with her
pleasingly-scented breasts, rubbing her nipples with her thumbs as she did so.
Li almost swooned with pleasure. "Come on, Mr. VIP. Tell me about
yourself," Ming-tsu whispered again as she swirled her talented tongue around
his navel. And then, maddeningly, she pulled away yet again, and stood up, one
hand caressing a soft breast, the forefinger of her other hand reaching between
her legs to stroke her glistening vulva, but leaving Li's towering erection
straining into empty space. She reached over to the night table and poured an
ounce or two of the aromatic body oil into a small porcelain cup. She filled
the cup half-full and then set it on a small metal platform that she positioned
directly above the burning candle.
"Would you like to pour this nice warm oil on my body, Li Chang?" she asked
with a wanton smile of invitation, as she parted her thighs slightly. "If you
tell me your story, Mr.VIP," she whispered huskily as she brushed the gossamer
turquoise garment she still held across his throbbing penis, "I'll let you. You
can pour it all over me. How does that sound, my love? How would you like to
rub it into my skin until I'm as warm and slick outside as I am inside?"
Ming-tsu removed a gleaming index finger from the lovely pink slit between her
legs, and slid it amorously between her luscious lips. "And then you can put
your mighty lance wherever you wish." As she said those words she made a slight
inward movement with her arms that pushed her ripe-nippled breasts both together
and forward in unmistakable invitation.
The thought of drenching Ming-tsu's mouth-watering breasts in warm oil, and
then burying his swollen manhood in the richly aromatic valley between them was
more temptation than Li could stand.
Li was barely able to mouth the words, "Very well, my little vixen, you
win," he rasped. "But by the scrolls of Confucius, I don't know why I want to
marry you, when you torment me like this."
Obligingly, though, Li Chang proceeded to tell her how he had been raised
and educated by Wen-chi, and of the shy beauty, Liu. Ming-tsu had handed him the
container of warm oil, as he began the story, expecting him to begin to pour it
on her tempting body right away. But to her dismay, Li proceeded to set the
porcelain dish back in the holder just above the briskly burning candle so as to
let the oil percolate a little longer. He continued to speak at some length of
his early life and adopted family, (without, of course, going into his reasons
for joining the Black Scorpions), until he felt he had satisfied his lover's
new-found curiosity.
Upon the conclusion of his narrative, he sat on the edge of the bed and
explored her slippery vulva and her sweet pink clitoris with his lips and
tongue, while his hands roamed freely over her breast turrets, caressing,
stroking, pinching, squeezing. But mostly gripping them firmly between his
powerful fingers and pressing them roughly together, as if he were rehearsing
for the tit-fucking he was about to administer.
When he saw that tiny bubbles were beginning to form in the cup, and that
the oil was as hot as it could be without being truly dangerous, he grabbed
Ming-tsu roughly and threw her onto the bed on her back. "It is clear, my
teasing little wench, that tonight you need to be reminded who is Master, here,"
he gloated. He climbed atop his squirming lover, straddling her waist, enjoying
the warmth and softness of her body beneath him. Then he gingerly gripped the
piping hot cup, and removed the seething oil from its perch.
"N-n-no, Li. It is too hot." Ming-tsu's lovely brown eyes were wide with
fear.
"It is you who have made ME hot, all evening, my little witch. Do you not
remember your own philosophy of yin and yang? You have had your yin, Ming-tsu.
And now it is time for the yang. Some very, very hot yang!"
Ming-tsu stopped wriggling, fearful that she would upset the steaming cup.
She saw a vehemence in Li's elliptical brown eyes, a pent-up ferocity that she
had not seen since the Night of the Forty Lashes.
Li returned her stare unblinkingly, intent upon his purpose. He carefully
held the cup over her chest, and then tipped it ever so slightly, releasing a
single drop of the near-scalding liquid onto the upper slope of Ming-tsu's left
breast.
"Aaahhh!" Ming-tsu gasped in pleasure-pain. A second drop followed,
accompanied by a louder "Aaaahhhhh!!" as he anointed the delicious roseate of
her bright breast with the steaming oil. More "Aaaagghhh!!'s followed, each
louder than the last, as Li Chang poured the hot oil, first in tiny drops, then
larger ones, then a thin trickle, and finally a sizzling stream, onto both of
his lover's pleasure globes, coating them thoroughly with the bubbling
concoction. Li had dripped the oil from the perfect height -- by the time the
hot liquid splashed against her stunning breasts, it had cooled just enough that
so that its effects, though painful, would not be lasting
Li's cock tingled with desire each time it brushed against her satiny
stomach; his lust-swollen testicles were heavy against her abdomen. When he had
dripped the last of the scalding oil on to Ming-tsu's upthrusting nipples, he
began to massage her gleaming melons vigorously, rubbing the hot oil into every
pore of her firm, but yielding flesh. Only then, when there was a delicious,
transparent sheen on her overheated breast-globes, did Li Chang slide forward on
her belly so that his throbbing manhood lay between her hot, slick love-mounds.
Taking a sweet-smelling, well-oiled breast in each hand, he pressed her glorious
tits together so that they cradled his surging organ, and then he slowly began
to move his hips forward, as if he were sending his cock forth to do battle with
the voluptuous breasts that so tightly encircled it.
That first thrust into Ming-tsu's inwardly crushed pleasure-melons was so
excruciatingly delicious that Li almost exploded right then and there.
Reluctantly he decided that he would have to begin slowly, for fear of erupting
too soon. To compensate for the slowness of his thrusts, he tightened his
masterful grip on Ming-tsu's mouth-watering lust-globes; so intense was his
quest for sexual ecstasy that he was untroubled by his lover's grimaces of pain.
He had put up with Ming-tsu's flirtatious foolery patiently for an hour, but
now, by the sword of Genghis Khan, he meant to dominate her as he had never
dominated her before.
As he slid his hot cock between Ming-tsu's juicy pleasure-mounds, he used
the outer edges of the palms of his hands to push her naked breasts still
tighter around his fleshy spear, while his thumbs and forefingers sought out her
plucky cherry-pit nipples. He tweaked her slippery love-buds gently at first,
but as his cock-thrusts became longer and deeper through her tit-canyon, he
gradually tightened his grip so painfully that it seemed to Ming-tsu as if he
were intent on squeezing the tips off of her nipples. And still his potent cock
surged back and forth between her slick, swollen breasts.
"Who is your Master, my lovely concubine?" he grunted as he manhandled
Ming-tsu's surging goblets of flesh.
"You, my lord." Ming-tsu gasped, as she bit her lip to keep from crying
out. She had learned the art of submission well from George Chan. "You are my
lord and master."
"See," he ordered imperiously, as he crushed her breasts even harder in his
powerful hands, "that you don't forget it."
After he had plundered her breasts for some ten minutes with his battering
maleness, he indicated that Ming-tsu was to lean forward and use her mouth on
his pistoning cock at the conclusion of each punishing thrust. Ming-tsu did so
willingly enough, hoping that by so doing she could expedite his climax.
Thus it was that Li Chang was treated to the incomparable double pleasure
of thrusting his powerful manhood between as firmly fuckable a pair of breasts
as could be imagined, coupled with the sweetest of oral caresses as a reward for
each virile lunge.
He was able to prolong this erotic ecstasy for almost half an hour before
he began to feel the first tremors of what would prove to be an indescribably
violent orgasm. Shuddering with excitement, he erupted with a power he had
never felt before, shooting jet after jet of hot white semen onto Ming-tsu's
eyes, mouth and her deliciously oil-christened breasts.
Following his climax he scooted a little further up on her chest, so
that his weight was heavy on her tender breasts, while he proffered his dripping
cock for Ming-tsu to cleanse with her lips and tongue.
It was only when these final ablutions were complete that Li Chang, his
earlier exhaustion having renewed its fatiguing grip on him, muttered a few
words of sexually replete gratefulness to his paramour, and drifted off into a
deep, dreamless sleep.
Despite being on the even more exhausting receiving end of their violent
sexual encounter, Ming-tsu was to lie awake for an hour that night. And,
although her tender breasts were painfully sore, it was not discomfort that kept
her from sleeping.
Although her mission had been accomplished - she had elicited a fair amount
of information about his past life - she was unhappy. Not so much because of
the rough sex -- she had prepared herself for that. But this had been one of
the rare nights that Li, owing to his fatigue, had not satisfied her. Even on
the Night of the Forty Lashes, Li had seen to it that she was erotically
recompensed for her suffering.
While Li snored comfortably beside her, Ming-tsu finished what Li Chang had
started, caressing herself with an adroitness born of long experience. But even
after she had brought herself to the pinnacle of pleasure and beyond for the
third time, a witness, had there been one in the darkness of her bedchamber,
could have seen that Ming-tsu's almond-shaped eyes were still dark with fury.
Perhaps if Li had been more alert earlier in the evening, if he had been
less intent on the incomparable pleasures that Ming-tsu had offered, he might
have noticed the dark cloud that had passed over his lover's face when he had
spoken, with unmistakable affectionate and admiration, of the beautiful Liu...
Chapter 18 Erika Entertains the Emissaries
On the following afternoon, George Chan was busy at his ornate
eighteenth-century desk poring over the proceeds from the various gambling
houses of the Chans' empire, when his son Chiang tapped at the door and entered.
"Has there been any word of her yet?" George asked his son.
"No, father. An elderly couple who live in the neighborhood saw her leave
with the professor; we know that they started back toward the central city, but
the trail grows cold after that. It was quite dark by then, remember.
"Do you think that accursed cripple could have killed her, disposed of her
body, and then killed himself out of remorse? You knew him better than I."
"He was a strange man, father; anything is possible; there was blood on the
floor and on some of the instruments." Chiang nodded his head indicating the
room behind the golden curtain.
George slammed his fist loudly on the desk. "If the bitch is alive, I want
her back, do you hear? No one makes a fool out of George Chan," George fumed,
as a determined scowl spread across his face.
"Father, some of the Scorpions are waiting in the rear garden; they may
have news. I should go and see if they have any news."
"Yes, by all means; let me know as soon as you hear anything of her
whereabouts.
"Of course, father. I shall see you at dinner, if not before."
And with that, Chiang Chan slipped through the golden curtain that led into
the punishment chamber where Erika had been confined. There was a rear door to
that chamber that led to the palatial gardens at the back of George Chan's
stately residence.
George turned back toward his ledgers but he could not concentrate. His
thoughts kept returning to the German girl; her stay with him had been all too
brief. And her disappearance could not have come at a worse time - it had been
weeks since he had been with Ming-tsu, and the pressures of business had kept
him away from Madame Wong's since the night he had tried out the new nipple
clamps on Peony. As a result, he was as randy as a Manchurian mink.
He put the papers down for a second and glanced up at the two pairs of
erotic paintings that had caught the eye of Professor Leung. On his left there
was a beautiful rendering of a pair of houris entertaining some twice-blessed
caliph in the throne room of a castle borrowed from the Arabian Nights. In the
background of the painting a drummer, a flautist, and a player of some
unfamiliar stringed instrument were playing, the vitality of the music evident
from the enthusiasm of their faces.
But it was the foreground of the painting that truly caught the viewer's
eye. The skillful artist had captured one of the girls, clad only in the
filmiest of veils, in mid-stride, as she twirled on bare, dancing feet. The
other, naked save for luminous golden bracelets and earrings, knelt submissively
at the prince's side, her weight back on her haunches, her arms clasped behind
her, her sumptuously-sculpted breasts thrust shamelessly forward. The prince
held what appeared to be a bastinado in his right hand; darkening streaks on
the kneeling girl's cafe-au-lait breasts suggested that the fierce-eyed warrior
prince had occasionally been keeping time to the music by slapping the nasty
looking instrument across the generous breasts of the slave-girl at his side.
There was a subtly shaded but umistakably massive bulge in the caliph's sequined
trousers.
By a strange chain of circumstances the sight of those lovingly rendered
slave girls reminded George Chan once again of the missing blonde. A few weeks
earlier, as he had told Richard the night he had taken Erika to the Black
Pagoda, a number of dignitaries from the far off capital, Peking, had made their
way to Shanghai. Their supposed mission was to look into some "irregularities"
that citizens had complained about. Richard Chan had been in Hong Kong on
business and it had been left to George to deal with the visitors.
It had long been George's experience that powerful ministers on the
national level were no less corrupt than the local officials that he and Richard
Chan had been paying off for years. In light of that fact, it had occurred to
him that providing the visiting guests with an evening's entertainment a la
Erika Weiss - who had been his house prisoner since completing her rigorous
training at the hands of Ming-tsu and Li Chang -- might well ingratiate the
House of Chan to the imperial emissaries.
The delegation had been led by General Wang, a distant relative of the
Emperor himself, and a man feared throughout China for his tyrannical manner.
He had risen to power during the dreadful Taiping Rebellion, that had begun a
generation earlier and had lasted almost fifteen years. Millions upon millions
had died from war, disease and famine during the uprising. The ruthless General
Wang had been responsible for more than his share of carnage, burning scores of
villages and slaughtering thousands of rebels, not to mention civilians who
lived in rebel-infested areas.
When the rebellion had finally been suppressed, Wang had used his
newly-acquired power to build a little empire of civilian underlings, all of
whom lived well at the expense of the impoverished masses. Wang had not
mellowed much in civilian life; he was still known far and wide for his cruelty
and unpredictability. He had ruined powerful men before, George knew, and was
capable of doing it again.
All the more reason for George Chan to entertain his important guests on
the top floor of his brother's luxurious Black Pagoda, in the great banquet
room. They had begun, as was the custom in those days, with many toasts, and
George Chan had spared no expense. Richard Chan's vast collection of liqueurs,
wines, and other spirits had provided a priceless bottle of champagne from a
tiny monastery in the Marne valley, a bracing bottle of Aquavit from
Scandinavia, a rare vodka from St Petersburg, and a bottle as old as himself of
a tart liqueur from the house of the great Becher distilling dynasty of Bohemia.
The drinks were served, it need hardly be said, by the ravishing fraulein
herself, who was swathed in a semi-diaphanous knee-length cocoon of pale azure
silk. She had bathed in coconut milk for an hour before the banquet, at
George's order, giving her skin both an inviting scent and a most becoming
softness. As soon as she strode into the room carrying the champagne the polite
pre-dinner conversation among the dignitaries came to a halt as they admired the
statuesque westerner from the other side of the world. At George's instruction
she had worn high heels; in them, she stood some three to five inches taller
than the dignitaries, save for the general himself. As George had surmised, her
presence was as unexpected to the Pekingese functionaries as would have been
that of Queen Victoria herself.
Erika carried herself with a most becoming blend of pride and submission.
During Erika's sojourn with Ming-tzu and Li Chang at the mountain lodge, one
entire afternoon had been devoted to perfecting her posture and her gait.
Repeated flicks from Ming-tzu's whippy little switch had taught her how to keep
her flat stomach in, her back straight, and her inviting breasts provocatively
thrust forward when she walked. But she had also learned, under the painful
penalty of the same cruel switch, how to appear submissive in repose.
In more recent days, had Erika had been given a day's training by Richard
Chan's wine steward so that she could serve the aperitifs properly; after the
first morning session the fault-finding sommelier had reported to George Chan
that his student had been inattentive at times. Twenty-five sharp strokes of the
strap across the backs of her lissome thighs during the lunch break had improved
her concentration during the afternoon session considerably.
Erika's stint as sommelieuse had proceeded without incident until she was
refilling the glass of Hsi Fong, the Commissioner of the Imperial Seal, whose
office provided him the opportunity to tax documents to 'establish their
authenticity'; his office, George had mused, might equally have been called the
Ministry of Graft. Someone had bumped Erika's arm just as she was refilling his
glass, causing her to spill the clear strong spirits down the front of the
bureaucrat's jade-green robe. He had glared at her with eyes as frosty as the
vodka (which had been packed in ice for hours) itself, but had said nothing.
When Erika had turned to see who had bumped her arm, the only one behind her was
the ever-beaming George Chan himself, who by now was beside himself issuing
apologies to the royal emissary. Surely, she thought, George would not have...
When the lengthy round of pre-dinner toasts had been concluded, servants
began bringing in the first courses of the fine repast. And what a feast had
been prepared for the delectation of the guests from the north! George had
spent a small fortune on the dinner -- there had been soup of shark fin, eel
prepared in the Japanese style, several varieties of sea urchin and sea
cucumber, the marinated breasts of three dozen Nanking nightingales, and a
hundred other delicacies.
The dinner itself had been served at a specially constructed large round
table under a massive crystal chandelier in the banqueting room. The table, as
is customary at large Chinese dinner parties, had a carousel in the center --
similar to what George had heard the British call a 'lazy Susan'. Both the
table and the carousel itself had been designed and built per George's precise
specifications during the past few days.
The fifteen courses of the dinner had taken over two hours to serve, and
Erika had been at hand - so to speak - to serve drinks throughout. Furtive
fingers, surreptitiously at first, had grazed the softness of her silken-clad
legs throughout the dinner, growing bolder with each fresh round of intoxicating
libations. By the end of the meal, lustful eyes were peering down into the
delicious valley between her splendid breasts each time she stooped to pour a
drink. Even worse, from Erika's point of view, groping hands, seemingly given
license by alcohol, were taking every opportunity to squeeze her supple thighs
and fondle her rounded buttocks.
Thinking back on the events of that evening, George remembered
smiling with satisfaction when he he had opened another bottle of well-aged
Spanish port. So far everything had proceeded exactly as he had planned.
After the dishes had all been cleared to a long sideboard, George had
shooed the servants out of the great hall, telling them that they could finish
cleaning up in the morning. Erika had made as if to leave, too, but George had
caught her by the arm, asking her sternly if she had concluded that his guests
should be without a wine-server. Nervously she had softly answered, "Nein," and
lingered behind.
George recalled how she had watched with apprehension as he had locked the
doors at each end of the banqueting room, not only preventing the other servants
from re-entering, but also preventing her from leaving. He remembered
distinctly how the metallic click of the bolt in the massive door at the main
entrance to the dining room had caused her to tremble.
When the room had been secured he had approached the table, squeezing past
the General's aide, and touched a tiny lever beneath it, which caused a hinged
circular leaf to drop down, so that one could stand directly adjacent to the
central carousel. He then had proceeded to take a puzzled Erika Weiss by the
hand, and, after instructing her to remove her shoes, he had assisted her in
mounting the over-sized carousel, indicating to her that she was to kneel in the
center of it.
The blonde's eyes had begun to dart around nervously then, George
remembered with satsfaction. And why shouldn't she have been apprehensive --
locked in a room with six half-drunk corrupt politicians and a master whom she
had every reason to fear. And now she was kneeling on a circular platform, as
helplessly subject to the intense scrutiny of George's six guests as if she had
been a butterfly pinned to a collector's spreading board.
She found herself facing General Wang, the indisputable head of the
delegation, a bald, stern-looking man of about fifty. On his left was his
assistant, Cheng, a timid looking young man of twenty-five, who was plainly not
used to drinking the amount he had drunk tonight. On the general's right was
the unpleasant-looking Commissioner Fong, on whom she had spilled the drink.
Directly behind her sat the obscenely fat Lu Chow, the Inspector of Corrupt
Practices and himself one of the most corrupt men in China. He was flanked by
the cadaverous Sang Chu-ming, whose function it was to prevent internal
smuggling, and the aged, white-bearded Doctor Wang, the uncle of the General,
who was, laughably enough, the Minister of Moral Uprightness.
Erika had still been sizing up her audience when George reached out and
grabbed the edge of the carousel, and gave it a healthy push, making sure that
his experiments had not been in vain. Even with Erika's considerable weight
atop it, the carousel was beautifully crafted and well-balanced, and spun quite
easily. Erika spun around three and a half revolutions, wondering what her
cruel and unpredictable Master had on his mind.
She was soon to find out...
Chapter 19 The Shanghai Salome Unveiled
George Chan sat up startled from his pleasant recollection when he heard a
gentle tap at the door.
"Mr Chan?"
"Yes, Miss Teng. Come in."
The pretty young housemaid poked her head through the doorway. "A young
boy just delivered a message from Ming-tsu." The housemaid's lips turned down
slightly; she had not been overly fond of George's rather bossy former lover.
She had been a little surprised when her employer's relationship with the
beautiful night club owner had apparently ended many months ago. Or had it?
"Let me see."
Miss Teng stepped gracefully across the thick carpet and handed the note to
George. She was a pretty young thing, thought George. If it were not for the
fact that she was the daughter of one of his brother's trusted servants, he
would have taken her to his bed long ago. There was a nice little twitch to her
hips when she moved that made her most pleasant to have around; if her bedroom
demeanour were half as alluring as the subtle sensuality of her ordinary
movements around the house and office...
George moved a hand impatiently as if to brush the thought away. He
thanked the maid, dismissed her and read the note. In it Ming-tsu suggested
that she had news for him and would stop by to see him in a hour.
George felt his manhood stir slightly beneath his desk. He had deprived
himself of her erotic talents for too long; it would be good to see her...
And then he glanced up at the Persian painting of the Caliph, the dancer
and the slave girl and his thoughts returned to the banquet he had thrown for
General Wang and his cronies...
*******************
Erika had knelt there, blonde and helpless, while George had told the six
councillors that he was going to spin the carousel, and that this time they
might make wagers on whom Erika would be facing when the carousel came to rest."
That proposal was received enthusiastically; the councillors, like most
Chinese, being inveterate gamblers. Once their bets had been placed, George
gave the carousel a vigorous push and Erika began to spin around, ending up,
after three revolutions, facing the not-so-honorable General Wang.
All of the men had been drinking heavily, none more so than the General.
He jubilantly collected the money on the table, leaving his wager for the next
spin, and then gave George a puzzled look when George offered him the hem of
the fraulein's outermost veil. At first the warlord didn't understand George's
purpose, but after George had made a pulling gesture with his hand, he had
caught on, and tugged on the veil. As he did so, George gave the carousel
another push, and Erika Weiss slowly spun around as the first veil unwound.
It had been the gauzy veils of the dancing girl in the Persian painting
that been reminded him of the entertainment on the night of the banquet.
With the second spin of the wheel, to the accompaniment of the subdued
excitement of the imperial functionaries, another veil had come off, revealing a
little more of Erika's luscious flesh.
After the third veil had fallen away, baring Erika's long thighs, tanned
golden from her galley-slave ordeal, George had turned to General Wang. "Your
excellency," he began, " Do you know the story of Salome?"
At those words, Erika's eyes had grown wide with dismay.
The tyrannical general, his beady black eyes boring holes in Erika's
remaining garments shook his head silently, "No."
George, ever-gregarious, had continued as if the General had begged him to.
"In the Christian Bible, Salome was a beautiful young woman who was promised
that her any wish would be granted if she would only dance for her stepfather,
the king. Legend has it that she wore seven veils, and removed them one by one
to please him."
"This story is in their Bible?" the general had snarled. "No wonder the
Europeans are such barbarians," he snorted.
"Yes. Well, no, not the veils, exactly. In the bible... well, never mind.
It is of no consequence." Wang's eyes never left Erika's body as George,
somewhat flustered, continued on obsequiously. "You see, I have learned that
this week is the seventh anniversary of your accession to your present office,
General. It is in honor of your years of service to our great emperor that I
have dressed your hostess, here, in seven veils."
"Thank you, Chan," the general muttered, as he bowed stiffly in the crime
lord's direction. Meanwhile his eager comrades were placing wagers for the next
spin. "Very good of you. Spin the wheel, again, if you please."
The gaunt, droopy-bearded Sang Chu-ming stripped away the fourth flimsy
veil, and then Erika was spun again so that she ended up facing the gross Lu
Chow, who was half a foot shorter than she, but weighed twice as much.
Chortling with glee the heavily perspiring bureaucrat pocketed his winnings and
peeled the fifth veil away, baring what seemed like acres of golden mid-section,
notched with an appealing navel of which a Burmese nautch dancer would have been
proud.
The removal of the fourth and fifth veils had left the stunning blonde
naked save for a brief, sarong-like veil of cerulean blue around her womanly
hips, and an even paler and sheerer scrap of nothingness around her surging
breasts. The veil around her waist displayed the smooth length of one long,
luscious leg; the top was no more opaque than a wisp of atmospheric haze; six
pairs of greedy eyes inspected her sumpuous breasts with the thoroughness of a
jeweler examining a piece of jade for flaws.
But for all their meticulously lustful scrutiny, none could find a physical
flaw in the blonde gem they encircled. George Chan's eyes had made a slow
circle around the table. As he had expected, each of the six was entranced by
his blonde slave-goddess, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at the
proud, pink nipple-bullets that pressed so boldly against her upper veil, and
the nest of blonde loveliness that tried in vain to hide itself behind the
lower.
George slowly turned the wheel in a full circle so that each of the
dignitaries could savor Erika's loveliness from every angle. When she was
facing General Wang again, George strode around the room extinguishing the
whale-oil lanterns that had provided the illumination during dinner, leaving the
room dark save for the crystal and silver chandelier that hung directly above
the evening's feature attraction.
The chandelier was actually half chandelier - half candelabra, wheel-shaped
like the carousel, but of a slightly smaller diameter than the circular platform
on which Erika Weiss was so erotically perched. In the center of the hub was an
oil lamp enclosed in a sparkling crystal globe. Each of the six spokes of the
wheel carried a candlestick at its midpoint, and around the circumference of the
wheel were arrayed another dozen candles, each solidly ensconced in a silver
candlestick. Using a long-handled sterling silver candle-lighter, modeled on
one he had seen in an Anglican church during his days at Oxford, George had lit
the candles one by one.
When he was done, the sentinels of light flickered brightly in the
darkness. The crystal and silver in the framework of the chandelier became a
shimmering sea of mirrors, refracting the glimmering candlelight in a hundred
directions, and bathing the semi-nude Erika in an eerie, but strangely beautiful
aura of reflected light.
The six guests ooohed at the artistic play of light on the luscious body of
the blonde showpiece. Wang's bald head caught the edge of the shimmering
cylinder of light and took on an unearthly, menacing cast.
At length George Chan spun the wheel again and the blonde missionary's
daughter began yet another slow circuit around the table. She could feel the
searing gaze of fourteen eyes devouring her female flesh. Once, twice, three
times she passed the sinister figure of General Wang before coming to rest in
front of the Commissioner of Seals. Fong, wild-eyed with lust and alcohol, had
been studying what remained of her costume and had noticed that the brief piece
of blue silken nothingness -- that succeeded at neither concealing nor
restraining the proud thrust of her breasts -- was held together by nothing more
than a fragile bow between them.
Fong reached for the knot. Erika shrank from his extended hand, but there
was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Fong frowned angrily as she pulled back
and glanced meaningfully at General Wang who gave Erika a baleful stare. As
Fong's green-robed hand reached for her, Erika noticed that the commissioner's
right index finger bore a large signet ring, an implement he presumably used to
affix the emperor's seal to important documents.
The commissioner's bony hand found one end of the pale blue bow, and he
pulled on it with a smooth even movement, undoing the frail knot. Moments later,
he leisurely peeled the filmy fabric away from Erika's body, revealing her
magnificent breasts in all of their nude loveliness. The temperature in the
banquet room seemed to rise several degrees as the greedy gaze of the royal
councillors feasted on her splendidly pink-nippled pleasure-globes.
Subtly, George Chan reached in once again and turned the carousel slowly so
that each man could get a good look at Erika's swollen lust-mounds. Her firm,
thrusting turrets were made even more desirable by the play of the reflected
candlelight over the rich curves, alternately bathing them in shimmering light
and cloaking them in seductive shadow. There were areas on her back that still
had a few faint patches of lightly flaking skin -- an after-effect of the
fearful sunburn to which she had been subjected on her first day at the mountain
lodge. A small area just above her left nipple was equally afflicted; strangely
that slight defect seemed only to heighten the desirability of George Chan's
blonde slave-goddess. As if it somehow proved that she was real and not an
image from some strange opium-induced dream.
As she passed slowly in front of the sweating fat man, she heard Lu Chow's
high-pitched voice comment obscenely to his neighbors at table, "What a pair of
tits, eh! What say you, old one? They don't grow them like that in Tsingtao,
I'll bet."
The elderly Doctor Wang leered at Erika with eyes fatigued by upwards of
fourscore years of life. Erika noticed that the octogenarian had, like other
dignitaries of his generation, let his fingernails grow exceedingly long. The
General's uncle gently scratched the edge of his white beard with one inch-long
nail, before commenting, "Nephew, you must thank our host for sharing this
treasure of nature with us."
Erika's slow revolution continued past the bespectacled and intoxicated
young Cheng, the general's aide, who seemed so out of place among these older,
more powerful men, until she came to rest once more before the sinister warlord,
his bald head gleaming evilly in the eerie light. The general opened his mouth
in a shark-like smile, his features so menacing that Erika, without thinking,
lifted her hands up to shield her delicious breasts from his rapacious gaze.
Immediately upon her so doing the general recoiled angrily. "What?!?' he
roared. "You dare to cover yourself, whore, before the representatives of the
Emperor! This is an insult to the Emperor himself!"
Wang reached over, and grabbed the scrap of silk that Fong had just
stripped away from Erika's lust-melons. "Tie her hands, Chan, lest she attempt
such effrontery again!"
"No...please... I'm sor..."
"Silence!!" the general roared, as his cronies nodded their complaisant
heads in agreement.
The general's autocratic manner intimidated even a man of George Chan's
wealth and power. George directed Erika to put her hands behind her back, and
he began to encircle her wrists with the strip of blue silk. "Tighter!" the
general bellowed through clenched teeth. "Wrist to elbow." The general snatched
up a couple of the discarded veils and handed them to George. "Tie her
properly, Mr. Chan."
George Chan nodded and set about the business of bondage -- a business he
knew so very well. Within a few minutes, Erika's upper arms were cinched
together behind her by encircling bands of silk, while her forearms were pulled
firmly behind her, parallel to the table, so that the fingertips of her right
hand touched her left elbow and vice versa. Two more strips of silk lashed her
arms together behind her painfully.
From his vantage point behind her, George could not see, but knew from
personal experience that this newly imposed bondage would thrust Erika's
mouthwatering breasts into even more provocative prominence.
"Well done, Chan. Fong, does it not remind you of those women in
Wu-ch'ang?'
Commissioner Fong, who had been the General's Intelligence Officer during
the campaigns of the Taiping Rebellion remembered the incident well. Wang's
troops had been searching for several rebel leaders who had fled the city of
Wu-ch'ang. In their haste two had been compelled to leave their families
behind. Each had had a daughter in her early twenties, whom Hsi Fong's men had
quickly arrested. The elite guard of the intelligence unit had brought the two
struggling young women back to the General's improvised headquarters outside the
city limits, on the banks of the great Yangtze Kiang.
There in the open area of a hastily-built stockade, Fong had had the two
young women stripped and tied with their arms tightly bound around thick bamboo
poles that had been wedged painfully behind their backs. General Wang had
watched with admiring interest as their firm young breasts, like Erika's, had
been thrust forward by that strict bondage, as if they had been tempting
sacrificial offerings to the brutal gods of war. Both girls had claimed not to
know of their fathers' whereabouts, but it was not until after a pair of Fong's
strongest guards had each delivered a hundred savage strokes with a thin bamboo
cane to the breasts, buttocks and thighs of the agonized young women, that Fong
had reluctantly come to the conclusion that they were telling the truth.
The General had then presented the barely conscious young women to the
company of soldiers who had most distinguished themselves in the fighting for
the city. One of the girls had survived thirty hours in the keeping of the
sex-starved soldiers, the other only twelve. A pity, Fong had thought -- they
had both been exquisite.
"How could I forget them, your excellency?" The Commissioner of Seals
replied. "I never forget those who have offended our noble Emperor." With
that, Fong gave Erika a withering glance.
Out of the corner of his eye, George Chan could see a thin film of spittle
oozing from the mouth of Commissioner Fong, while his be-ringed right hand
opened and closed in a menacing fist.
Though Erika's bonds were silken, they were no less confining, and not less
tight than had they been of heavy rope. When George was satisfied with his
handiwork, he gave the carousel a seventh and final spin. This time it came to
rest in front of Cheng. The bookish young man's spectacles were fogged over
with excitement as he reached for the belt-like fringe of silk at her waist.
"Pull it, boy!" encouraged the crude, slimy-sounding voice of Sang
Chu-ming, who contrived to look emaciated even after consuming a huge meal.
"Let's have a look at what the German whore's got under there."
Timidly Cheng reached for the knot and undid it, and then slowly drew the
intricately-wrapped rectangle of gauze away from the blonde's blushing
nakedness. Cheng's eyes dropped to the mysterious cleft between her legs.
"What's the matter, boy? Never seen pussy before?" Lu Chow squeaked in his
unpleasant high-pitched falsetto.
Cheng blushed, but it was true. He had never been with a woman. Toiling
laboriously sixteen hours a day for the demanding general, he had hardly had the
time or the energy for women. But he had dreamed... Oh, how he had dreamed --
of dark-haired, almond-eyed girls with breasts that were at once round and
pointed. Of warm thighs blushingly parting to admit his hands, his mouth, his
manhood. Of sweet young maidens writhing in sexual ecstasy beneath him...
He had had just such a dream this very morning before waking. But who
would have guessed this morning that by nightfall he would be stripping the
final flimsy garment from a creature more exotic, more beautiful than he had
ever imagined? He had long since forgiven the European girl her blue eyes and
blonde hair, which had played no part in his dreams. The lush curves of her
creamy-gold body, more than made up for those slight genetic imperfections.
The young man let his young eyes rove caressingly over Erika's sumptuous
breasts, the delicious nook of her belly button, and the enticing blonde-fringed
gash between her satiny thighs. Out of the corner of his eye, Cheng could see
the aged Dr Wang leaning forward, his white beard only inches from the blonde's
shapely buttocks.
Meanwhile, General Wang had been ogling Erika's succulent lust-melons. He
was nodding his head up and down as if he had made a decision. An irrevocable
decision. "The girl must be punished, Chan, for her insult to the Emperor."
"N-n-nein...No..." Erika implored the diners, her beautiful blue eyes
searching for empathy around the table. But she was to find no succor there.
"Absolutely, your excellency!" It was the reedy voice of Sang Chu-ming
behind her.
"Most assuredly, general," oozed the equally sycophantic Lu Chow, his eyes
feverish with lust as he admired Erika's ripe, round buttocks. His short fat
cock pressed aggressively against his cobalt blue robe. "And punished
severely."
George Chan had almost chuckled under his breath at this display of
toadyism. The evening had proceeded as if he had written the script.
"Of course, your excellency," George had bowed obsequiously. "As you
desire."
Erika had looked plaintively at Cheng, the General's timid-looking
adjutant. "You," her eyes seemed to say, "are young, like me. You know I meant
no harm. Only you can...'
"Cheng!" the general bellowed. The young man ripped his intruding eyes
from the blonde tendrils that enveloped Erika's velvety pleasure-nook. His eyes
met the imploring, tear-filled eyes of the blonde prisoner.
"Yes, sir!"
"Turn her so that she faces me."
George Chan had watched as Cheng looked into the sad eyes of Erika Weiss
for a long moment.
"Cheng!!" the general hissed. "I do not like to repeat myself."
At this outburst, as George had known he would, the timorous young man
dropped his eyes from the searching gaze of the wretched young woman.
"Certainly, your excellency!" he responded as he shamefacedly gave the carousel
a one-sixth turn, so that Erika Weiss was face to face with the scowling visage
of General Wang.
Trying not to think of those sad eyes, the craven young man adjusted his
spectacles, and guiltily attempted to concentrate on his disappointment at
losing his excellent vantage point.
When Cheng had looked away, Erika had despaired of anyone rescuing her from
her predicament.
"Please," she had begged the general, "I didn't mean to hide myself
...See? Here... look... I will show you..." The debased blue-eyed beauty
spread her thighs slightly so that the General was treated to a glimpse of her
alluring quim. Her pussy seemed to be quivering in the shimmering candle-light.
The balding warlord smiled lewdly, enjoying Erika's degradation. "You will
come to regret your impudence, blue-eyes," he seethed.
"N-n-no...Bitte... Please...You don't need to hurt me. See...." Erika
spread her thighs even wider as Cheng gawked in wonder. "You can see everything
now. Ple..."
"Silence!! Enough of your whining, whore! Do you think that showing us
your sluttish cunt will spare you from your rightful punishment? Do you think
that it will prevent us from defending the emperor's honor? No, fraulein,"
General Wang's voice lowered to a cruel, rasping whisper, as he lowered his
predatory gaze to Erika's heaving ripe-nippled breasts, "it will not!"
Chapter 20 The Suffering Centerpiece
George Chan terminated his remembrance of the banquet then for a moment,
rose from his desk and crossed the few steps toward the golden curtain at the
back of the den. He stepped through it as though seeing the polished post to
which he had bound Erika might somehow rekindle his memory of the beautiful
missionary's daughter. The eyes, so reminiscent of a clear mountain lake, the
blonde hair a golden storm across her shoulders, the lovely peaches-and-cream
complexion, burned a darker gold by her enforced sunbathing at the hands of
Ming-tsu. Her face - young and innocent and fresh; and her body -- the glorious
breasts, the tight, flat stomach, the oh-so-whippable rounded buttocks, and the
long lithe thighs.
But there was nothing in the room but the gleaming obsidian cylinder and
fading memories of his blonde captive. Absent-mindedly, George noticed that the
rear door, through which Chiang had apparently made his exit, was slightly ajar.
George returned to his desk disconsolate, edged his abacus aside and picked up a
ruler that he had used to draw lines beneath certain columns in his ledger. He
slammed the ruler down on the soft binding of the ledger. "If she is alive, I
want her back," he vowed to himself, as he let his thoughts drift back to the
night of the banquet...
He remembered how the light from the candelabra had made General Wang's
bald scalp shine with an unpleasant radiance. The tyrannical warlord had leaned
forward slightly. "Kneel forward, girl!"
Erika had been resting back on her haunches. Her arms, tied behind her
with the silken veils she had worn, were beginning to ache a little.
Apprehensively, she leaned forward so that she knelt in the center of her
circular platform.
"SMACKK! Without warning the general's right arm had moved in a quick arc,
and his open hand had slammed into the fullness of her left breast.
The "Oowwww!" was still on Erika's lips when the palm of his powerful left
arm exploded against the outer curve of her right breast. SMACKK! "Oowwwww!!!"
Erika murmured in pain once again.
Good tits, the General thought to himself. Solid. Firm.
Smiling cruelly, the general reached forward and turned the carousel to
his right. Hsi Fong, after glancing at his old comrade for his prior approval,
and getting it, repeated the general's actions, smacking each of Erika's proud
tit-globes with relish. Each time the girl cried out softly in pain.
Fong then turned the carousel so that the big-breasted blond faced the
cadaverous Sang Chu-ming. The councillor with the wilting beard ogled the
lovely naked body before him, so alluringly bathed in the descending light of
the candelabra. Sang admired Erika's jutting pink-nippled breasts for a long
moment before moving his attenuated right arm across his body and then sweeping
it back swiftly, backhanding the inner contours of Erika's left breast with a
frightening SMACKK!
"Aaahhh!" Erika groaned; the emaciated politico's hand was almost skinless,
and the hard bones of his knuckles sank deep into tender breast-flesh. His left
arm began to slide across his body as if to repeat the motion, but the fear of
his flinty knuckles caused Erika to pull away and scuttle back slightly.
"Eh?" Sang had growled, his displeasure at Erika's 'cowardice' all too
obvious. He had looked up at George Chan angrily.
George, anxious to please his guests in every particular, had studied
Erika's position on the carousel for a moment. After some thought, he had
picked up one of her discarded veils and clambered up on a chair so that he
stood above her. Then he had taken her long blonde mane in one hand and
fashioned it into an improvised pony tail. He wrapped the veil tightly around
her hair, knotted it, and then tied the other end of the veil to the chandelier
above her.
"That," George had added with a bow to his six guests," as he stepped down,
"should prevent her from avoiding your... caresses," he said with his familiar
beaming smile.
Sang bowed in return and then, with a sadistic leer, gave Erika's
shuddering ripe breast another ferocious backhanded bash, with a strength
surprising for such a slender man.
"Aaahh!" Erika moaned softly. And then she cried out again, louder,
"Aaaah!" Her second cry took the thin smuggling czar and the others by
surprise, until they realized what had happened. The force of his blow had
caused her body to jerk slightly. That movement had caused her golden hair to
pull at the veil-cord which bound her hair to the over-hanging candalabra. The
candelabra had swayed slightly, and one of the candles had spilled a hot bead of
ivory wax down onto her left shoulder.
"Very ingenious, Mr. Chan," General Wang mumbled approvingly, as Sang
rotated the carousel so that Erika was positioned in front of the corpulent
Commissioner of Corrupt Practices. Lu Chow was so short that he had to bump
against the table to reach high enough to bat Erika's luscious breasts. The
bump to the table caused fresh drops of hot wax to fall; one kissed the small of
her back, while another imbedded itself into the soft flesh of her calf.
Lu Chow, reached up and swung clumsily at Erika's pleasure globes,
slapping her sharply across the lower curve of her left breast. Because of his
awkward stance, however, his blow lacked the crispness of the others; even the
little man's hands were oily, Erika realized with some disgust as he smacked her
reddening left breast yet again, leaving it damp with his perspiration.
Then it was the turn of the aged Dr Wang. "Show her that you're not as
feeble as you look, uncle" the General encouraged, but the old man's blows were
rather pathetic, his wrinkled hands glancing rather harmlessly off of Erika's
sumptuous globes despite his best efforts.
Despite herself, Erika could not refrain from giving the white-bearded old
man a rather contemptuous, "Is that all you've got?" glance.
It was a glance that she would later come to regret.
Realizing Dr Wang's frailty, Cheng reached out and pulled the carousel and
its beautifully bound cargo towards himself. The young adjutant removed his
glasses, polished them on the sleeve of his wine-colored robe, and then replaced
them on his nose. Thus it was through fresh, clear glass that he gazed
admiringly at the golden-fringed pussy lips that protruded slightly as Erika
knelt upright before him. Cheng contemplated the bliss that beckoned. Would
he able to ravish that womanhood tonight, he wondered to himself. To plunge his
throbbing manhood deep into that velvety cleft, again and again and again? He
felt his testicles tighten with illicit pleasure at the very thought, but feared
to reach out and touch her intimate pleasure-nook without leave from the
General.
He noted that the thin silken "rope" that cinched her upper arms together
behind her dug suprisingly deeply into her flesh; the way each wrist was bound
to its opposing elbow seemed also to because her considerable discomfort.
Cheng's eyes explored the pleasant vista of Erika's tanned torso, gleaming with
perspiration under the hot light of the candolier, as he had come to think of
it. Again he sensed the plaintive look in the eyes of his encircled captive;
but he not could bring it upon himself to meet her gaze. On the contrary, he
felt even more strongly the questioning stare of his superior, the glowering
General Wang. He was sure that the autocratic General was testing his manhood.
He straightened his shoulders into what he imagined to be a more military
bearing as he considered the effect of Erika's silken bondage. Not only were
her arms pinned painfully high on her back, but that very posture forced her
sumptuous lust-globes into even more inviting prominence. Still avoiding her
eyes, he surveyed those succulent suntanned breasts as if he were a ravenous
wolf and they were thick juicy strips of beef from hand-fed cattle. Erika's
nipples, perched amid a lovely pair of coral roseates, were semi-tumescent,
perky, but not fully aroused. But her pleasure mounds, blushingly rose-hued
from the punishment they had absorbed, were the stuff of young male fantasies.
And gently quivering targets for young male lusts.
Gritting his teeth, determined not to disappoint his commanding officer's
expectations, he gave the outer slope of Erika's right breast a violent slap
with his open left hand.
SMACKK! the blow resounded against her flesh. A semi-stifled "Unngghh!"
escaped Erika's soft, rounded lips.
Cheng sensed that the general had nodded approvingly to his old
comrade-in-arms, Fong. Encouraged by this, and liking the spreading vermilion
imprint his hand had left on her breast, he nodded with satisfaction and then he
cracked the ravishing blonde sharply across the other breast, with even greater
force, causing her to jerk back in pain once again. That involuntary movement
brought fresh droplets of scalding wax from the candelabra down onto each of her
long, luscious thighs.
General Wang nodded approvingly, and Cheng felt pleased that he had earned
the General's approbation. He reached forward and spun the wheel so that Erika
was once more facing the cruel general.
"So, Miss Weiss," the general bowed mockingly, "Are you enjoying the social
whirl here in Shanghai?" His cronies laughed at his joke, none more loudly than
the obsequious Lu Chow.
"I think we should show her around some more, general! We'll show her the
ropes! Ha-ha!"
"Yes your excellency," agreed the gaunt Sang Chu-ming. "I wouldn't mind
jousting with those big tits again!"
Erika said nothing, her eyes cast downward, praying for her nightmare to
end. Angered by her silence, the General gave the resilient flesh of her left
breast another stinging slap.
"Aaghhh!'
"I asked you a question, Miss Weiss," the General sneered. "Are you
enjoying our little gathering? Surely every woman enjoys being the center of
attention? You are the cynosure of all eyes, here. You should be honored."
"I...I...
SMACCKK!! The dark-browed general delivered another stinging blow to her
swollen globes. "Speak up!"
"Ja...ja..."
SMACKK!!! "Aaahhhh!"
"You don't appear to be enjoying our company, slut. Why aren't your
nipples hard?"
"I- I don't ...
"Perhaps you are in need of some assistance, yes? Stick your tits out!"
Hsi Fong's emerald-green sleeve gave Sang Chu-ming a gentle elbow nudge as
if to say -- this promises to be good! He had seen the general work on defiant
bitches before.
"B-but..."
SMAACK!! The cruel general backhanded her right breast with yet another
punishing blow. "I said stick them out!"
The recent blows had brought a fresh sprinkling of hot wax down with each
recoil of her responsive young body. Erika, held erect in her kneeling position
by the veil-cord wrapped around her blonde hair, did her best to thrust her
chest out, in hopes of appeasing her tormentor.
With a lascivious leer, General Wang extended his black robed-hands to
seize Erika's pink-nippled breasts. "Your nipples are still not hard, you
blue-eyed barbarian slut."
Erika looked at him with disbelief. She had heard that the Chinese (and
the Japanese) looked on the Europeans as uncultured barbarians. But she never
dreamed that someone would use that designation toward her, the orphaned
daughter of a respected Lutheran missionary. She looked around at the seven
predators (counting George Chan) who hovered over her like sinister birds of
prey. She desperately wanted to scream, "It is not I who am the barbarian,
here!" to assert the identity, the human dignity that her tormentors were trying
so skillfully trying to crush; but, fortunately for her, she managed to suppress
the urge to do so.
The general's coarse hands squeezed her proudly proffered breasts roughly,
while his sturdy thumbnails scraped at their delicious coral buds. "My
associates and I have gone to great pains," the general smiled sardonically, "to
minister to your lovely breasts. To stimulate them." Four throaty male
chuckles and a high-pitched giggle from Lu Chow attended this remark. "I take
this as a sign of your disrespect for the Emperor's envoys."
"No...it is not that. It is just that...
"Silence! You dare to interrupt me! Did I give you leave to speak?"
"But you just ... Aaahhh!!"
Erika felt the general's long, powerful fingers seize her lust-melons in a
vise-like grip. Meanwhile his rugged thumbnails raked her sensitive nipples.
"Before ... you said that I..."
"Do you dare to defy me, girl?"
"Oohhh!... Gott...not so hard... bitte... .. Oooohhh!! ... please....
Anhh!... Why must you... Annhhhh!... do this ... to me." Erika's voice died
away to a soft murmur.
The general's sinister black eyes were as bright with lust as his fingers
were strong and tireless. This girl's breasts were not only temptingly firm and
resilient to his touch, but also deliciously sensitive to pain. A most
gratifying combination, indeed.
"Silence! Answer my question, if you please" The manual vise tightened
even more.
"DO.... Unhh!.... YOU.... Unnhhh!! DARE ....Nghhh! ... TO
Uuahhh!!...DEFY....Aauagh!!... ME???" The general spat out the words in a
staccato rhythm, intensifying his grip with each syllable. Each intensification
bringing a new groan of pain.
"AAAHHHH!! ... Oh...God....have mercy ...you're hurting m... "AAAHHH!!!
"That is because I mean to hurt you, girl. I mean to punish you for your
insolence. There is no place I would rather be at his minute. And no one I
would rather be with. Does that not please you?" The talons tightened again on
Erika's young breast-flesh.
"AHHHH!!" And then, biting her lip to keep from crying out again, Erika
choked back her tears of pain and shook her head, "N-no. "AHHHH!.. I mean
yes... yes...yes...please, no more."
The general relaxed his grip as Erika's shoulders heaved with suppressed
pain, causing her breasts to oscillate gently before him. Streams of sweat were
pouring down her face, and neck and trickling down onto her tender breasts.
After an all-too-brief reprieve, the general's hands were back on Erika's
juicy love-melons, but this time he directed his attention to her nipples.The
general's thumbs were skillful; he slapped away the swelling droplets of sweat
that hung from the lovely breast pellets, and then set to work.
In a few moments, despite her suffering, Erika could feel her sensitive
lust-buds responding to his rough handling. Glancing quickly right and left she
noticed that the dark eyes of Councillor Fong, and the bespectacled eyes of
young adjutant Cheng were boring into her twin treasures. Every few seconds the
General's nails scraped sharply at her tender nubbins; she could feel her ripe
buttocks clench involuntarily each time he did so, and was sure that the eyes of
the men behind her were enjoying that tempting reaction.
After another minute or so of the general's energetic manhandling, Erika's
nipples were thrusting shamelessly outward from her mouthwatering breasts in
tantalizingly taut invitation.
"Much better, fraulein, much better," the general sneeringly complimented
her. "This is how a beautiful young woman should comport herself before the
Emperor or the members of his court. But now let us see if you can maintain
your attitude of respect. You are to tour the table again; when you have
completed your little journey, I will expect your nipples to be as delightfully
erect as they are at this moment. Do you understand?" the general asked in a
portentous voice.
"B-b-but...
"No buts, fraulein. You will keep these little pebbles," the general
continued, as he gave the blonde's pink lust buds, a final cruel twist, "as hard
as they are at this moment until you return to me to face me again." Wang's
talons dug in to her tasty nuggets again, allowing him to savor one last
tortured gasp of pain before concluding.
"Or I may be forced to take sterner measures."
Chapter 21 The Orgy of Pain Continues
To Erika's relief the tyrannical general finally released her distended
nipples. But her short-lived respite was to prove fleeting indeed. A moment
later General Wang's dark-sleeved right arm shot out and delivered another
thunderous slap to Erika's shuddering left breast, causing the big mound to
bobble enticingly on her chest before coming to rest. Only to be greeted by a
punishing backhand from the other side.
"AAAGHHH! AAAAAGHHH!!" Erika's cries followed quickly one upon the other
in response to the general's one-two. "Mein Gott," she prayed under her breath,
"help me to survive this."
Wang turned the carousel quickly to his right then, and as Erika tried to
concentrate on keeping her swollen nipples in the desired state of excitation,
she noticed that the emerald-clad Hsi Fong was adjusting the signet ring that
she had noticed before. He turned the glittering symbol of office around so
that it protruded from the palmate side of his right hand. Then,with a cruel
grin, he launched that same right hand toward the inner curve of her right
breast. A split-second later Erika felt the rough edges of the ring gouging
deeply into her tender breast-flesh.
"Oooouuwwww!!" It was easily the worst blow yet, far worse even than the
powerful left that spanked the outer curve of that same suffering globe a moment
or two later.
The Commissioner of Seals then passed her over to the man on his right, the
droopy-bearded Sang Chu-ming, whose two snapping backhands branded Erika's
tortured breasts with fresh imprints of his hard metacarpal knuckles. The solid
impact of his blows caused her body to jerk yet again in her bondage; and the
jolt brought fresh drops of molten wax down from on high. For the first time
she felt the hot kiss of the semi-solid tallow dripping down the upper slopes of
her growing rosier-by-the minute pleasure globes.
Erika's breasts were aflame with pain when she was spun before the fat
little man in the cobalt blue robe. Desperately she willed her taut nipples to
continue to stand at attention, fearful of what fate might befall her should the
horrible General Wang find her guilty of disobedience.
Lu Chow, his forehead dripping with sweat, the folds of his fat face and
multiple chins even uglier now that his face was contorted with lust, reached
up and swatted at Erika's left breast with a sweaty palm. But, because of his
height and girth, his swing resulted in only a glancing blow to her breast,
making contact just below her straining right nipple.
Lu, frustrated, took a long swallow from a glass of port that had he had
just re-filled, and then the tipsy councillor tried to edge closer, to obtain
better access to Erika's swollen breasts. But as he reached up to spank the
roundness of her tit-globes, his huge blue-garbed potbelly bumped awkwardly
against the table, causing him to lose his balance, and fall, arms flailing, to
the floor, where he landed heavily.
Fortunately for Lu Chow his dignity was hurt more than his body, especially
when his glass of port, which had teetered for a moment, fell on his chest,
splashing half of its dark red contents onto his face and neck.
By now, his five colleagues were laughing at the comical plight of their
colleague, and George Chan had turned away trying to suppress his own laughter,
fearful of angering the councillor.
Even Erika, in the midst of her own miserable plight, could not help but
look down a bit gleefully at the heavy little man who was trying to climb to his
feet, grateful that someone was sharing her misery.
She watched as the fat Chinaman regained his feet, and used a red linen
napkin -- embroidered with a miniscule black scorion -- to wipe the wine from
his face; but he could not so easily erase the scarlet blush of humiliation.
Naturally, the cowardly sycophant could not direct his fury at General Wang and
the others who had laughed at him. It took only a moment for Erika to realize
that she and she alone would bear the brunt of his wrath.
Fuming and cursing like a lascar, Lu Chow looked wildly around him. He
stalked angrily toward the sideboard, where his eyes seized upon a pair of
long-handled metal serving spoons -- one of dark, highly-polished palmyra - the
hardest of the Asian palms - and the other of British sterling. Erika watched
with growing trepidation as the fat commissioner grabbed an over-sized spoon in
each hand and waddled back toward the table, his tiny swinish eyes black with
rage.
He set the silver spoon down and twirled the wooden one in his hand. "My
arm is longer now, blue-eyed cunt. Let's see how funny you find this!" With a
violent motion, Lu Chow splashed the remaining contents of his wine glass across
Erika's vividly rose-tinted breasts, taking satisfaction in the way the sweet
dessert wine drenched her jutting melons. Then the angry little man drew a bead
on a ruby-red droplet that clung to the puckering nipple capping Erika's
luscious left breast, and he hammered it with the underside of the long-handled
spoon.
WHAPPP!! "AAAAGHHHH!!"
At this moment the ancient Dr Wang rose from his chair and raised a
trembling right arm indicating that he wished to speak. A hush and a momentary
sobriety enveloped the table as his fellow guests, judging from his serene
manner, waited for him to offer some words of wisdom. The aged doctor slowly
looked from one councillor to the next, making sure that he had each man's
attention. Only when every eye was upon him did he issue his sage
pronouncement. "Confucius teaches," he began in a solemn voice, "that woman
with bare breasts should never mock man with wooden spoon."
The stillness of the room was shattered by the uproarious laughter of the
half-drunken revelers. Cheng, the least experienced drinker, fell back in his
seat, convulsed with laughter. Even the stern countenance of the general broke
into a lascivious grin. "Well said, Uncle," General Wang congratulated him.
Lu Chow interrupted the merriment by asking, "Who's laughing now, slut?"
And the mirth came to an abrubt halt when Lu's improvised wooden weapon exploded
against the center of Erika's other breast with a tremendous WHAPPP!!,
splattering the wine that had coated her succulent mounds all over her chest.
This blow, too, like the one before it, brought fresh drops of scalding wax down
on the sweat-sheened body of the stunning blonde.
Lu Chow turned the carousel toward the old man, who looked into Erika's
face. "When I last struck you, you derided the weakness of my limbs; perhaps
this will teach you not to taunt your elders." Doctor Wang's eyes, which only a
moment ago had seemed filled with the wisdom of the ages, were now thinning orbs
masked by a transparent veil of cruelty.
He reached toward Erika, and as he did so, she once again noticed his very
long fingernails, an affectation of some men of his generation. Only now did
she realize that the outer edge of the nails of his index fingers had been filed
to a sharp edge. A moment later she felt the old man's hands on her opulent
breastfruits, gripping them weakly with his waning strength, and then sliding
down the firm flesh, his nails scoring a razor-thin cut down the outer contour
of each swollen tit-globe, as easily as one might slice the skin of a firm, ripe
peach.
"Mmmmmmh!" Erika grimaced as she looked down to see the twin lacerations
separate and tiny pearls of scarlet start to form around the edges. Through her
pain she still remembered the general's admonition to keep her nipples erect and
she tried desperately to will her tempting buds to remain as engorged and ardent
as they had been when she had last faced him.
His work completed, Dr Wang nodded to young Cheng, and the young aide rose
to his feet again and pulled the carousel around toward himself.
"If the honorable Doctor Wang would be so good as to hand me the silver
spoon?" Cheng bowed respectfully.
The white-bearded old gentleman returned his bow, and added, "Use it well,
young man," and handed him the silver spoon that Lu Chow had retrieved. Unlike
the wooden spoon, the silver ladle had a number of oval slits, to allow liquid
to strain through. Cheng removed his thick glasses, cleaned them and replaced
them, the better to study the pair of well-spanked, wine-splattered,
thin-gashed, stiff-nippled breasts that moved up and down so enticingly with
Erika's agitated breathing.
Erika's tear-filled blue eyes pleaded with him not to do it, but he could
also feel the general's expectant scrutiny. "N-n-no...please....Gott..."
But her entreaties were to no avail. Cheng's strong right arm drew the
gleaming spoon back and then his arm cannoned forward, whipping the back of the
shallow-bowled implement squarely into each of her majestic breasts in turn,
pounding her impudent nipples deep into her breastflesh.
With a satisfied grin, Cheng spun her toward his waiting superior.
"I am disappointed in you, fraulein," the general sneered. "You were
admonished to keep your nipples erect out of respect for our noble emperor."
Erika looked down with chagrin. Cheng's brutal blows had taken their toll
-- her love-buds had only partly recovered their lusty erection.
"I tried..." Erika sobbed. "Bitte... no more... God knows I..."
SMACKK!! "AAUGHH!!!" The General slapped her pain-wracked breasts again.
"I demand obedience, woman. Not excuses. It seems that we shall have to
continue," the general went on. "Mr. Chan," he had bowed toward George. "What
do you suggest?"
Chapter 22 Crouching Tigress
Under the pretext of giving Erika a moment to recover her strength before
her endurance was tested again, George had seized on that opportunity to begin
his campaign to forestall any intervention by the corrupt politicians from the
north into the criminal dealings of the Black Scorpions in Shanghai.
He began by telling the General and the others how much he and his brother
appreciated the visit of the delegation from the capital. As the Emperor,
Te-tsung, approached the tenth anniversary of his reign, surely it was the duty
of every Chinese to pay homage to his august personage. And tonight he
considered himself honored to entertain the Emperor's friends.
But it was important to bear in mind, he went on, that Shanghai was a city
of the Han people, while the members of the Imperial Court were largely Manchu.
The people of the Shanghai District had their own customs, and it was best not
to interfere with their local vices -- prostitution, gambling, opium. Doing so
could only stir up discontent. Had not the General spent fifteen years of his
life suppressing the Tai-ping rebellion? Would it not be foolish, he had
contended, to oppose the natural inclinations of the million souls who lived in
the great port city? Would it not be like trying to prevent the Yangtze itself
from flowing into the China Sea?
While he talked George had undone the silken bonds that linked Erika's
golden pony tail to the candelabra. Then he had undone the veil-cords that
fastened her wrists to her opposing elbows behind her back. The beautiful
blonde on the carousel had breathed a great sigh of relief, at being released
from that painful bondage and fell forward onto her hands and knees, facing
General Wang.
Would it not be best, George Chan had continued, to leave local matters in
the hands of local dignitaries like his brother and himself, men who knew the
people of the district? Men who knew the value of powerful friends? He had
paused then, to look each of his guests in the eye.
Each of the councillors from Peking took their eyes off the exhausted
vision of blonde loveliness who knelt before them when they heard those words.
George had smiled inwardly. The lust of the emperor's ministers was equalled
only by their greed. He did not name any sums; he did not need to. The six
councillors would expect tribute money commensurate with their offices, and they
would receive it.
It is true, he had gone on, that there were a handful of troublemakers,
agitators, who complained of the Chans' hegemony in Shanghai. Clearly, these
miscreants who opposed the Emperor's humble servant -- at this point he had
bowed with feigned humility -- had respect for neither the Kuang-hsu regime nor
the Emperor's court. Leave it to my equally loyal brother and I, he had
suggested, and I will wipe these seditious traitors from the streets of
Shanghai.
General Wang had listened patiently to George Chan's Metternichian
presentation, and nodded knowingly when it was completed. He was under no
illusions as to the loyalty of the Chans to the throne. They had loyalty to no
one but themselves. But there were worse things than an entente cordiale with
rich and powerful men. The Chans were wealthy, as evidenced by the palatial
Black Pagoda, not to mention the sumptuous banquet that had been prepared for
them. And now some of that great wealth was bound to come his way. Not to
mention the other amenities that the House of Chan offered, he thought, as his
dark eyes raped the sensuous body of the blonde girl so temptingly posed on her
hands and knees in the center of the banquet table.
The General bowed to George Chan, his hairless skull gleaming in the pale
light given off by the chandelier. "I believe we have an understanding, Mr
Chan. Are there any opposed to my reporting the fidelity of the House of Chan
to the Emperor's court?" Wang surveyed his cronies, who were doing their best
to assume the air of thoughtful ministers of state; he was hardly suprised to
find that there were none who dared to oppose his wishes.
"Excellent, General," George had responded. Then, tilting his head
slightly toward the missionary's daughter, he had observed, "I believe we are
ready for the final course."
Throughout this colloquy, Erika had felt like an insignificant pawn on a
chessboard much larger than any she had ever known. But at least, Gott sei
dank, George Chan's little speech had distracted her tormentors. Perhaps her
ordeal was over. She had looked up at George beseechingly.
"Nein, fraulein, " he had addressed her mockingly. "Your evening is far
from over. Would you deny our guests the right to celebrate our ...
rapprochement?"
He had mounted the chair once again, and had seized the kneeling beauty's
wrists and pulled her arms up behind her at a forty-five degree angle. Then,
once again using the very veils which had once covered her nakedness, he
affixed her wrists to the frame of the chandelier.
"Aahh!" she had grimaced softly as her arms were pulled painfully up behind
her.
Then with a gesture befitting a Master of Ceremonies (which, in fact, he
was) George gestured in the direction of the semi-prostrate maiden.
"I give you, gentlemen, The Crouching Tigress!"
And indeed there was something of a feline quality to the graceful, tawny
creature whose body was stretched so painfully by the silken cords attached to
her wrists.
"The Crouching Tigress? I do not understand this," Lu Chow squeaked in
his unmistakable high-pitched voice.
"Ah, forgive me, my friend," George continued. "You are Manchu. Perfhaps
you do not know the legend of the Crouching Tiger and Hidden Dragon."
Lu Chow's fleshy face bore the blank look of ignorance.
"The story is very old, Lu Chow." Doctor Wang interjected. "And quite
long. Suffice it to say that the Crouching Tiger and Hidden Dragon represent
unrealized talents; qualities that are hidden from general view until the moment
when they are most needed."
"Very well -- I see that the girl is the Crouching Tiger. But what is the
Hidden Dragon?"
General Wang threw his bald head back and laughed. "Your Dragon may be
less visible than most, my friend. But mine," and he removed a long, rigid,
dark-veined penis from his dark robe, "is hidden no more." Then reaching for
the blonde mane of the tigress before him, he pulled her head up to face his.
"It is said in the mountains to the west that tigers are always hungry,
blue-eyes. Well, feed on this!" and the general forced Erika's lovely face down
onto his swollen manhood. The jolt of that movement brought fresh drops of
scalding wax down on the back and buttocks of the tigress who was far more prey
than predator.
George had watched with interest as Wang had face-fucked the missionary's
daughter, thrusting his cock more and more forcefully into her mouth.
The general's uncle looked on with fascination, his eyes thin slits.
"Surely a tiger should have stripes, my friends," he whispered as he stepped
between Lu Chow and Sang Chu-ming, handing each of them one of the long-handled
spoons.
"Very good, old one," approved the cadaverous Sang as he blistered Erika's
pretty bottom with the shiny silver serving spoon. WHACKK!!
A strangled "Ngmff" was the only sound that Erika's cock-stuffed mouth
could produce.
"There's your first stripe, Tigress," exulted the forbidding scarecrow,
through his thin gray beard. "The first of many, I trust. Add another, Lu
Chow!"
Standing behind her and slightly to her right, the fat man lashed Erika
sharply across the back of her long, well-toned thighs. "Nfmgph!!" she grunted
again.
"Uncle," General Wang observed as he continued his cock-thrusts deep into
Erika's mouth, "Will you not take part in Taming the Tigress? It is good sport,
I assure you!"
George Chan had then watched, somewhat mystified, as the doddering old man
had made his way unsteadily over to the sideboard where the dirty dishes from
the grand repast had been stored. There he puttered around seemingly aimlessly.
Puzzled by the old man's seemingly senile movements, George glanced back toward
Erika, noticing that Hsi Fong and Cheng had moved closer to the general. Each of
them had bent forward to lick at the heady mixture of sweet sticky port
commingled with one or two drops of blood - courtesy of Dr Wang's razor-sharp
nails - from the curves of a plumply pendulous breast. Cheng pulled her tasty
right breast toward his face, as his mouth roved hungrily all over the
pink-tipped sphere of flesh.
"My colleagues seem to like the taste of your breast-blood, fraulein. Tell
me," he bellowed, "How do you like the taste of Chinese cock?!" The general
grunted with lust as he continued to ram his fleshy swagger stick into the warm,
moist cavern of Erika's defenseless mouth.
"She shall learn to like it tonight!" Hsi Fong exclaimed grufly. Now that
the port had been sucked from her breast flesh, Fong's fingers closed on Erika's
left nipple-budt. "Or be made to suffer the consequences."
"Nghmgph!!" Erika groaned and wriggled in breast pain. But the movement
only served to spill more droplets of hot wax down on her bottom cheeks. Where
they were greeted by painfully pulverizing strokes from the spoon-wielders.
"Do you know why we are the most populous people on earth, fraulein?" the
general demanded in between lunges.
Erika could barely breathe, much less speak.
"Because Chinese men can fuck like no others, foolish woman! That is why
there are more of us than there are on your entire accursed continent!" And as
if to prove the veracity of his claim, the general redoubled the violence of his
thrusts, nearly choking the "Tigress" with his "Dragon".
"Old one, you have rejoined us," Lu Chow remarked just before he slashed
again at Erika's deliciously rounded ass-cheeks, leaving yet another dark stripe
with the palmyra. Erika choked out a strangled "NGGNMF!"
Dr Wang carried two small cruets in one hand and a dozen chopsticks in the
other. He set them down on the table just as Sang laid into the blonde's
shapely buttocks with another solid WHACK! with the metal spoon.
"Ah, the stripes are forming, I see," the aged doctor observed in the tone
of voice he used when propounding his own peculiar version of wisdom.
"Continue, my friends," the aged Doctor encouraged. Lu Chow and Sang Chu-ming
did not disappoint him; each delivered an encore to Erika's shapely
buttock-mounds.
George had watched bemusedly as the octogenarian dipped a pair of
chopsticks into one of the diminutive, half-filled pitchers. The gray-haired
old man removed the sticks, now dripping with sesame oil, and held them in a
trembling left hand while he dunked a second pair of sticks. When the second
pair was equally well-oiled, he leaned forward between Erika's widespread legs
and slid the four sticks into Erika's gaping pussy, as she gurgled in surprise
and discomfort.
The old man rolled the handle-ends of the chopsticks between his fingers,
causing the tapered end of the wooden sticks to scrape the walls of Erika's
tender vagina.
WHACKK! The fat man slapped her right buttock with one spoon while the
droopy-bearded Sang Chu-ming swatted her left cheek with the other.
Young Cheng, meanwhile, was touching a woman's breast for the first time
since his infancy (save for the slaps he had delivered earlier in the evening).
He squeezed the blonde's right breast, first rather timidly, and then more
assertively, marveling that a globe so firm to the touch, should have skin so
soft. And warm -- doubly so from the rough treatment it had sustained. His
tight grip produced two fresh pearls of claret from the long thin gash that Dr
Wang had left.
Cheng's manhood was lustily hard as he leaned forward, covertly rubbing his
swollen organ against the table's edge. His jaw was tight with desire as he
watched his commanding officer rape the so-recently-virginal mouth of the young
German woman. What he wouldn't give to thrust his hot, throbbing prick between
those sweet pink lips! By the ghost of Genghis Khan, he hoped he'd get the
chance!
Moments later, General Wang pulled his rampant prick from the mouth of the
tortured blonde. "Agh! Aghh! Aghhh!!" he grunted as his prodigious member
launched a protracted volley of semen-missiles into the face of Erika Weiss,
splattering her eyes, nose, and lips. "There's some Manchu lobster-sauce for
you, golden cunt!" he muttered as swabbed a thick gob of his man-juice from just
under her left eye and wiped it on her tongue.
"AAAAGHHH!!!" Erika's cry startled the sadistic sextet. It was only then
that they noticed that old Dr Wang had removed the chopsticks from her oily
slit, and drenched them in the other container he had brought from the
sideboard. It was only when George Chan stepped a little closer that he could
see the contents of the cruet -- chili oil, prepared from the most intensely hot
Szechuan chiles. A few drops on a serving of food was enough to pleasantly
inflame the palate; he could not imagine the burning and itching that would
result from applying the oil directly to delicate tissues.
And Dr Wang had chosen the most delicate tissues of all; six sticks, had
been immersed to their midpoint in the reddish-gold concoction, and one by one
he had begun inserting them into Erika's puckering anal rosebud. Not so hard or
so far that they would damage the tissue, but more than hard enough and more
than far enough to set her rear passage aflame.
"In this case," the old men pointed out softly, "it is not the Dragon, but
the Tigress who will breathe fire." The old man smiled grimly, remembering
Erika's mocking stare earlier in the evening. " But from the wrong end," he
added, as he screwed the fiery sticks in a little deeper.
The company laughed at the old man's jest, and delighted in the salacious
pelvic wriggles of the girl; but not even Erika's most shameless writhings
could do anything to quench the flames that burned deep within her.
And so the ordeal had continued long into the night. The missionary's
daughter had been compelled to make another tour of the room, kowtowing
perversely to each of her six tormentors. In between the most agonizing
moments it struck her that she was kneeling and worshiping the lusty organs of
each of her tormentors in turn as if she were observing some diabolical pagan
equivalent to the Stations of the Cross. Not a minute went by without new blows
to the backs of her thighs and her rounded buttocks, delivered by whatever men
were across the table from the whomever happened to be receiving her oral
caresses. Not a minute went by without the fiery precipitation of fresh waxy
drippings falling on her tortured body. Leaving scores of tiny burns protected
only by the minute globules of cream-colored wax that covered them. Wax spots
that the weapon-wielders delighted in attacking. Every few minutes, a pair of
the six rectal sticks was removed from her bottomhole and anointed with a fresh
dose of the fiery nectar of the Szechuan chilis.
When she had completed the circuit, she could not have said whose cock had
been the worst. Had it been the rapacious organ of General Chang or the choking
maleness of Hsi Fong? The long needle-dick of Sang Chu-ming, that had scraped
the back of her throat, or the thick and bulbous manhood of the sublimely ugly
Lu Chow. The ancient Dr Wang had taken the longest to satisy -- it had taken
her over half an hour to bring him to erection and another half hour to induce a
feeble eruption. An endless hour during which his nephew and the sycophantic
Sang had taken turns in administering countless vicious blows to her rounded
buttocks, even as Councillor Fong had manipulated the chili-sticks protruding
from her tight, tortured rectum.
But it had perhaps been her encounter with Cheng that had proved most
humiliating. Had it not been only an hour or two earlier that she had seen a
spark of humanity in his young eyes? But the night, and the company, had
corrupted him, and by the time she was face to face with him again, he was as
heartless as the rest. He forced her head down onto his throbbing member, and
then, with a cruelty unusual in one so young, he directed her to keep her
derriere high in the air -- so that it might prove a more tempting target for
the men across from him who were wielding the the terrible spoons. Meanwhile,
the man on his right, General Wang, first twisted her left nipple into a most
tempting rigidity, and then trapped it between the lengths of a pair of
chopsticks, crushing her pink love bud with brutal force and implacable cruelty.
Cheng's youthful excitement, coupled with his inexperience, had manifested
itself quickly, however. His handsome young cock had been in her mouth for only
two or three minutes when she began to feel his body shaking. "EAHHHH" he had
cried in ecstasy, a moment before he began to fill her degraded mouth with the
vile taste of his cock-juice.
********************
At the sound of footsteps outside George Chan's mind returned to the
present.
Where WAS Ming-tsu? By now she should surely have gleaned some
information about the young lieutenant of the Black Scorpions. But despite his
interest in that issue, business was decidely at the back of his mind at this
moment. The recollection of the events of the banquet had aroused him and it
had been weeks since he had been with his most accomplished lover. He had known
hundreds of women in his life, but her erotic inventiveness was second to none.
He rose again from his desk and strode to the window, peering out at the
long winding walkway that led to his palatial home. The sky was a gloomy gray,
to match his mood, and raindrops were beginning to splash against the window.
About ten minutes later he heard footsteps on the walkway outside of his
office. He moved toward the window once again, and was gratified to see
Ming-tsu, encased in a long raincoat, making her way through what was now a
downpour.
With her hard-won information about her lover, Li Chang, the newest
lieutenant of the Black Scorpions.
Chapter 23 An Erotic Morning at the House of Ming-tsu
That morning Li Chang had arisen no less aroused than he had been on the
prior evening, when, in response to Ming-tsu's persistent sexual teasing, he had
christened her tempting breasts with hot oil and then subjected her to a
strenuous tit-fucking that neither he nor Ming-tsu would soon forget. Ming-tsu
had woken to find Li's head buried between her legs, his tongue gently prodding
her clitoris. She had feigned sleep for a few minutes longer, enjoying his
gentle oral caresses.
She did not open her eyes until she felt his urgent penis, stiff with
arousal, pressing against her font of pleasure. Her strong young lover, had
made love -- long slow, sensual love -- to her then. On the night before he had
mauled and raped her breasts with selfish abandon; but this morning, as the pale
light of an early dawn crept through her east-facing window, the guilt-plagued
Li Chang had covered the achingly tender globes that he had so recently
brutalized with a hundred soothing kisses.
But while her body was a responsive as ever in his arms, her mind and her
heart were in another place. For today was the day of her fateful meeting with
George Chan. Today she would pass along the details of Li Chang's life as he
had shared them with her; part of her loved Li Chang, but the greater part
craved wealth and power -- which no one in Shanghai could provide like the
Brothers Chan. With the yang outweighing the yin, her path was clear; luckily
Li Chang's words of praise for Liu, this supposed paragon of beauty and virtue
- made her violation of his confidence a little easier.
She had feigned an orgasm this morning, an almost unprecedented occurrence
for her. But there had been nothing feigned about Li's climax. They had
changed positions several times during their long embrace, but at length he had
been atop her, plowing into her sweet cleft with his usual ardor. As she felt
his excitement rise, she had inserted her middle finger gently into his anus,
and then, just as she sensed he was about to explode, she pressed her finger
hard against the wall of his prostate gland. It was a trick that George had
picked up from Binh - a girl from Cochin China who had entertained him at Madame
Wong's -- and it rarely failed to enhance a lover's climax.
Later, after Li had dressed and left for the day to perform his duties as
ward leader of the Black Scorpions, Ming-tsu had dispatched a young boy with a
message to George Chan that she would come by to see him early that afternoon.
Then, in preparation for her visit to the house of the younger Chan, she had
taken a long luxurious bath in water as hot as she could stand, in order to
soothe the bruises of the night before. Reclining in the scented water,
redolent with fragrant oils, she dreamed of the gowns and pearls, of the
carriages and diamonds that one day might be hers -- if she played her cards
right with George Chan. The very thought sent a fillip of pleasure coursing
through her body - a pleasure that she augmented by touching herself between her
smooth, soapy thighs, letting her knowing fingers play over the soft folds of
her womanhood.
That gentle touch soon led to more urgent caresses; she reached out for a
box of beautifully inlaid marquetry that lay on a small table adjacent to the
tub. She opened the hinged container and her soft brown eyes widened with
pleasure. Inside it was a beautifully carved phallus, supposedly fashioned from
the priceless ivory of one of the fabulous white elephants of the Brahmaputra
Valley. George Chan had had several made for her, but only this one, which she
affectionately called 'Jumbo', had the precise curvature to best give pleasure
to her sensitive vagina.
She removed 'Jumbo' from his resting place and held the phallus upright
between her legs. A skillful artisan had carved two virile testicles into the
ivory at the base of the dildo, and she pressed those solid spheres against the
entrance to her feminine grotto, while she used a loofah to coat the ivory shaft
with soapy water. The aromatic oils she had added to the water imparted a
pleasing slipperiness to the phallus. She stroked her inanimate instrument of
pleasure affectionately, as if somehow her fondling of it might spur the
man-shaped carving to greater efforts on her behalf.
Then closing her eyes, she slipped the noble organ between her legs and
rubbed its firm rounded head against her soft outer lips, gliding slowly upward
from bottom to top and then back again, before letting the solid ivory
pleasure-bearer tease her clitoris with its gentle prodding. Then she eased the
great shaft inside her, a little at a time, undulating her hips in welcome.
Ming-tsu's left hand came up to cup the fullness of her still sore left
breast; a long scarlet nail traced a sensual path around the dark-tipped globe.
As she felt her quiescent nipple begin to react to her touch, she remembered
that Li had told her once, during a post-coital embrace, that an ancient
philospher had sought to prove the existence of God by pointing out the
unfathomable geometry of nature. Could a random universe have designed the
three beautiful concentric circles of a woman's breast ? The outer circle being
the base of the breast itself, inside of that the areola, and innermost of all,
the life-giving nipple, which a fourth circle, a lover's lips, or a baby's
mouth, would one day claim for its own.
Her dreamy philosophical musings soon drifted away, however, as her right
hand worked the massive ivory phallus deeper into her eager vagina, filling her
being with pleasure. She had one shuddering, soapy orgasm after another before
wistfully returning Jumbo to his case and climbing out of the tub.
She dried herself off before a full-length mirror; her breasts had been
very roughly handled the night before but faint discolorations here and there
were the only blemishes on her otherwise perfect body. She had been doubly
blessed by nature -- a face of rare and exotic loveliness, coupled with a slim
body, albeit one with more voluptuous curves than most of her Chinese sisters.
Hers was a rare beauty, and she knew it.
She made a few more preparations for her interview with George Chan,
dressed, and stepped outside into a daylight darkened by an ominous sky. Far
off to the west there were flashes of unseasonable lightning. Ming-tsu trembled
a little. Although not normally superstitious, somehow the dark skies and the
heavenly turbulence seemed like ominous portents of the events to come.
Chapter 24 The Gathering Storm and the Unfolding Lotus
A short time later the rain began to fall, first in a light mist, and then
in droplets that seemed to grow larger and come down faster with each minute
that passed. Luckily Ming-tsu had worn a raincoat, and had brought along an
umbrella with a silken canopy depicting two dragons in combat. Luckily by the
time the rain had begun to intensify she was nearly at her destination -- the
splendid estate of George Chan.
When she knocked at the door, the housemaid, Miss Teng, greeted her
impassively. It was nothing out of the ordinary for George Chan to have
assignations with beautiful young women. Miss Teng showed Ming-tsu into
George's study, where she found the co-master of the Black Scorpions using a
ruler to draw dark lines below the columns of numbers in one of his
leather-bound ledger books. George looked up from his work and upon seeing his
beautiful guest, he dismissed the pretty young maid, locking the door behind her
so that he and Ming-tsu would not be disturbed by the servants.
George Chan, never the most patient of men, was almost beside himself. It
had been a number of days since Erika Weiss's disappearance, and he had not
found time to visit Madame Wong's since the following evening -- the night he
had broken in his devilish new set of nipple clamps on the hapless Peony. As a
result of this unusual stretch of abstinence, he was as randy as a Manchurian
mink.
He had barely closed and locked the door behind the maid, when he turned to
face his guest and growled through his familiar frozen smile, "On the desk! The
unfolding lotus -- and be quick about it!"
'Of course, Master," Ming-tsu replied coolly, seemingly unmoved by his
impatience. "But would you be so good as to take my coat first?"
George frowned and moved to help Ming-tsu slip out of her dripping raincoat
and put it and her wet umbrella in the very closet where Professor Leung had
found the coat for Erika. As she shrugged out of the coat George thought that
he detected a familiar faint clicking sound. She had remembered, he thought to
himself.
Beneath the raincoat the beautiful courtesan wore an elegant
high-buttoned tunic of crimson and gold, and a skirt of shimmering black silk
that was slit up to the hip on one side. A slender gold chain hung from her
neck, and matched the delicate earrings she wore. Earrings intricately
fashioned into tiny scorpions.
George pushed an assortment of ledgers and other papers to the side of the
Louis XV desk with a quick motion of his arm, and then took his accustomed seat
behind it. He was flushed, Ming-tsu noticed. Men were such fools, she thought.
When they were in such a state they were putty in her hands.
Ming-tsu's fingers leisurely opened the top button of the tunic, while
George Chan drummed impatiently on the arm of his chair.
"I have good news for you, Master," Ming-tsu purred. "About Li Chang."
"There will be plenty of time to speak of that later," the barrel-chested
Lord of the Scorpions responded impatiently. As always George was entranced by
the richness of her dark brown eyes; there was something in those inviting eyes
that seemed always to say him, 'I am yours.' Or rather, 'My body is yours; -
but my spirit is free. Seize it if you dare!'
"It has been weeks since I have been with you, Ming-tsu. I have missed
you."
Ming-tsu's fingers played teasingly over the second button on her blouse as
she slid into George's ample lap. "Master, you can have hardly been lonely,"
she chided him. "Did I not train your "golden girl" so that she would please
your," she paused, searching for the right word, "special tastes?" Her lips
formed themselves into an attractive pout. "And surely you have not forsworn
the delights of the house of Madame Wong?"
As if to emphasize those delights Ming-tsu crossed one leg over the other,
seemingly heedless of the way the slit skirt fell away from one satiny golden
thigh. But George knew that Ming-tsu's 'heedlessness' was as theatrical, - and
as charming - as the stage manner of Ellen Terry, the diva of the Victorian
stage. He had seen the young Terry once, on a post-university return to
London, at Sir Henry Irving's Lyceum Theatre; he had marveled at how she made
the most practiced gesture seem the most natural. She had been (and still was)
a woman of infinite grace and beauty. Ming-tsu, with nary an hour of formal
training, had the same gift for cloaking a carefully orchestrated gesture -
like the crossing of a slim, sensual, Asiatic leg - in the seductive guise of
improvisation.
The lovely Chinese temptress felt George's hand slide aggressively between
the panels of her skirt to explore her thighflesh as she recalled that during
her months as his concubine, George had arranged occasional house calls by the
Madame's pleasure girls; it had been in this very room, under this same quartet
of erotic paintings, that Ming-tsu had first begun to explore the darker side
of her own sexuality. She could still remember the first time that she had
held a whip in her small hand...
At George's insistence, she had used it, tentatively at first, and then
with more and more confidence, on the sweet young buttocks of Binh, an exquisite
girl from the Mekong Valley in Cochin-China far to the south. Binh's pretty
ankles had been lashed to the front legs of George's intricately carved rococo
desk and her naked eighteen-year-old body had been bent in half by the silken
scarves that tied her wide-spread wrists to the front legs. For her first
venture into his dark world, George had offered her a feminine-looking whip with
silken tails. But those innocent-seeming silken strands were tipped with sturdy
silken knots... Ming-tsu had come quite quickly to love the soft cries of pain,
the plaintive pleas for mercy... Fifty strokes of the whip had left Binh's
nubile, honey-gold buttocks a blushing red. When she was done George had
separated those pretty cheeks and plundered the Vietnamese beauty's inflamed
bottom until the gleaming wood of his magnificent desk was damp with her sweat
and tears....
From that experience Ming-tsu's taste for the pleasures of dominance had
blossomed steadily; over time, silken lashes had evolved into sharp-cracking
leather whips and punishing rattan canes. She had felt them often herself, too.
George Chan was fond of her in his own way, but he was hardly a patient man ...
George Chan's smile darkened and his hand tightened on her upper thigh when
Ming-tsu mentioned the German girl. "Yes, you and your handsome district leader
trained her well. Her stamina was as remarkable as her body was beautiful."
"Was?" Ming-tsu's almond eyes widened with interest at this news.
"Have you not heard that she disappeared several days ago?"
"Ah! A great shame, surely, after the trouble we took to prepare her for
you. And you have no idea where she is, Master?"
"No, but when I find her," George fumed, "I'll make her night with those
interfering bastards from Peking seem like a garden party."
Ming-tsu looked at him inquiringly; neither had she heard about the
"entertainment" that George had mentioned briefly to Richard Chan. She shifted
her weight slightly to allow herself better access to the huge bulge beneath his
pin-striped trousers. George, unlike his brother who preferred Chinese attire,
frequently affected the sartorial style of a member of a posh English club.
Another echo from his years in Britain.
"Mmmmm," George mumbled as her hand brushed lightly across his erection.
Recovering his train of thought, he went on. "Ah! I had forgotten, my little
jewel -- "I have not seen you, have I, since she was the piece de resistance at
the banquet I hosted for the legation from the Forbidden City? Or perhaps I
should say, she was the post-prandial entertainment."
Ming-tsu raised an elegant eyebrow. The Chans, it seemed, were on the verge
of becoming national figures in China, if they were entertaining guests from the
seat of the empire. She had played her cards well, she thought, as she
unbuttoned another button on the tunic; her breasts were so high and firm that
she needed no undergarments to enhance their shape. With three buttons undone
now she felt George's ardent gaze warming the upper slopes of her succulent
breasts, even as his hand stroked her thigh.
"Tell me about the banquet, Master." She knew that George fancied himself a
brilliant raconteur, and indeed, his stories had aroused her on more than one
occasion. "Have I not told you often enough that your exploits ... excite me?"
She gave him her most provocative smile, and opened one of the buttons on his
fly.
George licked his lips as his eyes feasted on her half-revealed breasts and
his hands climbed closer to the secret place between her legs. Should he take
her now or later? He had been waiting impatiently for her for some time; on the
other hand every attempt he had ever made to stimulate Ming-tsu sexually had
been well recompensed by her subsequent ardor. After considering briefly he
continued his story in his usual expansive manner.
"My brother was in Hong Kong attending to some business, when I received
word that the imperial councillors were en route. They were coming to Shanghai
- the corrupt swine -- because of some do-gooders' complaints about our methods.
It was necessary to win their favor, you see, because they report to the emperor
himself."
The younger Chan was obviously pleased with the way he had handled the
situation, Ming-tsu realized. She had the second button of his fly open now.
"So, let me understand you, Master. You used the girl to "win the favor"
of these visiting dignitaries?"
His smile grew broader as he warmed to his story. "Yes, and I must
confess that I was quite pleased with the result of your training methods. The
girl was superb." He winked at her slyly before adding, "Under most difficult
circumstances."
Ming-tsu pressed closer to George's barrel-chested body, letting him feel
the soft weight of her breasts. "It would be hard to imagine that her
circumstances could have been more difficult than my training had prepared her
to endure."
"Perhaps; one day you must tell me more about her training. I still regret
that you and I could not have shared that pleasure... But you asked about the
banquet... I had begun by training Erika to serve the drinks, which she did
very nicely. But, ahh! -- you should have seen her costume!
"How so?" The third and last button of his fly fell victim to her
intrusive fingers.
"Mmmmm, don't stop....I had her dressed in seven veils -- like the Salome
of the Christian Bible."
Seeing that this meant nothing to Ming-tsu, he went on even as she reached
inside the vent in his underwear. "Do you remember Madame Wong's Arab girl,
Fatima?"
"Of course; she is lovely. When she dances her feet seem never to touch
the ground." Ming-tsu recalled that a Javanese rug-merchant had found the
shapely, silken-haired dancer at a slave market in Samarkand, and, knowing
Madame Wong's interest in fresh and exotic talent, had bought her and brought
her back to Shanghai. There, the rug merchant had bartered the girl, along with
several Persian tapestries destined for Madame Wong's Harem Room, to the brothel
in exchange for a new sampan.
On one memorable night George had commissioned Fatima to perform a belly
dance for Ming-tsu and himself that had aroused them both to a fever pitch. But
the scantily-clad dancer's only reward for her efforts was that her luscious
legs and athletic abdomen had been subjected to a blistering belly and
thigh-switching. By the time they had delivered forty strokes -- one for each
of Ali Baba's thieves, George had joked -- Ming-tsu and George had reduced a
pair of hard-nubbed birch switches - from one of the stately trees on George's
estate - to scarlet-stained shreds.
Fatima had been directed to remove the rest of her scanty garments then,
revealing a tantalizing pair of dusky, dark-nippled breasts, and a swarthy
triangle of curly pubic tendrils that embellished her private parts most
attractively. George Chan had plundered that youthfully tight young pussy then,
while Ming-tsu had offered him her delicious breasts to kiss and bite, as she
stroked herself in time with his every vigorous thrust.
After George had consummated his lust, Ming-tsu had squatted above the face
of the recumbent dark-eyed dancer. When the young houri had balked at inserting
her tongue into Ming-tsu's sensitive slit, Ming-tsu had stepped aside while
George ordered the recalcitrant young beauty to pull her marvelously flexible
legs up and back onto the wide pillow on which her flowing dark hair rested.
Then, while Fatima had held onto her ankles (under threat of additional
strokes), George and Ming-tsu had armed themselves with a pair of whippy canes
cut from the tough bamboo that grew along the banks of the Yangtze. And they had
taken turns applying the punishing rods to the delightfully uptilted buttocks
and well-toned thighs of the young dancing girl, until she had screamed her
readiness to comply with any of Ming-tsu's carnal desires, no matter how
perverse.
"She was defiant at first, as I recall... but a fast learner," Ming-tsu
added. In the end, Fatima's tongue had pleased her well.
"Yes; I shouldn't have thought that you would have forgotten her. In any
event, I recalled that Fatima had an assortment of veils in various shades of
blue and green. Thinking that they would suit your blue-eyed ..." George
shifted his weight slightly so that Ming-tsu could pull his erect, purple-veined
penis throught the opening in his fly. "Mmmmm... yes, that's it ... protege.
And so I had the dancer swathe that German slut in seven veils -- one veil for
each year of the general's term in office." As Ming-tsu adjusted her position
slightly, he heard that faint clicking noise again, and smiled to himself.
"First, of course we had many toasts. Then a banquet worthy of
Lucullus..."
Ming-tsu looked blankly at him, but George continued with a rush of words.
"When the banquet was concluded, and the dishes cleared, the real
festivities began. Oooh... yes... don't stop... The councillors began
removing the veils, while Erika knelt on a carousel in the middle of the table."
"A most clever idea, master," Ming-tsu purred, as she stroked her lover.
"The removal of the fifth veil left her long golden legs bare. When the
removal of the sixth veil uncovered her big breasts, the foolish slut tried to
hide them with her hands. But the drunken counsellors were in no mood for that;
I had to tie her wrists behind her, so that they could all get a good look at
her tits. They were still flaking a bit, you know, from the sunburn she got
during her stay in the mountains."
The thought of Erika's spectacular breasts induced George to slide a hand
up under Ming-tsu's tunic, in order to fondle his concubine's pleasure mounds.
"You'd have thought they'd never seen a woman before, those animals, the
way they carried on. After the seventh spin she ended up facing General Wang
again; after her last veil came off, he motioned for her to lean forward. I
could see that he had his eyes on those big breasts of hers. He bowed to me as
if to say, " 'You permit'?"
Then George proceeded to describe, with titillating thoroughtness, the
blows the councillors had given Erika's superb breasts, the details of the
dripping wax and the intruding chopsticks, and how the six men had ended the
endless evening by raped Erika's pretty mouth, one after the other. As he told
his story, he felt Ming-tsu grow damp between her thighs even as she continued
to stroke him into a towering erection.
When at last his strange tale was complete, he lifted her off his lap, his
inflamed penis protruding garishly from his unbuttoned trousers. There was a
new look in his eye, a look that Ming-tu recognized at once. Telling the tale
of Erika's ravishment had stimulated the sadistic side to his nature, one which
was never far from the surface.
"When you first arrived here Ming-tsu, I told you that I wanted to see the
'unfolding lotus'; but you tried to change the subject, with your talk of Li
Chang and the blonde." He reached out and picked up the wooden ruler he had
been using earlier on his ledger-book. "The lotus, Ming-tsu. Now!"
Ming-tsu was not unaccustomed to George's swift mood swings but this was
unusual even for him. She reached for the fastener on her skirt.
"No. The blouse first."
"Yes, master. As you wish." She had undone the top three golden buttons of
the scarlet tunic earlier knowing that they would give George a nice glimpse
into the shadowy cleavage between her high, close-set breasts. Now she lowered
her hands to the bottom of the blouse and began undoing the lower buttons.
When there was only one button left to undo, a small circle of bleached
whalebone nipple-high between her breasts, she slid both of her hands under the
tunic and cupped her ripe breasts cross-handed, teasing George by lifting the
sheer, silken fabric and showing him her pretty lust-globes still half-screened
by her slender, crimson-tipped fingers. Her blood-red nails slid scrapingly
across the pouting nipples which poked through the digital lattice.
George could stand it no longer. He inserted the sturdy ruler up under the
blouse until it was positioned behind the sole remaining button, and with a
quick jerk he sent the small scrimshaw disk spinning across the floor. "Now the
skirt, woman! Quickly," George bellowed as he ripped the blouse off of her with
his powerful hands and threw the tattered scrap of fabric to the floor.
Ming-tsu, frightened by his outburst, reached for the clasp on her skirt;
when she lowered her arms to do so she gave George his first good look in weeks
at the succulent breasts which never ceased to delight him. And at the
luscious, tempting nipples that he had once told her were the color of a
teaspoon of dark chocolate enriched by three drops of blood.
"What happened to you?"
Ming-tsu didn't understand at first and looked up vacantly at him as she
slid her skirt softly to the ground.
CRACK! The ruler landed sharply on her left breast. "Ouwwh!"
"I said, what happened to you? There are marks on your breasts."
"Li Chang ... last night ... he was very rough and ...
CRACK! George Chan, his eyes dark with anger snapped the hard wooden slat
down on the lush upper curve of her right breast. "Aaaahh! Master... why...?"
"It was careless of you to come before me with the marks of another on your
breasts, Ming-tsu." CRACCKK! George slammed the ruler down again, delivering a
crisp, cutting stroke across a perky brown nipple.
"But I let him do it so that he would...."
CRAACKK!! George let her have another one, squarely across her right
breast. "Have you forgotten in our weeks apart that I have little patience with
impudent young women who attempt to dispute with me?"
"Of course not, Mast..."
"On the desk. The Lotus."
Ming-tsu, now wearing only the golden necklace, the scorpion earrings and
four vivid rectangular marks across her burning breasts, obediently slid her
naked bottom up on the Louis XV desk. She leaned back so that the weight of
her upper body rested on her elbows and then she lifted her long, lithe legs up
and out, spreading them high and wide. It was this shameless pose that George
Chan called 'the unfolding lotus'.
CRACK! The ruler bit into the inside of her left thigh. "Higher!"
Ming-tsu strained to stretch her sleek, slender legs higher into the air.
CRACK! Ming-tsu felt the smarting sting of the ruler high on her other
thigh. "Aaah!"
"Wider!'
Ming-tsu's legs were angled into a boldly erotic upright Vee, which spread
her womanood apart so that George Chan could inspect it with gynecological
thoroughness were he so inclined.
"Have I not told you to point your toes when you take this position?"
CRACKK!! George stung her dark-tendriled mons with yet another slash of the
ruler.
"I'm ...AAaahh! ... sorry, Master." And Ming-tsu proceeded to extend her
toes in the fashion of the ballerinas George had seen in Europe, thus giving
added line and definition to her lovely legs.
"Very nice; very nice. You are improving." George touched the sharp
corner of the ruler to her delicate pussy lips and poked and prodded her. "And
such a lovely fragrance."
"It is made from papaya nectar, Master . Do you like it?
"Ah -- the scent of green papaya -- very stimulating indeed. Your treasure
is beautiful, Ming-tsu ... so pink... so moist that it glistens. Tell me, lotus
flower, did you remember to bring them?'
"Yes, master. Of course."
"Both pairs?"
"Yes...both."
"Show me."
Ming-tsu shifted her position slightly. CRACKK! Another dark stripe to her
inner thigh, no more than two inches from the alluring folds of her gaping
woman-slit. "Keep your legs extended, my dear, and your toes pointed. That's
better... Now -- show me."
Ming-tsu's body tensed with concentration as the muscles of her legs and
abdomen tightened; a moment later a small gold-plated sphere, perhaps a half
inch in diameter, popped out of her dainty anal opening and rolled across the
desk, until George caught it.
"Excellent, my dear, excellent. And now the other one."
A moment later, using only her pubococchygeal muscle, Ming-tsu produced the
other. "Splendid, Ming-tsu, splendid. Since you have begun to use the ben wa
balls your pc muscle is becoming most accomplished; it will bring great pleasure
to us both, I promise you. Now, you will continue to keep your legs aloft and
your toes pointed. Oh, and clean these off, so that they will be fresh for
their next usage." George held one of the ben-wa balls up to Ming-tsu's lips.
Knowing the course of events the afternoon was likely to take, she had purified
herself as best she could, before inserting the golden balls, but even so...
She demurred at first, from taking the anal orbs into her mouth, but two swift
ruler CRACK's to her tender quim led her to conclude that she had little choice.
George directed her to stick her pretty pink tongue out, and he placed the
first little ball on the end of her tongue and then flicked it firmly so that it
rolled down her tongue and into her mouth; Ming-tsu had to be careful that she
didn't swallow it. She tucked the strong-tasting ball into the hollow of one
cheek, while George repeated the process with second ball. Then she was obliged
to hold the two spheroids in her mouth while she continued to strain to keep her
well-toned legs as high and as wide as possible.
But that was not the end of her problems. Once the balls were safely in
her mouth, George stepped between her widely splayed legs and posititoned his
rigid, purple-headed cock at the portal of her womanhood. Then he grabbed
Ming-tsu by the hips and pulled her pelvis toward him even as he thrust forward,
burying his blood-engorged manhood deep in her vagina, where a second, larger
set of ben wa balls was lodged. George loved to hear the clicking of the balls
as he thrust into her, fucking her as if he were trying to drive the spherical
playthings through the too-small opening of her cervix. George plowed into her
again and again, filling her love nest with his potent weapon. For minute after
tireless minute he pounded away; but throughout his masculine onslaught,
Ming-tsu was obliged to keep her legs pointing skyward; the least relaxation of
a gracefully pointed foot earning her a fresh rap across a naked thigh.
When at last the Lord of Shanghai climaxed he fell forward across her body,
allowing her to relax her legs so that they dangled lazily across his shoulders.
After a minute or two of depleted exhaustion, George wiped his dripping
manhood dry on Ming-tsu's nicely trimmed pubic hair, straightened his dapper
attire, bathed his face and hands in a nearby basin and combed his hair. When
the flushed-face Lothario had once again metamorphosed back into the urbane
"businessman", he fell back into his eighteenth century chair and watched his
concubine dress. Her top was in rags, allowing her ivory-gold breast-flesh to
peek through various rents in the fabric; but her raincoat would suffice to see
her home safely.
When she was done, his dark eyes met hers with a smoldering determination.
"Now, what do you have to tell me about Li Chang?" Then and only then was
Ming-tsu permitted to remove the ben wa balls from her mouth.
And Ming-tsu, her breathing still ragged from the trying sexual encounter,
proceeded to tell him the details of Li Chang's past life, as he had related
them to her.
When she mentioned Wen-chi, George Chan sat bolt upright in his chair. "So
our young lieutenant was raised by that old fool," George sneered, remembering
how the old man had opposed the Chans' hegemony so many years ago.
Then he opened the center drawer of the desk and pulled out a small oblong
box. "You have done well, Ming-tsu; the Chans reward those who serve them
loyally." Ming-tsu regarded the parcel with covetous eyes.
"Open it."
Ming-tsu opened the silk-lined box to reveal a stunning jade pendant She
strung it through the golden chain around her neck delightedly and spun around,
admiring the play of light on the gemstone in the image she saw reflected in a
wall mirror.
Pleased with her present, Ming-tsu thanked her Master profusely, pulled her
coat on, and stepped outside to brave the worsening storm.
A moment later George dispatched a courier to the Black Pagoda with a
message to his brother, saying that he needed to see him about a matter of great
importance and would call in an hour's time.
Once she was gone, George Chan thought that he detected a movement in the
golden curtain, which separated his den from the room where the Professor had
had his encounter with Erika. As he drew nearer to the curtain, his son Chiang
Chan stepped forward with a broad grin on his face.
"Well, father. So this was the famous Ming-tsu of whom you have spoken so
highly?"
George, angry at being spied on, snapped, "How much did you see?"
"I saw it ALL, father. I can't say that I blame you for being smitten by
her. When she spread her legs for you, I almost jumped out from behind the
curtain to knock you out of the way, so I could fuck that sweet little -- what
did you call it?" Chiang Chan's brow furrowed, and then he brightened. "Her
sweet little lotus myself!" Chiang Chan picked up the wooden ruler and slapped
it against his open palm, enjoying the loud smacking noise it made. "And I
wouldn't have minded giving those juicy tits of hers a nice working over
either."
George looked at his son sternly. "She's mine boy, until I decide
differently. See that you remember that!"
Then George looked at the clock on the wall and said, "Have the carriage
come around in forty minutes; I must go to the Black Pagoda to see Richard.
Within a few hours we will know if my suspicions about Li Chang are correct!"
Chapter 25 The Golden Dagger and the Tortured Thief
At that very moment Richard Chan was admiring the naked body of the comely
young maidservant who was hanging by her ankles in the dungeon of the Black
Pagoda. The chains holding her suspended led upward through the murky darkness
into the upper recesses of the grim underground chamber. The girl's pretty head
hung down, perhaps a yard off the ground, her youthful pigtails seemingly
reaching for the dark-spotted floor below her. Her slender wrists extended
downward only to be imprisoned by ugly manacles connected by short iron chains
to heavy rings in the dingy floor.
A sinister, silver-robed figure stood a few feet behind her, listening to
the gentle jingle of the chains as her body swayed back and forth. Richard
Chan's forbidding face was twisted into a cruel mask of rage, as he drew the
fearful whip back yet again.
"What have you done with it? Speak now, thief, and I will be merciful!" he
lied.
The naked girl's body struggled hopelessly in her inverted suspension, but
managed only to rattle the impregnable chains that imprisoned her. "I don't
know sire, I swear I d...."
CRACCKK!!! Richard Chan's whip flashed through the heavy air of the dimly
lit dungeon and exploded against the soft flesh of her back with the report of a
gunshot. "Aaaaaahhh!"
"Do not add lies to your larceny, Ci-ci," Richard hissed as he retracted
the terrible thonged whip. Torchlight from flambeaux mounted in sconces in the
great central pillars of the dungeon provided the only light; the torches not
only bathed the nude body of the struggling girl in a warm orange light, they
created strange dark shadows that seemed to hover around her girl like ghostly
birds of prey.
"Well, what do you expect, Richard, from a lying little thief," Mai-Lee
exclaimed as she watched from several feet away, amused by the predicament of
her young rival.
Mai-Lee, Richard Chan's beautiful young Eurasian concubine, had complained
of several items turning up missing in recent weeks -- a silver necklace, a
small topaz ring. Richard had been relatively unconcerned -- he could easily
afford more such trinkets, and he was pre-occupied by his struggles with the
opposition to the Black Scorpions.
But his casual manner had grown serious by several orders of magnitude
this morning when one of his most treasured possessions -- a jewel encrusted
golden dagger that had belonged to Kublai Khan himself -- had disappeared from
his den. It was not so much the dagger's intrinsic value -- although that was
substantial -- but the fact that the dagger was an absolutely unique and
irreplaceable historical relic.
A short time later a quick search had discovered the necklace and the topaz
ring secreted in a headscarf in the tiny sleeping quarters of Ci-ci, the pretty
young maid who was entrusted with cleaning his study, and serving tea to his
guests. Clearly, after the discovery of the stolen jewelry there could be but
little question as to the identity of the thief of the dagger. Ci-ci's frantic
denials were obviously nothing more than a desperate attempt to escape
culpability for her crime. Richard ordered that the dozens of servants of the
Black Pagoda abandon what they were doing and search the great edifice from top
to bottom. If the dagger were still in the building, he was fairly confident
that it would be found.
The finding of the jewels in Ci-ci's room had come as no great surprise to
Mai-Lee, Richard's green-eyed, glossy-haired Number One concubine, who had
spoken of her suspicions of Ci-ci more than once; she had warned Richard that
the young girl had been entrusted with more freedom than most of the servants of
the Black Pagoda, and had unusually free access to many parts of the palatial
residence. The revelation of Ci-ci as the jewel thief seemed to prove that
Mai-Lee had indeed been prescient about the girl's motives.
******
The Lord of the Black Pagoda uncurled the whip and launched it toward the
inverted body of his naked captive again, letting the biting strands of braided
leather rip into Ci-ci's lower back; the tips of the cruel tentacles slid around
her flank to sting the soft skin that protected her ribcage.
"Where is it?" he demanded through clenched teeth again. "Where is the
Golden Dagger? I paid a king's ransom for it, and will not be cheated of it by
a thieving whore." And Richard Chan lashed the rounded buttocks of the
housemaid with yet another vicious stroke of the ten-tailed whip, and watched
with satisfaction as her body convulsed in chain-rattling ripples of agony.
******
Richard Chan had dismissed Mai-Lee's oft-expressed suspicions about Mai-Lee
until an hour ago; the reason Ci-ci had access to many of the rooms in the the
upper floors of the Black Pagoda was that the Master of the House had come to
enjoy the sweet young body of the teenager. She had come to his household as a
virgin - a condition which rarely persisted long with pretty girls in service at
the Black Pagoda. He had taken her to his bed within a few days of first seeing
her, on a day in which Mai-Lee's monthly curse had caused her to be indisposed.
Richard Chan had deflowered scores of virgins before, but rarely one
blessed with such a delightful body and such a timid nature. When he had first
summoned the new maid to his private bedchamber and commanded her to undress,
she had blushed with a most becoming modesty. It had taken the sinister Lord
of the Scorpions' threat to summon a pair of his henchmen to assist her in
disrobing, to induce the petite moist-eyed beauty to shyly undo the belt of her
housedress. Richard Chan had been seated in a plush chair in his familiar
silver robe; he had watched entranced as the simple white garment had drifted
like a gentle snowfall to the floor around the new girl's pretty feet.
Her chaste undergarments had followed soon after; moments later the
blushing, sloe-eyed adolescent had stood there before him, one arm placed
protectively over her still-maturing but already well-formed breasts; the other
cupped modestly between her slender legs.
"Put your hands down, girl," he had ordered imperiously. "I want to look
at you. Modesty is not a virtue that I prize highly."
When Ci-ci had lowered her hands to her sides in shame, Richard had smiled
sardonically. He had admonished her that there was no reason to be ashamed of
such a lovely body, and ordered her to turn around for him.
"What is your name, girl, and how old are you?" he had asked as she began
to turn, without really caring about either answer. She had the body of a
woman, and that was all that really mattered. The women of the Black Pagoda
were there to satisy his whims; and his whim at that moment was to ravish this
lovely young creature. To strip her of her innocence and corrupt her -- body
and soul -- as he had so many young women before her.
"I am called Ci-ci, sire. I will be sixteen soon." Ci-ci had artlessly
spun around slowly for him letting him savor the ripening beauty of her young
womanhood. Her hair was braided in a schoolgirl's pigtails and her face was a
vision of girlish beauty -- one that a Chinese Botticelli could not have
improved upon.
Her eyes were soft and brown, her nose pleasingly small, and her lips were
of a type that the goddess of nature bestows on only the most seductive of young
women. Her breasts were admirably full for one so young; Richard was reminded
of the soft, sweet, rosy-hued plums that he had enjoyed in his youthful summers
in Fukien province. But the plums of Fukien could not boast of nipples like
those of this young maiden -- small, dark, tapering nubbins of uptilting
loveliness. Her gently rounded stomach yielded to loins only half-veiled by the
scanty pubic hair of mid-adolescence.
Her legs were of a nice length for one who was nearly a foot shorter than
the tall, slender Lord of the Black Scorpions. And her bottom was as nicely
rounded a derriere as one could imagine; her spankable lust-cheeks were deeply
cleft by a buttock groove that the elder's Chan's hands and cock itched to
explore.
Shortly thereafter he had thrown the young girl on his bed and had ruptured
her maidenhead with one violent thrust of his lusty male organ. As he pumped his
virile manhood into her, it struck him that it was not her eyes, nor her
sharp-nippled breasts, nor even the pelvis that writhed frantically beneath his
dominating strength, that most appealed to him. It was her magical skin, which
had not yet lost the delicious softness of youth; the faint peach fuzz on her
arms and legs only emphasized the infant-like softness of her breasts, the
smooth, subtle curves of her belly, the velvety texture of her thighs.
He had plundered that softness well that night, and a dozen times or more
in the the eight or ten months since. He had even sensed that Mai-Lee, the
Number One concubine, had come to resent his occasional preference for Ci-ci's
naive, artless innocence over her own well-practiced technique.
******
Indeed Mai-Lee was at his side now as he drew the whip back again, pleased
that her suspicions had proven correct. "Do not spare her, Richard,' she hissed
venomously. "She must learn not to steal from her betters."
"But I stole nothing, madam," Ci-ci pleaded just before the whip ripped
into her ripe young buttocks for the first time. Mai-Lee smiled at the
designation -- she was only in her mid-twenties herself.
CRACCKK!! "Aaaaghhh! You must belie..."
"You have disappointed me greatly, Ci-ci. Have I not treated you well?"
"Yes, sire." CRACKKK!!! "Eeearghhhh!!" The stinging thongs visited her
plump derriere again. As he had many times before, Richard marveled at the
softness of her skin; he smiled cruelly at the realization that her delicate
skin would not serve her well in shielding her from the dreadful attack of the
ten-thonged whip!
"Have I not given you easier duties than many of the other female
servants?"
" I...I... don't know, sire." CRACCKK!! The stinging strands of the whip
bit at her buttflesh. "Aaiiiieaahh!"
"Well, I have, thief. And yet you have betrayed my trust." CRACK!!
Richard broke the skin of Ci-ci's compact bottom with that stroke, opening a
thin gash that straddled her deep, dark buttock cleft. He could feel his
manhood swelling proudly beneath the silver robe as he took his pleasure from
this naked nubile body.
"Please, sire. It must be some terrible mist..."
"It is you who have made the mistake, girl! Where is the dagger? Have you
sold it? Passed it to a confederate? Hidden it?"
The elder Chan tightened his grip on the sturdy whipstock and then lashed
her again, igniting the backs of her lovely thighs with the flaming kiss of the
whip.
CRACCKK!! "Aagghhhh!! I didn't ta.."
CRACCKKK!! The whip-thongs lacerated her thigh-flesh again.
"Eaaaghh! Please... stop... it hurts..."
CRACCKK!! Back to her plump, crimson-streaked bottom ovals.
"Ouwwww... have mercy... sire... no more!" the servant groaned in
misery.
But there would be no mercy for Ci-ci on this day.
******
Richard had not needed Mai-Lee to tell him, as he prepared Ci-ci for her
punishment, that mercy was a virtue reserved for fools; despite his past
fondness for the girl, she had betrayed his trust, and that of his lover. And
now she would pay. And the price would have to be of such magnitude that no
servant would ever dare again to risk his wrath.
After confronting Ci-ci with the recovered jewelry, he and Mai-Lee had
scorned her protestations of innocence and had escorted the terrified girl down
the grim, torch-lit staircase that led to the subterranean cellars of the Black
Pagoda. Each downward step toward an unknown fate added to the rising panic
that was overtaking the pretty young housemaid. Her heart was pounding in her
chest and her legs were weak with trepidaton when the threesome finally reached
the bottom of the dingy stairwell and unlocked the creaking staircase door that
opened into the sinister dungeon...
******
THWUKK!! "Aaiiiiii!!" Ci-ci heard a new sound and felt a new, burning,
pain. Mai-Lee had lashed the nicely-contoured fronts of Cici's thighs with an
inch-thick length of coarse, tightly-braided rope. The Number One Concubine had
donned a pair of gloves to protect her pretty hands from the abrasive texture of
the rope, but there was nothing to protect the youthful softness of her victim's
body.
CRACKK!! "AAAGHHH!!" Another buttock-cutter, the hardest yet.
"Where is the dagger, girl?" Richard's impatience was mounting. There was
little time to waste. Shortly before they had brought the housemaid to the
dungeon, a messenger had arrived with a note from his brother saying that he had
momentous news about Li Chang. Tonight could well prove to be a pivotal night
in their plans to expose the traitor within the Black Scorpions.
"Please... I swear... I didn't..."
THWUKK!!! Mai-Lee had directed a ripping, back-handed rope-stroke across
both of Ci-ci's tempting young breasts. "Unnnnghhhh...I give you my w...."
THWUCKK!! "Eaaaahh!!" The rope burned her love-globes again.
"Do not lie to us, whore. Do you think we are fools?" Richard Chan had
never known Mai-Lee's voice to be so intense.
CRACCKK!! The long, slender fingers of the thonged whip curled around
Ci-ci's mid-back and reached like the legs of a venomous spider for the soft
flesh of her right breast. "We found the necklace and the ring, foolish girl.
Do not pretend that you did not purloin the Golden Dagger as well." CRAACKK!!
The thin leather tails raked her bottomcheeks again.
******
Ci-ci had heard cryptic whispers among the servants of a secret underground
chamber of horrors far beneath the residential floors of the Black Pagoda, but
the rumors had not prepared her for the macabre atmosphere of the dungeon that
confronted her when Richard Chan had pushed her through the doorway leading to
what seemed to her a chamber of horrors
Two forbidding pillars lined with a variety of iron rings, hooks and
manacles dominated the central part of the room; various wooden structures, --
benches, barrels, X-shaped and T-shaped crosses, and a peculiar horizontal
table with a windlass at one end. She could almost hear the sound of some
ghoulish cut-throat cranking the groaning windlass. In one corner of the
stygian room she thought for a moment that she had seen a strange nightmarish
beast; but as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness she realized that the
beast was actually made from wood - for what purpose she could not imagine.
In another corner of the room she espied a large device that resembled a
bird-cage -- but was much too big for any bird known in China, and yet it was
far too small for an adult human being. Wasn't it?
To her right there was a device that looked for all the world like a
primitive cooking grill. Above her, in the dimness, she could make out what
appeared to be a network of ghostly pulleys, ropes, and chains mounted in
moorings buried deeply in the heavy oaken rafters of the ceiling.
One wall was bedecked - like the pillars - with fetters and chains of every
size and description -- enough to imprison a bevy of subjugated beauties; the
opposing wall carried a terrifying array of implements. There were whips and
rods and canes and clubs hangly neatly from rusty hooks; and there were also
peculiar tools and devices, some sharp and pointed, others heavy and blunt, and
others with strange hinges whose exact purpose she could not possibly have
fathomed.
On the opposite wall was a long mirror which only served to magnify the
dimness and despair which confronted the victims of this dark dungeon, by giving
the viewer a second, darker, image of it. There was also a divan, a piece of
furniture that seemed out of place to her; but it was actually fitting that
there be a place for dalliance in this demonic chamber, a place to satisfy in
comfort the dark and dangerous lusts aroused here.
Richard Chan had let Ci-ci look around for half a minute or so; his unholy
cellar never failed to produce the type of psychological effect that it was
having on Ci-ci, who was palpably trembling with fear.
"W-what is this place?" Ci-ci had stammered, her face ghostly pale in the
darkness of the torture chamber.
Richard had thought for a moment, amused by the question. "It is," he said
in his dry, emotionless voice, "a place where lies come to die. You might call
it the Citadel of Truth."
Just then a terrifying crackling of lightening exploded outside, seemingly
directly above the Black Pagoda, followed by a deafening peal of thunder that
rumbled through the heavens for ten long seconds as Ci-ci stood there quaking
with fright.
Richard Chan chuckled softly at the ominous portents of the tempest
outside. Then he turned to his paramour with a wolf-like smile.
"Mai-Lee. How should we begin?"
******
"The Golden Dagger, girl! What have you done with it?"
"Nothing, sire ... I swear I ..." Pain and fear had raised Ci-ci's oprano
voice half an octave.
CRAACKK!! The thonged whip fell heavily across Ci-ci's downy thighs.
"Eaaghhh!"
Richard approached the inverted beauty. "I need a place to put this for a
moment," he said, holding up the ten-thonged whip. "Ah, this should do," he
smiled sadistically, as he screwed the thick whip-handle between the inviting
folds of the maid's pussy-lips. He wedged several inches of the bark-colored
whipstock into her upside-down vagina before moving toward a rotary crank on the
wall that was attached to a complicated network of chains.
THWUCKK!! "AAAAGHHHH!!" Mai-Lee had scored a direct hit with the
rope-tip on the pebbly areola of Ci-ci's left breast, searing its tender nipple.
Ci-ci was still groaning from this blow when the Lord of the Scorpions gave the
crank a full turn, before locking it into place. That turn caused the chains
which held her ankles aloft to lift the pretty maid's body even higher in the
air. Unfortunately for Ci-ci, there was no slack in the chains which connected
her wrist manacles to the massive iron rings in the floor. As a result her
entire body was pulled into the unbearable tension of what was, in effect, a
vertical rack.
"Unnggggghhh," Ci-ci groaned in agony, as the muscles in her limbs and
torso were stretched impossibly taut. The long quadriceps muscles in her
thighs, her well-toned abdominal muscles, the triceps in her upper arms, the
rounded deltoids in her shoulders were all forced into straining elongation
under the unremitting tension.
"Very clever, Master," Mai-Lee approved. "The little thief is sweating
now!"
Indeed, rivulets of perspiration were flowing in unaccustomed paths down
the body of the beauty who was imprisoned in her painful inverted suspension.
Mai-Lee took aim at a tiny puddle that had formed in Ci-ci's deep set navel
and THWUCKK'ed the little button savagely with the scalding rope-end, turning
the pool of perspiration into a fine mist.
"Where is the dagger, whore?"
CRACKK!!
THWUCKK!!
CRACCKK!!
THWUCCKK!!
A cascade of punishing blows continued to rain down on the blood-streak
buttocks and the rope-burned breasts of the suspended serving girl, each one
drawing a fresh, plaintive cry of anguish.
The beating stopped when only a bell sounded in the underground chamber, a
bell that signalled that an important guest had arrived at the Black Pagoda.
"That will be George," Richard announced. "We shall return to deal with
you later," he said as he gave Ci-ci's quivering bottom a final vicious slash
with the whip. Then he and Mai-Lee made their way toward the door leading to
the staircase.
******
They had only just sat down with George in the den when Yian, the graying,
shrewish maid who had tormented Erika Weiss with the broom handle, tapped at
the door.
"Master! Master! It is very important!
Annoyed at being interrupted, Richard growled, "Come in then. What is it?"
"The Golden Dagger, sire -- I found it hidden behind a book in the bookcase
in the drawing room! The girl must have hidden it there! I was afraid to move
it. Hsien is watching it. Go quickly!"
"Splendid! Come with me George" And the Brothers Chan hurried off to
reclaim their antique dagger.
When the Chans were safely out of the room, Yian sidled over to Mai-Lee
expectantly.
"Not here," Mai-Lee said, her green-black eyes flashing conspiratorially.
"Come with me."
The skinny maid followed Mai-Lee to her boudoir, where she watched greedily
as her mistress counted out ten shiny golden coins. "You hid the jewels and the
sword well, Yian. Everything went exactly according to plan."
The maid bit down on a coin to test its authenticity. Satisifed, she
muttered. "I never liked that young one anyway -- the Master let her dust his
paintings while I had to clean the carpets and wash the walls. All because of
her pretty face!" she snapped venomously
Mai-Lee, who had even more reason to be jealous of Ci-ci's pretty face, and
fearful for her own place in George's affections, than Yian, nodded her assent.
"Yes, well, he'll be hiring a new maid, now. And I'll see that she is put under
your charge."
The shifty-eyed maid nodded in agreement. Thank you, miss. And don't
worry. I'll keep our little secret to myself!"
As the maid slinked away, Mai-Lee, the Number One Concubine, now rid of
her number one rival, mumbled under her breath, "You had better, old woman.
You had better."
******
Meanwhile the Brothers Chan had gone to the drawing room and found Hsien -
Yian's chubby fellow parlormaid - watching over the Golden Dagger. "Our
housemaid -- I believe you met her once, George -- stole this and hid it here.
Probably with the idea of taking it to a dealer in stolen goods when she felt it
was safe."
George shook his head, "The dishonesty of the servant class these days is
shameful, is it not? Did she make good her escape?"
"No, in fact ... but that can wait." George would appreciate, he was sure,
the sentence being imposed upon the lovely Ci-ci in the deepest recesses of the
Black Pagoda. "What news have you concerning our young lieutenant?"
"Well, I am still not absolutely certain -- Li Chang seemed like such a
capable fellow, and Ming-tsu has reported to me that he has quite
enthusiastically taken part in the mistreatment of young women, which we have
always considered a fairly reliable test. He even..." George's thoughts
returned to the marks that Li Chang had left on Ming-tsu's honey-gold breasts,
but then demurred, saying "but that's not really here nor there."
"What IS important, Richard, is that Li Chang seems to have been raised by
Wen-chi."
The elder Chan's eyes were intense with concentration as he regarded his
brother questioningly.
George, ever-beaming, raced on, "Yes, I am quite certain it is the same
Wen-chi who plagued us with his public criticism some years ago. He had the
citizenry all stirred up for quite a while, you'll recall."
The Lord of the Black Scorpions muttered, "I should have done away with the
self-righteous old fool years ago. But he was much loved by the people so...."
Richard Chan scratched his angular bearded jaw with a silver-robed sleeve
thoughtfully. "But few remember him now -- and no such love attaches to this Li
Chang. I don't think we need fear the repercussions overmuch."
Richard turned the Golden Dagger over in his hands. "I told Li Chang, and
only Li Chang, this morning, that after sundown this evening, a squadron of
our men were going to destroy the print shop of that troublemaker south of the
river. The honorable Mr Zhong, who has been stirring up the populace against us
with his accursed handbills," he spat out bitterly.
"But, my brother, there will be no attack this evening. We will station two
of our men nearby to watch the proceedings. And if those who oppose us show up
to defend the printer, we shall know that Li Chang is the traitor. We will need
to reward Ming-tsu, of course, for her efforts."
"I have already done so, Richard," George replied with a smile, thinking
more of the bone-jarring ben wa fucking that he had given his beautiful paramour
earlier that afternoon, than the jade pendant he had bestowed upon her. "But
now I must get back; I have a conclave with the leaders of the cells of the old
quarter scheduled in a little while."
"Ah, I see. I know that you don't have much time, but if you have just a
moment, I have something to show you downstairs."
Two minutes later, George Chan was admiring the sweat-soaked girl-woman who
hung by her heels from the hellish dungeon of the Black Pagoda.
"So this is the thief. Very, very nice, Richard," George murmured
approvingly as he studied Ci-ci's nude body stretched painfully taut by her
cruel suspension. "Who would have thought that there would be such curves hidden
under her maid's dresses? May I?" he asked, indicating the wall of weaponry.
"Of course," Richard assented with the graciousness of a good host.
George quickly made his selection and returned to stand in front of the
inverted beauty.
"Please ... sir...no more... for pity's sake... they have alr..."
WHAPPPP!! A two-inch wide leather strap blazed a swath across Ci-ci's bare
belly. "AAAGHHHHH!!"
"Perhaps, Richard," George grinned as his dark eager eyes focused on the
tight, dark nipples that so perfectly capped Ci-ci's ripe young breasts, "the
cell-leaders can begin the meeting without me."
And with that the younger Chan lifted the menacing length of leather
high over his head...
Chapter 26 The Trap is Sprung
An hour or so later Li Chang was dining with his trusted friend Luk Yee at
a beautifully embossed table in the home of Wen-chi, while Liu was busily
preparing dinner in another room. Outside, the rain, punctuated by occasional
bursts of lightning and thunder, continued to plummet downward from a forbidding
sky.
"I don't understand it, Li. We have been married nearly two weeks, and yet
she still won't let me ..."
Luk Yee decided to change the ending of his sentence as the venerable
Wen-chi eased his fragile body into a third chair at the table, "touch her. I
can see by your expression, old master," Luk Yee addressed Wen-chi respectfully,
"that you suspect that I have been too rough in my words or manner with her.
But I swear that it is not so."
Luk Yee found himself obliged to repeat his comment; Wen-chi's hearing, Li
noticed, was failing almost as rapidly as his eyesight.
Li Chang concealed a smile at Luk Yee's marital woes; in other company he
might have suggested, with the coarse good humor of young men, that his friend
should take his new wife over his knee, and spank her pretty bottom until she
decided to be a little more forthcoming with her affections.
But Wen-chi, his aged adoptive father, almost entirely blind now, did not
make light of the troubles of Luk Yee. His nearly sightless eyes stared off
into the distance, as if were trying to see his own charming wife, gone now for
so many years, beckoning to him to cross the great divide and join her and their
ancestors.
"What say you, Wen-chi?" Luk asked loudly. "I fear she does not love me."
The white-bearded old man had a mystical expression on his face, as he
often did these days. Li Chang had wondered in recent months if perhaps Wen-chi
sensed that he was near death. But after a few more seconds of silence the old
man spoke. "The Master said: 'The wise are free from doubt; love is never vexed.
"
"Professor Leung - may his soul rest in tranquility - taught us to question
even the teachings of K'ung-fu-tzu," added Luk Yee, using the birth name of the
great philosopher, as he reached for another steaming dumpling from the dish of
dim sum, the delicious appetizers that Liu had set before them.
"I think that Confucius would have taught you the same thing himself. His
teachings are to be considered, to be turned over in one's mind, not to be
merely parroted by schoolboys," Wen-chi said in a frail voice, as he held up a
pair of chopsticks with a trembling hand. "Although he lived more than two
thousand years ago, I feel as if his words speak to me today. Confucius
comprehended the vicissitudes of life more than one your age can imagine."
Wen-chi lifted his other quivering hand to dab weakly at a rheumy eye.
"Luk Yee, I ask you ... Did your wife love you two weeks ago, when you were
wed?"
"Yes, old one. I courted Qieu for many months. Ours was not a marriage
arranged by our parents. She was... is... deeply devoted to me; I am sure of
it."
Li Chang remembered his friend's wedding -- the bride -- with her striking
dark eyes and long black hair, arranged high on her head in a ceremonial
headress. He remembered how Qieu's father had held her tightly by the arm as he
led her to the nuptial arbor, as if he were afraid to let her go. A peculiar
gentleman, her father, a widower with the robust body of a man of forty-five,
but with the tired visage of one a generation older. There must have been some
great sadness in his life, Li thought, for a man to be so strangely joyless on
his daughter's wedding day.
Qieu had been ravishingly beautiful there in the sunlight of the garden;
had it been any other man's wife he would have been jealous. But Luk Yee was
not only his friend, he was also his most trusted ally in his campaign against
the Black Scorpions. They had assembled, from the brave young students of the
city, a cadre of followers willing to risk their lives to throw off the
oppressive yoke of the Black Scorpions.
"Young man," the white-bearded old man addressed Luk Yee, " if she loved
you a fortnight ago, and you have done nothing to dishonor her or her family, I
assure you that she loves you still."
"I swear I have not dishonored her. But why, then ..."
An ominous rumble of thunder rolled through the heavens just as Liu,
wearing an elegant coral housedress, returned and the men fell silent. As
always, Li noticed that there was a luminous quality to her face, an ethereal
grace to her step that was rare indeed. Why had she not found a suitable young
man? Li wondered to himself. Surely there were many who would admire such a
lovely face and such a gentle nature. But she stays home always, looking after
her beloved grandfather.
"The rice will be ready shortly, grandfather", Liu advised him in her
delightful silvery voice. As she reached to pour her grandfather some more
green tea, Liu asked, smiling, "Why do you men always grow silent when I come
in to the room?"
Li grinned. "Luk is troubled; he feels that his new wife has not been as
properly ... forthcoming with her affections as a young bride should."
Luk Yee blushed. "How can you speak of these things in front of her."
"But why, Luk? I am no longer a child."
"But you are still a maiden; you know nothing of such things."
"Ah, but I am a woman, Luk Yee; it is given to women to grasp the meaning
of some things that men will never understand. Do you not know the poem of Fu
Hsian?"
She looked at each of the men in turn. Wen-chi nodded wisely, but the two
younger man looked at her blankly.
"Recite it for us, Liu," said Wen-chi. "They would do well to know it."
Liu set the teapot down and recited wistfully:
"How sad it is to be a woman;
Nothing on earth is held so cheap.
She bows and kneels countless times;
She must humble herself even to the servants.
His love is as distant as the stars in heaven.
A hundred evils are heaped upon her.
Her face will follow the year's changes.
Her lord will find new pleasures."
Liu finished the last line with a soft sigh.
Li Chang smiled affectionately at the grand-daughter of Wen-chi. "Surely it
cannot be as bad as all that."
Liu's soft brown eyes were downcast as she sipped daintily at her tea; "Of
course not, Li Chang. It is only a poem."
Wen-chi reached out to stroke her hand. "My child, you spend too many days
with me; you grow despondent.
Liu brightened, "Grandfather, I would fain spend them with you always. Are
you not both wise and kind? Where between the two great rivers should I find
another so learned and so good?" Then she stood and said, "I have talked too
much -- the tea grows cold. Let me make some more." And with a graceful
whisper of silk she left the room.
Luk Yee changed the subject. "Li Chang -- Have you had any word regarding
the printer?"
"The printer" was another daring young student named Zhong who lived on the
south side of the river. He too had studied at the feet of the great classical
scholar, the hunchbacked Professor Leung. For the past several weeks Zhong had
been printing and clandestinely distributing hand-outs and posters accusing the
Black Scorpions of all manner of extortion, mayhem and worse. But recently, as
Li Chang well knew, the Scorpions had traced the handbills to their source.
"Yes, Luk -- the Scorpions will come in two hours' time to destroy his shop
-- Richard Chan told me so today. But, my friend, you will be there with our
Blue Squadron. We shall be ready for them!"
"Excellent. We are making progress, Li Chang. One day our city will be
rid of these jackals. Two hours, you say? Then I must make the preparations.
Please make my apologies to Liu."
Luk Yee got up to leave, then, and as Li opened the door for him to step
out into the rain, Luk Yee paused in the doorway. "Do you not see how she looks
at you, Li Chang?"
"Who? Liu? Don't be silly. She is devoted to me as a sister would be.
That is all."
"I have a sister, Li Chang. I know the difference between the love of a
sister and the love of a woman. Does Ming-tsu mean so much to you?"
"She is incredible, Luk Yee. Why last night...." Li stopped realizing
that mentioning his vivid carnal exploits of the prior night would only further
frustrate the unfortunate young newlywed. "Last night, I confided in her as I
never have before."
"Well, I understand your attraction to her; she is indeed a great beauty."
Luk Yee looked up at the grim, gray sky. "I'll be back later to report on the
success of our mission. With luck, a few Scorpions will drown tonight in this
accursed rain!"
Li Chang bid his friend adieu, wishing it were possible for him to
accompany his men. But if one of the Scorpions were to recognize him, and live
to tell the tale, his efforts to rise within their ranks would have proven to
have been for naught.
Another ominous rumble of thunder roared through the dark sky, as Li closed
the door and returned to take a seat alongside Wen-chi.
"How is she, my son? The woman with whom you live?"
"Ming-tsu? She is well, father." Li Chang blushed to think what the
venerable gentleman would have made of the way in which he had ravished his
teasing mistress only last night. How he had thrust his rock-hard manhood into
the deliciously soft valley between her luscious breasts again and again and
again. How he had climaxed in an explosion that was for him not unlike the
titanic volcanic eruption on Krakatoa not so long ago. How he had spilled his
molten man-lava on the peaks of her deliciously well-oiled breasts and watched
the thick streams ooze down those majestic slopes...
Wen-chi was looking at him strangely. Li Chang shook his head to clear
it. There were times when he sensed that the wise old man could read his mind.
"One day," he smiled to Wen-chi, "when it is safe, you shall meet her.
After we have swept the last of the Scorpions into the sewers."
"I pray that I may live to celebrate that victory with you, Li Chang. It is
a day that I have longed for for many years."
The old man's face seemed lined with worry tonight. "This morning I was
thinking of how you came to my house, as a thief. Do you remember?
"Of course, father, but I was only a child ... a hungry child."
"To be sure, my son. Confucius summed up the first part of your life when
he taught, "The love of daring, inflamed by poverty, leads to crime."
"It is so," admitted Li Chang.
"Do you remember how the Master continued that admonition?"
"No, father."
"With these words, Li Chang. 'A man without love, if deeply ill-treated,
will turn to crime'. Be careful always, my son, that the second part of your
life does not, as your childhood did, prove the wisdom of those ancient words."
And with that pronouncement, the old man sank back in his chair.
A minute or two later, Liu returned with a marvelous dish of chicken,
scallions, black mushrooms and ginger. They ate quietly, commenting on the
unseasonable rainstorm that was pelting down on the tile roof of Wen-chi's home.
Li, anxious to take his mind off how the Blue Squadron would fare in their
encounter with the Black Scorpions, challenged Wen-chi to a game of chess after
Liu had cleared the dishes.
"Western or Chinese, Li Chang? It is for you to choose."
"Let us play European chess tonight, father; Wen-chi was one of the few
Chinese who had learned the western form of the game. Wen-chi had learned the
game from a book by an Englishman named Staunton who had once been the finest
player in the world. Wen-chi had taught Li Chang the game as a youngster,
explaining to him that mastery of chess required planning, imagination,
thoroughness and subtlety -- the four cornerstones of leadership. Over the
years they had spent hundreds of evenings playing together.
Although they played by western rules, the pieces were carved in images
from Chinese culture. The King was the Emperor, the Queen, his consort. The
bishops were courtiers, the knights were mounted warriors, and the rooks were
carved to represent battlements on the Great Wall. Each of the eight pawns on
each side depicted a different type of artisan -- a mason, a glass-blower, a
jeweler, and so on.
The two men were soon lost in thought in their game, only occasionally
looking up as Liu moved gracefully around the room dusting and re-arranging the
numerous curios and objets d'art that made Wen-chi's salon such an inviting
haven. Li Chang resolved to try to spend more time with the old man -- he would
not be around forever.
Li was quite a strong player and had the slight advantage of the white
pieces, but the old man, despite his great age, slowly got the upper hand in the
game, applying steady pressure on the queen's side, and eventually forcing the
win of a critical pawn.
Some time later, Li was defending a difficult endgame when there was a loud
knock at the door. "Ah! It must be Luk Yee, father. Excuse me for a moment."
Li went to the door, expecting to find his friend jubilant. But instead he
found Luk Yee dripping wet in the doorway, a look of consternation on his face.
"What is wrong, my friend? Did things not go well?"
"Something went wrong, Li. The Scorpions did not come."
"But Richard Chan himself told me that they would come tonight ... it is
not possible. He was adamant about silencing Zhong the printer."
"I believe you, Li. Yet they did not come."
As Li mentally reviewed the course of events, he could only come to one
conclusion. Somehow the lord of the Black Pagoda must have come to suspect that
he, Li Chang, was somehow involved in the recent deaths and disappearances of
so many of his men. And that the "attack' on Zhong had been nothing but a ruse,
a trap. And he had fallen into it. Like a child.
When Li explained his conclusions to Luk Yee, his friend said, "Li, if they
suspect you, you must leave the city. If you were to be caught and killed, our
movement would be strangled in its cradle. We cannot afford to lose you
permanently. Go, flee! Hide somewhere, anywhere! In a few weeks or months you
can come back when it is safe. Please. I beg you!"
Li Chang considered his friend's advice; he was loath to leave in such a
crisis, but perhaps this was an occasion that called out for discretion more
than valor.
Returning to the salon he said, "Father, something important has come up.
I must leave; we shall have to finish our game another time."
"Very well, my son. I was growing tired anyway. I think I shall retire
now. Your skill at the game has quite worn me out,' he smiled beneficently and
slowly turned to make his way toward his bedchamber.
"Goodnight, father." Then turning toward the beautiful dark-haired young
woman with frightened eyes, "Liu, I am sorry, but we must go."
As Li hurried to the door, Liu could see the grave expression on his face.
"Li," she asked in a worried voice, "what is wrong?"
Trying to speak calmly he told her, "I must leave the city, Liu, at least
for a while. There is a ferry that leaves at midnight for Taipei and I shall be
on it. I will write you and your grandfather as soon as I am able."
Liu's eyes were brimming with tears. "Li, be careful, please. I..." she
caught herself, "we ... shall miss you."
"And I shall miss you both." Li gave her a soft kiss on the cheek and was
surprised at the fervor with which she embraced him. "Do not speak of this to
your grandfather for a few days. He seems so frail tonight. I don't want to
alarm him."
"Yes, Li, I understand. May my father's spirit watch over you."
"With his blessing, I am sure I will be safe from all harm," Li smiled.
There was no sense in alarming her any more than necessary. But the Scorpions
were no doubt looking for him already.
"Li Chang, you must go! Quickly!" Luk Yee begged from the doorway.
"Yes, my friend, I am coming." Li kissed Liu on the cheek again, breathing
in one last time the faint scent of fresh flowers that seemed always to
accompany her. "Goodbye, Liu," he whispered as he stepped out into the downpour.
"My love goes with you always, Li," she said softly under her breath as he
hurried toward the street, but her words were swallowed in the storm.
Li and Luk Yee had only gotten a few hundred yards from Wen-chi's house
when Li turned to his friend. "Luk Yee -- you must do me this favor -- go to
the house of Ming-tsu -- it is near the club I took you to that time -- and tell
her that I have had to leave the city suddenly. Please -- she will be worried
about me, when I do not return tonight.
As Luk Yee turned to go in the opposite direction, Li called after him,
"Thank you, my friend," before hurrying off.
******
A little later, Liu, fresh from her bath, sat in front of a mirror in her
bedchamber on the second floor, brushing her long, lustrous, black hair in the
nightly ritual she that she had performed a thousand times. She wore only a
thin shift around her freshly scrubbed and freshly scented young body. When she
had applied the last of a hundred brush strokes to her hair she looked into the
mirror quizzically, wondering why the one man in the world she wanted seemed to
be so indifferent to her feelings.
As the rain continued to pelt down noisily outside she asked herself -- Was
she not fair? Were not her eyes as dark and brown as another's? Were her soft
lips not welcoming enough? Was her smooth-honey gold complexion not as clear as
any woman's in Shanghai? Was her skin not as soft, her body not as youthfully
slim and sensual, the secret place between her velvety thighs not as moist and
warm as any woman's?
Suddenly she heard a commotion in the street below the window of her
bedchamber, and then a pounding on the door. Picking up a lamp she ran to the
window to see four strange men outside in the rain, and one of them, the
largest, knocking furiously at the door.
A goateed, balding, black-garbed figure below saw her silhouette in the
window. "We have news about Li Chang! Come quickly! Open the door!"
A shudder of alarm coursed through her slender body as Liu raced down the
staircase, heedless of the fact that she was wearing only the thin thigh-length
chemise. She opened the door a crack to see a heavy-set man with a goatee
alongside a tall, ugly man with a gap between his yellowing upper teeth.
"There's been a fight, miss," the bald man said in a gruff voice. "Li
Chang has been hurt. Let us in."
"Oh, no!" she explained with alarm. "Come, tell me." She quickly unlocked
door and moments later the foursome of dripping men burst in. Liu backed away
from them, frightened by the nature of their entrance. She knew that Li Chang
was engaged in some form of clandestine activity, but she did not know these
men.
"This must be the girl," Gap-tooth said to the huge mountain of a man who
had pounded on the door. "We'll watch her. Take the boy and find the old man."
"But what about Li Chang?" Liu asked terrified, as the big man and his
young, slender companion brushed her aside. As he passed, her the 'boy', a
pimply-faced lad of about sixteen, let his eyes rove freely over her body,
making her uncomfortably conscious of the fact that she was naked under the thin
chemise. "Are his injuries serious?"
"We are to take you to him, miss," the bald one observed. His rain-slick
skull and sinister black goatee gave him a demonic appearance. "You and the old
man."
"Very well," Liu said, trying to calm herself, "let me throw something on."
And she turned to climb the stairs to her bedroom. But she felt the powerful
grip of the gap-toothed man grab her arm and hold her fast.
"Owww!"
"There is no time for that, miss." And then as his confederates returned
with a newly-woken Wen-chi in tow, Gap-tooth leered at her, his eyes frankly
exploring the proud thrust of her firm young breasts beneath the sheer wrapper.
"Besides, you won't be needing no clothes where we're taking you!"
"Let me go!" Liu cried out, but the grip of the gap-toothed man only
tightened. "Where are you taking us?"
"Should we tell her, Feng?" Gap-tooth asked the bald squadron leader.
An evil smile spread across the ugly face of the stocky black-garbed
visitor, as he admired the slim figure of his captive "To hell, my little
beauty. We are taking you to hell!"
Then turning to his three comrades, he said, "Let's go; they're waiting for
us."
Chapter 27 The Interrogation Begins
"Well, where is he?" thundered Richard Chan to Ming-tsu. He had summoned
her to the Black Pagoda, the dark fortress on Nanking Road that was the
headquarters of the Black Scorpions.
******
His brother, George had left not long before, but not until after the two
of them had administered another cruel flogging to the beautiful 'thief' who had
hung head down so helplessly in the vertical rack. Richard Chan had given the
windlass another crank, causing the stout chains leading upward to stretch
Ci-ci's body another fraction; she felt as if every muscle in her body were
aflame.
But her suffering -- and her screams -- had only begun.
It had been some days since George had had a woman on whom he could unleash
the full measure of his sexual cruelty; Ming-tsu had been a pleasant afternoon
diversion, but there were limits as to how violent he could be with his former
concubine. But he felt no such constraints vis-a-vis the beauteous young thief.
George had stalked her like a jungle predator, at first lashing out with
the black strap at the painfully distended muscles along the fronts of Ci-ci's
supple thighs, and then at her vulnerable abdomen with its lovely skin stretched
violin-string tonight over her gently protruding pelvic bones and rib cage.
Then the leather strip descended again to the soft flesh of her golden
thighs, searing them with its fiery kiss. George painstakingly lashed his way
from her knees to her navel and back again.
"Don't you know that it is wicked to steal from your betters, girl?" he
asked sardonically before slashing away at the soft fuzz-patch at the juncture
of her well-striped thighs.
"Please sir, I swear on my grandmother's hon..."
"CRACCKK" the burning tongue of the strap set her sweet young breasts
aflame with pain. "Eaaaaaahhhhh!!"
"Do not think that invoking the name of your ancestor will spare you from
paying the penalty for the crime you have committed, girl," Richard snarled as
he struck her plump buttocks with a glossy cane fashioned from a prized Malacca
hardwood.. "No doubt she was a slut and a thief, too!"
But for the most part, Richard Chan was content to watch as his maid's
tempting young breasts endured the brunt of George Chan's sadistic fusillade.
Moving from side to side, the younger Chan had attacked her sharp-nippled
melons, so delightfully pendulous in her inverted position, from every
conceivable angle -- crisp chain-rattling blows to the outer curves of her
breasts, sweeping uppercuts to her honey-gold upper slopes and punishing
downward slashes across the oh-so-sensitive undersides of her sweet young
breast-globes.
Ci-ci's tight, tempting nipples were George's special targets; he lashed
the delicious brown buds again and again -- from above, from below and from
straight on -- punishing overhands, jolting forehands, and violent backhands,
each snap of the strap landing with a resounding CRACCKK!! and drawing a fresh
moan of agony from the nubile young 'thief'.
Richard, thin-lipped, his eyes narrowed to cruel slits, enjoyed the
spectacle, only occasionally interpolating a wicked slash with his own
yard-long, chopstick-thin cane down into the alluring crevice between Ci-ci's
rounded bottomcheeks -- just to remind her that he was still in the room.
After some two dozen withering slashes to the front of Ci-ci's bowstring
taut body, George sighed reluctantantly and folded up the strap, saying, "As
pleasurable as I find this, Richard, I regret to say that time is short tonight;
my cell-leaders will be wondering what became of me. In any event," he added as
he admired the flame-hued color of Ci-ci's tortured breasts, "you will need to
dispose of this one somewhere, will you not? If the joss is good, you'll be
entertaining new guests later tonight."
"Quite so, George, " Richard agreed before opening another thin gash on
Ci-ci's plump young bottomcheeks with a final slash of the cane. "We have had
good joss this day; and if our luck continues to hold, the traitor will be in
our hands tonight. On your way to the meeting, stop by and inform Ming-tsu that
she is to come here at once. I may have need of her tonight."
Then, after showing his brother out, Richard summoned one of the Scorpions
to the dungeon. "Feng" he told his squadron leader, "take her down," indicating
the rosy-breasted girl hanging from the clinking iron chains. "You can take her
to the Pit. Tell the boys they can have some fun with the little slut!"
The "Pit" was the nickname the Scorpions had given to a dormitory for a
couple of dozen mid and lower level gang members that was situated on the rear
of the grounds of the Black Pagoda.
"Very good, sire," the gleaming-skulled Scorpion assented with a lewd
grin. "Any particular, er, rules of engagement, " he asked as he began
unraveling the complicated network of chains in which Ci-ci was bound.
"No; you and the others can fuck the little thief's brains out, for all I
care."
"Ah, the boy's 'll like that, sire. She's a pretty one. And young. We
like 'em young sir, at the Pit, sire. Like that little Taiwanese tart last mon
...."
"Feng," Richard cut him off abruptly. "I don't have time to listen to the
story of your conquests right now. Just get this slut out of here. And one
more thing, Feng!"
"Yes, sir?" the brawny Scorpion replied.
"Return here in an hour -- with three men. I have another mission for you
tonight."
******
"Where is he, I said?" the silver-robed elder Chan repeated irritably to
Ming-tsu. "There can be no question that Li Chang is the traitor, now." He
had cleverly sent two men who knew the neighborhood of Zhong the printer, to
keep a vigil on that block. They were ordered to remain out of sight, but to
report back at once if any of their foes assembled to defend the printer from
the presumed attack. The Scorpions had reported that they had indeed seen a
dozen or more watchful young men, mostly in two's and three's, who were
strangers to the neighborhood. Clearly Li Chang, the only man whom Richard had
told of the 'attack', had, at the very least, tipped off their adversaries.
"I'm not certain, your excellency," Ming-tsu responded in the deferential
voice of a servant speaking to her master. Ming-tsu was wearing an attractive
black two-piece costume, similar to the one worn by practitioners of the Chinese
martial arts - loose fitting trousers and a V-necked jacket, that afforded her
plenty of freedom of movement.
She was more than a little intimidated by her ominous surroundings. Like
many in the the teeming city of Shanghai, she had heard whispers about the
unlucky souls who were taken to the cellar of the Black Pagoda; the dungeon's
appearance lived up to its frightening reputation. Her eyes took in the
flickering torches that lined the walls, the great central pillars, the
assortment of hooks, chains, and manacles that hung from walls and ceiling.
Beneath one series of chains she saw what appeared to be still-damp circlets
of blood. Incongruously, a large wall clock was mounted on one wall, while a
large mirror ran nearly the length of another wall. Evidently, she decided, so
that the dungeon masters could enjoy their victims' suffering from a variety of
angles. The squall outside added to the menacing atmosphere. The sound of huge
thunderclaps, lightning flashes, and the rhythm of a pounding rain were to
punctuate the proceedings throughout that long night.
"Did he not return to your home tonight?"
"No, sire; he never returned." Li had sent one of his friends, one Luk
Yee, to tell her that he had to leave the city for a time. Despite her betrayal
of Li Chang, Ming-tsu was annoyed that her lover had apparently fled without
bothering to bid her a personal farewell.
"But I think I know how to find him," Ming-tsu continued. "He told me that
he lived for years in the home of Wen-chi and his grand-daughter."
"Yes, George so informed me earlier," Richard Chan responded as he
scratched at his sinister beard with a long nail.
"Surely," Ming-tsu continued nervously, "they will know where he is hiding
or where he has gone."
"It would seem so. You have done well, Ming-tsu. Even now, my men are
bringing the girl and the old man here. I will leave it to you to question them
and to discover Li Chang's whereabouts." Richard Chan stared at her sternly
through thin-slitted eyes. It was no wonder that his brother prized her highly.
Her black jacket was cut so that a man's eyes were inevitably drawn to the
mouthwatering upper slopes of the close -set honey-gold breasts that peeked out
throught the v-neck of the garment.
Ming-tsu could feel the heat of his piercing gaze through the thin garments
she wore. She listened nervously as he continued.
"We have entrusted you with the responsibility of keeping an eye on Li
Chang; we shall hold you responsible if he escapes. Be careful that you do not
confuse my brother's fondness for your considerable charms, " and again she
felt his eyed boring into her rounded breasts, "with any willingness on our part
to experience failure. Or your stay here may not be pleasant." There was no
mistaking the menace in Richard Chan's voice. "Meanwhile George and I will
convene our council of lieutenants upstairs to see if any of them can help us
lay our hands on this renegade."
Ming-tsu bowed servilely as the stern-visaged Richard Chan stalked out of
the room.
While she waited for the Scorpions to return with their quarry, Ming-tsu
explored the dungeon for a few minutes, mentally cataloging the myriad
implements of torture. Less than a quarter of an hour later she heard a
commotion at the outer door of the underground chamber. A few moments later a
heavy stone door was pushed open from the outside, a door which she was later to
learn led, via an underground passageway, to a secret entrance near the main
gate of the Chan Estate. Through the doorway four of the Black Scorpions
dragged the aged Wen-chi and a terrified Liu into the forbidding cellar.
The prisoners, both gagged, seemed to have been literally dragged from
their beds; a petite young woman clad only in a revealing, rain-soaked shift,
and an old man dressed in his nightclothes. The girl's arms were pinned behind
her by a huge bovine-faced Scorpion; the feeble old man was easily restrained by
a pimple-faced adolescent who looked vaguely familiar. When she saw the way
spittle formed in the corner of his mouth as he ogled the slender young woman,
she remembered -- the boy was the son of Hong, the host at the inn in the
mountains, to whose care the German girl had been entrusted before and after the
infamous training session. Apparently the lad had earned a promotion after that
successful undertaking.
'The Drooler' as Ming-tsu came to think of him, had good cause to ogle.
Wen-chi had been allowed to throw on a house coat. But the diminutive Liu was
shivering in a sheer, rain-soaked nightdress. Her face was damp from the rain,
as was the lustrous hair that cascaded down to the small of her back. As her
captors dragged her further into the torch-lit dungeon, they were able to get a
better look at the effect the downpour had had on her thin garment.
The white fabric was sodden with precipitation and clung to the petite
young woman's body like a second skin, and particularly to her small but
perfectly formed breast-cones. Her nipples, chilled to an ardent erection by
the cold night air, poked insistently against the wet fabric, which was also
plastered tight against her belly, her loins, her slim hips and her superb
buttocks. The dark bush which adorned the juncture between her slender,
well-shaped thighs was clearly discernible to her captors.
The Scorpions nudged each other, snickering in anticipation. Liu, of
course, was mortified. She was a virgin; no man had ever seen her in such a
state. She stole a shamed glance at her grandfather to see if he too, could see
her nakedness beneath the shift. But the old man seemed disoriented; his
nearly sightless eyes circled the room wildly; she could not be certain whether
the old man clearly understood the nature of his surroundings.
But Liu could. Her body shivering with damp and cold, she looked fearfully
around the chamber of horrors to which she had and her grandfather had been
summoned, even as Ming-tsu directed Gap-tooth to remove her gag. Despite her
apprehension over the fate that awaited them in such a dark and dreadful place,
Liu bravely turned to the exotic beauty in black and asked, "Where is Li Chang?
They said he had been hurt? May I see him?"
Ming-tsu gestured to the Drooler to drag the old man a little further away.
"Good evening. So you are the saintly Miss Liu?" Ming-tsu said with a
sneer. Ming-tsu let the back of one scarlet-nailed hand slide across the
rain-damp firmness of Liu's left breast. "These don't look very saintly to me,
though, you little slut! I'll bet the boys have had some fun with these."
"Please... do not speak of such things," Liu begged as she squirmed
desperately to escape Liu's roving fingers and the clutches of the ox-like man
who held her fast; but since the slab-faced Ox was well over a foot taller than
she, and weighed perhaps twenty stone to her seven, her struggles were in vain.
"Where is Li Chang? Is he safe?" she asked again, frantically.
Ming-tsu could see why Li Chang had spoken so highly of Liu's beauty; her
figure was indeed exquisite, though by no means as voluptuous as her own. The
struggling captive's long black hair hung far down her back; and even though it
was rain-drenched, it was unmistakably the hair of a beautiful woman. "If you
don't mind, Miss Liu," Ming-tsu almost spat out the name, "it is I who shall ask
the questions here. My name is Ming-tsu ..."
"Oh --- you are Li Chang's friend!" Liu said with relief. "Then this must
all be a mistake. Tell these men to let us go!"
The muscular, bald-skulled Feng nudged his gap-toothed cohort with a
wolfish grin. "What do you think, Dao? Should we let the girl go?"
Dao, the gap-toothed man, chuckled obscenely, but didn't bother to answer.
He was pre-occupied by the way Liu's perky nipples pressed against the clinging
shift.
"I am afraid I must correct you, Liu," Ming-tsu said with a
conspiratorial smile. "He WAS my friend. It is no mistake, you little slut.
Besides, do you not know that it is rude for a guest to wish to leave a party
too soon? Especially one being held in her own honor?"
"Let me begin again. I will ask you the same question you have been asking
me. If you tell me the truth, you and this ancient fool can be on your way
quickly. Where is Li Chang?"
Liu was trying to make some sense of why Li Chang's lover had had them
dragged from their house. Something had clearly gone horribly wrong. "I do not
know, miss. Does he not live with you? Surely you know more about him than I
do."
Ming-tsu slapped Liu viciously across the face. "Do not make me angry,
bitch. He told me about you and the old man. Now I'm going to ask you nicely
once more. I need to find Li Chang. Where is he?"
Liu noticed the large clock on the wall behind Ming-tsu. The clock read
10:10. Li had told her that he would be on the midnight boat leaving for Taipei;
if she could keep that knowledge a secret for two hours, the man she loved would
be able to reach safety.
Her head still spinning with confusion, Liu tried to understand how Li
Chang could have fallen in love with this smiling she-devil. She was grateful
that she had not shared her knowledge about Li's plans to flee the city with her
grandfather. It was best that he knew nothing. This way, Li's fate rested
solely in her hands.
"I do not know. I have not seen him for a long time."
Ming-tsu nodded to Feng, the apparent head of this quartet of Scorpions.
The powerfully built man stroked his sinister goatee as he nonchalantly stepped
in front of Liu. Then, without warning, he back-handed her left breast through
the flimsy, dripping silk.
"Ungh!!" Liu cried out in pain. She would surely have fallen to her knees
if she had not been held up by the Ox who held her arms pinioned behind her. As
it was, she doubled up in pain. Through her tears she saw her aged grandfather
struggling furiously but fruitlessly in the grasp of the young man who held him.
"Do you think you can deceive the Black Scorpions, girl?"
When Liu remained silent, pondering this revelation, Ming-tsu nodded
again and Feng smacked her other right breast with a short compact swing of his
powerful arm. "Aaaghhhh!! Why are you doing this?" Liu moaned through the
nascent tears that were forming in her exquisite brown eyes
Ming-tsu gestured again and this time the gap-toothed man stepped forward.
Liu shook her head in horror as Dao spoke to the Ox. "Hold her steady for me,
Zheng!" Then as the Ox pulled her hair back viciously, Gap-tooth drove a
powerful fist into the softness of her belly, instantly robbing her of her
breath.
"Uughh!!" Liu, who had never been struck in anger in her young life,
could not believe that such pain was possible. She tried to stifle her groans,
so as not to add to the misery of her nearly deaf and nearly blind grandfather,
but suppressing them completely proved impossible.
"Well, old man!" Ming-tsu stepped across the room to where the Drooler held
Wen-chi tight in his grasp. She tugged fiercely at the saintly white beard of
Liu's venerable grandfather. "Are you going to tell us what we want to know, or
should I let Feng continue?" She nodded to Feng, who briskly cuffed Liu across
her right breast again. "Aaaghh!"
"Where is Li Chang, old man?" Then Ming-tsu pulled down Wen-chi's gag, to
let him speak.
"Miss," said the old man, breathing heavily, "Do you think I could remain
silent while you beat my grand-daughter, the treasure of my life? I would do
anything to spare her suffering. But I do not know where he is. Please -- let
us go. We have not harmed you. We have not harmed anyone."
Ming-tsu studied him carefully, and replaced his gag. She tended to think
that perhaps the old man really didn't know. And perhaps the girl didn't know
either. But there was only one way to be sure. She gave Feng another glance,
and with a sadistic grin he backhanded Liu's other breast with another savage
blow.
"Aaughhh!!" Liu groaned weakly again, but managed to speak. "Please, miss,
let my grandfather go. He is an old man, past eighty; he is not well. And he
knows nothing of this."
When she saw the intent look Ming-tsu gave her, she realized her slip, and
added, "And neither do I." But she sensed that it was too late. She felt
certain that they knew that she knew.
"Please, if you have any feelings for Li Chang at all, let my
grand-father go." Liu prayed that Wen-chi would be spared the agony of having
to watch her inevitable interrogation; if she failed to keep her secret she
would be humiliated before him. And even if she somehow succeeded in
maintaining her silence, she had no illusions that the next two hours would be
anything but painful for him to witness. Liu knew the reputation of the Black
Scorpions.
But her former affection was the last thing on Ming-tsu's mind. "Tie the
old man to the chair. And put this whining bitch on the Tiger; she'll tell us
what we want to know soon enough."
With that Dao and the Drooler of the Scorpions threw Wen-chi into a nearby
wooden chair, and quickly tied and gagged him so that he was helpless to do more
than watch, through aged eyes, the ensuing mistreatment of his grand-daughter.
Meanwhile Feng and the Ox dragged Liu over to the large wooden device that
Ci-ci had noticed in the corner earlier that day. It was carved and painted in
the size and shape of a Siberian tiger. But this tiger had one unusual
anatomical characteristic: its spine came to a very sharp ridge.
"Well, Miss Liu, I give you one last chance, before I let you feel the
embrace of the Tiger. Where is Li Chang?"
Liu trembled with fear as she examined the terrible tiger, but said
nothing. Her fawn-like eyes made a quick ciruit of the room -- the slab-faced
giant with the vacant expression that they called the Ox; the eager-eyed skinny
boy whose eyes never left her nearly naked body; the stocky, balding Feng, with
his dark and devilish goatee; and the grinning gap-toothed Dao, who was
continually stealing glances at Ming-tsu, the Mistress in Black. She could well
understand now why Li Chang had been captivated by Ming-tsu's exotic allure;
despite her own youth and comeliness, she felt small and rather plain in the
presence of Li's lover, whose every movement seemed to exude sexuality.
"Feng," Ming-tsu continued with a cruel smile, "a prisoner with a secret is
like the last few drops of milk in a woman's breast. Sometimes one has to
squeeze with considerable force; but eventually, little by little, the milk, or
the truth, will come squirting out. You may begin squeezing now."
The bald squadron leader put his powerful hands to the lace-edged neckline
of Liu's sodden nightgown, preparing to rip it to shreds. But Ming-tsu stopped
him, "No, not yet. Just put her on the Tiger for now."
Disappointed at being deprived, at least for the moment, of the opportunity
of enjoying the nude beauty of their comely captive, the two burly Scorpions
lifted the struggling girl up, and deposited her on the sharp "saddle" of the
wildcat, allowing the ridge-back of the tiger to press painfully against the
tender petals of her virginal vagina.
Then the muscular Scorpions each pulled a pretty ankle down hard along the
flanks of the tiger, and enclosed it in a manacle that was affixed to its belly,
thereby pulling Liu's body's weight even harder against the sharp ridge. Then
Feng cuffed her two wrists together and lifted them high over her head and
attached them to a hook that hung down from the ceiling; this posture lifted the
alluring curves of her breasts into bold relief against the wet-clinging fabric
of the rain-soaked shift.
After only a few minutes of her ride on the Tiger, Liu felt the flesh
between her legs begin to burn with pain. Her soft brown eyes sought out the
clock on the wall; time was marching with infinitely slow steps tonight -- it
was still only 10:15. Could she possibly withstand another hundred minutes of
this torment? Her only consolation was that her interrogators did not know that
they were operating against a midnight deadline; they seemed to be taking their
time. She gave secret thanks that Wen-chi's eyesight was poor and that the
eerily torchlit dungeon was quite dark; if she could suppress her cries of pain,
perhaps she could spare her half-deaf grandfather the full knowledge of her
plight.
The embrace of the tiger was excruciating; it felt as if her love-nook was
on fire. With a tremendous effort Liu was able to pull herself up slightly
toward the hook above, but this caused her ankles to rub painfully against the
manacles that held them in place. Better her ankles than her private parts,
though, she thought ruefully. Unfortunately her arms and shoulders could not
long sustain the terrible strain, and when they tired, her body descended on to
the fiendish ridge again. Until she could recover enough strength to lift
herself once more.
Ming-tsu, Feng and the others watched with cruel satisfaction as the gently
curved form of the girl struggled to defy gravity but continually fell victim to
its implacable force. After several minutes of this torture, they could no
longer tell to what extent it was rainfall and to what extent it was
pain-induced perspiration that bathed her body in an attractive sheen of
moisture.
"Now, Feng, you may remove the nightgown." At Ming-tsu's words, Feng moved
toward the girl eager to strip the damp nightgown from her slim young body.
"What a typical man! Always In such a hurry. With no imagination."
Ming-tsu's hand held Feng back. "Not that way. With this." And she bowed and
extended the handle of a menacing black whip to the husky squad leader. The very
whip that she had held in her mouth and felt on her body on the Night of the
Forty Lashes.
"This whip has a score to settle with my VIP, Mr. Li Chang. Remove her gown
with this."
Chapter 28 Feng the Butcher and the Barbarian Princess
Feng accepted the whip from Ming-tsu and bowed in return. This night
promised to be most gratifying; as chief enforcer for the Chan gang, he was kept
occupied most of the time beating up businessmen and artisans who (at first)
refused to pay "protection" money to the Black Scorpions. It had been some time
since Feng 'The Butcher", as he had come to be known to the Black Scorpions, had
had a beautiful young girl to break...
*******************************************************
Feng had grown up in a remote mountainous region of western China where two
rival clans had been fighting for supremacy for generations. Their warfare was
utterly barbaric, and spared neither women nor children.
One morning, when he was but a lad of eleven, a war party from the enemy
clan surprised and overran a small encampment of Feng's nomadic people. In a
brief bloody skirmish the raiding party slaughtered all of the men in the camp,
saving Feng's father, the head of the clan, for last. As a warning to other
rival clans, they had bound his father to a pair of wild horses and torn him
limb from limb. But his death, though horrible, was at least swift.
The young women of Feng's village were not so lucky.
Feng, like some of the other young boys, had been forced to watch while
his mother and his recently-betrothed older sister had been raped by waves of
enemy warriors. His frail mother had succumbed after only a few hours of their
bestial assault, but on the second morning of her captivity his beautiful
sister, Anya, knowing that she was doomed, had had the temerity to rake her
nails across the eyes of the ferocious-looking man who was raping her.
Unfortunately for her, that man turned out to be none other than Dargon the
Invincible, the enemy warlord himself, who was known for his savagery from the
towering peaks of the Himalayas to the snow-capped summits of the Tien Shan.
For this unpardonable crime, and inspired by the delicious ripeness of her
figure, the cruel tyrant sentenced the comely young maiden to suffer first, the
Torment of the Helix, and then the Devil's Swing.
At noon of that day, Dargon's soldiers had all assembled in front of the
castle walls to enjoy the afternoon's 'entertainment'.
Dargon's tall, sultry, dark-haired daughter, Princess Dena, about
fifteen then, had laughingly directed one of the enemy soldiers to tie Feng to a
tree so that he might watch his sister's punishment from afar. Feng had
watched in stomach-wrenching dismay as the executioners had stripped Anya's
tattered dress away from her lovely body. Then while the shorter of the two
held her arms pinned behind her, the taller one seemed to punch one of Anya's
breasts.
Feng, watching through a haze of tears and horror from a great distance,
imagined that he had seen a brief spurt of scarlet. A moment later the tall
guard held her while the short one made a similar motion toward Anya's other
breast. And again, Feng, half hysterical with grief, thought he had seen a
second spurt of blood. Meanwhile the taller executioner was still holding her
arms behind her while the other one began to loop heavy, knotted cords tightly
around each of his sister's opulent breasts, buttressing their harness with two
wraps around her chest.
Once the soldiers were satisfied that her tit-ropes were secure, they
flung the pair of rope-ends up over a sturdy cantilever-like bar that extended
outward from the crenelated battlement.
Even from his remote vantage point, Feng could hear how Anya had screamed
in agony as the two burly guards retrieved the rope ends and then pulled
mightily at the breast cords and lifted her slowly, inch by agonizing inch,
several feet above mother earth, until the weight of her body was supported only
the the hempen harness that ringed her tortured breasts. The guards then
secured the supporting ropes to stout iron bars in a window of the warlord's
fortress, leaving the lovely maiden dangling naked, kicking helplessly under the
hot mid-summer's sun.
Every now and then one of the soldiers would give her body a push, gentle
ones at first that set her body swaying lightly in the breeze, and then harder
and harder shoves that redoubled the agonizing pressure on her tight-corded
breasts.
This, then, was the infamous Devil's Swing.
They let Anya hang by her breasts for another quarter of an hour, heedless
of her desperate pleas for mercy, before at last cutting her down.
When at last she was released from the Devil's Swing, she was sent back to
the soldiers' quarters to see if she had learned her lesson, and was ready to be
a docile barracks-whore.
Later that same night, after another endless bout of savage lust, when most
of the soldiers had drunk themselves into a stupor, Anya, more dead than alive,
had crept soundlessly out of the barracks, climbed to the top of the castle wall
and thrown herself to her death.
******
Feng, then but a boy of eleven, was spared from death , along with a few
others of his own age -- if a lifetime of slavery and sixteen hour days toiling
in the fields of his captors could be considered being spared.
But Feng endured, somehow, and the memory of his family's fate was etched
in his heart forever. Several years later, he escaped from his servitude and
joined the few surviving men of his clan. Their women all dead or enslaved,
the men lived like animals in the barren mountains high above the plateau on
which stood the citadel of their enemies. They survived by eating roots and
berries, and occasionally trapping or killing some small game. Every now and
then, Feng and his companions would waylay a traveler unwise enough to venture
into the rugged mountains in which they scratched out a meager existence.
Early one afternoon, some months after Feng, a natural leader, had joined
them, five of the mountain men spotted four horsemen, dressed in the royal blue
cloaks of the rival clan, riding up a trail into the foothills. One of Feng's
cousins let himself be seen and decoyed the three horsemen into a narrow pass,
where his comrades were well-positioned to pick off the interlopers with arrows
shot from higher ground. Within seconds three of the horsemen had falled
victim to the skilled archery of the mountain men.
When a sudden gust of wind swept up the canyon and threw the hood off the
head of the fourth rider, Feng noticed with astonishment that that
purple-cloaked"horseman" was none other than Dena, the daughter of Dargon, now
in her early twenties.
Yelling to his comrades not to shoot her, Feng began the steep descent to
the canyon floor. Dena, meanwhile, had continued further into the pass, while
her injured and besieged companions tried to make a desperate stand against
their savage enemies. While Feng's kinsmen made their way down to finish off
the three downed horsemen, Feng set off in pursuit of the dark-haired princess.
As Dena fled for her life she soon found that the "pass" quickly narrowed
to a treacherous precipice along a steep ridge, with a sheer rock face
stretching high above her, and a vertiginous abyss below. Dena dismounted from
her horse, and stripped off her confining cloak, revealing a shapely and
athletic body clad in a white tunic and white skirt, embroidered with pale blue
flowers, that reached only to mid-thigh.
The pass above the Gorge of Hell, as the mountain people referred to it,
being much too narrow for her horse to negotiate, she abandoned her steed, and
inched her way forward, above the fearful chasm, ever conscious that at least
one of the men who had been lying in wait was in hot pursuit. But the ledge was
so narrow, and the concentration required to traverse it so demanding, that it
was all but impossible to turn around and look back at her pursuer.
Feng was halfway across the narrow ledge when Dena reached the far side of
the canyon, where the sheer rock wall above her gave way to a series of rugged
rocky hills dotted with huge outcroppings of gray rock that had been formed by
some primeval cataclysm of the earth's crust.
She was young, and strong, and fleet, and she set off into the hills,
struggling to maintain her footing in the difficult terrain. Properly fearful
of her fate should she be captured, she ran and climbed, and climbed and ran
until she thought her lungs would burst.
Feng, more accustomed to the steep hillsides, slowly made up ground on
her, confident that a pampered princess could not long elude him. He enjoyed
playing this game of cat and mouse; when she slowed he slowed slightly too.
But after an hour or so, he tired of the game, made up the remaining distance
between them, and tackled the utterly exhausted young woman from behind. "My
revenge will be most sweet, woman," he whispered to the terrified beauty, as he
twisted her arm savagely behind her, "but let me wait for my friends to rejoin
us. They will be angry with me if I do not let them share in the spoils of
war."
"Let me go, you treasonous scum, or my father will feed you your balls for
breakfast when he gets his hands on you!"
"You are brave now, whore- princess; but let us see how brave you will be
in a few hours," Feng grunted as he reached beneath Dena's tunic, and cupped her
splendid breasts in his toil-roughened hands. He had never touched a woman this
way before; the softness and the warmth of her stiff-nippled tits made his
ardent young cock throb with pleasure and his swollen testicles tighten with
anticipation.
When his kinsmen caught up with him, they pulled the dark-haired, dark-eyed
daughter of the enemy warlord roughly to her feet, and ruthlessly stripped off
her tunic, her skirt, and a flimsy undergarment, revealing a body more
voluptuous than they could have dreamed. At fifteen, when Feng had first seen
her, she had been tall but willowy; but in the intervening years she had
blossomed into a voluptuous young amazon.
The warm rays of the mountain sun had been kind to the skin of the sultry
princess; her body was a vision of pale gold loveliness. In the thin mountain
air, Feng and his companions stared disbelievingly at their prize -- at her
lush, full-nippled breasts, which despite their majestic size rose high and
proud from her chest. At her long athletic legs and at a pair of well-rounded
buttocks that seemed to have been born for the lash. At her deep-notched navel,
narrow waist, and dark-tufted pussy that set five cocks to throbbing.
Ten malevolent eyes devoured her luscious body; and ten malicious hands
groped her roughly, fondling her pleasure-globes, pinching and twisting the
mahogany buds of her uptilted breasts, and probing insistently between her legs
as she squirmed in revulsion.
"You will die for this, you pigs," Dena hissed at them. "And die slowly!"
With a swift motion, Feng slapped the nude ripeness of her left breast
viciously, causing it to bobble sensuously on her chest for an exciting moment
before coming to rest, now wearing a garish red mark left by his powerful blow.
"No, princess. It is you who will die. Or rather," he snarled, before greeting
her mouthwatering melons with the thick-knuckled back of his hand, "you who will
wish to die!"
Dena swallowed the blinding pain with difficulty and glared at Feng
defiantly, her spectacular breasts heaving as she tried to regain her breath.
She was the daughter of Dargon the Invincible; she would not cower before these
churlish savages.
The men eagerly moved forward to continue Feng's assault on their prisoner,
but were surprised when Feng stopped them. " That's enough!" he bellowed
authoritatively. "For now. Do not forget, my brothers, that there are others
at the camp who have scores to settle, too."
A short time later, after a few minutes of disappointed male grumbling,
the naked young princess began her long, arduous trek to the camp of her
captors. Surrounded by her leering captors she was compelled to take a long
circuitous route back to the entrance of the Gorge of Hell so that the mountain
men could recover her warriors' horses. Even at their high elevation the sun
beat down unmercifully on her; within ten minutes, as she struggled up the steep
inclines, her luscious body was covered with a thin film of sweat.
They had progressed about a mile through the treacherous terrain, when the
tallest of the five spied a young deer nibbling at a green-leafed shrub.
Signally to the others to be quiet, Jadar quickly strung his bow and launched
an arrow cross the hillside. The missile caught the young deer in squarely in
the throat, and the mountain men made their way to their fallen quarry, which
would be their evening meal. Chen, the strongest of the bandits began to hoist
the deer's bleeding carcass over his shoulder, but Feng stopped him.
"No," he said sternly. "Our princess will carry it."
Laughing the men agreed, and draped the dying animal over Dena's broad
shoulders; she slumped when they added the weight; the deer weighed as much as a
nine-year old child.
"March, princess-whore! We can be back at the camp in three hours if you
don't dawdle."
Balancing the deer's weight across her shoulders, Dena began to climb the
next hillside. The hillsides had been steep before her burden had been added;
now her thigh and calf muscles ached at every painful step.
To compound her misery, two of Feng's comrades paused at a woody thicket
and cut thorn-bearing switches, that were about the length of a man's arm, from
a prickly wooden bush. They fell some distance behind the the others while they
used a knife to shave six or eight inches of the prickly barbs from the thicker
end of the thorn-switch, so as to provide a handle. Then they quickly ran after
their companions, catching up with them at the apex of a wind-swept hill.
Now that they were able to grip the thumb-thick thorn-sticks comfortably,
the two of them took turns using the prickly flails to lash the back of Dena's
smooth, well-toned thighs and her ripe round buttocks as she struggled painfully
down the hill. As often as not the the razor-sharp spines lodged themselves in
her tender flesh, and then broke off when her tormentors tried to pull the
thorn-switches back again.
Within a few miles of her exhausting journey through a series of steep
ravines, Dena's lungs were burning for lack of oxygen in the thin mountain air,
and her well-curved legs were screaming with fatigue. A little later Feng's men
recovered the enemy horses, which were a great prize to the dispossessed
bandits. Then Feng himself tied Dena's hands to the saddle of her mount and
led her back through the pass where the ambush had taken place. The beautiful
princess turned pale when she came upon three bloody headless bodies sprawled on
the trail. A little further on, her blood ran cold when she spied three
gruesome, lifeless heads positioned among a series of boulders. Dena shuddered
in terror, and wondered if there was any violence of which her captors were not
capable.
She grew even more apprehensive when one of the bandits, a barrel-chested,
black-bearded young man retrieved the horse-whip she had dropped when she had
fled the scene of the ambush.
While the afternoon sun broiled her bare flesh, and her heart pounded from
the stress of her exertions, Princess Dena continued to suffer the bite of the
stinging thorn-sticks as her tormentors inflicted scores of tiny cuts on her
long legs and her round-buttocked ass. And still she was compelled to stagger
forward beneath the oppressive weight of the dear.
A little further on, curly-haired Meldor, one of the thorn-switch
wielders and the youngest of the five men, slipped past her and climbed up on a
rock that she would have to pass as she trudged toward her unknown fate. When
she drew alongside, he yelled excitedly, "Genghis Khan himself would want to see
these tits bounce!" and, taking careful aim, he lifted the thorn-switch high
over his head and then whipped it downward across the upper slopes of Dena's
luscious breasts.
And bounce they did, most satisfyingly so, on her slim-waisted torso.
"AAAAGHHH!" the sultry princess had cried out - her first true admission
of the extent of the pain being meted out by her captors.
It would not be her last.
"Well struck, Meldor!" Feng's comrades encouraged the youngster, and for
the rest of the interminable march, the boy walked in front of Dena, pausing
every fifty feet or so to turn around and switch Dena's gently curved belly, her
straining thighs or her succulent brown-tipped lust-globes with the cruel
thorn-stick. Meanwhile, the deer's neck wound continued to ooze blood in a thin
stream over her collarbone and down across her deliciously ripe left breast,
leaving a bright crimson stain in its wake.
Up and down the hillsides they marched her, the deer's weight now a
crushing burden. Three times her legs gave out under the broiling sun and three
times, at Feng's signal, Xorg, the black-bearded man with the horse-whip lashed
her back until she struggled desperately to her feet. As soon as she regained
her feet, her young nemesis, Meldor, was there in front of her again, drawing a
bead on her sculpted breasts, and then flicking them with the thorn-switch,
until she began to trudge slowly forward yet again.
By the time they reached their fateful destination, Dena's body, front and
back, was criss-crossed with a plethora of thin lacerations. Mercifully she was
allowed to drop the deer, before falling to her knees in exhaustion.
The bandits' camp was as unprepossessing a habitation as one could
imagine -- little more than a clearing in front of a cluster of caves whose dark
entrances were covered with bearskins.
Dena knelt naked on the ground trying to recovering her strength as she
watched two of the men butcher the deer, skinning it, dressing it, hacking it
into manageable pieces with their dull knives; they were about half done when
Feng ordered "Take her to the river, and clean her up!"
Gratefully Dena let herself be dragged some fifty yards to the other side
of the clearing where a fast-moving mountain stream rushed passed them on its
downward course to the valley floor. Jadar, the tall slender one, and Chen,
Feng's muscular kinsman, watched with unabashed lust as Dena splashed the cold
mountain water over her stunning body, trying to clean her numerous cuts.
Chen elbowed Jadar as they watched her dig the spiny thorn-barbs out of her
breasts, and belly. She was going to provide good sport.
Princess Dena finished her primitive toilette at about the same time as the
deer-butchers finished their work; when she returned to face Feng, great hunks
of venison were roasting on a rustic fire-pit.
The interlude, the beautiful princess quickly noted, had done nothing to
improve Feng's temper.
The well-built young leader of the mountain men called out, "Tie her to the
tree!" and his kinsmen dragged the still-dripping statuesque princess to the
left side of the clearing and threw her roughly against the scaly bark of a
tree-trunk. Despite a desperate resistance, during which she succeeded in
scratching one captor and kicking another, Feng's four companions soon had her
arms pulled back behind the tree and her wrists bound tightly together. A second
length of rawhide that dug deeply into her supple thighflesh, cinched her legs
to the tree, while a third held her slender waist fast against the trunk.
The beautiful barbarian princess glared at her captors, her succulent
breasts heaving from her struggles to escape, her nipples dark, proud, defiant.
Despite her plight, Dena was too proud to beg for mercy; she knew full well
that even if she had, her entreaties would have been in vain. Her captors were
in thrall to a bloodlust that would render them deaf to her pleas.
Feng's cousin Chen led the way. Chen, a big brute of a man, well
remembered how a dozen members of Dena's clan had raped his attractive young
mother while Dena had cheered them on. He had prayed to the cruel gods of the
mountains that the day might come when he could avenge his mother's ravishment.
And now that long-awaited day was at hand.
Chen strode toward Dena with a determined look on his beefy face, as he
uncurled two long thin strips of tough brown yak leather in his big hands. He
began by encircling one of Dena's superb breasts with the thin cord . He looped
one strip tightly around the base of her right breast; then, while Feng gripped
her nipple tightly between the jagged nails of his thumb and forefinger and
pulled her breast out from the chest wall, Chen pulled with all of his
considerable strength on each end of the leather to ensure that the rawhide bit
as cruelly as possible into Dena's soft, ivory-gold breast flesh. Once that
first circlet had been jerked excruciatingly tight, Chen wrapped a second
breast-choking loop around the big lust-melon, and yanked it tight again.
"Tighter, Chen! Tighter!" roared Xorg, Feng's black-bearded kinsman. It
was he who had chopped off the heads of Dena's companions, and he who had
found and wielded the horsewhip. Xorg had once been a rotund, good-natured
young man known for his joviality. Until, that is, he had seen his demure young
bride ripped apart by the stallion Dena had trained to rape slave-girls. Like
most of the other surviving men and boys of his clan, he had escaped during a
brushfire that had swept through Dargon's domains. His jailors, in their haste
to flee the fast approaching fire, had left the outer door to the building in
which the male slaves were imprisoned nightly unlocked. The once-jovial Xorg
had rarely been known to smile since. But he was smiling with undisguised
sadistic pleasure now, as he watched Chen work on Dena's swollen tits.
Twice more Chen wrapped the diabolical leather bands around the soft
breast-flesh, and twice more he yanked the ends tight with a mighty grunt. By
now Dena's right breast was compressed into a blushing bloated sphere of
tit-flesh that seemed to young Feng to be begging for even harsher treatment. At
some point in the process, Chen had cleverly wedged a short, thick stick under
the tit-gripping leather bands. His work on this breast complete, Chen seized
the breast-stick in a powerful hand, and twisted, doubling the pressure on
Dena's poor pleasure-globes.
Feng then seized her other nipple-nugget between his talon-like nails,
while his kinsman took the second strip of rawhide and garrotted Dena's left
breast with a similar painful bondage. Both of the sultry princess's jutting
jugs were now thrust provocatively outward, Feng noticed with satisfaction.
Perfect targets for further abuse. Feng approached her and grasped the
breast-sticks and gave them a mighty wrench.
"AAAAAUUGHHHHH!!" Dena screamed in agony; it felt as if the bandit leader
was going to twist her strangled breasts right off her body.
The scorching late-afternoon sun had dried the cool droplets of the
mountain stream that had enclosed her body in a fresh dew just minutes earlier.
Feng twisted the tit-sticks again, and Dena, in her pain, could feel beads of
sweat racing teardrops down her cheeks and then falling softly downward onto her
throbbing breasts.
Dena could do little but look on with fearful dread as the barbaric band
eagerly set about selecting and fashioning weapons to use on the bulging
tit-globes of their splendidly endowed sex-slave. Chen removed a long leather
strap from his kit, young Meldor used his sharp knife to smooth an eight-inch
grip on a freshly-cut thorn-switch, and Feng chopped himself a yard-long stalk
of sturdy bamboo.
Xorg, his long black hair and beard wild about his face, produced the
light horsewhip he had found at the scene of the ambush and brought back to the
camp. It seemed only fitting that he use the whip of the horse that had ravaged
his mother on the bold-nippled breasts of the the captive princess.
The fifth member of the band, Jadar, who as a youth had seen his father
castrated and his bleeding organ stuffed into his mother's mouth while Dargon's
lackeys assaulted her, was laboriously lashing several small pieces of split
bamboo together with sturdy withes, forming a makeshift rectangular paddle,
studded with the raised ridges typical of mountain bamboo.
Chen had doubled up the strap in his powerful right hand, and was just
about to launch a first volley at Dena's succulent, sweat-glazed lust melons,
when Feng held up his hand again.
"Wait, cousin. Where are Kandar and the Old One?" Feng asked. Usually at
this hour of the day the other two men of his band were to be found at the main
cave. "Chen, while we await the others, prepare the princess's nipples for
punishment!"
"Aye, Feng,' Chen grinned. "That I will." Feng's brawny kinsman wasted no
time in devoting his attention to Dena's magnificent breast-buds, pinching and
kneading, twisting and flicking the marvelous corky nubs until they stood out
from Dena's swollen breasts like a pair of dark, fleshy bullets. Chen concluded
his enviable assignment by digging a thumbnail into one of the thin lacerations
opened by Meldor's thorn switch, and then rubbing the resulting scarlet droplet
into Dena's delectable brown breast buds, infusing the inviting brown crests,
with a dash of scarlet. Dena could only watch in dismay as her tasty love-buds
stood rigidly at attention for their coming punishment, having been christened
with her own crimson war-paint, and thus becoming even bolder, brighter targets
than they had been before.
"I see the others! Here they come!" announced the lanky Jadar.
The others looked up to see a pair of pitiful examples of manhood emerging
from a trail on the far side of the clearing.
The Old One, Talmaz, hobbled along, his weight supported by a knobby
walking stick. Though he appeared to be four score and more, he was actually not
much more than sixty years of age. But watching a company of Dena's father's
men defile his nubile grand-daughters had sapped twenty years from his strength.
The other figure who made their way toward them from the other side of the
clearing was even more grotesque. Kandar, a once-vigorous young man of
twenty-eight, had no arms. Or rather, his arms had been cut off a couple of
inches above the wrist -- his right arm as a punishment for poaching the deer of
Dargon the Invincible, his left arm for refusing to reveal his companions in
that thievery, the desperate thievery of starving men.
"Welcome, my brothers," Feng had trumpeted. "Chen -- Now that our friends
are here to take part in our rightful vengeance -- you may begin."
And with that command, Feng's desperate band, who had all been without a
woman for years, set about avenging their womenfolk and their own years of
privation.
The muscular Chen began the frenzied assault on Dena's bulging tit-globes.
He took his leather strap and burned an inch-wide strip of pain into the
constricted melons, leaving a reddening rectangle in his wake. Meldor, gripping
his thorn-switch with all of his strength, took dead aim and ripped into both of
Dena's swollen breasts, drawing an anguished scream of pain from the swarthy
princess, and a single drop of claret just below her left nipple.
Dena, gasping for breath, closed her eyes as she saw Jadar approaching.
She could not bear to watch as he continued the onslaught by crushing Dina's
left pleasure-globe with a short compact swing of his paddle.
Bushy-bearded Xorg, meanwhile, had taken a position slightly to the right
of the dark-haired beauty and as soon as Jadar stepped back, he horse-whipped
Dena across the upper rim of her sweet-crinkled areolae, as the dark-eyed beauty
writhed in agony.
Feng made good use of his first turn, beginning by tapping his bamboo rod
lightly against Dena's blood-engorged nipple-crests. He was fascinated by the
way her tit-choking breast bondage forced the shadowy rivulets of her breast
veins to swell and pulse as if they had a life of their own.
Despite her resolution to defy the mountain scum, Dena's courage failed her
as Feng poked her juicy breasts with cane in preparation for what would no doubt
prove to be a horrendous blow.
"Please ... Don't ... I beg y...."
Feng cut short Dena's abject plea for mercy by tightening his steely grip
on the whippy cane and then slamming it dead on into Dena's succulent melons
with titanic, tit-splitting ferocity, just below her gallant nipple-nuggets.
The cruel blow opened Meldor's thorn-cut a little wider.
"AEEEAIIGHHH!!" the tormented princess's anguished cry seemed to
reverberate off the walls of the nearby caves.
"Old One -- join us!" Feng beckoned. Talmaz slowly dragged himself
forward. He leaned against the tree to which Dena had been bound and then
picked up his walking stick and slid it up into the delightful valley between
Dena's luscious, close-set breasts, now flecked with beads of crimson. He slid
it roughly back and forth for a moment or two before speaking. "This, whore,
is for my grand-daughters," he squeaked in a high-pitched voice before lifting
the knobby stick over his head and slamming it down into her bound breasts with
suprising strength for a man with such a decrepit body.
"Ooooouuuwwww!" Dena moaned forlornly. She shook her head back and forth.
"No...please...no more."
And then she looked up to see the muscular figure of Chen standing
alongside the old man, his biceps bulging, the veins in his neck standing out,
as he doubled up the leather strap, and made it POP! in the air.
"Move aside old man; let a strong young buck show you how it's done!"
"Make her sing, Chen!" exhorted Meldor, anxious to prove that he fit in
with the older men. "Work those tits over good!"
Chen had drawn the strap back and was ready to pull the trigger again when
a deep voice called out, "What about me?"
The company turned to look at Kandar, the man with no arms.
"But how?" Chen stammered. "How can you ..." he left the thought
unfinished.
Undismayed, Kandar stepped forward; Feng noted that his back and shoulders
were strong. The gods had been cruel to let him live. After his maiming, one
stump had been cauterized successfully by Dargon's men; but what was left of his
left arm was a suppurating gangrenous mess, discolored a hideous greenish-black
all the way up to his shoulder. The spread of the disease was such, thought
Feng, that Kandar could not possibly have long to live. But a vengeful fire
still burned bright in Kandar's eyes as he approached their full-breasted
prisoner, intent on inflicting a hellish retribution for his own suffering.
When he was close enough he reached out and fondled Dena's tightly bound
tit-globes with his festering left stump, letting his appalling limb slide back
and forth over her luscious mounds, while she squirmed in revulsion. And then
with a sudden violent movement, Kandar's powerful right shoulder shot forward
and his good stump drove into Dena's left breast with crushing force.
"AAAUGGHHHH!!" she screamed.
Dena had no sooner recovered from that brutal blow when Chen stood before
her again. This time he took the sinister strap down low and brought it rushing
upward at the speed of lightning to explode against the taut undersides of
Dena's throbbing tit-goblets. "EAIAAAAHH!!" she screamed in pain.
Meldor's thorn-stick revisited her luscious turrets next, opening up a few
more tiny crimson-oozing cuts, and then, before Dena even had time to scream,
Xorg, with a long flowing overhand stroke, brought the horse-whip CRACKK!!ING
down sharply across the upper slopes of Dena's sumptuous love-gourds again.
"AIEEEEAAAAGGHHHH!!!" Dena's prolonged cry of suffering pierced the stillness of
the mountain air.
Dena looked around her wildly, half-crazed with pain. She felt as if her
breasts were immersed in molten lava. "Enough... please... let me go...
WHAACKK!!! "EEYAAAHHH!!!
Long-limbed Jadar had used his improvised paddle on her right breast with
such force that he seemed to drive her tortured nipple-bud deep into her breast
flesh. Feng watched with awed astonishment as the injured crest sprang back
with a youthful resilience remarkable to behold.
Old Talmaz smacked her strangled tit-globes again, with less strenth this
time, and then the man without a weapon stood before the beautiful princess once
again.
Kaldar spat in Dena's face, chuckling as the gob of saliva ran down a
tear-stained cheek. Then without warning, the man with no arms suddenly drove a
mighty knee into the soft place between Dena's legs, as she howled in pain.
Then, using his festering arm to hold her chin up, Kandar used his stump to
smash her tightly-tied right tit with pulverizing force, the end of his bony
stump leaving a nasty imprint on her flesh. And then he drove his knobby stump
solidly into the bulging tautness of Dena's other breast. Then he stepped back,
exultant at the princess's suffering. It occurred to Feng that there must be
something primevally satisfying about exacting revenge with one's own bare
hands. Especially for one who had no hands.
One after another, Feng and his kinsmen attacked the taut balloons of
breastflesh. Sometimes hacking at the undersides with slashing horizontal
strokes, sometimes taking the weapon of choice high over head and crashing it
down on the tops of Dena's proud-surging lust-melons, and sometimes taking dead
aim on her provocatively pebbly brown areoles and her blood-reddened nipples.
And when it was his turn, the man with no weapon continued to use his grotesque
stump as if it were a bare-knuckled fist, pounding it furiously into Dena's
tightly bound tits.
It wasn't long before the ear-splitting screams of the barbarian princess
were nearly as inhuman as the savagery of her attackers, to whom her screams
were the sweetest of music. Her animal-like cries of agony rent the cool
mountain air, but there were none to hear her, save for her tormentors, and they
were as deaf to her pleas as the great gray boulders that lined the trail to the
camp.
Before too many minutes had passed, Dena's tight-cinched pain-globes had
endured a withering array of ferocious blows; Feng and his comrades had
transformed the ivory-gold mounds of an hour earlier into two bulging,
throbbing, pain-wracked globes of martyred breastflesh.
Anxious for new pleasures, Feng's comrades men untied the rope that
pinioned Dena to the tree-trunk and stripped the bindings from her breasts. The
seven men marveled at how her splendid breasts, though dark-ringed and reddened,
gashed and slashed, quickly re-assumed their natural shape, having lost none of
their smooth-skinned resiliency, their dark-nippled beauty or their
gravity-defying firmness during her horrific ordeal.
As the blood flowed back into Dena's tortured mounds, every nerve ending in
her young breasts gave out a silent scream of agony. The barbarian princess had
little time to dwell on that pain however, because moments later, Xorg and Jadar
dragged her across the clearing and threw her voluptuous body face up across a
rough slab of granite. They held her down while Meldor and Chen used a heavy
rock to drive four pointed wooden stakes into the ground; moments later they had
used the leather strips to spread-eagle their lovely captive, leaving the entire
front of her body exposed and vulnerable.
"Look at that juicy cunt, boy," Chen teased young Meldor. "Your first
one?"
"Aye, cousin, that it is," Meldor replied as he stuck his face between
Dena's wide-spread legs the better to study the inviting lips that drew his dark
eyes to her womanhood like a moth to a flame. And a lovely cunt it is, even if
I've only seen the one!"
"Step aside, boy, and watch an expert!" The burly Chen opened his ragged
trousers, removed a thickish cock, and without any preliminaries, rammed it
viciously into Dena's dry cunt. Facing him, Jadar crouched over Dena's face and
inserted his own massive erection into her mouth. Feng warned her to suck his
men well, and that if she even thought about using her bright white teeth on his
mouth-raping comrades, she wouldn't have them long.
For over an hour the arduous double-fucking assault continued, until each
of the original five had ravaged both of her warm receptacles -- pussy and
mouth. When it came his turn, Talmaz, his days of fornicating long past, seemed
content to lean against the rock while he forced his thick, knobby walking stick
into Dena's semen-coated vagina.
After old Talmaz had worked his cudgel around inside Dena's pink passageway
her for a few minutes, Kandar brushed him aside, and mounted the slut-princess,
pumping into her with the feverish abandon of a man who knows his days are
numbered.
When Kandar pulled his dripping cock out of the tortured princess, Feng
lifted his hand to allow the girl a little time to recover her strength. He
didn't want their luscious victim to lapse into unconsciousness before he had
had a chance to deliver the coup de grace.
******
For the next hour or so the men tore into nicely-seared chunks of deer
meat, washing the hunter's meal down with mountain wine that they passed around
in a goatskin bag. As they ate and drank they laughed and joked, commenting
crudely on the thrill of plundering the wondrous body of the spread-eagled
princess, who was still draped painfully over the jagged slab of rock. Her
pathetic pleas for water went unheeded.
As darkness approached, Feng directed his companions to release her from
the stakes and throw her over a nearby boulder, leaving her sprawled face down,
and her ample buttock rounds high in the air. Her bottom had remained fairly
unscathed up to this point, save for the stinging cuts of the thorn-stick on the
long trek back to the encampment.
"By the saber of Tamerlane, her ass is built for a flogging, is it not?"
Chen asked nobody in particular.
Three deep voices, edged with lust, anwered, "Aye" almost simultaneously.
"If you can lie there and take your beating, perhaps we will not have to
tie you up again, slut-princess," Feng told her.
"Please ... " Dena sobbed, " have you not done enough... let me go. I will
tell no one of what you have done, or where you camp. Ple..."
Dena's tearful entreaties were answered with a vicious CRAACKK!! from
Xorg's long, black horsewhip. "Aarrghhhhh!"
"We will grant you the same mercy you extended to our mothers, our
daughters, our sisters, slut princess. Jadar!"
"Aye, Feng!"
"Warm her ass with that paddle of yours!"
Jadar stepped forward with alacrity and slammed his rugged paddle first
into Dena's left cheek, and then her right. Back and forth he went, between the
two ripe, rounded buttcheeks using his long arm to deliver sweeping, punishing
strokes. Four and twenty times he smote each bottom oval, as Dena's intermittent
cries of pain mounted into a steady wail of agony. When Jadar was done, he was
breathing hard and sweating profusely; and Dena's bottomglobes were as red as
September apples.
Then Meldor stood to one side of her and Feng the other as they peppered
Dena's encrimsoned buttock-mounds with alternating strokes from their respective
weapons. The curly-haired lad still wielded his favorite thorn-switch, while
Feng delivering one concussive stroke after another with his trusty bamboo cane,
working his way slowly from the base of her bottomcheeks up to the top of her
buttcrack and then back again.
When Feng's arm grew weary, Chen stepped forth and used his menacing black
strap on Dena's golden thighs until they were as rosy a red as her bottom. When
he was done, Xorg stepped forward to deliver twenty savage lashes up and down
her back, buttocks and legs with the horsewhip which ironically had been Dena's
only hours before.
And then, without warning, their weapons dropped, the men were on her
again. Four of them seized a limb, as strong arms yanked her legs painfully
wide apart.
"Look at that tight little asshole!" Jadar, who was manning her right leg,
exclaimed.
"It won't be tight after I get through with it," Chen observed salaciously,
as he stroked his thick powerful member with one hand while he held one of her
arms pinned down with the other.
Moments later Feng strode forward, reached into his dusty trousers and
brought his massive weapon up to the tiny rosebud between Dena's ripe,
deep-clefted buttocks and without further ado, rammed it into her anus.
Dena groaned in anguish, not only because of her bottom pain but also
because Feng' thrusts scraped her tender breasts against the rough surface of
the rock over which she was draped.
At first her sphincter resisted, but each violent thrust served to impale
her more and more deeply on his phallus. He pounded away furiously, reveling in
the spasmodic clutching of her muscular nether passage, until his swollen balls
were pounding against her buttcheeks with every plunge.
"Unnghhh!! Unggghhh!!! Unngggghhhhh!!!!" Dena moaned beneath him.
The subjugation of the sultry princess seemed to have given Feng the
stamina of a stallion; to Dena, Feng's vengeful ass-rape seemed to last an
eternity, as he plowed his relentless manhood deep into the furrow between
Dena's plump buttocks, until at last he shot a mighty wad of spunk deep into
her nether channel.
Then, while the others held the squirming princess down, each of the men
took a turn raping Dena's whip-inflamed ass, plundering her upraised derriere
with the tireless energy of youth. When the five bandits had satisfied
themselves on the altar of her rectum, Talmaz came forward. Once again he was
content to let his sturdy walking stick act on his behalf; he worked the oaken
tool into her with every ounce of his fading strength. And then Kandar strode
forward again, a lusty figure of a man, save for his missing limbs.
He sodomized her too, but after he emptied the contents of his balls into
her nether channel, he did not back away as the others had. Instead he rubbed
deer-grease from the cooking pit all over his good stump and then he punched it
forward, aiming for the beleaguered princess's semen-dripping rectum. When her
rosebud did not yield him entrance, he drew back and shot his truncated limb at
her anal opening again. And again. And again. Until at last his greasy limb
found its way into Dena's over-stretched rectal canal.
Kandar gave the sweet-assed beauty a fistless fisting then, punishing her
abused nether channel with every plunge, and every twist and turn of his
intruding stump...
Meanwhile, after he had finished plundering Dena's shapely buttocks, Feng
had stepped away to search his cave for two unusual objects that he had stolen
from Dargon's citadel years ago. He had kept them all these years in the
forlorn hope that one day he would have a chance to make use of them.
He still remembered how Dena had cheered her father's warriors on, when
they had used them on Anya, his sister; in a few minutes, though, he was
confident that Dena would come to wish that she had never seen them.
After a brief search he found them in the dark corner into which they had
rolled. Each of the devices had a heavy wooden grip, and a slender silver pin,
a little more than an inch in length, that had been painstakingly forged into
the tight spiral of a very sharp corkscrew.
When Kandar had finished his anal assault, Feng told his comrades to stand
the exhausted girl up, facing him. As he held one of the diabolical corkscrews
up before her, Princess Dena recognized it and fainted dead away. But her
abductors carried her over to the stream, and threw her bodily into the icy
mountain water, which quickly revived her. The water beaded up on her lovely
flesh most attractively, chilling her tortured nipples back to erectness; Feng
marveled at the animal responsiveness of her body despite the harrowing ordeal
she had suffered for the last few hours.
Then, as Chen and Xorg held her fast, Feng took the first corkscrew by its
wooden grip, placed its fiendishly sharp metal point against the soft curve of
her left breast, and pricked her tender breastflesh lightly with the sharp tool,
enjoying her winces of pain.
Tiring after a few moments of this pleasant foreplay, though, he gripped
her punished breast tightly with one big-fingered hand, and then jammed the
devilish implement firmly into its soft, warm undercurve.
Dena uttered a full-throated cry of agony at this, but Feng did not shrink
from his revenge.
For this was the Helix -- the very same diabolical weapon than Dargon's
soldiers had used on the the sweet young breasts of his sister, before they had
put her in the Devil's Swing; and now, at last, vengeance - vengeance cruel and
sweet - would be his.
Because of its spiral shape, the wicked tool did not puncture the skin too
deeply. Until Feng, using the wooden grip for leverage, began to slowly twist
the corkscrew, pausing with each quarter-turn to let his comrades revel in the
sadistic spectacle. At first only a thin trickle of blood oozed from the tiny
wound, but with each merciless turn, Dena's succulent breast became more and
more incarnadined. Slowly, relentlessly, Feng bored deeper and deeper into the
tortured globe.
After a number of turns, the fine point of the slender screw had been
drilled into her flesh as far as it would go, and its handle was flush against
the outer surface of her blood-smeared breast.
When Feng let go, the cork-screw remained lodged deep in her lust melon. Feng
and the others paused for a few moments to admire his efforts. And then Feng,
still not satisfied that the proud princess had suffered enough, held the second
corkscrew carefully over the roaring campfire until it was red hot, and then he
touched her other breast with it, enjoying her futile attempts to shrink from
the burning metal. Feng then took the implement and etched the Chinese ideograph
of his name into the upper curve of her heaving breast with the point of the
searing tool. Only when he was finished with his signature did he heat the
corkscrew yet again, so that he could once again savor the sadistic thrill of
deliberately drilling it into her sweat-slick pleasure- globe, turn by exquisite
turn...
Chapter 29 Liu's Ordeal -- Riding the Tiger
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the Night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
"Feng! Feng! Wake up you fool!" Ming-tsu's strident voice cut through the
pleasant haze of Feng's remembrance of things past. His manly cock was as hard
as the pillars that supported the ceiling of the dungeon of the Black Pagoda.
Even after all these years, and all the intervening women, the thrilling memory
of the depravities that he and his comrades had inflicted on the beautiful
daughter of Dargon the Invincible never failed to excite him.
"What are you daydreaming about, man? There is work to be done!" Ming-tsu
smiled sweetly at Liu. "Although I dare say it will be pleasant work." She
reached out and stroked Liu's soft thigh, moist from the rain, and bare below
the hem of the skimpy shift. "Most pleasant indeed."
A moment later Ming-tsu turned to the huge Ox and the slight Drooler.
"You two won't be needed here any longer. But don't go far; I may need you to
apprehend Li Chang, once this little trollop reveals his whereabouts." Then,
addressing the gap-toothed Scorpion, "Dao, you will stay and keep an eye on the
old one, while Feng and I interrogate our pretty little prisoner."
"Stop by the Pit, lads," Dao winked, "And look in on that pretty young
housemaid Feng dropped off a couple of hours ago," he smirked through the
spaces between his yellowing teeth, referring to Ci-ci, whose beautiful but
much-beleaguered body Feng had deposited at the Scorpions' barracks earlier that
evening. "You'd better have a crack at the little thief, tonight; if I know the
Scorions, she'll be a little the worse for wear by morning!" Feng had told
his companions about the Scorpions' fetching new playtoy while they were en
route to the house of Wen-chi.
The Drooler licked his damp lips as he gave Liu's wet-bodiced breasts a
last hungry look; he wouldn't mind taking those stiff nipples between his teeth
while he worked his ardent young prick back and forth in her tight little
joy-box! He hated to leave before seeing what the old man's grand-daughter had
between her pretty legs, but it sounded as if there was some nice stuff awaiting
him at the barracks. He had been intimidated by the size and the teeming
multitudes of Shanghai since coming to the great city from his home in the
mountains to the north; but suddenly things were starting to brighten up.
Tonight it appeared that he would prove his manhood for the first time at the
expense of this girlish thief at the barracks; and who knew? Maybe he'd get a
chance at the beauty on the Tiger later. Lin the Drooler bowed obsequiously to
Ming-tsu and followed the immense form of the Ox as the big man exited through
the underground door.
Ming-tsu's words had startled Feng from his pleasant reverie, and he
pretended that he had been pre-occupied with the preparations for the
interrogation of his slender but shapely captive, Liu.
"Very sorry, miss," Feng bowed as he growled through his goatee, as he
toyed with the thick black whip, seemingly studying it for microscopic flaws.
He didn't care to be spoken to in that tone of voice, even by a woman as
fetching as Ming-tsu. Especially by a woman as fetching as Ming-tsu. He stole
a glance as her as he uncoiled the nasty-looking single-tailed whip she had
handed to him. Beautiful face, lovely hair. He wouldn't mind grabbing that
silky black mane and rubbing her face against his thick cock and hairy balls.
And that body! Juicy stuff, that was for sure. And he could tell that she
liked showing it off, the whore.
Feng had heard that Ming-tsu was the concubine of George Chan. And yet she
strutted around the dungeon like she was the Princess of the Black Pagoda,
stroking that brilliant jade pendant that hung from her neck as if she were
royalty. He'd wager a gold piece to a half-cup of rice that the presumptuous
slut had earned it on her back. Or her knees.
She'd learn soon enough that she was just another of George Chan's
playthings, Feng smiled grimly to himself; he'd been a Scorpion for many years,
since his arduous transcontinental journey from his mountain homeland to the
coastal regions. He'd been a trusted soldier in the Chans' army of the night
since long before Ming-tsu came on the scene, and he had every confidence that
he'd be around long after she was gone. George would eventually tire of her as
he had of all the rest...and if she dared to give George Chan any trouble when
he threw her out into the streets she came from... Well, chances were that one
day she'd find herself cowering on the floor of this very dungeon that she
strutted around tonight. Feng's cryptic smile widened. It amused him to
imagine Ming-tsu, naked and in chains, her delicious body at his mercy, begging
him to let her please him, if only he'd stop the pain...
But for now, he'd play along with her whims. Feng bowed his gleaming bald
head in Ming-tsu's direction again, and apologized for his inattention. Then,
holding the evil whip in his right hand, he leisurely gathered Liu's long black
hair in his left, enjoying its silky texture and the unmistakable scent of fresh
flowers which hovered around this young beauty like a floral garland. Feng
gently lifted her hair forward over her right shoulder, so that the rich dark
mane would not get in his way.
He didn't like to rush things; he enjoyed watching the tension build in his
victims. Fear and dread, he had long since learned in his terrible trade, were
most stimulating apertitifs to the main course, the blows themselves.
Liu, her body trembling from cold and fear, felt the torture-master's heavy
hand on her bare shoulder. She watched as Feng stepped in front of her and
began to unbutton his black blouse. How many more minutes until midnight?
Run, clock, run! she thought frantically. But the hands of the great clock on
the wall seemed frozen in place, moving with an almost infinite slowness.
The room, dark and ghastly, with sinister shadows dancing a macabre dance
against the torchlit walls, was horribly claustrophobic; Liu sensed that the
heavy stone walls, which had no doubt witnessed a thousand horrors, were closing
in on her.
As a wide-eyed adolescent Liu had sat with Li Chang while he had practiced
his English, a language that her grandfather had insisted he study, saying it
was the language of the future. It had been a common occurrence in their
household for Li, an apt student, to read stories silently in English to
himself, while translating them aloud into Chinese for Liu's benefit.
Li had particularly enjoyed reading the frightening tales of a strange
American writer. Bizarre and terrifying stories of black cats and eerie crypts,
of premature burials and entombments behind walls, of bottomless pits and
razor-sharp pendulums and murdered hearts drawing malefactors into madness. Li
had enjoyed sharing these imaginary horrors with her, and had used his voice
skillfully to make the hairs on the back of her neck electric with dread. Liu
remembered how in one story, Li had spoken of the white lips of the black-robed
judges of the inquisition "thin even to grotesqueness, thin with the intensity
of their expression of firmness -- of immovable resolution -- of stern contempt
of human torture". And she remembered how the thought of those thin, cruel
paper-white lips meting out sentences of pitilessness cruelty had once kept her
from sleeping for three nights on end.
But tonight her nightmares had become reality. Tonight it was she who
faced stern inquisitors with cruel lips. Liu's eyes swept the gloomy dungeon
once more, moving quickly from the beautiful lips of Li Chang's temptress that
seemed curled into a frozen smile, to the thick, lustful lips of Feng, the
goateed executioner, and on to the thin twisted lips of the gap-toothed villain
who hovered above her grandfather in the shadows.
Trying desperately to calm her nerves, and equally desperately to assuage
the burning bite of the Tiger between her pretty legs, Liu strained to lift
herself up off the Tiger's back, by pulling at the cuffs that secured her wrists
high over her head. Doing that seemed to abate most of the pain, but the effort
of lifting her body weight off the Tiger was taxing in the extreme. And it
caused the manacles on her lower legs to rub painfully against her ankles.
Trying to keep her mind off her the burning muscles of her arms and
shoulders, Liu watched as Feng stripped off his black shirt, displaying the
physique of a middle-aged wrestler gone to seed -- his squat thick-chested
body, and the bulbous belly of a glutton. Feng was nearly neckless; his ugly
head seemed to grow directly out of his shoulders. His chest and belly were
covered with clumps of coarse black man-wool; one could not be sure that the
beastly man had been born of woman, for his navel could not be seen through the
forest of belly hair. When he turned his broad back, Liu noticed that it too,
was matted with the same dark hair.
But repulsive as she found his torso, it was his arms that caused her limbs
to tremble, her pulse to race, and that turned her breath into nervous gasps.
Feng's bare arms were ape-like in their length and hairiness, thick-veined and
bulging with solid muscle. Another one of Li's thrilling stories had told of a
mindless ape, an orangutan, a Malayan 'Man of the Forest', who had butchered
two women in some great far off city. As Liu's mind flitted feverishly from one
panic-stricken thought to the next, it struck her that an ape almost as hairy,
and nearly as mindless, stood before her now; a balding, goateed fat-bellied ape
who also knew only the Law of the Jungle. How could she ever endure even one
blow from a monster such as he, she thought as the knot of fear tightened in her
throat. 'Father, mother,' she prayed to her long dead parents, 'help me find
the strength to defy my captors."
"When he spoke of you," Ming-tsu said in a taunting voice, "Li Chang said
that your voice was beautiful, that your laugh and your song reminded him of the
the sound of silver bells. I think I shall call you my little canary, Liu,"
Ming-tsu added as she stroked Liu's bare thigh, her fingers sliding the lower
part of the damp shift almost up to Liu's waist.
When Liu tried to wriggle free of Ming-tsu's wandering fingers, Ming-tsu
frowned at her effrontery. "Get on with it, Feng! I want to hear our little
canary sing," Ming-tsu whispered, her words dripping with venom.
The bald torture-master hefted the black whip Ming-tsu had proffered in his
thick-fingered hand for a moment, and then stepped slightly behind and to the
left of Liu. Feng took one quick practice stroke, letting the whip sail through
the air as if he were some grotesque subterranean angler, making sure that there
was sufficient clearance overhead and then letting the tail of the lash explode
with a sickening CRACCKK against the wooden frame of the Tiger. The sound
caused Liu to jump a bit in terror, only to fall back, groaning, against the
cruel spine of the terrible Tiger.
Feng waited patiently until Liu had regained her strength and lifted her
body from the Tiger's dorsal claw. He studied his victim for another few
seconds, as she tried to hold her body aloft; the back of her shift was hardly
more substantial or more opaque than the thinnest of scroll-paper. Liu's
graceful arms were cuffed high over her head, a position that Feng well knew
would soon have her shoulders and triceps aching with fatigue. Her back was
slender, sloping to an even more slender waist, and then swelling out again into
as sweet a young ass as you'd ever want to see. The wet silk clung to the
uppermost inch of her dark butt-groove with loving affection.
Feng was a bit surprised that the elegant young maiden hadn't spilled her
guts already; just the sight of the dungeon of the Black Pagoda, and its
appalling instruments of pain was enough to pry loose the lips of many that had
been brought before him.
But no matter -- a few strokes of the lash would put an end to the courage
of this young woman; she was clearly of the upper classes -- she could know
nothing of suffering.
"But she would soon learn!" Feng thought, as his lip curled up in a cruel
smile. He approached the girl, and as Ming-tsu watched with some puzzlement,
ran his hands up and down Liu's back as his captive squirmed in revulsion.
"What is this? Some new kind of fortune-telling?" Ming-tsu asked
scornfully.
"No, miss," Feng countered with a scowl. "Just locating her ribs."
Ming-tsu gave Dao a quizzical expression. But the tall Scorpion merely
returned her puzzled glance.
Feng then backed away again and took his place behind Liu on the left side
of the Tiger. Planting his feet, the burly whipmaster drew the diabolical whip
back and then shot its black length violently across Liu's shoulder blades,
CRAACCKK!! causing Liu to gasp in pain and to relax the tension in her
shoulders that was sparing her from the awful ridge.
"Aaaaahhh!" she shuddered in pain, trying her best to stifle her cries. And
then the groan resulting from the lash was echoed by a softer groan as the force
of the blow made her body drop down on to the Tiger.
Feng paused, admiring his own skill, and then waited patiently until the
struggling beauty had once again lifted her young body clear of the sharp ridge
before delivering a second, fearful SLASSHH!!! an inch lower, on Liu's tender
back, tearing at the damp nightgown.
"Aaaaghhh!" Liu exclaimed again and then, predictably, "Ouwwww!" when her
most sensitive parts once again felt the sting of the Tiger's kiss. It took the
pain-wracked maiden nearly a minute this time to summon up the strength to lift
herself off the torturous Tiger's spine.
Looking up, Liu's soft brown eyes met the the implacable eyes of Dao; or
rather they would have met his eyes if he had been looking at her face instead
of at the fleshy nipple-bullets that pressed against the sheer fabric. The
gap-toothed man's face was twisted in a rictus of lust; and why not? Each time
Feng lashed her tender back, Liu's exquisitely-formed breasts danced a sensuous
dance beneath the damp gauze. Liu shuddered at the sight of the prominent
bulge in the crotch of Dao's black trousers.
Feng waited a little longer between blows this time, watching with some
admiration as his slender captive strained at her wrist-cuffs. He waited until
there were tears of fatigue in her eyes and sweat-drops of exertion were
streaming down her face before he unleashed the third lash, which fell on Liu's
delicate back like a bolt of black lightning, creating yet another rip in the
gown, and leaving a lurid reddish mark on the chaste flesh beneath. And once
again driving her from her perch back into the painful embrace of the Tiger.
"Aaauaghhhh!" "Ouuwwww!"
Liu tried desperately to stifle her cries, in order to spare her
grandfather suffering; but the pain was insupportable. She could only hope that
his deafness insulated him from her misery to some extent.
Ming-tsu watched, fascinated. For all of his boorish and barbaric
demeanor, the muscular enforcer of the Scorpions was a clever torturer. The
idea of waiting until the girl had used all of her strength to lift herself off
of the Tiger before delivering a forceful blow that compelled her to relax her
grip on the overhead cuffs was ingenious. And doubtless effective.
Ming-tsu watched Liu struggle for a moment before approaching her again.
"What say you now, little one? Are you enjoying your duel with my muscular
associate? So far he seems to have the upper hand, doesn't he?" she added with a
cruel smile. "Why don't you give it up, and sing for us, my little canary?
You and the old one can be on your way. All you have to do is tell me the
whereabouts of the traitor. "Here," Ming-tsu lowered her face to Liu's and
spoke softly "You can whisper it in my ear -- even the old man will never know."
"Please," Liu gasped through tortured breaths as she tried to lift herself
again. "Let my grandfather go. He has not been well..." In fact, Liu had
noticed that he had fainted a few moments before the first lash had fallen;
occasionally he revived and looked wildly around him, but usually his awareness
seemed to last only a minute or two before he lapsed back into a semi-conscious
state. Tonight, at least, it was probably for the best, Liu thought.
"Where is Li Chang?" the intensity of Ming-tsu's voice belied its
softness. "Tell me -- and your precious grandfather can sleep in his own bed
tonight."
Ming-tsu could not be sure when Liu sadly shook her head, "No," whether it
was because she did not know, or because she would not tell. No matter. She
had little doubt that the truth would soon be forthcoming. Ming-tsu stepped
back and signaled to Feng. "Again."
"Aye, miss."
Liu could only watch in the great mirror as the half-civilized thug, his
rippling biceps gleaming with sweat in the eerie torchlight, took the devilish
whip back again and then slung it forward for a fourth time, emblazoning its
cruel brand on her thinly protected flesh, and driving her once again downward
into the ferocious jaws of the Tiger.
"Aaaaaaghhh! Unghhhh!" Liu felt as if someone had used a
sharp-pronged rake on the sweet furrow between her legs.
Feng's whipcraft was masterful. His skill was such that he was able to
place each stroke perfectly in the narrow area between a different pair of ribs
that extended outward from her thoracic vertebrae, always finding the most
vulnerable, sensitive, nerve-rich spots on his victim's back.
He waited patiently until Liu had painfully dragged herself up off the
Tiger's arch again, before taking aim at the band of flesh below the fourth rib
that his fingers had located and his unerring eye had committed to memory
earlier. Then he took a step forward and lashed out with the frightful whip,
which unfailingly burned its way across the precise latitude at which he had
aimed. But this time, having taken that step forward, the lash curled around
Liu's body before its stinging tip kissed the side of Liu's virginal right
breast.
"AAAGHHHHH!!" Liu's cry of pain was unquestionably louder this time.
Feng smiled with satisfaction as her slender body slumped back down onto the
Tiger's spine. "Nnnngghhh! ... Ah! ...Aah! Please... please..."
"The traitor! Where is he?"
Through her tears of pain Liu met the fierce gaze of Ming-tsu. "How can
you do this? He loved y..." Aaaaagghhhh!!
At Ming-tsu's signal Feng had cut off her question with another horrific
lash, an inch below the last one.
"Did he tell you that?" Ming-tsu asked, pleased with herself. With men one
could never be sure.
"Yes. Even I though I warned him against you."
"You did, did you? That is not the tune I wished to hear! Feng!"
CRACCCKKK!! "Aaaagghhhhhh! Please.... I can't..."
Smiling sardonically at Liu's scream, Ming-tsu said, "Our canary is
singing now, Feng. But she doesn't carry a tune very well, does she?" Then,
addressing Liu, this time in a cajoling voice. "Do you see? I am easy to talk
to, aren't I? Li thought so. He told me all about you and the old one. If it
were not for him, you would be home in your bed. Why do you protect him?"
Liu hesitated, not sure how to answer. And not sure, perhaps, of the
truth. Instead she desperately tried to pull herself up off the body of the
tiger.
"You will speak to me when I ask you a question! Feng!"
CRAACCKKK "Aiiieeeeaaahhh!" Another wrap-around lash that curled lovingly
around the softness of Liu's plum-like right breast. That plaintive cry was
followed a split second later by the tell-tale "Nnnnggghhhh!" indicating that
she had once again slumped downward onto the angled ridge of the Tiger's back.
"Why do you protect him?" Ming-tsu demanded again.
When her question was still met with stubborn silence, Ming-tsu
contemptuously gestured for Feng to begin anew.
After Feng had painstakingly administered four more blows, each an inch lower
than the last, the back of Liu's delicate nightgown was in shreds, and the
golden flesh beneath was criss-crossed with garish streaks. Liu no longer had
the strength to lift her body from the tiger, which continued to gnaw away at
her nether lips. She merely sat astride the horrible Tiger spine suffering
silently as the lashes continued to set her lower back ablaze.
After the fourth lash, Ming-tsu held up one hand to stop the Butcher as he
prepared to unleash the next stroke. "Are you having second thoughts yet, my
little songbird? I assure you that your strength will give out before Feng's.
Why are you sacrificing yourself for such a man, such a traitor? Do you think
he would do the same for you?" Her lips curved upward in a smile of sensual
remembrance. "He begged for my body like a dog begs for table scraps."
Ming-tsu gave a little half-turn, posing en silhouette as if to illustrate the
splendor of her shapely body, especially in relation to the slender figure of
her prisoner.
Liu was barely able to gasp out a reply. "You are a beautiful woman, and I
... I am but a simple girl. I know that he loved you and not me." Liu felt a
fresh tear rolling down her cheek, this one born not from pain, but from
heartache. She cursed herself for displaying her feelings to these pitiless
jackals, these heartless creatures of iniquity. "But that does not matter. The
Li Chang I know is no traitor. He was as a second son to my grandfather. And
he is a friend of the people of Shanghai. Even if I knew where he was, I would
not betray him to you."
Liu's tear-filled eyes tried to read the clock on the wall: it was a minute
or two past 10:40. She could not believe that only half an hour had elapsed
since the Scorpions had dragged her into this ghastly corner of hell. It seemed
like an eternity. And Li was still more than an hour away from the safety of
the midnight vessel to Taipei.
"You think not, little one? We shall see." and Ming-tsu gestured to Feng.
Feng, tiring of the whip, had selected a yard-long length of coarse nautical
rope from one of the menacing iron hooks on the wall of the dungeon. The
bestial executioner gripped the thick hawser in a meaty fist, and began again,
this time bringing the punishing weapon down on the enticing upper curves of
Liu's rounded buttocks.
"Aaaaahhh!"
Feng delivered a second vicious stroke before coming to the conclusion that
Liu's erect posture, with her hands cuffed high over her head, restricted his
access to his new, nicely rounded target somewhat. He uncuffed her wrists, and
forced her arms down to encircle the neck of the tiger, where he cuffed them
together again.
Now Liu could only relieve the burning pressure against her delicate
vaginal lips, by leaning forward and lifting her center of gravity up off the
Tiger, and thus proffering her lusciously dimpled buttocks to the cruel caresses
of Feng's rope-whip. Her strapping tormentor's tongue circled his thick lips
with lustful delight; he was eager to set her ass on fire.
Dao, meanwhile, cheated of the splendid vantage point that had allowed him
to study Liu's lovely breasts as they vibrated with each stinging lash, glanced
down to make sure that Wen-chi was still safely bound. Assuring himself that the
semi-conscious old man was no threat, he walked around behind the Tiger where he
was greeted by the delicious vista of Liu's firm young bottom-cheeks, nicely
elevated for the whip.
Seeing that Liu's still slightly damp shift would interfere with the
effectiveness of his blows, the heavy-set torture-master took the rear hem of
the thin silk and threw the lower part of the garment up onto the small of Liu's
back, baring her pale-gold buttocks, buttocks that in all of her young life had
never felt a violent hand.
Feng proceeded to paint Liu's saucy buttocks cherry red, rope-lashing them
some thirty times over the next quarter of an hour. He took his time flogging
Liu's soft-skinned bottom, pausing between every vicious blow, his sadistic
grin widening with each stroke. Not only did the angry tip of the rope land
with a bitter sting, but every inch of its coarse length abraded Liu's delicate
skin as well. After each stroke Feng's dark eyes sought out the facing mirror on
the long wall, so that he could see the effects of his artistry on Liu's
pain-wracked face.
After several strokes, Feng paused to run a thick hairy hand crudely over
the young maiden's shuddering bottom, enjoying the warmth he had imparted to her
firm young flesh. He squeezed her perfect buttocks with licentious abandon,
and let his probing fingers delve deeply into her dark butt-cleft, until he
sensed that the flashing-eyed Ming-tsu was impatient for him to get on with it.
Then he took two ponderous steps backward, lifted the rope high overhead, and
slammed it down again into the quivering roundness of Liu's lovely bottom-ovals,
eliciting fresh moans of pain. Feng's powerful right arm delivered blow after
searing blow, as he sought to etch a vivid pattern into every square inch of
Liu's delicious derriere.
As each minute passed, and each vicious stroke of the rope fell, Feng
grudgingly came to admire Liu's courage; Dena, for all her wickedness, had been
the bravest, most defiant woman of the hundreds on whom he had practiced his
cruel arts -- no one else had ever approached her physical courage. But Dena
had been a big strong outdoors girl, whereas one would have expected the tiny
Liu, coming from her aristocratic background, to be as fragile as a porcelain
doll. He had felt certain that her fortitude would shatter and crumble into dust
in the first five minutes.
For that matter, Dena had had little choice; it was unquestionably easier
to show courage when cowardice would prove unavailing. Feng had little doubt
that Dena would have betrayed almost anyone, perhaps even her father, had she
had the option. Liu, on the other hand, had chosen loyalty over freedom, and
suffering over faithlessness. The pretty little canary had the heart of an
eagle.
A very foolish eagle, he thought to himself cynically, as he noted with
admiration how the warm orange torchlight of the dungeon seemed to enhance the
ever-increasing rosiness of Liu's well-flogged buttcheeks, making them as
desirable a pair of targets as one could imagine. The hairy dungeon-master took
his weapon back and exultantly ripped the rope-whip into the ripe rounded
summits of Liu's bottom-globes once again...
For Liu, each minute seemed like an hour, and each blow seemed worse than
the one before it. Now and then Feng's rope would assail an area that he had
visited before; when this happened, she could almost feel the contusion split
open to spill a tiny droplet of blood or two on the curves of her shapely
buttocks. When the infernal torchlight in the dungeon occasionally flared up
brightly, she could look in the mirror and see tiny streamlets of blood flowing
into the rivers of perspiration that coursed down her shamelessly posed body.
And she could see the ogling, ominous figure of the gap-toothed Scorpion behind
her, his lecherous eyes as glued to her naked bottom as they had previously been
to her damp-nippled breasts.
Feng paused from his strenuous but pleasant labors just as the clock
struck eleven. His shaggy chest, shoulders, and arms, no less than the gleaming
body of his captive, were coated with a glistening lather of perspiration
resulting from his strenuous exertion in the close confines of the humid
dungeon.
"Another hour of this?" thought Liu, as she counted the eleven chimes as
they resounded with a gong-like intonation. She prayed fervently to the
numberless generations of her ancestors to intercede with the gods of heaven to
grant her one wish -- that another hour's measure of strength and courage might
be hers.
Ming-tsu had been content to watch patiently, fingering her glittering
jade pendant, while Feng had thrashed Liu's pretty bottom. But now she
approached Liu and lifted her head back by pulling on her silky, sweat-drenched
hair. "Do you feel like singing yet, little bird?"
Liu grimaced in pain as her gorgeous tormentor's grip tightened, but she
remained silent.
After a few seconds, Ming-tsu released Liu's hair in disgust. "Very well
then; you shall soon see the rewards of obstinacy.
Ming-tsu caressed Liu's smooth thigh-flesh with a silken hand. "Such soft
skin. So delicate. It will be very sensitive I fear. Feng, you have neglected
Miss Liu's pretty legs. Let us correct that oversight. And you," Ming-tsu
called out to Dao who had been watching the interrogation from the shadows,
"make yourself useful and light a fire under that brazier in the corner." She
smiled wickedly at Liu. "Perhaps our guest is not yet fully aware that we will
stop at nothing to achieve our desired ends."
The tall, gap-toothed lackey grumbled under his breath about being
addressed in that fashion, and for having once again lost an ideal vantage point
for watching the erotic torture of the shapely young captive. Nonetheless the
disappointed voyeur obediently strode over to a far corner of the room , and set
about lighting the coals on the ancient brazier which was adjacent to a crude
ventilating shaft.
Meanwhile Feng chose a heavy leather strap from the panoply of evil
instruments hanging on a nearby wall. He studied it briefly, noting several
dark splotches on its business end, mementoes of the last time he had used it --
on the heart-shaped bottom of the attractive wife of a fishmonger from the
teeming waterfront district. The pretty young woman had unaccountably gotten
the notion into her head idea that her young husband's unfortunate death at sea
might somehow have granted her a month's grace from paying extortion money to
the Scorpions. But three score strokes of the punishing yak-leather strap
across her plump naked buttocks had soon put an end to the money-grubbing young
mother's refusal to cooperate.
After folding its arm-long length in two, Feng popped the strap, which was
a good two inches in width, loudly in his hands, smirking at the way Liu's body
flinched in fear from the mere sound of the tough leather.
"Mind you, little one," Ming-tsu smile sardonically, "The bite of Feng's
strap is much worse than its bark. Would you care to reconsider your foolish
stubbornness? The hour grows late, and my patience is wearing thin."
But Liu just lay there stoicly, silently, on the Tiger, her arms encircling
the great neck of the wooden beast, tears running down both soft cheeks, her
back and buttocks crimson-streaked, her slender body a-quiver with pain and
apprehension.
"Very well, then. Feng, you may continue!"
The burly torture-master bowed briefly in Ming-tsu's direction. Then he
took a stance from which he would have a good angle at the outer contours of
Liu's bare left leg, which hung down the body of the tiger, and was fettered at
the ankle to a manacle that held her fast to the Tiger's lower flank.
Liu's spirits had plummeted to new depths when she heard Ming-tsu's words
"light a fire". She could not bear to look at the ghastly blackened implements
of iron than hung from the sides of the brazier. But she wasn't permitted much
time to dwell on what the fire portended because just then Feng brutally cracked
the strap over her left thigh, just above the knee. Slowly, meticulously, Feng
the Butcher worked his way up the length of that supple limb, searing Liu's
soft, supple thigh flesh with one scalding salvo after another, as her cries of
distress gradually escalated in volume.
Feng delighted in the way the muscles in Liu's legs oscillated in the wake
of each stroke. Spacing his blows with the precision of a master bricklayer,
each one partially overlapping the preceding one, it took him eighteen punishing
whacks to climb to the top of Liu's honey-gold thigh, meticulously tinting it
with the blushing rosiness resulting from a sound strapping.
When he finished with that leg, at 11:10, Feng the Butcher stalked
ponderously around to the other side of the Tiger, and this time starting at the
apex of Liu's right leg, he blazed a burning trail downward, stroke by vicious
stroke. After half a dozen ferocious strap-lashes, Ming-tsu held up a
scarlet-nailed hand to forestall him, while she put the question to her
suffering prisoner once more, but the gasping young woman remained defiant.
After she gestured to the grim enforcer to continue his unholy ritual, Ming-tsu
walked over to the brazier, checking on the progress of the faintly glowing
coals. Speaking loudly enough for Liu to hear, she instructed him, "The
scorpion, Dao -- do not forget the scorpion."
"Aye, miss," Gap-tooth agreed, and then Liu heard for the first time the
unmistakable sizzle and crackle of the coals he was so conscientiously tending.
By 11:15, according to the clock on the wall, Feng had finished his heinous
assault on Liu's right thigh, coating it with an even glaze of pain, as he had
her left. Liu was by now awash in a sea of agony.
Ming-tsu marveled at the girl's stamina; she herself had taken a punishing
flogging on the Night of the Forty Lashes. But this petite beauty had sustained
more than twice as many blows, and harder ones, than Li had given her. And of
course she, Ming-tsu, hadn't been subjected to an excruciating ride on the
Tiger.
Feng, too, continued to be impressed with Liu's valor. But by his barbaric
standards, the interrogation thus far had only been moderately punitive. He felt
a bit like a general who had been constrained from using his most dangerous
means of attack, his cavalry. It remained to be seen if the lovely young
songbird could continue to hold her tongue once the fearful inquisitor was
granted consent to unleash the most fearful weapon in his dreadful arsenal.
For Liu's sweet young breasts had yet to feel the sting of his lash...
Chapter 30 Tender Breasts and The Mark of the Scorpion
The back of Liu's fragile shift was by now in tatters, but the front of the
short gown was still intact. At Ming-tsu's gesture, Feng elevated Liu's
graceful arms once again, refastening them to the overhead hook.
And then Feng reached for a weapon, but Ming-tsu forestalled him. "No, let
me." Feng snarled under his breath - 'Who was she to take the whip from his
hands?' He had yet to meet the woman who could long endure one of his savage
tit-floggings, and he was sure that the daughter of Wen-chi would prove to be no
exception. He'd been waiting for an hour for the indescribable pleasure of
attacking those firm young mounds with their tempting, uptilted nipples -- was
he to be disappointed?
The grisly villain glared at Ming-tsu out of the corner of his eye. He
wouldn't mind having a go at her some time, either; 'She could do with a taste
of the whip, herself,' Feng thought sourly to himself as he ogled Ming-tsu's
superb breasts as they pressed boldly against the v-necked tunic she wore. His
already swollen cock throbbed with a fresh gust of pleasure at the thought of
using a whip -- perhaps his gravel-tipped cat-o'nine-tails? - on the
raven-haired concubine's mouth-watering pleasure-melons.
Oblivious to the torture-master's sentiments, Ming-tsu selected a rather
feminine-looking but sinister whip that was formed from six stout leather tails
that met at a phallus-shaped ivory handle. Each leather strip was about a foot
long, and ended in a tightly wound little knot.
Ming-tsu cracked the fiendish whip down across the side of the tiger twice,
just to give Liu a sense of the impact that it would have on her poor flesh.
Then she asked again, "Where is the traitor, little one?"
But Liu, her breathing labored, still shook her head. "Please... no
more... I cannot tell you. Aaaaahhhh!!"
Ming-tsu had slashed the leather tails across Liu's stomach, splitting the
fabric of the now virtually backless shift. Slowly walking around the Tiger,
she attacked each of Liu's extended arms, flogging them front and back. She
continued by sending the fierce knots hurtling into the sensitive area under
Liu's outstretched arms. A pair of sharp strokes crashed into the collarbone
area, bruising Liu's soft shoulders. Those blows, too, shredded the shift where
they landed; by now only a tiny strap of cloth on each shoulder kept what was
left of the shift in place.
Feng, hard-cocked with sadistic lust, watched with some impatience; if it
was up to him, he would have had the girl's tits aflame by now. But he was
pleased to see that Ming-tsu finally seemed to be eyeing Liu's modestly-sized,
but perfectly-shaped orbs.
And indeed she was. Ming-tsu let the dangling leather strips play over
Liu's firm, barely-covered breast tops. Then she took the tip of the whip-stock
and rubbed it back and forth across the silk-covered peaks of her prisoner's
breasts. Soon, the cock-shaped whip handle had teased Liu's perky nipples until
they were once again pointing sharply into the fabric.
"Very pretty, I must say; I can see why Li Chang spoke highly of you.
Still, she reacts like the shameless slut she is, does she not, Feng?"
"Please ... do not touch me with that ... that thing," Liu begged as Feng
chuckled obscenely.
"You'll be touched with harder cocks than that, if you don't speak up,
girl!" Feng growled, his own manhood throbbing with desire. From his station
across the gloomy underground room, Liu could hear Gaptooth's coarse laugh of
derision.
Ming-tsu continued to let the evil whip-thongs curl lasciviously around the
curves of Liu's breasts. "So firm, yet so very, very sensitive...it is such a
shame that you continue to play this foolish game, little one."
Despite the torments she had already suffered, despite her whip-ravaged
back, her well-strapped thighs and her burning crotch, Liu could hardly bring
herself to believe that even these fiends could be so wicked as to wish to
inflict pain on a woman's treasures; how could she possibly bear the bite of the
whip-knots on her tender breasts?
"Please ....no ... by all that's holy ... not there ...."
"There is time yet for mercy, little bird....you have only to tell me where
the cowardly traitor is hiding."
Liu merely choked back a sob and said nothing.
"Fool!" The black-clad dominatrix stepped back, stood on Liu's right, drew
a bead on her target, and slashed the leather knots squarely into Liu's thinly
veiled right breast.
"Aaaaaiiiiiaahhhh!!"
"He is a coward, you know. To leave you and the old man to our tender
mercies. Speak, girl!"
"I...cannot..."
Taking a step closer, Ming-tsu whipped the tough little knots into the ripe
firmness of Liu's other breast.
"Aaaaurggghhhh!!"
Each of the last two strokes had torn fresh holes in Liu's flimsy white
nightgown; Feng watched, his jaw tight with lust, as Liu's tasty brown
nipple-crests peaked through the tattered shift, dancing attractively in the
flickering gloom of the dungeon as Liu's upper body writhed in agony.
But Ming-tsu left those delicious lust-nuggets alone for the moment. With
Liu's arms raised high overhead, every square inch of her breasts was vulnerable
to attack. Ming-tsu elected to proceed by uppercutting the soft, smooth
honey-gold underslopes of Liu's pleasure-mounds with a series of incisive
lashes. Five, six, seven times the brown knots burned into the tender flesh,
each cruel stroke accompanied by an ever-louder murmur of anguish.
It was at that dark dismal moment that Liu inhaled her first whiff of the
acrid smoke that rose from the infernal device that Dao was tending in the far
corner of the dungeon. Her petite, all-but naked body was convulsed by a long
shudder of unspeakable terror.
Then Ming-tsu dragged a rudimentary footstool across the dark stone floor,
placed it close to the right side of the Tiger and climbed atop it. From this
advantageous angle, the ravishing raven-haired beauty lifted the terrible
whip-thongs high in the air and brought the horrific leather strips whizzing
down onto the sweat-bathed upper slopes of Liu's defenseless breasts. The
third awful blow from this vantage point finally demolished what was left of the
top of the pale shift and the tattered scraps of cloth fell to her waist,
revealing, at last, all of Liu's delicious upper body. Feng's thick tongue slid
hungrily around his lips as he admired the way Liu's sensitive brown breast-buds
surged upwards from her tasty roseates. Four more swift, stinging strokes
rocketing downward from the rafters completed Ming-tsu's assault on the upslopes
of her helpless victim's succulent breasts.
Lifting the skirt of the shift with one hand, Ming-tsu jammed the cruel
weapon between Liu's legs. Ming-tsu sneered mockingly at Liu as her victim
tried to shrink backward from the grotesque phallic whip-stock, whose veinous
tip seemed to explore her velvety grotto as Ming-tsu screwed the whip handle
into her love nest. When the whip-stock was securely lodged deep within Liu's
virginal slit, Ming-tsu's elegant, scarlet-tipped fingers reached for Liu's
nearer breast. She drew a graceful circlet around one areola with a fingernail,
intrigued by the way her touch seemed to make Liu's sensitive breast tips pulse
and quiver in the dim light of the dungeon.
"Your breasts are very lovely, Liu," Ming-tsu spoke with grudging
admiration, as she stroked the lovely dark-tipped plums with feather-like
caresses. "Why do you force me to hurt them, when I might make love to them
instead," she asked in a soothing voice, as her touch grew more and more
sensual.
Despite herself, Liu could feel her breasts, which had never been touched
by hands other than her own, reacting shamelessly to Ming-tsu's sensual
caresses. The exotic black-clad temptress lowered her moist lips to one of
Liu's pleasure-fruits, kissing, licking, nibbling the tasty globe, before
concentrating on Liu's perfect chocolate-chip nipple, tonguing it to a surging
erection the likes of which Liu had never experienced.
As Ming-tsu nursed on the delicious nubbin she gestured silently with her
brown, almond-shaped eyes for Feng to join her, and the burly executioner bent
to the delightful task. But whereas Ming-tsu had artfully teased Liu's right
nipple with her moist lips and bright teeth, Feng's vulpine fangs closed on the
firm but tender flesh of Liu's other breast. He was able to take most of her
perfect breast between his powerful jaws and he closed them on her breast flesh
for a long second as Liu's cries for mercy resounded through the crypt-like
dakness of the dungeon.
When Feng released her love-globe his teeth had left two arc-like
impressions in her breast, one above and one below the lovely aureole which
served as a halo for her plucky nipple. Feng admired the painful indentations
he had left for a moment before lowering his shaven head to her breast again,
this time trapping Liu's blood-engorged nipple between his teeth and worrying it
like a dog would the neck of a rabbit.
Ming-tsu stepped back then, as the delicious crest she had mouthed quivered
gently in the torchlight, and watched as Feng ground his teeth on Liu's
saliva-moist love-bud.
"Yin and yang, little one, yin and yang," said Ming-tsu enigmatically,
recalling the carnal pleasures she and Li had enjoyed at the expense of the
voluptuous Mila so many months ago.
After Ming-tsu signalled to him to back away, Feng watched with sadistic
interest as Ming-tsu took a long piece of string and, after forming a tiny loop
at one end, slipped the loop around the base of each of Liu's fully aroused
nipple-crests. Then she pulled the loops tight around the pleasure-tips and then
jerked on the strings, stretching the nipples out, and then tying the ends of
the strings to a pair of slender but sturdy vertical stanchions that had sprung
upward from the Tiger's shoulders after she had pushed a hidden lever. She was
careful to wind the string around and around the stanchions until the slender
cords that tugged at Liu's vulnerable nipples were as taut as bowstrings.
Once Liu's lovely breasts and excited nipples were both distended and
extended to their fullest, Ming-tsu strode over toward the wall of weaponry,
looking for an instrument that she had seen earlier in the evening. "Ah! Here
it is!" she exclaimed as she took down a slender, extremely flexible cane,
fashioned from the famous hardwood of the Malacca Islands. Returning to the
Tiger's lair, she whistled it once or twice harmlessly through the air before
sweeping it down across both of Liu's vulnerable breasts with a terrible
THWICKK!! Liu moaned in despair, biting her lip at this new pain, one that
matched or exceeded all of the other agonies that she had experienced this
night.
Thus began a pitiless assault on Liu's taut breast-plums, each stroke
exacerbating the terrible pain left by the last. With every agonizing blow,
Liu's ability to stifle her cries of pain, (and thereby minimize the grief of
her grandfather) eroded a little more.
After the first stroke had etched its fierce bite into Liu's burning
bosoms, Ming-tsu alternated between the two. She first kissed the point of
Liu's right breast with a burning TWHICKK! And then she walked around the tiger
so that she would have a better angle at its twin. She let the hellish cane rest
lightly across the tight loop that encircled that nubbin. "See how it trembles,
Feng." 'As well it might!' she thought to herself, before lifting the cane
several inches above Liu's shuddering love-globe, and bringing it savagely down
onto the incarcerated nipple.
"Aiieeeaaaahhh!!!
Then Ming-tsu walked back to the other side of the tiger, and attacked that
stiff-nippled breast with a compact horizontal stroke, just below the strings
that pulled the breast out. Back and forth she strode, improvising a slightly
fresh angle of attack with each horrible, lacerating THWICKK!!
After about fifteen incisive blows, Feng the Butcher, though still angry
that he had, for the moment, been cheated of his prey, could not help but
admire both Ming-tsu's cruelty and her technique.
Occasionally, in between the dreadful cane strokes, Liu glanced at the
clock, praying that it would move faster. It was just past 11:30, now. Only
another half hour to go.
Throughout this appalling ordeal Wen-chi, during his intermittent moments
of consciousness, had been sharing Liu's anguish. Bound and gagged, he could
only watch through weak eyes and listen with failing ears as these two monsters
tortured his best beloved. He would gladly have given every cent of his wealth
to spare her this suffering. Surely, he had thought at first, they would
recognize that she knew nothing and let them go. No one could stand up to such
dreadful torture for long, especially a girl who had lived a life of pleasant
ease.
As his head cleared, something in Liu's demeanor gave the wise old man the
sense that she did, in fact, have some knowledge of Li's whereabouts. She wasn't
begging for mercy in the way that she might have, if she had in fact known
nothing. He also noticed that she kept sneaking furtive glances at the large
wall clock, whose great hands he could barely make out.
As he mused about the meaning of this, Wen-chi's glance returned time and
again to the clock as well, as the aging scholar tried to decipher the
mysterious significance of Liu's interest in the great time-piece.
Meanwhile Ming-tsu, too, had noticed that her prisoners seemed oddly
preoccupied with the time of day. At first she had thought nothing of it, but,
when, just as she delivered the eighteenth visitation of the bitterly biting
cane to Liu's taut, tender love-globes, she detected the old man peering at the
clock for the third time, the light finally dawned.
Ming-tsu reproached herself for her slowness in discerning the significance
of the clock-watching, and took out her anger on Liu's tempting, tortured
breasts as she whistled a nineteenth and a twentieth stroke across Liu's juicy
breast-fruits with a renewed ferocity. As she removed the strings and the loops
from Liu's nipples after the twentieth stinging cane-stroke, Ming-tsu
contemplated how best to deal with the situation. And then it came to her.
"Dao! The brazier! Now."
As the tall gap-toothed Scorpion dragged the smoking iron appliance
gratingly over the stone floor, Liu hung from her cuffs, naked to the waist, her
back, legs, torso and breasts, streaked with the dark stigmata left by her
torturers.
The bed of the ancient device, which was shaped like a shallow basin, was
covered with fiery coals that emitted fierce sparks whenever Dao stirred them
with a wooden spatula-like tool.
"Do you see what we have here, little bird?" Ming-tsu asked. "Look! three
sizes of needles! Ming-tsu held up one of the needles so that its fierce point
gleamed in the glimmering light given off by one of the bright-burning
flambeaux.
Liu looked on in anguished and agonized disbelief.
"And hooks. Fish-hooks. She'd be a fine catch on a pair of these,
wouldn't she, Feng?" Ming-tsu set a few of the needles and a pair of
fish-hooks on the bed of coals, as Liu choked down the great lump of fear that
threatened to choke her.
The barbaric torture-master bared his white teeth expectantly. He could
still taste the saltly womanliness of Liu's sweat-streaked breast when he ran
his tongue across his sharp teeth. He grunted in bestial approval. He had only
used the hooks once -- on a pretty young croupier who, with the assistance of a
confederate, had contrived to cheat one of the Chans' casinos out of thousands.
It had only taken two minutes of tugging at her fish-hooked nipples to convince
the lovely creature to identify her co-conspirator, who turned out to be an
older brother who had coerced her into taking part in his scheme.
"And we have many other toys to play with, little bird," Ming-tsu added as
she gestured toward the array of devilish tools that hung from the side of the
dreadful oven. Tools that were capable of grabbing flesh, tearing flesh,
piercing flesh.
"Please ... you can't...
"Ah, but we can, little bird. And we shall. If you do not change your
tune. Now." Ming-tsu reached out and seized a peculiar long-handled device,
whose far end had been resting in the coals. Ming-tsu brought the glowing
instrument toward Liu's face; it was not until it was only inches away from her
eyes that Liu could see that the end of the horrid implement was carved in the
shape of a small scorpion, perhaps three inches long and half as wide.
"Speak, little one! Or wear the Mark of the Scorpion!"
Liu strained desperately against the wrist cuffs, against the cruel iron
manacles that had rubbed her ankles raw; but there was no escape.
The smoking instrument drew still closer, until she could feel its dreadful
heat.
"N-no ... please ... are you not a woman too? Do not do this... I beg
you..."
"Where is Li Chang?" Ming-tsu hissed through clenched teeth.
"I do not kn... AAAAIEEEEEAAAAHH!!"
Liu screamed the scream of the damned as the red-hot image of the scorpion
was pressed against the golden flesh of her belly, just above her navel, marking
her as a victim of the Black Scorpions for all time to come.
The branding only lasted a second, but it was a second of utter
excruciation.
"Aaaughh! Aughhh!! Aaaaauhhh!" Liu groaned as she tried to catch her
breath, looking down in horror at the angry black-red scar on her tender flesh.
"Did you like the sting of the scorpion, little one? Where is Li Chang?"
Half-crazed with pain, Liu valiantly shook her head no, as Wen-chi watched
in unutterable grief.
Feng and Dao looked on excitedly, their swollen manhoods in towering
throbbing erection thanks to the erotic torture of the beautiful dark-haired
maiden.
Ming-tsu now leaned over the red-hot coals of the brazier, and to Liu's
horrified chagrin removed a larg pair of tongs whose business end had been
resting on the glowing coals for several minutes. Picking up the menacing
pincers, and turning back to her prisoner, she held the hot metal up before the
girl's tear-filled eyes and whispered "This is your last chance, little one."
And then the whisper turned into an insistent demand, "Where has the traitor
fled?"
Liu, mesmerized by the infinitely slow approach of the red-hot tongs, shook
her head violently, no, no, but no words were forthcoming. And then Ming-tsu
positioned the terrible tongs around the base of Liu's luscious right breast
and, and slowly closed the glowing jaws around the perfect love-globe.
"Aaaiiiieeeeeeeeeaaaahhhh!!"
Once again the awful stench of burning flesh assailed Liu's senses, for an
endless second until the demonic tormentrix released the tortured breast from
the fiery grip of the tongs.
Only to select a smaller pincer-like device whose metal ends had been
draped across the coals in the infernal oven. Opening and closing the
sharp-edged pincers to display the tenacity of their grip, Ming-tsu slowly
lowered them toward the enticing nipple of Liu's other breast.
"No... No....NO!!" Liu gasped, but to no avail.
"Then, tell us, girl! Where is Li Chang?"
"Please... don't ... ple ... Aaaiiiiaaaahhhhh!!"
Ming-tsu closed the jaws of the red-hot tool around Liu's tempting
love-bud, trapping it in a heated embrace before slowly crushing the delicious,
defenseless morsel of flesh in a scalding, vise-like grip. But this time
Ming-tsu held on, first tightening the pressure and then wrenching the
beleaguered breast this way and that for several agonizing seconds, until Liu
mercifully passed out from the intolerable agony.
Chapter 31 Changing Times
All according to plan, thought Ming-tsu. She quickly told Feng and Dao to
leave the room and wait outside. "But Feng, bring me a robe from upstairs. And
three pitchers of cold water. Quickly!" Feng wondered at this, but bowed,
donned his black shirt and left with Dao trailing in his wake.
Then Ming-tsu walked over to the wall clock, looked meaningfully at
Wen-chi, and advanced the hands of the clock from 11:35 to 5:20. Just then Feng
returned with a woman's robe, and moments later Dao appeared with the three
containers of water as ordered.
After telling her puzzled comrades to wait outside, Ming-tsu retreated
behind Liu, just in case the girl were to revive suddenly. Then she stripped off
the costume she had been wearing, put on the robe, and quickly re-did her hair,
eyes, and lips. Then she moved some discarded Chinese lanterns into the area
behind the Tiger, and lit them, so as to give the impression of incipient
daylight. Dawn never came to the dungeons of the Black Pagoda, where the gloom
of night was everlasting, but her prisoner would have no way of knowing that.
Looking around the room, and satisfied that her ruse was complete, she
picked up the first pitcher of water and dumped it over Liu's head. At first the
tortured girl only stirred, but after being doused with a second canister of
water, she slowly regained her senses, as she returned, sputtering, to
consciousness.
The icy water anointed Liu's naked body with loving affection, the droplets
glistening on her golden skin. Twin beads of moisture seemed to cling to her
swollen nipples for dear life, as if they were enamoured of the lovely breast
flesh and were loath to relax their gentle grip and fall to their damp demise
against the unwelcoming stones of the dark dungeon floor.
Liu's newly conscious eyes tried to focus on Ming-tsu standing ominously
before her, fresh as a flower, in a room much brighter than the one she
remembered. Ming-tsu's body stood between Liu and the clock. The brazier still
gave off its ominous glow.
"Good morning, my little songbird," Ming-tsu said pleasantly. "You look
refreshed from your long nap. Shall we begin again? Are you ready yet to tell
me where I can find Li Chang?" Ming-tsu thrust the evil-looking pair of tongs
back into the coals as she spoke. After a moment or two, she picked up the
tongs and walked toward Liu, opening wide the hissing jaws of the tongs as she
did so.
As her tormentor approached, and made as if to take Liu's dark-streaked
breast between the smoking jaws of the atrocious tongs once again, Liu was
finally able to see past her toward the wall clock. It read 5:20! Liu
inhaled triumphantly, and despite her predicament exclaimed in a voice imbued
with renewed life, "You have lost, Ming-tsu; Li Chang has won."
Wen-chi, still gagged, but now realizing the significance of the clock, was
frantically shaking his head from side to side. "Do not worry, grandfather,"
Liu began, despite her ordeal speaking loudly enough for the aged sage to hear.
"They can kill me now, I don't care. Li Chang is safe. He left on the midnight
boat for Taipei. Where he'll be safe from these demons."
Ming-tsu's beautiful scarlet-tinged lips curled into the smile of an
enchantress. She looked over slyly at the old man as Wen-chi slumped
despairingly back into his chair. "Did he now?"
"Feng!" she called out sharply. The stocky gangster appeared in the
doorway instantly. Ming-tsu rattled off commands - "Take some men to Pier 147 -
the traitor will be waiting for the boat to Taipei. Alive, if you can. Hurry!
Oh, one other thing," Ming-tsu asked with a sly smile. "Have you got the time? I
don't think the clock here is quite right."
Feng the Butcher growled, "It's twenty minutes to midnight, Miss. I just
saw a clock upstairs."
"Thank you, Feng. Now, hurry!" And Ming-tsu smiled at the bewildered Liu,
strolled over to the wall clock and re-set the hands to 11:40. "You'll be
pleased to know, Miss Liu, that the docks are only a few minutes from here.
You'll be seeing your precious Li Chang soon."
And Liu let forth a heart-rending cry of anguish. After everything she had
gone through, she had unwittingly betrayed the one she loved to the fiends of
the Black Pagoda.
Chapter 32 The Pit and the Pleasure-girl
The Pit, as the barracks of the Scorpions was known, was a low-slung
dreary-looking building at the rear of the spacious grounds on which the Black
Pagoda stood. Feng and Dao approached it hurriedly in the moonlight, anxious to
gather their comrades and be on their way to the docks to apprehend Li Chang.
The thunderstorm that had been raging all night was waning now, and was little
more than a light shower. A full moon seemed to peek voyeuristically down at
them through an opening in the cloud-rich night sky.
As they approached the squat building they heard from a distance what
sounded like the despairing cry of a female voice. It was hardly the first time
a young woman had been imprisoned in the Pit for the entertainment of the
Scorpions. Dao remembered Mee Ya, who had been one of Richard Chan's
concubines a couple of years earlier. She had been a snotty bitch, not unlike
his current favorite, Mai-Lee. And incredibly vain -- at the time the men had
joked that she probably thought that she shit roses. Worst of all, though,
from the point of view of the Scorpions, she was a tattler; she'd gotten several
of the men in trouble for minor infractions that she'd reported to Richard Chan.
In any event, after a few months the boss had tired of her airs and turned her
over to the boys in the Pit to teach her a little humility.
There had been only been four men at the Pit on that September night, but
each of them had some kind of a grudge against Mee Ya. And that night they had
made the snotty little tattle-tale regret the error of her ways.
Despite her desperate struggles they had easily overpowered her and
stripped the stylish silken dress from her shapely body. Then they had taken
the pretty slut from Hunan Province and stood her facing the the corner of a
heavy oaken table and then pulled one of her ankles as far as it would go toward
the corner to her right. Then they had pulled her left leg as far as it would
go toward the corner on her left. Then they wound ropes around each of her
ankles binding each of them tightly to diagonally opposing table legs. This
forced Mee Ya's sweet young pussy lips right up against the sharp corner of the
square table, which was just the right height to give her the most discomfort.
Then they forced her to cross her wrists behind her neck. The Ox,
surprisingly deft for his size, had quickly bound her wrists together with a
long rope and then pulled the rope painfully down the center of her nicely
arched back and then back up between her legs, making sure that the coarse rope
bit deeply into her dark-fringed love nook. Then he jerked the end of the cord
upward between her jutting breasts and wrapped it around her slender throat
twice before fastening it to the cord around her wrists.
In that wrists behind neck position, Mee Ya's plump young breasts were
positioned splendidly for the lash; and the spreadeagle that they had applied to
her ankles gave the taut muscles in her firm young bottom a delicious
definition.
Then they had whipped the tale-telling bitch two at a time, one man working
on her delightfully dark-nippled breasts, while the other laid stroke after
vicious stroke across the ripe curves of her delectable derriere. He and the Ox
had formed the second of the two teams, and each pair had given her twenty
flesh-burning lashes front and back before their itching cocks craved release.
In her trussed-up spreadeagled position, burying their rutting organs in her
tight little bottom hole had been an easy choice. Dao could still remember
climbing up on the table and, from a kneeling position, inserting his
bulging-veined manhood between Mee Ya's soft pink lips mouth while his partner
the Ox wedged his pile-driving pole into her cock-ravaged rectum. She had
fought the huge truncheon, wiggling like a greased pig, but a series of
resounding slaps to her inflamed breasts had soon induced the young woman from
Hunan to hold still while the four Scorpions took turns pounding their hot
pricks into her tight-clutching anus.
Yes, that had been a memorable night at the Pit...
******
"Aaaaiiieaaaa!!" Dao heard the girl's voice cry out again.
Dao threw open the door to the Pit, just as there was an outcry of voices
from inside.
"Throw the damn dice, Lin!"
"Quiet, you! I'm blowing on them to bring me good joss!" It was the
high-pitched voice of the Drooler.
"You're getting the fucking dice wet, apprentice -- throw the damn things!"
Half a dozen men were clustered in a circle around the familiar oaken
table, which was positioned midway between the two rows of cots which lined the
long narrow barracks. A small pile of silver coins lay in the middle of the
table, which was littered with half-full glasses of cheap local beer and rice
wine. Just as Lin flung the dice with a quick flip of his wrist, Feng noticed
that the girl, Ci-ci, that he had brought to the Pit earlier that evening was
kneeling, facing the door, on one of the cots. She wore nothing but shackles
on her wrists and a few half-dry streams of semen on her face and satin smooth
upper thighs, as she crouched on her hands and knees on the second cot on the
left. Dao recognized the handsome figure of Chiang Chan, George's son, kneeling
behind her, his well-muscled body seemingly welded to her well-curved hips.
The likely future leader of the Black Scorpions was thrusting his virile
cock into Ci-ci's inflamed woman-slit from behind with remarkable energy. "Yeah!
Take it, baby! Take it all!!" he growled as he pumped his manhood into the young
girl's naked body.
"Five! Shit!" Disgustedly, Lin the Drooler looked up from his game to
watch the cruel rape with undisguised lust, a thin trickle of saliva seeping
from the corner of his mouth. His pimply face was flushed with excitement.
Despite undergoing the usual hazing suffered by a newcomer, he was beginning to
enjoy his tour of duty with the Scorpions.
As the next player rattled the dice in his cupped hand, it occurred to Feng
that it was so like the Chinese to turn even a gang rape into an occcasion for
gambling. He didn't doubt that the Chans' gambling empire raked in even more
money than their sordid ring of prostitution. And little wonder -- sexual
conquests satisfied, temporarily at least, the impulse towards lust. But
gambling victories only whetted the gambler's thirst for more.
An anguished voice was heard from the cot. "Aaah, you're hurting me!"
Ci-ci moaned. " Let me go... Unnnghhh!! Haven't you each had your turn? ...
Please..."
As they approached, Feng and Dao noticed that the groaning girl's slender
wrists were chained to the frame of the cot, and that more trails of Scorpion
male-juice trickled down the backs of her thighs. Feng had seen the lovely
young maidservant earlier at the dungeon, but Dao, who had not seen her earlier
in the day, was struck by the thoroughness of the beating the brothers Chan had
administered to the 'thief'. He slid his ugly tongue licentiously back and forth
through a space between two of his rotting teeth as he admired the girl's
rounded buttocks, her honey-skinned legs, and her sharp-nippled breasts, all of
which bore livid vestiges of the savage flogging she had undergone earlier.
Chiang reached forward to clutch Ci-ci's tender breasts in his avaricious
hands. Tightening his grip on her lust-plums he cautioned her, "Stop your
whining, girl. A Scorpion is no more content with one fuck, then is a shark
with one bite from a bleeding dolphin. There will be more turns, my larcenous
lust-slave, and more Scorpions," the younger Chan growled as he redoubled the
potency of his thrusts. Ci-ci thrashed around desperately, but her spirited
resistance was no match for the strength of the rattling chains that held her
captive and the power and stamina of the man plundering her delicious young body
"Six! That won't be good enough, my friend. My turn." The Ox reached for
the dice with a brawny hand.
Dao was a bit surprised to find George's son slumming with the Scorpions,
even though he had become a group leader since his recent graduation. His uncle
had no doubt told him of the Scorpions' attractive little playmate de soir.
"Join us, Feng," the Ox grunted. "The highest roll wins the pot; if you
throw double fours and win, you get to fuck the pleasure-girl. Courtesy of
Richard Chan himself."
Chiang Chan had apparently been the most recent to throw a pair of fours,
Dao surmised. The Ox continued in his cavernous voice. "Double fives earns
you a good cock-sucking and if you have good joss and roll double sixes, her
sweet little ass is yours."
"And I'll wager a jug of wine that it's hot and tight!" one of the other
Scorpions jeered as he raised a glass in honor of Ci-ci's firm-fleshed buttocks.
It occurred to Dao that from the look of the girl's semen-stained cheeks and
chin, double fives had come up several times already. Dao felt his manly
scrotum pulse with lust. He wouldn't mind being the first to throw a twelve and
win the right to bury his cock balls-deep in that dark groove that bisected
Ci-ci's nicely rounded bottom.
But beside him Feng growled "There's no time. Li Chang is at the old
docks; Zheng, Lin, you are to come with me."
Hearing those words, Chiang Chan body began pistoning into Ci-ci's
defenseless body with newfound velocity. "Fuck! Aaahhh!! Fuck!!" he groaned
half a minute later as he emptied the contents of his loins into her velvety
love-nook. Moments later, after wiping his dripping organ clean on the insides
of her thighs, he was on his feet, pulling on his black trousers. Ci-ci,
exhausted by hours of sexual abuse, collapsed faced down on the once-clean
mattress, which now was speckled with the damp detritus of multiple rapes. How
long, she wondered, would these animals keep her as a slave to their bestial
desires? Would she ever see her dear sister Peony, again?
Watching Chiang don the conventional Scorpion attire, Dao grudgingly gave
him credit for not putting on the airs that were half-expected from one of his
station in life -- one would not have known Chiang Chan was anything more than a
Scorpion squadron leader.
Chiang addressed Feng, "They've found the traitor then, already?
Excellent."
"Lin, Ox -- let's go!" the burly torture-master urged. "Time is short!
Bring your night-sticks." The "night-sticks" were ill-fashioned clubs the
Scorpions often used on their extortionate errands.
"But I ... I didn't get my turn yet," the acne-plagued boy complained. For
the second time tonight he had been cheated of erotic pleasure.
Feng smirked, "You're young, lad. This won't be the last beauty who finds
herself trapped in a nest of Scorpions. And besides, this one will still be
here when we get back. What's left of her." The bestial torture-master grinned
darkly as he strode toward the door. But just as he reached it he turned and
called back to the Scorpions who were staying behind. "There's been a change in
the rules," he bellowed in a gruff voice. "Have your fun, boys, but double
sixes don't count until I get back! Her ass is mine -- understand?"
Ci-ci lay there trembling on the bed, uncertain whether this temporary
reprieve was good news or not.
Meanwhile the remaining Scorpions, mindful of Feng's savage temper grumbled
their assent.
"All right then -- once we catch this accursed traitor, we'll rejoin you
later." With those words which further chilled the blood of young Ci-ci, Feng
the Butcher stomped heavily out of the door, followed by Chiang, the gap-toothed
Dao, Zheng the Ox, and Lin the Drooler.
The last words the quintet heard as Zheng pulled the door closed behind
them were, "Would you look at that! Double fives again!! Moisten those lips up
nice for me, honey; I ain't gonna come so quick this time!"
Chapter 33 On the Waterfront
After parting from Luk Yee earlier in the evening, Li Chang had slowly
made his way through the downpour toward the harbor and the ship which would
provide him safe passage to Taiwan. It had been a fearful night at first, the
heavens seemingly erupting with a thunderous rage that boiled over into
intermittent flashes of jagged lightning. Shivering in the coldness of the
night air, which grew ever-cooler as he drew nearer and nearer to the wind-swept
harbor, he took a circuitous route, looking over his shoulder from time to time.
The streets of Shanghai were always crowded in weather anything less cataclysmic
than a typhoon; despite his precautions it was impossible to know with any
certainty whether he was being followed.
As Li approached the harbor the tempest seemed to slacken, and the
unseasonal squall gradually dissipated into first a heavy shower and eventually
a light drizzle. As he wiped the raindrops from his brow, Li pondered his
predicament. How had Richard Chan come to suspect him, to set the trap into
which he had fallen so ignominiously? He had had no idea that the Lord of the
Scorpions had doubted his fidelity.
Had there been a spy planted among the various cells of his followers?
He had misjudged the cleverness of the Chans, probably because of his experience
with the ignorance and baseness of their lackeys. He resolved never to
underestimate the subtlety and thoroughness of the sinister brothers again.
As he made his way through the dark wet streets of the great metropolis,
his environs set Li to thinking, as he often did, about the unlimited potential
of his countrymen. The Chinese were, he was confident, as intelligent and
industrious a people as any on earth -- and far more numerous. More than two
thousand years ago, at the time of Confucius, China had been the most advanced
nation in the world . And it had been again as recently as the latter end of
the period the Europeans called the Dark Ages, when Kublai Khan had entertained
the Polos with art and science and technology that had amazed the Venetians.
But generations, no, make that centuries of internecine infighting,
coupled with some dynastic inbreeding, had reduced his once mighty land to a
pale shadow of its former eminence. A huge, sprawling almost defenseless
weakling of a nation upon which small enclaves of Europeans, emboldened by
powerful fleets, could assert altogether too much influence. While an effete
emperor, a domineering dowager empress, and a corrupt court reigned but did not
truly rule from their self-imposed isolation in the citadel of the Forbidden
City.
Preoccupied with his thoughts Li stepped into a deep puddle, wetting his
feet up to the ankles. Cursing to himself he lurched awkwardly out of the
puddle, his shoes soaked. Hearing the rhythmic roll of the ocean crashing
against the timbers of an ancient wharf, he realized that he was in the harbor
area proper now. He espied a bench on a nearby quay not far from the water's
edge and made his way toward it, anxious to empty the water from his shoes.
As Li slid onto the bench and eased one shoe off, he watched as two
figures, illumined by the light of a full moon, cast off from the wharf in a
small fishing boat which bobbed back and forth in the receding swells of the
harbor. The boat's stern was emblazoned with Chinese characters proclaiming it,
rather optimistically, the "Gem of the China Sea". The larger of the two
figures in the boat seemed to be giving directions to the smaller. Just then
the smaller figure turned and faced the moonlight and Li noticed that it was the
face of a striking young woman. She seemed to listen respectfully to the other
person, as though she were a maritime apprentice absorbing the experience of a
grizzled veteran of a thousand voyages.
Li Chang watched the small craft drift out into the endless darkness of
the bay as he emptied his other soggy shoe. The great harbor of Shanghai was
formed by the confluence of three great bodies of water, the mouth of the
Yangtze-Kiang, the great river of central China, and two great arms of the vast
Pacific ocean, the Yellow and East China seas. Unfortunately for his homeland,
the Europeans had made themselves masters of these seas and the oceans beyond;
China would require a navy worthy of the country's immensity before it could
ever hope to achieve its rightful place as a leader among the great powers of
the world.
His shoes drained of their liquid contents, Li put them back on again
and began walking slowly in the direction of Pier 147, whence his vessel to
Taipei would embark. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, part of him looked
forward to a visit to Taiwan, the "Terraced Bay", as the Chinese called it.
Wen-chi had taken him and Liu there when they were young years ago, and it had
seemed a strange and exotic island then, as most islands do to children. The
Europeans called it "Ilha Formosa" - Beautiful Isle - a name given to it by
Portuguese sailors long ago. And fresh and green in the advent of an April's
spring was how he still remembered it.
As he drew nearer his destination Li came upon fishermen with their
voluminous nets and odoriferous cargos, dockworkers manhandling huge bales of
textiles, sailors, many of them drunkenly laughing and singing in twos and
threes, fresh from their unsavory excursions to the dingy dives which
proliferated in every port. All of these creatures of the waterfront had one
thing in common besides their dependence on the vastness of the sea -- their
foul language. There seemed to Li to be a certain resonance in a sailor's
discourse that revealed his curses to be just that, even if spoken in a language
with which one was utterly unfamiliar. Li had a smattering of Portuguese,
Spanish, German, and French, along with a fair command of English, and he heard
imprecations in each of these tongues and more -- including Malay, Japanese,
Tagalog and Hindi, as he continued toward the east end of the harbor.
It occurred to him as he walked that the Black Pagoda was only a few
minutes inland from the harbor; he cast occasional nervous glances over his
shoulder, half expecting to see the ghostly spectres of black-shirted Scorpions
in his wake. When there were none, he tried to laugh off his apprehensiveness;
there was no particular reason to think that they would be looking for him so
soon, and certainly no reason for the Chans to be searching for him in the
crowded harbor district as midnight approached.
At last Li arrived at Pier 147 and booked his passage from a tiny
bird-faced woman at a humble kiosk not far from the water's edge. The vessel on
which he was bound to Taipei was called "The Firth of Clyde" and flew the blue
and white colors of the cross of St Andrew high in the night sky. Far above him
on the steamer's deck, he noticed a red-bearded man in an officer's jacket
decked with gold braid using an eye-glass to study something across the dark
water. When a thin patch of clouds that had been shielding the moon suddenly
dissipated, Li Chang followed the seafarer's gaze. Curiously the bearded man
seemed to be staring at something or someone on the "Gem of the China Sea"; the
red characters against the white hull of that vessel were visible in the bright
moonlight even at this considerable distance.
Li leaned against a decrepit wooden railing while he pondered that
coincidence for a long moment, lost in thought. Suddenly he sensed a movement
in the shadows to his right. He looked up to see that a skinny pimple-faced
adolescent who looked vaguely familiar had joined him at the railing.
The boy returned his glance and then a glimmer of recognition crossed his
homely face. "It's you!" the boy said. "Do you remember me? From the lake in
the mountains - I am Lin, the son of the innkeeper."
"Ah, of course -- now I remember," Li replied, as his thoughts turned
briefly to the ravishing fair-haired fraulein whose superb body he and Ming-tsu
had taken such delight in subjecting to the torments of burning sun and stinging
switches. What had ever happened to that golden goddess, he wondered to
himself, before continuing. "How is your father -- Hong, wasn't it? What
brings you to Shanghai? Are you planning a voyage?"
Momentarily distracted by the small talk, Li relaxed his guard, only to
hear a gruff voice behind him growl, "The only voyage you'll be taking tonight,
you treacherous bastard, is one straight to hell!"
Li looked over his shoulder just in time to see four more black-clad
figures figures encircling him. He turned to flee in the direction of the
red-faced teenager, but his hopes for escape were dashed by a sudden crushing
pain on the back of his head that caused him to slump slowly to the ground.
"Escaped prisoner," Feng declared to the few onlookers who noticed the
brief struggle, as he slid his 'night-stick' back into his belt. He flashed an
official-looking document, which George Chan had had the prescience to obtain
from General Wang's trusted friend, Hsi Fong, the Minister of Seals. For all
the curious passersby could discern, Feng and his comrades were acting as agents
of the emperor himself.
Chapter 34 Liu's Kiss
Ming-tsu was in high spirits. Having sent the Chans' minions in pursuit of
Li Chang, she put her clever mind to work to devise a fitting revenge on the
traitor who had not only betrayed her wealthy patron, and won another woman's
heart, but who had taken such visceral delight in his ruthless domination of her
body only the night before. Her sensitive love-globes were still tender from
the scalding oil with which Li Chang had anointed them, and the punishing
breast-rape that he had inflicted upon them.
Recalling that the Chans had mentioned that a certain servant named Yian
could be trusted, she summoned the shrewish maid who had tormented Erika Weiss
and had been complicit with Mai-Lee in achieving the downfall of her perceived
rival, Ci-ci. With the assistance of the evil-tempered house-servant, she
cleaned the dazed Liu up quickly, bathing and anointing her pain-wracked body
with subtle fragrances.
Yian was delegated the responsibility of scrubbing the blood and sweat from
Liu's naked body, and the hatchet-faced woman seemed to take perverse delight in
rubbing her warm cloth most assiduously precisely where Liu's injuries were most
painful. Yian's impulse to scrub thoroughly reached a pinnacle of energy when
she attended to Liu's throbbing breasts and then again when she lavished her
obsessive attentions on the raw inflamed tissues that had suffered the wrath of
the Tiger. Meanwhile Ming-tsu washed and dressed Liu's hair as skillfully as
she would have her own.
Then Ming-tsu dispatched Yian to the boudoir of Mai-Lee, Richard Chan's No.
1 concubine, in order to borrow, on the authority of George Chan, a beautiful
floor-length robe, a pair of fabulous diamond earrings, and a string of
priceless pearls that Richard had lavished on the concubine. Mai-Lee was
visibly annoyed by this turn of events, but, after what had happened to Ci-ci
earlier that day, was unwilling to risk incurring the wrath of the Chans and
reluctantly assented. While Yian was on her errand, Ming-tsu attended to her own
appearance, not neglecting a dash of cologne with the rich fragrance of orange
blossom, her favorite scent.
Upon Yian's return, they clothed Liu in the lavish silken garment, and in
minutes Liu's ears were bedecked with glittering diamonds, her slender throat
was encircled by the ravishing concubine's brilliant pearl necklace, and her
eyes and mouth were as beautifully made up as if it were her wedding day. The
sumptuous robe completely covered the marks left by the whips, the straps and
the other infernal instruments of torture which had been used upon her exquisite
young body. In less than thirty minutes, thanks to the floor-length gown, to
all outward appearances Liu was even more beautifully arrayed than she had been
when the Scorpions had dragged her bodily into the cellars of the Black Pagoda a
few hours earlier. Shamed by her betrayal of Li Chang, Liu let them do as they
wished with her; her life had lost all meaning.
Throughout all of these proceedings, Wen-chi was but intermittently
conscious. Occasionally his fatigued eyes would open and he would glance
frantically about him until his gaze came to rest on the angelic face of his
grand-daughter. When it, Liu did her best to give the old man a reassuring
smile, as if the events of the past hour had been nothing more than a strange
and terrible dream.
Yian and Ming-tsu were just concluding the final touches of Liu's toilette,
when they heard the rough clatter of heavy footsteps and men's voices at the
underground entrance to the dungeon. When Feng announced through the door that
he and his comrades had indeed apprehended Li Chang, Ming-tsu's inwardly exulted
-- the success of her ingenious plot would no doubt earn her a splendid reward
from the brothers Chan. She ordered Feng and his men to wait outside for a few
minutes more; the little theatrical production she had prepared was nearly
ready.
Finally, just before she told Feng to bring his captive in, she instructed
Liu in a low voice, "You have shown that you know how to remain silent, little
one. Be careful that you remain quiet when we bring the turncoat in. Not a
word! Or what we'll do to the old man will make your stay here seem like a
picnic. If you co-operate, he will not be harmed; I give you my word. If you
do not..." Ming-tsu's flashing eyes glanced meaningfully toward the brazier
where hot irons still rested in the glowing coals. "It would be a shame for an
old man at his time of life to die a painful death, would it not? I trust I
have made myself clear?" Her doe-eyed, half-dazed prisoner nodded silently.
After all, what did any of it matter now?
Ming-tsu directed Liu to stand out of sight of the doorway behind one of
the great pillars. Then she carefully positioned the smoking brazier slightly
behind Wen-chi's right shoulder. After looking around one last time to make
sure that everything was in place, she bade Feng to bring in his captive, and
the Butcher and his four colleagues dragged their prisoner into the forbidding
cellar. Once they were in the dungeon she sent Dao and Li off to find four more
chairs.
Li, the back of his head matted with blood, was just beginning to recover
from the forceful blow which had knocked him out. He looked around the sinister
subterranean room, taking in the great pillars, the wall-length mirror, the wall
that was studded with whips and canes, the shackles and chains. He had little
doubt but that this was the last sight he would ever see.
Taking no chances, Feng held a sharp knife to Li's throat, even though
he and his men had bound Li's hands behind him. When Dao and Lin returned with
the chairs, Ming-tsu positioned one of them slightly forward and to the left of
the one on which Wen-chi was seated. The man-giant they called the Ox pushed Li
heavily into that chair. Once Li was seated,with his back to the mirrored
wall, Dao and Lin wasted no time in lashing his arms and legs to the heavy
chair.
When they were done securing Li Chang to the chair, Ming-tsu dismissed
Feng's four colleagues, after asking them to tell the fraternal Lords of the
Black Pagoda that their quarry had been brought to bay. The Scorpions were
elated at finally being excused for the night. As they trudged toward the
underground entrance, they exchanged lewd remarks about the exciting dice game
that awaited them at the Pit, and the even more exciting prospect of the spoils
that awaited the victors -- the succulent breasts and the velvety honey-pot of
the young pilferer whom they had left chained to the cot.
Feng followed them halfway to the door. "Remember what I said about the
double sixes!" he warned his comrades. And then in a low voice, but one of great
vehemence, "Her ass belongs to me!"
"Who said "Nobody likes an asshole", Dao mumbled in a low voice to the Ox,
causing the four Scorpions to erupt in ribald laughter as they filed noisily out
of the door.
When they had gone, and Feng had returned to take his position behind
Wen-chi, Ming-tsu approached Li Chang, her words dripping sarcasm, "Hello again,
Mr. VIP. I think you know my new friend? She was most helpful in leading us to
you." And Ming-tsu stepped aside to summon Liu, now resplendently clad in the
elegant robe, dripping with priceless diamonds and pearls, from her position
where she had been concealed behind one of the great pillars. At Ming-tsu's
direction she took a second chair, facing Li and Wen-chi. Ming-tsu then
arranged the other two chairs alongside Liu's.
Li Chang's head throbbed with pain; he knew as soon as he looked around the
grim confines of the dungeon that he was a dead man. But he could hardly
believe his eyes when he saw Liu. His judgment clouded by the heavy blow to
his cranium, he sized up the situation at face value. There sat Liu, bedecked
in jewels in the dismal cellars of the Black Pagoda, while he and his beloved
adoptive father, Wen-chi, sat bound to chairs awaiting a ghastly fate.
Liu. Liu, of all people, had sold him out. And not just himself. Her
grandfather. And their noble cause. "Why?" he cried out angrily to Liu. "Why
have you betrayed me? And your grandfather! For what? A few trinkets? Why?
Because I did not return your affection?"
Li could not see that behind him and to Wen-chi's right Feng was poised to
apply the hot irons to Wen-chi's throat at Ming-tsu's signal, if Liu should
break her silence. If Li had not recently suffered a mild concussion, he might
well have taken better notice of the sea of tears that slowly welled up in the
soft brown eyes of the young woman who had suffered so greatly in his behalf.
The old man's eyes were full of tears, too, as he looked at Li and shook
his head violently no, no, but gagged as he was, he could do no more.
"Don't defend her, honored father," Li added contemptuously. "She doesn't
deserve it."
Every word was worse than a dagger to Liu; but in her anguish she felt that
she partly deserved his condemnation. Her only hope now was that perhaps they
would let her grandfather go, if she remained silent. She could not bear to
look at Li; her eyes were downcast as he hurled his imprecations.
"And you, you smiling temptress!" Li exclaimed, his voice crackling with
rage, as he addressed Ming-tsu. "I curse the night that I first set eyes on
you. What I fool I was! Forgive me, Wen-chi, for not having heeded your
advice." At this the old man, unable to speak, sadly nodded his head in
agreement.
Ming-tsu, further incensed by this admission, looked up just then to see
Richard Chan, followed by his younger brother, as they entered the dim,
torch-lit cellar. "May I present the traitor, Your Excellency, as I promised?"
Ming-tsu bowed.
The silver-robed elder Chan surveyed the three prisoners with a look of
implacable hatred. "You have done well, Ming-tsu. Your services will be rewarded
in due time."
Then he turned to face Wen-chi and addressed him in an imperious tone. "So
we meet at last, you tiresome old fool; one would have thought that you might
have learned from your own son's fate, that there is only one outcome, one
inevitably fatal destiny, for those who would oppose the House of Chan."
Liu sobbed softly at the mention of her father, but a baleful glare from
Ming-tsu silenced her.
The Lord of the Scorpions continued to upbraid Wen-chi. "And now you and
this, this worthless scum," he pointed a scornful fingernail in the direction of
Li Chang, "have dared to interfere with my plans."
"Fortunately your excellency," Ming-tsu interjected, twisting the emotional
knife a little deeper, "at least there is one in this family who was sensible
enough to recognize your mastery of Shanghai. Is that not right, girl?" When
Ming-tsu gave Feng a purposeful glance and the brutish Butcher moved the
glowing iron slightly closer to Wen-chi's throat, Liu nodded despairingly.
"And to show our gratitude for disclosing their pathetic attempt at an
insurrection," Li Chang's erstwhile lover concluded, "we have bestowed these
gifts upon her. She seems to have quite a fondness for pearls. Don't you,
Liu?" Ming-tsu asked sweetly, once again making eye contact with the barbarous
Feng.
Liu, helpless to do anything else, nodded again.
"Excellent, Ming-tsu, excellent," Richard acknowledged, knowing full well
that Liu would not have the pearls for long. "But now," the thin-lipped elder
Chan snarled, "we shall make certain that this fugitive, this leader of a
pitiful attempt at a mutiny, never runs away again. Or runs anywhere else for
that matter. As an example to any would attempt to thwart our will!"
The nefarious Lord of the Black Pagoda directed his thin-slitted black
eyes turned toward the hulking frame of Feng the Butcher, and in a voice laden
with implacable malice issued his edict. "His legs, Feng. Break them."
Neither of the Chans so much as blinked as the brawny shaven-headed brute
set the smoldering iron down and selected a heavy wooden club from the wall of
weaponry. His face an inhuman caricature of cruelty, the burly man-monster
lifted the club and without warning slammed it heavily down onto Li's bound
thighs.
Liu gasped in horror, but after seeing Ming-tsu's diabolical glare of
warning did not cry out. But she turned her head away, unable to watch.
Too stunned to cry out, at first, though he thought he heard a bone crack,
Li writhed in his bonds. Feng hammered the club down a second time, and then a
third as Li screamed in agony. Then the hulking Feng, his face contorted into a
hideous grin, whipped the bludgeon across Li's shins with bone-crushing force.
This time Li screamed until he lost consciousness from the pain.
When he revived a few minutes later, Ming-tsu was bending over him holding
a red-hot iron bar, fresh from the smoking brazier, by its wooden handle. "Let
me give you something to remember me by as well, Mr. VIP. Think of it as the
Kiss of Ming-tsu; I hope you treasure it always."
With those words, Ming-tsu held the hissing instrument against the side of
Li's face for long seconds, incinerating the skin, and leaving a narrow but
ghastly brand down the left side of his face. "That was for the Night of the
Forty Lashes, Li Chang. Wear it always with my compliments. I do so want you
to remember me. Especially since no woman will look upon you with anything but
revulsion again!"
Ming-tsu turned back to the Chans and said, "Now, your excellencies,
perhaps you would enjoy some more pleasant diversions? Our attractive new
disciple, Miss Liu, has asked if she might have the honor of offering herself to
you. Isn't that right, Liu?"
Liu looked up at Ming-tsu, who was now hovered ominously over her
grandfather, still holding the horrible piece of glowing metal. Liu nodded,
yes, fatalistically, and then rose from her chair at Ming-tsu's gesture.
Having won Liu's unwilling co-operation, Ming-tsu approached her again.
"Out of deference to the old fool's sensibilities, though, let us turn her
around." Ming-tsu turned the girl so that she had her back to Wen-chi and Li,
while Richard and George Chan took seats facing them. "On your knees, slut!",
Ming-tsu warned her in a whisper, and when Liu had complied, Ming-tsu directed
her to kneel-walk submissively across the cold stone floor of the dungeon to
where Richard Chan was seated.
When she was kneeling defenselessly before the Tyrant of the Black Pagoda,
Ming-tsu opened the front of Liu's robe so that Richard Chan could appreciate
both the beauty of her sublime figure and the savage punishment that had been
inflicted upon it. The robe had a strip of cloth that Ming-tsu fastened,
cape-like, around Liu's neck, leaving the front of her body visible and
accessible to the Brothers Chan, but completely hidden from her fellow-captives.
"Well done, Ming-tsu!" the Lord of the Black Pagoda congratulated her, as
the sadistic voluptuary licked his lips in anticipation; the abrasions and
bruises on Liu's delicate body served only to heighten his arousal. "Rarely have
I beheld such an enticing display." And then he whispered so that only she could
hear him, "You used those pincers to good effect, didn't you? Superb! Most
stimulating indeed. What do you say, my brother?"
George Chan, ever-beaming, and rather proud of his concubine's scheme,
bowed in assent, as his lecherous eyes raped the virginal body of their young
prisoner. "Ming-tsu, you have done great service for the House of Chan. I
salute you."
Ming-tsu bowed, pleased with the compliment.
"May I remind you, Your Excellency, that Liu wishes to serve both of her
new masters?"
"So you wish to pay homage to us, your new masters? Very well. You can
begin by taking this between those lovely lips of yours!" And the Lord of the
Scorpions withdrew his erect member from his robe. As the kneeling Liu bent to
her loathsome task, Richard said, "No! Stand up and bend over me. That way I can
caress you, my dear."
The trembling and tearful Liu, now facing her first erect penis, climbed
painfully to her feet, and then stood astride Richard's legs, her hands on the
arms of his chair, as she lowered her mouth docilely toward his rigid,
dark-veined erection. An instant later, as his powerful hands closed painfully
on her abused breasts, she realized why he had asked her to stand.
Liu hesitantly brought her virginal lips down on the throbbing penis. She
was, of course, completely ignorant of how to please a man, and Richard Chan was
hardly the most patient of lovers. At first The Lord of the Scorpions was
content to crush the entirety of her tender globes in his cruel hands; from time
to time, though, just to vary her torment, he would trap a raw nipple-bud, still
excruciatingly sore from the horrendous grip of the hot pincers, between a
sharp-nailed finger and thumb and twist and tear at it until she felt certain
that he would rip it from her breast. The worst thing for Liu was that she
could not determine if his iron grip tightened when she pleased him with her
inexperienced mouth, or when she did not. His tenacious talons seemed to
administer pain randomly.
Li and Wen-Chi could see none of this; all they could see was Liu's cloaked
back bent, apparently willingly, for long minutes over Richard's groin. Her
grandfather knew that Liu's actions were anything but voluntary, but to Li,
half-crazed with the pain of his own injuries, the unmistakable sound of moist
lips on an eager male organ seemed to confirm the fact that Liu was nothing more
than a willing concubine to his enemies. Wen-chi was thrashing furiously about
in his bonds, but Feng was unconcerned by his struggles - what was an old man of
eighty going to do, even if by some miracle, he did get one hand free?
Feng edged several steps closer so that he could get a good look at the
anguish in Liu's face and the enchanting planes and hollows displayed by her
frontal nudity. His own cock had been rock-hard for most of the last several
hours, since he had first seen Ci-ci in the Chans' ingenious vertical rack. But
he had not yet had the opportunity to slake his fierce lust on either of the
attractive trophies this night had brought his way; but perhaps his fortunes
were about to change.
After several minutes of Liu's inexpert oral ministrations, Richard
released one breast and pulled her head down hard on his throbbing cock and
face-fucked her vigorously until at last he erupted in her mouth. Liu made as
if to spit out the vile viscous liquid, but, Richard's hissed command, "Swallow
it, pretty one. Every last drop," forced to her slide even deeper into the
depths of degradation.
After a long slow sigh of sexual gratification, Richard spoke again. "Lick
it clean, my newest concubine, lick it clean." There was something perversely
stimulating about deflowering an unwilling virgin, no matter how inexpertly she
made love. It made a pleasant change to the practiced virtuosity of the
infinitely artful Mai-lee. When the last traces of his lusty eruption had been
licked from his swollen member, Richard Chan covered himself and instructed her,
"And now, Liu, you must extend the same courtesies to my brother George".
And Liu, humiliated beyond words at having to debase herself in the
presence of the two men she admired most in the world, moved slightly to her
right, and prepared to pay oral homage to a smiling-faced George Chan, even as
she had his heartless brother. George had already removed a sizable erection
from his trousers, his carnal appetite having been whetted to a fever pitch by
watching his brother torment the innocent girl.
After a few minutes of forcing Liu's head down on his own penis, George
sniffed the stale air of the dungeon, turned to Ming-tsu and said, "It's a
little stuffy down here tonight, isn't it? Bring some incense sticks."
Ming-tsu obliged and lit several sticks and set the slow-burning aromatic
tendrils in incense holders here and there around the ghastly dungeon. The
sweet, pungent aroma of sandalwood began to diffuse through the dank cellar,
which, not unsurprisingly, was normally permeated by the oppressive odor of
fearful sweat and innocent blood, mementos of the numberless victims, mostly
young women, who had suffered indescribable agonies at the hands of the Chans.
"Hand me one, Ming-tsu; I love the smell of sandalwood." And George
lifted the pungent stick to his nostrils, inhaled deeply, and then let the hot
end of the stick brush against the inside of Liu's left thigh, halfway up her
leg. George's smile widened when he saw the way the well-toned muscles in Liu's
supple thighs jumped at the kiss of the hot incense stick.
"Remember, girl -- not a sound!" Ming-tsu whispered.
Ming-tsu had positioned the girl's cloaked body well; the old man and the
traitor were not even aware when he touched the burning stem to Liu's honey-gold
flesh. George Chan proceeded to blaze a fiery trail up the length of a shapely
thigh, letting the burning end revisit the angry bruises left by Feng's savage
strapping. When Liu lifted her ebony tresses from his swollen penis, in
reaction to a particularly long visitation of the fire stick, George touched the
burning reed to her quivering left nipple as she shuddered in pain, and held it
there until she returned to her oral caresses.
After a slow progress up her quivering thigh, the smoldering stick was now
at the juncture of her thighs. George delighted in igniting a few of strands of
her fine pubic hair, watching each little triangle of flame blaze ever so
briefly before dying out. And then, as his sexual excitement neared its climax,
he pressed the aromatic ember directly against her sensitive vaginal lips as he
ejaculated, shooting spurts of semen into Liu's moist oral cavity. Liu's inner
screams of misery and degradation were stifled by the mouth-filling presence of
the younger Chan's swollen manhood.
The Chans, having at last sated their sadistic lust, got up to leave,
whispering a few instructions in Ming-tsu's attentive ear before they left.
And then Feng came over, and bluntly indicated to Ming-tsu that as a reward
for his good service, during this long night, that he, too, deserved some good
"service", before the comely prisoner was put permanently out of commission.
Ming-tsu was uncomfortable with the way Feng eyeballed her when he made his
request; his cold black eyes seemed never to leave her generous breasts. But
without question tonight he too had served the Chans well. So, too tired to
argue, she directed the stocky torture-master to sit where the Chans had sat,
and advised him that she was going to get something to eat and that she would be
back in a little while.
The stocky gangster sat down, stared lewdly at the delicious body of the
young maiden, and beckoned to Liu to approach. "And be quick about it, or what
I do to the old man won't be pretty!" he growled softly enough so that only she
could hear.
In abject despair, Liu slowly edged toward him, and bent in obeisance
before yet another tormentor's cock, this one even bigger, thicker and hairier
than the two she had already serviced. As she pleasured him, Feng began to maul
her excruciatingly sore breasts. From behind her she heard Li Chang cry out,
"She is their courtesan, Wen-chi. No better than a whore. My curse is upon
you, Liu, for betraying me! You dishonored your venerable grandfather when you
betrayed our noble cause!"
As she heard these words, Liu's shoulders slumped in unutterable sorrow.
Just then, Wen-chi, who had been thrashing around in his bonds for many
minutes, finally, with a supreme effort, was able to send his chair crashing
sideways to the floor. The ropes still held him fast to the chair, but his gag
had come partially loose, and the venerable old man gasped out a volley of words
in a frail, almost inaudible voice. Try though he might, Li could only make
out a few of the old man's desperate words. "Take back your curse, my son...
Liu ...for hours... terribly. But she...silent..., Li Chang... horrible
trick...pretended ...only to save me... or you...guiltless."
Then with one great final effort he rasped again, "she is guiltless, Li.
Take back your curse." And with those words the revered old man's heart at last
gave out, and his head fell lifeless against the floor.
Meanwhile, when the old man's chair had overturned, Feng had looked up,
momentarily distracted by the loud noise. Liu, with her back to her
grandfather, could not hear his words, but she saw Feng's knife in the sheath at
his waist, and in a flash she had seized it, and held it to the carotid artery
in his neck.
Still with her back to Li, Liu said, in a voice that was remarkably calm,
"Li Chang, you called me a willing concubine. Would a concubine do this?" And
she removed a diamond earring and held it to Feng's lips. "Swallow it! Now,
Pig!"
The gruesome torture-master eyed the knife at his throat, and then took the
precious stone in his mouth, and forced himself to swallow. Then Liu removed
the other priceless earring and proffered it. When Feng hesitated, she pricked
him with the sharp blade, drawing a thin trickle of blood. Feng the Butcher
gulped and swallowed the second earring.
With her other hand, Liu unclasped the priceless string of pearls at her
throat, and compelled her erstwhile tormentor to down the two dozen perfect
opalescent gems down one by one. It took him several minutes to accomplish this
feat, even with his capacious stomach; every time he paused, Liu prodded his
throat with the point of the knife.
When he was finished, Liu spoke bitterly, "I wish them luck in finding
their jewels."
And then Liu gathered the front of the cape-like robe together, and turned,
for the first time since the Chans had taken their seats, to face Li Chang and
her grandfather. It was only then that she saw the lifeless body of her saintly
grandfather on the floor. A mournful wail escaped her lips and tears welled up
in her eyes. And then, very deliberately, she drew the blade of the knife
across Feng's throat; his eyed widened in abject horror as geysers of blood
erupted from the long gash in his neck, and spilled out on to his black shirt as
well as the front of Liu's costly silken robe. Feng's mouth attempted to scream,
but he choked on his own blood, and crumpled silently to the floor. As he fell
Liu spat on him, again and again, as if she were trying to purge from her mouth
the degrading taste of his unholy masters.
Still holding the knife in her right hand, Liu used that hand to pull the
now blood-soaked robe close about her. Then she crossed to Wen-chi, and bent
down to touch his ancient face. Stroking it lovingly, she lifted one of his
withered hands to her cheek, and then to her lips. Quietly sobbing, she said,
"He was a great man, Li Chang. And a good man. I tried ..." she choked back
the massive knot of grief that sought to silence her. "I tried so hard to spare
him pain last night, but I failed. I was not strong enough."
Then, Liu tried to use the knife to hack away at the ropes holding Li, but
he said, coolly, "It is too late, Liu. They have crushed my legs. I could not
stand, much less flee."
Still holding the crimson-splattered robe tightly about her, Liu wrung her
tiny hands in despair; her face was a mask of grief. "And all ... all because
I...I was too weak."
Li was about to interrupt, when Liu raised her hand, "Please, Li, let me
finish," she said in a soft voice. "I have spent my whole life listening. To my
grandfather. And then to you." She paused, smiling sadly, recalling the
countless tales Li had read to her; in all those stories had there been a family
so ill-favored by fortune as her own? "Please, this once, let me speak. It
will not take long."
"You once read to me, Li, about a noble warrior 'who loved not wisely, but
too well'. I have never forgotten those words."
Struggling to choke back her tears, Liu poured out her heart.
"I am such another, Li Chang. I am no concubine, my love. You are the
only man who has ever touched my heart. But," she smiled wistfully, "my love
was only a foolish dream."
Liu's face was angelic in her anguish. The torchlight of the ghastly
dungeon, whose red-orange flames had seemed to evoke the ninth circle of hell
not so long ago, now seemed to bathe her countenance in the warm glow of a
friendly hearth. Twin teardrops coursed down her cheeks as she took Li's right
hand in her left.
"I have brought pain to my grandfather, Li Chang, because I lacked the
courage to remain silent. And I have betrayed you because, like a fool, I fell
into the trap they set. But please, Li Chang," she begged tearfully, "When you
think of me, remember me as a coward, and as a fool if you must, but not as a wh
..." Liu's voice cracked as she fought to pronounce a word she had never
pronounced before. "Please Li, not as a whore ...."
And all of the pain and sorrow that she had suffered that night overwhelmed
her, and she wept in untold misery for many long seconds.
At length, after her sobs subsided, Liu looked in the direction of the
frail body of her grandfather. Despite her grisly surroundings, after seeing her
grandfather at peace, an aura of tranquility seemed to transfix Liu's
tear-streaked face. After a long moment of staring dreamily out into space, she
spoke, her voice having found again the familiar silvery lilt that the night's
horrors had stolen from her. "I'm coming grandfather," she whispered, and with
those words, Liu plunged Feng's knife into her chest, and fell forward across
Li's lap. As she did so, the robe fell open in front, and the horror-stricken
Li Chang could see, for the first time, the cruel injuries that she had borne to
protect the men she loved.
And the meaning of Wen-chi's dying admonition became clear.
"Liu, forgive me! I didn't know! Liu! I didn't know!" Li cried, as his
bound right hand struggled to stroke the softness of the lustrous hair that lay
across his knees. Her face grew paler in the torchlight as her life's blood
slowly spilled from the gaping wound in her chest.
"No, it is for you to forgive me, Li Chang," Liu said softly in a voice
both tranquil and serene. If I had not fainted, their trap would not have
worked. And you would yet be free."
"How could I be free without you? No, Liu, no! It is I who must beg your
forgiveness. How could I have thought ... My poor angel!" His arms struggled
desperately for freedom that he might hold her and comfort her, but the ropes
were too tight. From an ancient memory Li Chang whispered words from that work
which he had read to her so long ago.
"A maiden never bold,
Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion
Blushed at herself."
At these words, Liu, her breathing growing weaker by the moment, smiled
sadly, and whispered, "Yet, let me kiss my lord before I die," and with her last
ounce of strength, pulled herself up so that her soft lips touched his in the
way of a woman, for the first and only time. Li leaned forward desperately as
if somehow by pressing his lips against hers he could imbue her with what
remained of his own strength, but after a few transcendent moments he could feel
the sweet softness of her lips began to slip away from his own.
"No!" Li cried out frantically. But it was too late. Slowly, Liu's arms
relaxed their fervent grip on his shoulders, and she slumped, lifeless and
still, across his lap.
********
Moments later Ming-tsu returned to a tableau of horror. Liu's dead body
lay across Li's shattered legs, while Feng and Wen-chi each lay dead a few feet
away. For all of his loathing of Ming-tsu, Li did not even look up; his eyes
and his tears were on the poor broken body before him. Although his legs were
painfully shattered, the weight of Liu's body across his limbs provided more
comfort than distress. He tried to reach for the knife so that he might use it
on himself, but once again his bonds proved too tight.
Ming-tsu examined the blood-soaked robe, wondering how she was going to
explain that to Richard Chan. Then, anxious to dispose of the bodies quickly,
she dispatched Yian, the spiteful housemaid, to summon the Scorpions who had
captured Li Chang. A few minutes later -- gap-toothed Dao, Zheng the Ox, and a
third young man, handsome and strangely familiar who seemed to be their leader,
now that Feng was no more than a blood-stained carcass. Unbeknownst to her,
this third young man was Chiang Chan, the son of George Chan. "Throw the bodies
into the sea. Let's see if Mr. VIP can swim with broken legs!" she spat at Li,
as the Scorpions undid his bonds.
Since Li was unable even to stand, the Scorpions picked him up bodily and
threw him painfully into a large cart, that was parked outside the underground
entrance to the dungeons, along with the three dead bodies. Ming-tsu followed
them outside, and then, just before the Scorpions threw an old blanket over the
mangled bodies, Li caught her eye, and said, "Ming-tsu, you have taken the life
of an angel. The gods will have their revenge. You will come to regret this
night."
"You don't frighten me with your superstitions, Mr. VIP! I am of the Black
Scorpion; we fear no men and no gods. Get them out of here, I said!"
A split-second later, Li once again felt his head explode with pain, as
Dao's night-stick descended; but this time, luckily, the blow was only a
glancing one. Somehow Li had the self-possession to feign unconsciousness; his
only chance was for the Scorpions to become incautious. Perhaps if they thought
he were dead or comatose...
******
The cart was a block or two away before Ming-tsu, in a moment of panic,
remembered the diamonds and the pearls. What had happened to them? After a
quick glance around the room, she hastily summoned another Scorpion, none other
than the pimple-faced Lin the Drooler, and sent him in pursuit of his comrades
in the slow-moving cart, with orders to search the garments of the four victims
carefully before disposing of the bodies. And to bring whatever they found back
to her.
******
As the cart rattled its way toward the nearby docks, Li tried to remain
as still as possible under the filthy blanket. He mourned Wen-chi, the
kind-hearted philosopher who had taken him into his house as a child. Who had
tried to teach him ch'eng - sincerity - in all things. Knowing that he was near
death, and hoping to find the courage to face it, Li's mind raced at breakneck
speed through the hundreds of thrice-familiar aphorisms of the ancient sages
that the old man had viewed as the key to a good and productive life.
But his mind and his heart always returned to just one, from the Fifteenth
Analect:
"A high will, or a loving heart, will not seek life at cost of love. To
fulfill love they will kill the body."
And each time he thought of it, and Liu, the heaviness in his chest
crushed his heart anew.
By chance Liu's body was lying alongside his, her dark hair resting gently
upon his shoulder as it never had in life. Li cursed the blindness that had
prevented him from taking her into his arms long before. And he cursed the
fates that had allowed him to become enslaved by the erotic sorcery of Ming-tsu.
But he was grateful that those same fates had allowed him to hold the still-warm
body of Liu in his arms during their last bumpy ride.
Chapter 35 The Gem of the Sea
As he lay under the tarpaulin, Li could not help but listen to the raunchy
voices of Dao and the Ox; both men had obviously been drinking heavily. The
third man seemed to be quiet.
"By the sword of the Great Khan I hope this is our last job tonight, Dao."
"Don't worry, my friend; the four of them will be food for the crabs in
half an hour, and then we can get back to our little pleasure-girl. I can't wait
to spread her pretty legs again!
Li heard the rumble of a mighty belch. "Ah! The wine was good tonight!" A
moment later the deep voice continued. "Right! And to squeeze those juicy
tits!
The two Scorpions continued their obscenity-laced conversation, in much the
same vein until they reached a secluded part of the harbor, and it was there
that Lin, the Scorpion whom Ming-tsu had sent to follow them, caught up with the
cart and told his comrades of her instructions. In the increasingly foggy
darkness, the Scorpions quickly searched the clothing of the four victims, one
at a time, with Chiang Chan watching carefully to make sure that none of his men
pocketed anything. But they found nothing other than small amounts of money,
and Li Chang's ticket for the voyage to Taipei that he would not live to take.
Li continued to feign unconsciousness as they conducted this search, which
was agonizingly difficult when their hands touched his fractured limbs. It
brought him little comfort that the jewels, whomever they belonged to, were
safely stowed in Feng's prodigious gut, and would soon go with him to the bottom
of the bay. Along with himself and the bodies of his loved ones.
After the cart pulled up to a dilapidated old wharf, the Scorpions threw
his body, and the others, into a small dinghy that they kept there for such
grisly errands. With the four bodies, there was only room for two of the
Scorpions in the boat, and it was decided that the Ox, the strongest oarsman,
and Lin, the lightest, would be assigned the unpleasant task of throwing the
bodies into the bay. Li felt lengths of heavy chains being thrown on top of his
body, chains that without doubt would be used to weigh his body and those of the
others down.
Just before they cast off he heard a voice say, "Be sure to use the chains!
No mistakes, now!"
Moments later he could hear the sounds of oars rippling through the water
as one of the Scorpions, no doubt the broad-shouldered Ox, plied the oars, and
the rattling of iron chains, suggesting that Lin was wrapping lengths of chain
around the other bodies.
A short time later he heard the high-pitched voice of Lin. "There! That
takes care of the girl and the old man; two more to go!"
Then he felt the boy, who reeked of alcohol, lifting his still body so that
he could wrap the chains twice around his chest.
"Damn!" he heard Lin exclaim.
"What's wrong," demanded the Ox in his cavernous bass as he put his back
into the oars.
"There are only two locks; the other two must still be in the cart."
"Don't worry about it boy; just tie the chains off. Dead men don't swim."
A few minutes later, after having apparently reached deep water, Li heard
the sounds of one body splashing into the water, then a second, and then a
third, much louder spash -- Feng's, he thought. Then, still feigning
unconsciousness, he felt four hands reach under him, prop him up against the
gunwale, and with a mighty heave throw him painfully over the side.
His body nearly went into shock when he hit the water. But somehow the
water's icy grip served to revive Li's desire to live. Although he had been
resigned to his fate for some time, the primeval instinct for survival took
over, and he had surreptitiously taken a great breath of air just before his
body went under the water. Then, offering a silent prayer that the two boatmen
were not paying close attention, he used a shoulder to propel himself silently
away from the boat underwater. All the while his hands clawed feverishly at the
chain, which fortunately had been rather clumsily knotted around his torso by
the alcohol-impaired hands of Lin the Drooler.
Once the chain fell away beneath him and drifted downward to the bottom of
the bay, Li struggled to hold his breath as long as possible while remaining
just below the surface of the water.
The Scorpions, after having watched Li's body sink like the others beneath
the surface of the dark water, waited half a minute or so to see if it would
resurface and then rowed away into the dark night, anxious to return to the Pit
and the pleasure girl who awaited them there.
Li held his breath for as long as he could, for well over a minute, before
being forced to surface. With his legs being virtually useless, every movement
required heroic amounts of energy. His difficulties were compounded by the
relentless tug of the water on his sodden clothes and the painful sting of the
salt water on his branded face.
The cold sea water seemed to pour into his mouth and nose as he thrashed
around desperately trying to stay afloat. Miraculously, just when his strength
was at its lowest ebb, his flailing arms struck a barrel, jettisoned by some
unlucky smuggler, that was bobbing on the surface of the dark water, and the
buoyancy of the wooden cylinder helped him to stay afloat.
Praying that there were no sharks in the vicinity, Li clung for his life to
the awkwardly-shaped barrel for perhaps half an hour, willing himself to survive
not so much because he had any great desire to live, but in order to revenge
himself upon those who had taken the lives of Wen-chi and Liu. Just when it
seemed that he could no longer find the strength to keep his head above water,
and his head dipped under the surface of the briny water for the second time,
he heard a female voice, cry out, "Father, Look! There's someone in the water!"
Moments later a pair of callused hands, hardened from years of handling
fishing nets, grasped Li by the shoulders, and, after some considerable effort
pulled Li's broken body onto a boat and atop a slippery, shiny mound of
squirming fish, their pale bodies -- the object of the boat's nocturnal voyage
-- gleaming in the moonlight.
Li, coughing and spitting up copious quantities of brine, managed to gasp
out, "Thank you... kaughgh!!" he spat again, "my friend, thank you. Can you...
do you see any other bodies?" Li asked weakly. "There was ... a girl. And an
old man. aughh!! kauhhgh!!!" Li struggled to catch his breath, oblivious to the
excruciating pain in his legs; there was nothing to be done for it.
Chung-hua, for that was the fisherman's name, lifted up an oil lantern and
peered into the darkness, as the boat described a wide circle in the water. A
few minutes later, he called out, "Yes, I think I see something! Look! Over
there!" and Li followed his glance, only to be disappointed by the macabre
sight of Feng's lifeless body, floating face down in the bay.
"Fisherman," Li gasped, "if you are able, pull that ugly fish on board. He
has swallowed some fine bait tonight, and you shall have a reward for helping
me. Do you see anyone else?"
The woman's voice spoke again, "No, I can see nothing." After Chung-hua
and the possesor of the soft voice had hauled Feng's heavy body on board, the
fisherman waved the lantern around again, and for the first time its light fell
squarely on the ugly face of Feng the Butcher. Wearing the hideous grin of a
man suprised in death, and displaying a red-edged gaping smile across the throat
that Liu had slashed.
"Aaahhhh!! Father!" the woman with the soft voice screamed softly.
"I am sorry, Lily, my child. His injuries are indeed horrible."
"It is not that, father," continued the young woman called Lily. "It is he.
The one I told you about. The one who beat me. After... after my husband's
boat was lost." Lily's throat seemed to clutch at her words. "And I could no
longer pay the gangsters their extortion money."
Had Feng still had eyes to see, he would have recognized the pretty face,
and connected it to the nicely rounded derriere he had punished with the same
broad strap he had used on Liu's tender thighs. For indeed Lily was the young
fishmonger's widow who had flitted through Feng's dark remembrance only hours
earlier.
Li asked, "Do you know him, then?"
Chung-hua turned the lantern toward the survivor. As he did so, its light
fell on the pretty face of the young woman, whose intelligent almond eyes were
once again searching the water intently. Li recognized her as the girl he had
seen from the quay earlier in the evening. He was evidently aboard the "Gem of
the China Sea".
"Yes," Lily replied. "We should have left his ugly carcass for the sharks
to feed on! Throw him back in the bay, father!" Then she glared at Li Chang.
"And we should throw this one to the sharks, too, if the fat one was his
friend!"
"No, wait," Li stopped him. "I was no friend to him, I assure you. Can you
not see my face," Li turned his head so that his rescuers could see the horrible
brand. "That is the gift that he left me. But do not throw his body over the
side just yet; you shall have good cause for keeping it before the night is
out. But first, can we search for the others?"
The honest old fisherman assented willingly, and for hours the Gem of the
China Sea plied its way back and forth across the endless waters of the bay.
But at last Chung-hua and his daughter were forced to concede defeat. "I am
sorry, my friend, but their bodies must have gone to the bottom," the fisherman
said. "Lily," he addressed his daughter, "let's return home."
"Farewell, Wen-chi. Farewell, Liu," Li whispered softly. "May your souls
find peace."
"Did you say Wen-chi, young man?" the fisherman man asked. "I knew his
son; he helped us fishermen to pool our money to help the families of those who
were lost at sea. A good man; until they killed him. The gangsters, that is.
And looted our fund."
Li nodded; he had heard Wen-chi speak of his son's undertaking. He thanked
the fisherman and the girl once again for their efforts, feeling utterly
desolate, wracked with the horrible guilt that not only had he been blind to
Liu's affection, but that he had cursed and reviled her only minutes before she
had taken her life.
When the fishing boat reached a secluded part of the bay on its voyage back
to its mooring place, Li instructed the fisherman to gut the bloated body of
Feng the Butcher.
Chung-hua gave the man he had rescued a bewildered look, but at Li's
insistence did as he was bid. Lily looked on with astonishment as her father cut
open the bloated abdomen of her malefactor, and slowly retrieved, one by one,
the diamonds and pearls that had constituted Feng the Butcher's last supper.
Even in their gory state, the gems were obviously of great value. As the
fisherman and his daughter carefully washed them off in the ocean water, the
full moon once again peeked through the receding storm clouds, allowing the
diamonds to dazzle brilliantly in the pale moonlight. When Li was certain that
they had recovered all of the jewels, the fisherman and his daughter tipped the
bloated, bloody body of Feng the Butcher over the side. Half a minute later, Li
saw the first dorsal fin cutting through the water, attracted by Feng's gutted
body. And then a second, and a third, and a few seconds later there was a
hideous thrashing in the water as the jagged-toothed creatures of the deep fed
on the body of their human counterpart.
Li Chang shuddered as he watched the frenzied shark-fest, and when it was
done, he swore his rescuers to secrecy about the events of the past few hours.
He promised Chung Hua and his daughter that if they kept faith with him, and
helped him find refuge for a time, that they would be assisting a righteous
cause, and that one day their kindnesses would be rewarded.
Li Chang's heart was heavy as the fisherman steered the boat back into the
harbor. Although he had not been paying particularly close attention at the
time, the words of the poem that Liu had recited at dinner on the prior evening
were etched indelibly into his soul.
"How sad it is to be a woman;
Nothing on earth is held so cheap.
She bows and kneels countless times;
She must humble herself even to the servants.
His love is as distant as the stars in heaven.
A hundred evils are heaped upon her.
Her face will follow the year's changes.
Her lord will find new pleasures."
As he mourned the loss of the truest heart that he would ever know, he
rolled a few of the gleaming pearls around in his hand. And soon the rhythmic
click of those treasures of the sea began to suggest to him the outlines of a
plan to avenge the death of his loved ones.
Chapter 36 The Breast Bondage of the Ceylonese Sisters
Once the weight of the four bodies and their chains had been jettisoned, it
did not take long for the Ox and Lin to row back to their comrades. When they
arrived back at the lonely wharf they joined Chiang Chan and Dao on the horse
cart for the ride back to the Black Pagoda.
Dao, sitting in the front with Chiang Chan, was first to speak. "Too bad
about Feng, -- he never will get a crack at that thieving little bitch's ass,
will he?"
"Crack!" Lin giggled in his high-pitched voice. "That's a good one."
"Laugh if you want, boy, but that man could make a woman hurt in more ways
than you'll ever dream of."
"Tell him about those sisters -- you remember, the ones with the ..." and
the Ox made a cupping motion with his huge hands as if he were squeezing a very
generous pair of female breasts. "Where were they from, again?" the Ox urged in
his resonant but vacant voice.
"Ceylon. Yeah, those two were something alright." Dao shook his head
wistfully as if remembering pleasant days past.
"Yes, tell us," Chiang Chan joined in.
"Well, it was like this. One summer a few years ago a slaver ship drops
anchor in the harbor back there with a nice cargo of women that were destined
for Madame Wong's."
"Who's Madame Wong?" Lin asked.
"Her girls call her the Dragon Lady; she was beautiful once, and she's
smart and she's tough, and I think she'd sell her own daughter for the coins in
a beggar's cup. She runs half a dozen brothels for the Chans. One of the
nicest ones caters mostly to the round-eyes -- the Europeans. She gets her
girls from all over -- some are home grown and go into a whore's life with their
eyes wide open. But other come from the slave markets of Samarkand, and quite
a few come from the Indies, southeast Asia and anywhere else where warring
chiefs are willing to trade some of their female captives to the round-eyes for
weapons. And the Europeans, especially a red-bearded old whoremaster of a
ship's captain named McMahon, save the best-looking girls for Madame Wong, who
they know will pay well for good merchandise.
"But getting back to the story -- a few summers ago, one of the brothels
burns down, and suddenly the Dragon Lady has more girls on her hands than she
has room for, and more coming. Feng finds out and talks us Scorpions into
chipping in to 'rent' a couple of the newcomers for a few weeks. But the deal
was that we couldn't rough 'em up too much because we had to return them in good
condition at the end of the agreed time. Feng had to promise we wouldn't slap
'em, punch 'em or use any kind of weapon on 'em. And, since they were
supposedly virgins, Feng had to agree that we wouldn't fuck 'em or even make
'em do any friendly cock-sucking. But Feng," Dao chuckled at the memory, " that
old bastard saw to it that we got our money's worth."
"From the new arrivals Feng chooses these two sisters from Ceylon -- young,
choice, silky-haired girls. The older one, Leana, couldn't have been a day over
twenty, and her sister was maybe a year younger. So, on the first night Feng
brings 'em down to the Pit and he tells 'em they only have two duties. One of
them has to cook for us and one has to wait on table each night."
"So what's the problem with that?" Chiang Chan asked with interest. He'd
had a young Ceylonese girl once at Madame Wong's -- a present from his father on
his sixteenth birthday. She'd had beautiful features, with appealing curves for
a girl so young, and flesh warmed to a delicious bronze by the equatorial sun.
Her clove-scented pussy had been as hot and moist as a summer in Singapore. But
it was her deep-clefted buttocks he remembered best. Hers had been the first
ass he had ever fucked and he had fucked it diligently, thrusting his swollen
cockhead into her tight-clutching channel until her subdued grimaces of pain
evolved into agonized cries for him to stop. But with his father, George Chan,
watching, as if testing his manhood, Chiang had redoubled his efforts, punishing
the delectable dark-skinned girl with his male ramrod, thrusting into her rectum
harder and harder until his balls were bouncing off her resilient bottom-cheeks.
While his father beamed approvingly at his son's cocksmanship, and forced his
own rock-hard penis between the soft lips of the girl the woman-slavers had
taken far from her homeland...
"Give me a chance to finish, Chiang Chan. The older one, Leana, volunteers
to cook, and she was quite happy with her choice. Until Feng tells her to take
her blouse off. Both of the girls were wearing thin blouses like the peasant
girls wear in that part of the world. And those wrap-around skirts showed a
lot of leg when they walked. That was a hot summer -- remember, Ox?"
The behemoth nodded in recollection.
"It was so sticky that night, that those blouses clung to their bodies
like, like..." Dao paused, trying to think of an apt comparison, " like dew on a
spring meadow."
Chiang Chan smiled as he flicked the horse gently with the buggy whip. Dao
was as homely as they come, and probably couldn't write much more than his own
name, if that. But he wasn't a bad storyteller.
"You could tell that both of 'em had a nice pair of mangos under those
blouses. And their nips were like darts against the silk. Anyway, when Feng
tells Leana that she's gonna do some bare-breasted cooking, the girls started
to get nervous. You could see it in their big brown eyes. Leana looked at us
like a frightened deer; there was eight of us Scorpions there that night, and
there was sixteen eyes that wanted a better look at what was under that blouse."
"Leana backs away frightened, until Feng shows her two or three nasty
looking whips that were hanging on the wall by his cot. He tells her that if she
didn't do what she was told, his deal with Madame Wong was off. Leana's brown
eyes looked at the whips and then back at Feng, who's scowling at her like a
cave-demon, and pretty soon she concludes that he's as serious as a Tibetan
monk. Leana was trembling by then, and she turns around so that she can
unbutton her blouse with her back to us. But Feng says, 'No, turn around;
Scorpions like to see what they'd paid for.' So she turns around and starts in
on the buttons. It seemed to take forever, her hands were shaking so bad, but
the wait was worth it. When she finally peeled the blouse off, we got a good
look at her jugs. They were damp with sweat, whether from the humidity or from
fear, I didn't know and didn't care. Damn, she had some tasty-looking knockers,
didn't she, Ox? Remember how those brown nips tilted up?"
"Sure do; remember how she tried to cover 'em up with her hands ? But Feng
didn't go for that."
"Right. He told her if she tried that again he'd have to whip her hands
until she lowered them, and then he'd give her a few across her boobs for good
measure. So she lowered her hands and just stood, there, breathin' heavily
while we eyeballed her tits. And every breath seemed to lift those tasty
nipples higher into the air."
Dao took a long leisurely breath, enjoying the reminiscence, before
beginning again. "Feng had her start dinner then, while we watched, and pretty
soon Leana had a fire going under a wok on the big old stove in the back of the
Pit."
Chiang Chan remembered seeing the ugly black stove in the back of the
barracks, not far from its fuel -- a pile of coal in a corner of the room.
Dao continued. "Feng made sure that every course she cooked that night was
either quick-fried in a wok or deep fried in hot oil. And it didn't take long
for the grease to start popping. But Feng ordered her to keep her hands at her
sides, except when she was turning or stirring or serving the food." Dao
laughed roughly through his irregular teeth. "You should have seen her shake
those tits when the grease landed, trying to cool them off!"
"Tell 'em about the other one," the Ox encouraged Dao.
Chiang Chan had almost forgotten about the other sister.
"Meanwhile you're probably thinking that the younger sister, Mahlua, got
off easy, right?" Dao asked.
"Well, of course, -- it wasn't her boobs getting splattered," chimed in
Lin. "All she had to do was serve the meals, right?"
"But the story isn't over yet, young one. Feng tells Mahlua to take her
own blouse off. 'Don't worry," he said, 'You won't have to cook tonight.' So
Mahlua unbuttons her blouse -- it was bright red, I remember -- and may my
father's ghost wander a thousand years if her tits weren't just as ripe and firm
as Leana's, and maybe even bigger. Big juicy mangoes they were, with nipples
you'd like to suck on for hours."
"And then," Dao went on, "Feng took a length of some thick coarse rope, and
starts tying up her tits. None of us had ever seen anything like that before.
I don't know where he learned how to do it, but that mountain man was a magician
with a rope. Inside of five minutes he'd wound that scratchy rope around
Mahlua's man-pleasers so tight you'd have thought he was trying to strangle
'em."
"She had to serve dinner that way, with her tits swollen up as hard and as
red as pomegranates. And don't think we didn't all squeeze those babies every
chance we got -- not to mention runnin' our hands up the slit in that blood-red
skirt she wore."
"The next night Feng made the two sisters throw the dice and the winner got
to choose whether she wanted to cook, and deal with the hot grease, or wait on
table with her boobs tied. And Feng made 'em throw the dice and choose every
night after that."
"Those girls were with us for three weeks; and regardless which one of them
won the throw of the dice, neither one of them ever chose to repeat the torment
she had experienced most recently. And every night of those three weeks, Feng
used a thinner grade of rope. The thinner the rope, the tighter the tit-fit he
used to say. He worked down through several grades of rope, then various kinds
of cord, and then twine, and hemp and jute-string, until finally, on the last
night we had the girls, Leana was cooking dinner again, and yelping everytime
the deep fryer spits grease at her, while Feng very calmly removes the strings
from a musical instrument he'd made when he lived in that cave up in the
mountains."
"That brown-skinned island bitch almost fainted when she saw what he was up
to," the Ox chimed in.
"Didn't she though? One he got the strings loose -- I don't know what they
were made out of -- mountain goat-gut, for all I know -- he gives Mahlua one of
his evil smiles..."
"Only kind he had," Zheng the Ox interjected from the back with a laugh.
"And then he starts winding the first string around one of Mahlua's big
jugs."
"Damned if her eyes didn't start bulgin' almost as much as her tits as she
watched him wrap that mandolin string, or whatever it was, around her boobs."
"She was beggin' him to stop, remember?" the Ox recalled.
"Yeah," Dao laughed. "As if begging was gonna stop Feng once he had his
mind set on something. Her whining made him angry, -- the way he saw it, those
two island girls shoulda been happy we wasn't givin' 'em the full treatment,
like we're gonna give that little thief when we get back to the Pit."
Dao paused as each man's thoughts turned to the delicious sixteen-year old
beauty they'd left tied in a muscle-straining bondage back at the barracks. Then
he returned to his story.
"So he rips that red sarong off, cuts off a strip of the material and gags
her with it. Damn! She was a sight to see, Ox, wasn't she? She had the legs of
a girl who'd spent her life sprinting through a jungle or along a beach. Long,
beautiful legs, a nice little bush, and a bottom your hand just itched to spank.
Pretty soon, the gag has her droolin' and what with the tears runnin' down her
cheeks and the spit drippin' down from her chin pretty soon those fuckin'
tied-up tits were as slick and wet as you'd ever want 'em."
"So what'd you do then?" Lin self-consciously wiped away a stream of
saliva that had leaked from the corner of his own mouth as he leaned forward
from the back of the cart, the better to listen to the exciting story.
"Well, as you can imagine, half of us were yellin' to have Mahlua sit at
the table with her swollen drool-covered tits propped up on the table so we
could work 'em over some -- I was achin' to lay some leather across her
throbbin' knobs myself -- her puffy nipples were really askin' for it! -- and
the others wanted to fuck her senseless. But Feng wouldn't let us, the old
bastard. He'd given his word to the Dragon Lady that he wouldn't let us fuck or
beat her Ceylonese cuties, and so we didn't."
"Yeah," the Ox joined in, "But he let us give them a cock-whipping they'd
never forget!"
"A what?" Chiang Chan asked, genuinely puzzled.
Dao continued his story. "Feng forced Mahlua to kneel on the floor next to
the dinner table, so that her bound boobs were cock-high for most of us.
"Meanwhile some of the others grabbed Leana and forced her down next to her
sister. Feng wiped the grease off her tits, and then roped them up nice and
tight in some kite-twine. Well, looking at those two gorgeous brown-skinned
beauties lined up on their knees, their tits tied up tighter than a pair of
Siamese jungle drums, their tasty-looking nips pokin' out like they was
challengin' us, well, my cock was as hard as a hammer..."
"And mine wasn't?" interjected the Ox.
"Sure it was," Dao said agreeably. "And then Feng told us we could smack
those bulging tit-balls with our cocks -- two men on each girl, one on each
breast. Me and Ox paired up and we we chose Mahlua -- remember, big fella?"
"Who could forget?" Zheng chortled, as he rubbed his crotch where his
massive manhood had begun to swell.
Dao nodded in agreement. In his mind's eye he could see Zheng's monstrous
cock, nearly as thick as an axe-handle and almost as hard, lying across the
plump firmness of Mahlua's delicious right breast.
"One of the boys got behind Mahlua, grabbed her arms so she wouldn't give
us any trouble, and put his knee in her back, so that she was kneeling upright
with her breasts stuck out just perfect. Then we started clubbing those juicy
brown tits with our pricks. From the way she cried out, Mahlua's boobs must
have been sensitive as hell. And no wonder -- those damn strings had sunk so
deeply into her tits that you could hardly see 'em. But we could sure see the
pain in her pretty brown eyes and hear her gruntin' in her gag every time we
whacked 'em, couldn't we Ox?" Dao could feel his balls tighten and his manhood
swell in his trousers as he recalled the lusty scene.
"Yeah. And we whacked 'em good, too!"
"Damn!" Lin exclaimed, wishing he had been there. Even Chiang Chan, who
had enjoyed more than his share of unusual erotic encounters thanks to his
father's power and proclivities, was aroused by Dao's strange tale.
"Yeah, we pounded those bulging boobies til our dicks hurt. And then we
concentrated on her nipples. Finally, I was so fucking excited I couldn't take
it any more, and we jerked off on her, didn't we, Ox? Man, I never came like
that before or since. I must have pumped cum on her tits for thirty seconds.
We creamed those knockers good, didn't we, partner?"
"Sure did. Coated 'em up real nice."
"Meanwhile Feng and one of the others was workin' over Leana. I swear to
you, that evil-minded old bastard cock-whipped her tits for a good twenty
minutes before his shot his load."
Dao's voice suddenly dropped and darkened. "But I guess he won't be
shooting his load no more."
The foursome grew quiet, as the horse pulled them slowly along in the cart.
The pinnacle of the Black Pagoda was visible in the distance now; they would be
back at the Pit soon. Each man in his own way pondering the vicissitudes of
life -- one minute Feng had been terrorizing the beautiful Liu; the next minute
he was lying in a pool of blood with his throat cut from ear to ear.
Chapter 37 Dena's Curse
It was Zheng, the Ox, who broke the silence a minute later. "Dena's
curse," murmured the Ox morosely.
"What's that?" asked Chiang Chan, as he flicked the horse pulling the cart
lightly with a buggy whip.
"Dena's curse, the Ox repeated. "Tell him, Dao, you'd tell it better than I
would."
It occurred to Chiang Chan than a Sumatran ape could probably recount a
story as well as the Ox, whose dullness was a match for his size.
"Well, the story goes something like this..." and Dao proceeded to tell the
story as Feng had told it to him. He'd heard it dozens of times, practically
every time, in fact, that the Butcher had had too much to drink, which was
hardly an infrequent occurrence.
Chiang Chan noticed that Dao's manner had changed; he told the story with
the seriousness that Feng had told it to him, without the breezy casualness he
had displayed telling the tale of the lovely Ceylonese sisters.
Dao proceeded to recount the story of Feng and his upbringing, of the
wicked Dargon and his beautiful daughter, Dena. How Feng and his kinsmen had
caught the barbarian princess, stripped her of her clothes, and flog-marched her
naked through the mountains for hours on the way back to their hide-out. When
he got to the part where Feng and his men had bound up Dena's superb breasts in
tit-choking strips of leather, he noticed that beads of saliva were once again
oozing from the corners of the Drooler's mouth. Beads that spilled into a thin
stream when he told of the barbed thorn sticks, the horsewhip, the gnarly bamboo
canes and all of the other instruments of pain that Feng and his stalwart
comrades had applied to the beautiful princess's throbbing, full-nippled
breasts.
Dao went on to describe at some length the savagery with which Feng's men
had assaulted their voluptuous victim, as his audience of three listened
spellbound. "Yes, they got vengeance for their sisters and wives," he
concluded. "But they didn't reckon with Dena's curse."
"Which was?" Chiang asked with interest.
"She invoked her pagan gods to condemn her tormentors to horrible deaths --
and she vowed that one day their bodies would be food for the wolves."
"And sure enough," Dao continued, "after Dena and her companions had been
missing for several days, her father led a war party into the mountains. They
found the heads of Dena's entourage where Feng's men had left them, and then
followed the killers up into the hills. Luckily for Feng he had gone deep into
the forest hunting that morning; when he returned the following afternoon, he
was still a hillside away from the camp, when he thought he detected faint,
animal-like moans of agony coming from that direction."
"When he finally did arrive at the camp, he saw that Dena's malediction
had come to pass: for Dargon's soldiers had strung his kinsmen up naked, each
from his own tree, and smeared their abdomens and groins with the blood and guts
of squirrels and rabbits."
"Then, when Dargon and his men had left and the sun had gone down, the
creatures of the night -- the ravenous black wolves of the mountains --
attracted by the scent of blood, had come out of their lairs to feed on the
bodies of the men who had abducted Princess Dena."
Dao's three listeners shivered. "They never did catch Feng, did they?" Lin
asked in a breathless voice.
"No; with all of his kinsman dead, Feng left the mountains then, and began
the long journey east and joined the Scorpions a couple of years later," Dao
went on. "But he never forgot that curse, and I don't think he ever got a good
night's sleep in all the years since. He slept on the cot next to mine at the
Pit. I don't know how many times he woke up in the night, sweating, his eyes
wild, as if he'd woken from a nightmare just before the wolves' fangs had closed
on his throat.
"Well, at least the wolves never got him," Lin exclaimed.
"But they will," said Dao, through his crenelated teeth. "The wolves of
the sea." His companions shuddered as they looked back over their shoulder in
the direction of the dark harbor, where even then the sharks were feeding on the
body of Feng the Butcher. Dena's curse had finally overtaken its last victim.
Chapter 38 Lust-slave of the Black Scorpions
Chiang Chan used the buggy whip to gently flick the horse which pulled the
cart in which he and his three henchmen were seated. It was strange, he
thought, how Princess Dena's baleful malediction had come to pass. While
gloomily pondering whether her curse had indeed played a role in Feng's unlucky
fate, he happened to see a coolie snoring drunkenly in the dark doorway of an
abandoned textile warehouse, an empty wine bottle on his chest, his ricksha
leaning against the building.
Anxious to cheer his suddenly morose companions, a thought occurred to him.
"Why so glum? Have you all forgotten that pretty little pig-tailed
pleasure-girl back at the Pit? I'll bet she's lying there waiting to give us a
hearty homecoming. You boys want to have some real fun with her tonight? Just
like those English dukes and earls?"
"Is the Great Wall made of stone?" Dao replied with a wink to the Ox who
sat behind him in the cart. He'd heard stories of how some of the English
nobility treated their servant girls.
"Well, someone grab that ricksha over there and bring it back to the
barracks. Don't worry; it would take an earthquake to wake that drunken fool."
Lin, the junior Scorpion, was ordered to climb down out of the cart and
commandeer the rickshaw. It took him only a moment to step over the sleeping
man, turn the rickshaw around, and, using its long arms, to pull the two-wheeled
human-powered taxi behind him as he fell into step behind the horse cart.
******
As the two vehicles approached the door to the Pit, Ci-ci, the girl whose
body the four Scorpions were bent on enjoying once again, could hear the gentle
clatter of the wheels turning, and the intermittent words and laughter of its
half-drunken passengers in the distance.
Ci-ci had been lying there in the dark and the cold, her throat parched,
her limbs contorted with pain, since the four Scorpions had left on their harbor
errand more than an hour earlier. During their absence she had tossed the
horrifying events of the past twelve hours, indeed the past twelve months, over
and over in her mind, wondering what she might have done differently. And
desperately trying to think how she might escape from the cruel sexual slavery
to which she had been so unjustly condemned.
Her older sister Peony, whom Ci-ci admired for both her beauty and her
goodness of heart, had begged her not to go into service at the Black Pagoda.
She had heard rumors, Peony had told her a year ago, that the palace of Richard
Chan was a citadel of dark secrets, that no good could come from her employment
there
But Ci-ci had insisted that it was not fair that Peony should have to bear
the entire burden of supporting both themselves and their four small brothers
and sisters. The six of them had been orphaned when Peony's father had died in
a mysterious accident a few years earlier and their mother had died, some said
of grief, not long after. The younger children lived with their grandmother, a
difficult old crone embittered by a life of poverty, who would not have offered
the little ones so much as a spoonful of rice or a cup of cabbage broth, had not
Peony provided the money to pay for their meager board from her earnings at
Madame Wong's.
Ci-ci, though, knew nothing of Peony's life at the brothel; her sister had
told her only that she worked as a hostess at an inn that catered to wealthy
foreigners and others. But the younger sister slowly become aware that the
elder's work must have been unusually physically taxing. On many nights, Peony
returned home very late, sometimes after midnight. More than once Ci-ci had
lain, late at night, in the tiny room they shared, feigning sleep, while she
watched her sister undress with a slowness that could only have been the result
of pain or extreme fatigue. Or both.
On one such occasion, it had only been a few hours before dawn when Ci-ci
had watched in breathless silence as her slim and lovely sister had slipped
slowly out of her clothes and crawled gingerly under the meager blanket on the
other side of the humble room. Peony had lain there, cradling her own slender
body in her arms and moaning softly for some minutes as if she were in great
distress. But when the new day dawned a few hours later, Peony, as always,
greeted her younger sister with a cheerful smile while she prepared the morning
tea. Each morning, after they had finished their tea, Peony set out on her
three-mile walk to their grandmother's poorly-kept lodgings so that she might
leave money for the children's keeping, before going on to her "hostess" job --
as if the soft sobs in the night had been the stuff of dreams.
Seeing the toll her sister's means of employment seemed to be taking on
her, Ci-ci had been all the more determined to seek work herself. She was
fifteen, after all, and bright, and, she thought, pretty. It had been the
attractive, rather brazen-looking young daughter of the greengrocer, who had
suggested that Ci-ci might find employment at the Black Pagoda; the pay was good
by Shanghai standards, the woman had said, and the living quarters were
incomparably better than the tiny room Ci-ci shared with her sister.
When Peony got wind of Ci-ci's plans, she scolded her sister for having
such an idea. When Ci-ci asked if the money would not be useful, Peony, almost
in tears, promised to work even longer hours if Ci-ci would give up her thoughts
of working at the Black Pagoda. But Ci-ci chided her sister for her foolish
fears. And finally Peony relented. At that time, after all, Peony had had no
direct knowledge of the affairs of the Chans, their base desires, or the nature
of their underground chamber of sexual horrors. Peony, though she was familiar
with the wispy cobwebs of rumor that enveloped the Black Pagoda, actually had no
concrete knowledge with which to convince her beloved sister.
And so Ci-ci had entered into the service of Richard Chan. Her
housemaid's duties were not onerous, especially once the master of the house had
taken a fancy to her. She had been frightened and fearful when he had taken
her to his bed for the first time, for no young man had ever touched her
before. But knowing that she could not hope to find a position that paid an
inexperienced girl so well, she submitted to his carnal embraces in the hopes
that she could ease her sister's lot in life. Even as her sister had submitted
to the embraces of the clients at Madame Wong's only to ease the lot of Ci-ci
and her other brothers and sisters.
But while Richard Chan himself had treated her well, until today, Ci-ci
sensed early on that his number one concubine, the exotic and beautiful
Eurasian, Mai-Lee Tan, harbored a great bitterness toward her. Some of the
other servants, especially the hatchet-faced battleaxe, Yian, were jealous of
her dark eyes, her soft skin, her youthful figure, and most of all her favor
with the master.
She could only guess that either Mai-Lee or the servants had somehow sought
to incriminate her in Richard Chan's eyes and succeeded, and thus were
responsible for her horrific ordeal, first in the cellars of the Black Pagoda,
and now here in the dark and dismal dormitory of the Black Scorpions.
The pain of the fearful flogging she had undergone in Richard Chan's
dungeons had lessened now, hours later, but there were new pains now, between
her legs, where the Scorpions had ravished her, and in her soul, now that her
young body had become little more than a trophy to be mounted by the winners of
their boisterous dice games.
And now, as she struggled helplessly in her hempen bonds she could only
hope that the sounds she heard outside did not signal the momentary return of
some of the Scorpions. Particularly the quartet who had already used her body
so ruthlessly.
**********
The voices outside grew louder as they drew nearer; and for the first time
Ci-ci recognized the high-pitch laugh of the boy and the cavernous voice of the
one they called the Ox. She shuddered at the realization that the men outside
were indeed the same foursome who had bound her earlier, and were now, in all
likelihood, returning for new pleasures at her expense.
A moment or two later the Ox threw open the door to the Pit, and he and his
comrades entered. The tall man with the bad teeth and the scrawny teenaged boy
proceeded to light a pair of large kerosene lamps near the entrance, while the
other two waited in the doorway
When there was sufficient light to see, the returnees realized that most
of their barracks-mates were not there; Chiang Chan surmised correctly that many
of the missing were deployed in twos and threes, scouring the city looking for
members of Li Chang's rebellious cells. Three or four Scorpions slumbered
noisily on their cots, snoring the heavy snores of drunken debauchery. On the
nearest cot, an unsavory looking cut-throat pawed his naked hairy genitals in
his sleep, no doubt re-enacting in his dreams the depraved pleasures he and his
fellows had enjoyed at the expense of the girl whose tempting body confronted
Chiang Chan and his men.
For the almond-eyed, golden-skinned pleasure girl was exactly where they
had left her earlier following their return visit to the Pit -- lying face down
on the same oaken table on which the men had rolled their dice, with her lovely
face just extending over one end of the table.
The reason why Ci-ci's limbs were wracked with pain, and why her face was
contorted in misery was hardly a mystery to her visitors. The only part of her
tempting body that was in contact with the table was her belly and pubic mound;
her legs had been doubled up and bent back behind her, so that her dainty feet
hovered above her nicely rounded derriere. Meanwhile her arms had been extended
to their fullest behind her, so that her wrists could be cross-lashed to her
ankles, right wrist to left ankle and left wrist to right. Ci-ci's back was
thus curved into an alluring but agonizing bow, while her taut thighs and
pouting, dark-nippled breasts were poised several inches above the table.
Several threads of male Scorpion-juice were splattered across her girlish face
-- her eyelids, cheeks, lips, chin -- and chest. As if each of her evil
assailants had wanted to defile her most beautiful features.
To complete her painful bondage, one of the Scorpions had dug up a pair of
robust thistle plants from the grassy area between the Pit and the Black Pagoda
and placed them on the table beneath Ci-ci's soft, semen-streaked breasts. So
that each time one of them had pulled her head down to pay homage to his
thuggish organ, Ci-ci's succulent young breasts were crushed against the prickly
plants. And now, the thistles, too, were sticky from the Scorpion semen which
her assailants had splattered, in one shuddering ejaculation after another, onto
Ci-ci's tempting love globes. Ci-ci's breasts, in turn, were both rosy and raw
from the irritating surface of the thistles. A thin trickle of scarlet could be
seen just outside her left nipple, where the sharpest of the thistle-spines had
scraped her breastflesh. Chiang Chan noticed that the lurid streaks across her
breasts - which unbeknownst to him had been the work of his sadistic father -
that he had noticed earlier, had faded somewhat.
"Water...please...water," Ci-ci implored; she had had a single cup of tea
in the early afternoon, and not a drop of water in the twelve or fourteen hours
since.
When the four men had entered the Pit, Ci-ci had begun to shiver anew;
partly from the chill of the cold night air which followed them into the room,
and partly from fear -- deep, gut-wrenching fear. It was ironic that the Chans
had stretched her supple young body by elongating it, while the Scorpions had
elected to torment it by bending it back upon itself -- into a taut,
muscle-straining oval. An oval of naked feminine flesh that was punctuated by
two sharp-tipped brown nipples that the coolness of the night air had chilled
into a most appetizing erection.
Ci-ci lay there helplessly while the four men congratulated each other on
their quarry's stringent bondage. Their demeanor sent fresh waves of terror
coursing through Ci-ci's body. Their faces were masks of lust; their eyes,
cold, dark and unblinking, were the eyes of the cruel and implacable evil
spirits that haunt a child's nightmares.
Unfortunately it seemed all but certain that her own nightmare was still
far from over.
Ci-ci had good cause to fear each of the cruel quartet, but it was the
skinny, acne-flecked young one that she resented the most; he was not much older
than she. Surely he should have been sympathetic to a girl's plight. But he
stood there, ogling her nude body, smirking like a village idiot. His hair,
still damp from the sea air, was slicked down in dark strands, while his
feverish eyes raped her nakedness even as a thin trickle of saliva leaked from
the corner of his mouth. Every now and then the pimple-faced boy
surreptitiously moved his hand to his crotch to fondle his genitals, which, she
knew, were swollen in mute testimony to her desirability and her helplessness.
"Water..." she entreated them again. "Please, sir," Ci-ci addressed the
largest of the foursome, who had led them into the room. "This is all a
mistake...I stole nothing."
The Ox's brawny chest swelled in manly pride; he wasn't used to being
called "Sir".
"Hmmm," replied Chiang Chan, young and handsome but with the same black,
unfeeling eyes of his uncle, as he stepped in front of his slow-witted henchman
before Zheng could reply. "Notice, my friends, that in the same breath she asks
for water, she calls my father and uncle liars?"
"The lying slut!" It was the boy's high-pitched voice. "I'll show her."
Out of the corner of her eye, Ci-ci could see the Lin reach for the cord-like
sash that held his loose-fitting black trousers up.
"No, my friends. Let us be generous to those less fortunate than
ourselves. The wench is thirsty. Shall we not satisfy her thirst?"
Dao gave the Ox a look of puzzled surprise. Was this the son of George
Chan?
Chiang Chan moved closer and lifted his left index finger to Ci-ci's cheek,
swabbing the thickest strand of semen onto his finger.
"Here, wench, is something for you to drink. Stick out your tongue, girl."
Ci-ci blushed in shame to the accompaniment of the the ribald chuckles of
her captors.
Dao breathed a brief sigh of relief, grateful that Chiang Chan's seemingly
charitable gesture had been only a cruel ruse. The girl might yet prove to be
good sport. The gap-toothed thug noticed with satisfaction that the tooth-marks
he had left on her left breast when he had raped her earlier were still visible;
he might not have all of his teeth, Dao thought to himself, but he still knew
how to make the most of the yellowing stubs that he still possessed!
Ci-ci's aversion to oral sex, which she had concealed since the first time
Richard Chan had pulled her pretty head down toward his throbbing thick-veined
phallus, had only worsened as this long night of degradation had dragged on. She
had long since lost count of how many Scorpions she had been compelled to
pleasure with her mouth. She looked down at Richard's finger, caked with the
viscous anonymous seed of one of her tormentors, and shook her head from side to
side.
"N-n-no..." Ci-ci began, but her protest went unheard. Chiang Chan's
powerful right hand closed on one of her pigtails and pushed her upper body down
slightly so that Ci-ci's tender teen-aged lust mounds brushed against the brace
of bristling thistle-plants.
"Ooouuhhhhhh!"
"I said, 'stick out your tongue!' " Chiang Chan repeated, a little louder.
When Ci-ci still demurred, Chiang Chan pushed down harder, crushing her
love-globes into the spiny plants. "Your tongue, girl! Don't pretend that
you're not used to the taste."
When Ci-ci could bear the pain no longer, she at last extended the pretty
pink tongue that had been made to lick the rigid cocks and hairy balls of one
dice-lucky Scorpion after another, and was rewarded with the vile dollop of
thug-sperm.
"Swallow, wench!"
Chiang Chan did not pull her clear of the breast-pricking thistles, even
after he was satisfied that Ci-ci had swallowed her slimy mouthful. "This slut
is rebellious, my friends, as well as a liar and a thief!' Chiang Chan exclaimed
to his colleagues. "But we'll put an end to her rebelliousness tonight, won't
we lads?"
"Aye!" answered his men, almost as one, each of the three anxious to sate
his savage lusts on the tempting body of the dark-haired, doe-eyed teenager.
"It will be a fitting wake for Feng, will it not?" Dao added, as he felt
his virile manhood thicken with unholy desire.
Dao suddenly had the fancy that that lust-crazed descendant of untold
generations of barbaric warriors was probably watching the subjugation of the
beautiful thief from some dark corner in the depths of hell. He pictured Feng,
his bald head and hairy body enswirled by noxious vapors, grinning and stroking
that massively rapacious organ of his, while he looked on as Chiang Chan, the
heir to his position as squadron leader, had forced the young beauty's sweet,
succulent breasts deep into the spiny plants, causing her taut, bound body to
vibrate with pain.
Dao felt his lips curl into a thin cruel smile at the notion. It was a
shame though, that the Butcher could not be there to enjoy the festivities
first-hand. There was an element of selfishness in Dao's regret as well; no one
could have been more innovative at finding ways to extract the last ounce of
sadistic pleasure from a young beauty his late mentor. But, judging from his
leadership so far, and the way Ci-ci had squirmed to free her tender breasts
from the bristling plants upon which she was impaled, Chiang Chan promised to be
a worthy successor.
Chapter 39 Soft skin, Hard Labor and Burning Buttocks
When Chiang at last pulled Ci-ci's head up, Dao could see that a few more
tiny but no doubt irritating thistle spines were lodged in her breasts. Three
fresh pin-pricks of claret attested to the sharpness of the tiny thorns.
Chiang Chan moved to her side, and Ci-ci felt his strong hand slide under
the cocoon of ropes that pinned her wrists to her ankles. Moments later she
felt that masculine hand slide along the back of her leg, beginning at
mid-thigh, and then inching higher, exploring her soft flesh as he did so.
And remarkably soft it was; had not the The Master of the Black Pagoda
himself had been enthralled by the the softness of her skin? Particularly the
silky-smooth flesh of her bottom. The Lord of the Scorpions had loved to cup
those infant-soft cheeks in his hands as he reclined beneath her, while she
bounced with all the unflagging energy of youth on his thrusting pole of
man-flesh. Richard Chan had confided to his brother more than once that he
viewed Ci-ci as a remarkable synthesis of the ages of feminine beauty. The
sensuous baby-soft skin, the pleasingly girlish face framed by a comely pair of
dark nymphet-like pigtails, and her ever-maturing body, which had seemed to
blossom at his every touch during the months that he had bedded her. At each
meeting her breasts seemed to have grown bolder, her hips fuller, her inviting
labia more pronounced.
The elder Chan had loved to spank her soft bottom, smacking her resilient
cheeks -- so round and firm and well-muscled under their deliciously soft layer
of girlish skin -- until they were blushingly pink. The spankings were not
really painful to Ci-ci; in fact at times they were almost pleasurable, in that
they sensitized the numberless nerve-endings of her pelvic area. Richard Chan's
enthusiastic but not unduly painful spankings had given her no inkling of her
master's true nature.
Chiang Chan continued to grope the ripe buttock curves, and then he slid
his fingers into the cleft of desire between them, testing the tight ring of her
anus briefly before sliding downward to the portals of her feminity. He could
feel the envious eyes of his men on him as he stroked her love-nook, and then
guiltily decided that it might be best if he were to begin sharing his carnal
pleasures with his comrades
"Boys, our pleasure-girl has been cooped up inside all night. I think she
needs some some exercise and some fresh air; what do you say, lads?"
"Aye! and a bath, too," exclaimed Dao. His greedy eyes devoured Ci-ci's
nubile curves. When he had first seen her at the Black Pagoda a year or so
earlier, she had been a pretty, but rather shapeless fifteen-year old. But she
had developed very nicely indeed in the intervening year. She still wore her
hair in those twin pigtails that, combined with the marvelous softness of her
skin, gave her the appearance of a girl younger than she was. But her body gave
the lie to that delightfully pubescent face. Her breasts, though at her young
age perhaps not quite fully mature, were already of a ripe-nippled lushness that
would have teased the eye, stirred the red blood, and inflamed the manhood of
any man; and her hips were now the hips of a woman, no longer those of a girl.
"And that she shall have, my friend. A nice ... hot ... bath."
A bath sounded exquisite to the beleaguered Ci-ci; the sweat and stink and
spunk of a dozen men clung to her body like the foul miasma of the swampy
marshlands upriver. But there was something in the way the one who seemed to be
their leader had spoken those last few words that made her shiver.
"Untie the wench!" Chiang Chan ordered, and while the Ox foraged for a
fresh bottle of rice wine among the largely alcoholic stores of the barracks,
Lin and Dao set about liberating her from her agonizing captivity. She silently
thanked them for releasing her from her backbreaking bondage, even though their
four hands explored every intimate curve of her body as they freed it, stroking
her shapely thighs and delving rudely into the fleshy slit between them. The
manly hands fondled her buttock-cheeks roughly and they squeezed her
dark-nippled breasts so hard that tiny pearls of crimson formed at the edges of
two of the thistle-cuts.
When they had finished undoing her ropes, and stood her up, Ci-ci's legs,
their muscles weakened by an hour or more in the confining hog-tie, could barely
support her. Dao and Lin held her up as their eyes took in the deep indentations
the coarse ropes had left on her arms and legs.
"Very well. Now you shall prepare your bath," Chiang Chan ordered. "So
that the bath water can be heating while you ... take some exercise," he said
as he winked to his three comrades.
"First of all we will need to build a fire to heat the water," Chiang
announced, as he turned toward the far end of the building. "Bring her back to
the stove."
A grimy black stove stood at the rear of the Pit which the Scorpions used
for heat during the cold months and for cooking all year round. It was at this
very stove, in fact, that hot oil had splattered the bare breasts of the
Ceylonese sisters, Leana and Mahlua, while they cooked for their captors during
their month-long sojourn at the Scorpions' barracks. Chiang Chan ordered Lin to
start a fire, but there was only a tiny bit of coal in the stove; clearly more
would be needed to heat any amount of bathwater.
While Lin set about igniting the fire, and the Ox passed the newly-opened
wine bottle around, the others marched the weak-legged girl toward the back of
the building. When they arrived there, Chiang Chan ordered her to take the
large shovel that was propped against the wall and use it to carry shovelsful of
coal from the black mound in one corner of the room over to the nearby stove.
Ci-ci had begun that endless day and night a strong and healthy girl, but
by now her strength had largely been spent. She began by lifting the heavy
shovel and shoving it weakly into the great mound of coal.
"No! Fill the shovel full, you lazy wench!" directed Dao, when the naked
girl turned to carry the first partial shovelful across the room.
Disconsolate, Ci-ci turned back toward the great black pile, and used her
bare left foot, as she had seen ditch-diggers do, to force the blade of the
shovel more deeply into the coal. She filled the capacious bowl of the shovel
to overflowing and then, staggering under the awkward weight, started to cross
the short distance toward the stove.
Chiang Chan nudged Dao with his elbow to get his attention. "See that you
don't spill any, girl! You'll get a lash for each lump you drop!"
Chiang Chan's loud order itself startled the coal-carrying maiden, and her
sudden movement caused two ebony lumps to teeter briefly on the brink of the
shovel before falling to the floor. After Ci-ci had dumped the shovelful into
the stove's coal hopper, she started back toward the coalpile hoping that no one
had noticed her error.
"Are you trying to escape your just punishment, wench?"
"N-n-no. I just..."
"Lean the tip of the shovel against the mound of coal."
Still holding onto the handle of the shovel, Ci-ci did so, turning the
shovel over, so that the tip of its tapering blade seemed to be wedged securely
in the black pile.
"Now, holding on to the handle, and using the tip of the shovel to support
your weight, move your feet back."
Holding on to the tip of the shovel handle, Ci-ci's feet inched backward
away from the pile.
"More!"
Ci-ci backed up a little more, and when Chiang yelled at her yet again,
still more. She quickly came to realize that as she moved her feet further and
further away from the mound in which the shovel was buried at a forty-five
degree angle, her upper body was forced to bend more and more from the waist.
"More!" the imperious voice bellowed again. "And you are only to hold on
to the end of the handle."
When she could back up no more, without letting go of the spade handle or
pulling it out of the coal-pile, she realized that her forward-leaning posture
had positioned her shapely bottom perfectly for whatever nefarious pleasures the
Scorpions had in mind.
"Look at that ass!" the Ox exulted. But he wasn't the only one aroused.
All four Scorpion cocks were standing at attention, saluting the rounded
perfection of Ci-ci's spankable bottom. At some point Ci-ci had managed to wipe
away the evidence of her earlier rapes. And now the fleshy lips of her prominent
labia beckoned to them, as did a few sparse tendrils of girlish pussy-hair.
But it was not just her pleasure nook that fascinated her captors. Each of
her assailants yearned to spread her deep, dark buttock groove, and place his
man-weapon at the tiny entrance to her tight-clenching rectal channel, and
force his cock into that resisting passage until it was in up to its testicular
hilt. Feng had claimed Ci-ci's fine young ass for his own, Dao remembered.
But Feng was no more. And Dao for one wouldn't mind being the first to make the
little wench squeal when she felt his rock-hard pole between her asscheeks.
"Look at it, nothing -- feel those cheeks!" Dao's big hands groped her
buttocks, squeezing the firmness of her bottom-ovals. And then there were more
hands, caressing, kneading, squeezing her derriere which was still warm and
tender from her cruel beating at the Black Pagoda. Ci-ci's shame was even
greater when licentious fingers probed between her legs, pawing intrusively at
her moist, pink pleasure-nook. The tell-tale giggle of the Drooler betrayed the
identity of the groping culprit.
"She dropped two lumps. Who'll go first?"
"I'll teach the slut to dirty our floor!" the Ox said gruffly, blithely
ignoring the fact that the slovenly domicile of the Scorpions was already strewn
with all sorts of debris; it had been weeks since the dingy barracks had been
cleaned by a woman's hand.
Zheng the Ox strode quickly over to his cot and removed a thick brown razor
strop from the small chest which held most of his belongings. Then he stripped
off the top of his Scorpion costume and threw the dark shirt on the cot.
Chiang Chan looked at the huge man in awe. The Ox's chest was massive and
hairy but it was Zheng's shoulders that were truly remarkable. Chiang
remembered the hunchbacked Professor Leung telling his class once that the
ancient Greeks believed that a giant, whom they called Atlas, had been condemned
by the gods to support the world on his shoulders. They had even named the
great ocean of the Europeans, the Atlantic, in his honor. Zheng the Ox was
truly a latter-day Atlas, with shoulders that seemed to have been carved from
the impenetrable rock of the Manchurian quarries. Tthe muscles in his arms, his
triceps and his biceps, were no less prodigious than those of his shoulders..
Chiang smiled to himself at the thought of the delicate body of their shapely
young captive being at the mercy of this weak-minded brute.
The human behemoth lumbered slowly back to where Ci-ci struggled to
maintain her awkward position, as his comrades enjoyed the provocative
oscillation of her derriere. Zheng let the dark strap play over Ci-ci's girlish
but shapely pleasure-cheeks briefly, acquainting her splendid lust-ovals with
the breadth and thickness of the leather that would soon be visiting them at
lightning speed.
The cool, emotionless voice of Chiang Chan was next to speak. "Ask him to
whip you, girl, as punishment for your carelessness."
"But I..."
Chiang Chan gave an almost imperceptible gesture and Zheng nodded. Dao
felt his balls tense with a primitive blood-lust as he watched Zheng's mighty
muscles grip the strop tighter. Then the giant gave a roar of exultation as he
unleashed a mighty CRAACCKK!!! ripping the strop into the very base of Ci-ci's
buttocks. "Aaaaggggghhh" Ci-ci cried out in pain. The force of the blow caused
the handle of the shovel to twist around in her hands and she lost her balance
and fell headlong into the coal pile.
"Aahh!" she exclaimed as she fell forward, and then a split-second later
she emitted a louder "Aaiiiiieh!" as she landed heavily on the base of the huge
pile of irregular black lumps.
"Up, wench!" It was the deep laconic voice of the Ox.
When she did not stir immediately from her prone position, CRAACKK!!
Zheng's strop burned into the backs of her legs as she lay miserably amid the
coal-pile. Her struggles to rise seemed only to bring an unending cascade of
the black mineral sliding down on her. "Up! Like you were!"
Ci-ci tried to pick herself up, biting her lip to fight back the pain. She
had tried to brace her fall with her hands, but the coal pile was loose and
amorphous, and her hands could not keep the entire front of her body from its
violent collision with the lumpy mass. When she had regained a kneeling
position, she looked down, half expecting to see herself covered in blood, but a
thin layer of coal dust obscured whatever abrasions there were.
"Get up, girl! And back in position." This time it was the voice of the
leader.
Ci-ci struggled painfully to her feet and once again lodged the blade of
the shovel as securely as she could into the coal-mound, and assumed her
infinitely vulnerable position.
"I will tell you once again. Ask my over-sized friend here to whip you,"
Chiang Chan repeated in an icy voice.
"Pl-pl-ease... whip me..." Ci-ci whimpered, "for dropping the coal."
"That's better. Zheng, why don't you oblige the young lady."
"Aye, boss." The burly Scorpion drew the strop back again. While it was a
fearful weapon indeed, as wide as Ci-ci's wrist, it looked like a toy in the
Ox's huge paw. Zheng's muscles bulged and the veins in his arms protruded,
attesting to the intensity of his effort as he swept the lash viciously in the
direction of Ci-ci's plump bottom rounds that were still smarting from the
whipping she had endured that afternoon at the Black Pagoda. The blow landed
with a fearful CRACKKK!!!
"AAAIIIIAAAH!!" Ci-ci felt as if her buttocks had been sliced by a
pirate's saber. The strop had left another broad red stripe across her bottom.
"Good one, Zheng! Look at her wiggle that ass!" It was the high-pitched
voice of the Drooler.
His words shamed her, but Ci-ci realized that they were not untrue. Her
buttocks had wriggled involuntarily in a futile effort to minimize the sting of
the strap. Her gyrations may not have soothed the burning in her bottom, but
they provided much enjoyment for her tormentors.
"Yeah, baby. Shake it for us!" It was the Drooler's excitable nasal tenor
voice again. The voice took a harder edge moment later. "Make her dance, Ox!"
"Ask for the next one, girl."
"Please ... mercy ... I have done noth..."
CRACCKK!! The strop burned into her baby-soft buttflesh again. "AAAGHH!!"
"They don't count, girl, unless you ask for them."
Utterly defeated, Ci-ci murmured, "Please ... whip me... for dropping the
coal."
The Ox paused, and his brow wrinkled, as if he were seeking to recall some
bit of ancient lore or contemplating some marvel of human imagination. Chiang
Chan watched the bare-chested giant smilingly -- so this is what it looked like
when the Ox 'thought'. Then it was if a dim light had turned on in the giant's
feeble brain, and he smiled a thick-lipped smile. "Call me 'sir', wench. And
ask me to whip you harder."
"For my carelessness," Chiang Chan added in a frosty voice.
"Please s-sir," the lovely young housemaid repeated as she choked back a
sob, knowing that it would do little good to protest, "w--whip me harder for my
carelessness."
"Much better!" Chiang Chan muttered cynically. The Ox studied Ci-ci's rosy
cheeks, so beautifully positioned for the lash, and then, biceps bulging, he
scorched the delicious concavity of her bottom with another violent CRAACKK!!!
"Aaaaiiiiieaaaaaaahhh!!
Dao felt his cock throb with renewed lust at the sight of the leather
embedding itself deep in the honey-gold flesh of Ci-ci's fuckable ass, before
her springy bottomflesh recoiled with the sensual resilience of youth.
Somehow Ci-ci had absorbed that horrible butt-cutting blow without losing
her balance again. But her relief was cut short quickly when she was ordered to
take up the spade again. For more trips to the coal bin, more too-heavy
shovelsful of the the dusty black mineral, and despite her best efforts, more
lumps of coal tumbling from the heaping shovel. By now, fed by the newly-added
coal, Lin's fire was beginning to burn briskly. As the temperature rose, and
Ci-ci toiled away, she began to perspire more and more heavily. Each time she
thrust the shovel into the great mound of coal, the black dust rose in a dark
cloud, some of it settling on and clinging to her sweat-sheened nakedness.
With each trip to the coal pile, more and more of the coal dust came to
settle on her body. Her captors did not fail to notice that her nether cheeks
were unusally alluring in that they were virtually the only part of her body
that was free from the clinging coal-dust. No sooner had the dust settled on her
ivory-gold bottom-globes than she was condemned to receive another
skin-cleansing lash or two for the lumps that had fallen from the shovel.
It took Ci-ci six trips to the coalpile to load the stove to Chiang-Chan's
autocratic satisfaction. During those trips an unlucky thirteen lumps of coal
fell from her shovel. And thirteen times Ci-ci was forced to entreat her
herculean tormentor to whip the soft curves of her burning bottom-globes even
harder than he had before. And the Ox was happy to oblige. Each crack of his
strap was more violent than the one preceding it and landed on blushingly pink
skin that was already aflame with pain.
When the fire in the stove was at last burning brightly, Chiang Chan spoke
again. The leader of the Scorpion squadron gave Dao a quick wink. "Now that
the fire is well-started, girl, you will need to fetch the water," he ordered."
Chiang Chan pushed Ci-ci in the direction of the door, as each of the
Scorpions drank in the sight of their pleasure-girl's bottom, and the wide red
stripes that spanned the deep groove that separated her burning buttocks.
Chapter 40 Sentenced to Suffering
The Scorpions proceeded to march Ci-ci outside, some twenty yards from the
building, to the well which served the needs of the Pit. The rain was no more
than a fine mist now that fell gently on her body, allowing tiny patches of
Ci-ci's ivory-gold skin to peek through the fine patina of coal dust. The arid
coal dust had filtered into her throat, exacerbating her thirst; Ci-ci opened
her mouth to taste the moisture of the night, hoping that she would not be
punished for indulging in that tiny pleasure without permission.
Lying on the ground alongside the ancient cistern was a heavy yoke-like
device, which Dao and Lin quickly fitted to her bare shoulders. Then the Ox
lowered a canister, attached to a heavy rope, into the dim recesses of the well
and pulled it back up a moment later, brimming with water. He quickly lowered a
second canister, which, like the first, had a capacity of some six gallons, and
hauled it up when it was full.
Then, at Chiang Chan's direction, Zheng and Dao spaced the huge canisters
about five feet apart and positioned Ci-ci so that each end of the yoke was
directly above one container. Then, Lin pushed down on Ci-ci's shoulders,
forcing her into a semi-crouch while his comrades attached the canisters to each
end of the wide yoke that had been placed across the girl's shoulders. Ci-ci's
back and shoulders were bent low under the yoke so that the canisters could
rest on the ground while Chiang Chan, a cruel smile on his handsome face,
lowered a smaller jug in to the well, retrieved it, and then proceeded to top
off both containers, replacing any water that had been spilled while raising
them from the well.
When he was done, both canisters were full to the brim. Ci-ci, dreading
her next ordeal, judged correctly that the weight of the water that she had been
sentenced to lift and carry was not much less than her own.
Chiang Chan stepped forward and cupped Ci-ci's chin in his left hand,
forcing her to look into his dark, reptilian eyes. He addressed her sternly.
"You should be grateful that we are going to let you use our well-water for your
bath, wench." Then he added in a harsh whisper. "Be careful that you do not
waste it."
Then, as if to emphasize the seriousness of his directive, he slapped her
dust-darkened left breast sharply with his right hand. Soft skin and firm
flesh, he marveled -- what a delightfully erotic combination.
"Ouwwwww!'" Ci-ci, still half-crouching in preparation for lifting the
fully-laden canisters, grimaced in pain.
"That is but a foretaste of what you can expect, if you are careless with
our water."
"Now, take up your burden and carry it to the stove, girl. Dao, cut a
switch from that tree. And use it," the son of George Chan added in a voice
devoid of mercy, "if she is careless."
Ci-ci groaned softly as by dint of a prodigious effort, she began to
straighten her legs and back and lift the near hundredweight of water clear a
few inches above the ground. Silently she cursed the Scorpions for filling the
twin canisters so full; the immense Ox himself could hardly have managed such a
burden without spilling some of the contents.
"Hurry it up, wench. We haven't got all night," the gap-toothed man
muttered as he cut an arm-length branch from a low-hanging tree, and proceeded
to strip away the leaves and twigs, thus converting one of nature's leafy gifts
into a menacingly rough-barked switch.
Ci-ci staggered under the weight of the unwieldy canisters. Then she took
a tentative step forward, torn between the urge to walk quickly so as to
unburden herself from the dreadfully oppressive weight all the sooner, and the
need to refrain from spilling any water.
"Get moving girl!" Dao growled as he snapped the gnarly switch across the
backs of her thighs.
Ci-ci buckled under the cruel blow and lurched forward unsteadily. Already
she could feel the water sloshing around in the canisters. Step by back-breaking
step she did her best to keep the containers at either end of the yoke fairly
steady, but it was next to impossible, particularly when she had to turn
sideways to scuttle her wide load through the barracks door. It took her nearly
five minutes to traverse the twenty yards from the well to the door of the Pit
and the same distance again to reach the far end of the barracks.
When she approached within a few feet of the now-roaring stove, she gently
bent her knees, lowering the huge canisters of water to the ground.
"Turn around!" It was the rough growl of Gap-tooth.
Despairingly, Ci-ci hoisted the heavy containers again and with a great
effort turned around to face her tormentors, again conscious of the heretofore
innocuous but now ominous sound of water sloshing. As she turned to face the
grim quartet, she noted with alarm that a number of small puddles lined the path
she had taken from the door to the stove. Trying to remain composed she bent her
knees and lowered the canisters to the ground once again.
Ci-ci remained in a stooped-over position under the yoke, her knees
slightly bent, her dust-darkened breasts reminding Chiang Chan of ripe fruit
waiting to be plucked from tree limbs that bent gently under their pleasant
weight.
"Did you spill any of the water, girl?" Dao asked, as the Ox, reacting to a
gesture from Chiang Chan, unhooked the canisters from the yoke. Ci-ci's body
seemed to give a huge sigh of relief as the onerous burden was removed from her
shoulders.
"Y-y-yes," she stammered in a trembling voice, knowing it would be foolish
to lie. The barracks floor was wet with the evidence of her 'failure'. The Ox
was lifting the yoke from her shoulders now.
"What's the matter with you, girl? Stand up straight when a Scorpion
speaks to!" Dao snapped. "How many cups of the water have you wasted?"
Ci-ci had a bit of difficulty straightening her spine even though her
burden had been removed, but did as she was bid. Meanwhile she looked town at
the canisters, trying to calculate how much she had spilled.
"But I ... I didn't mean to..."
"I didn't ask 'how', you careless, thieving slut. I asked 'How many', "
Dao snapped again.
"I d-don't know... perhaps six?" she guessed.
"Six, eh? It is well that you did not attempt to lie. Step backward!"
Ci-ci edged backwards gingerly -- the stove, now possessed of a
bright-burning fire, was no more than a foot behind her.
'I said, step backward, girl!" Dao muttered as he tightened his grip on the
switch. The thick end, which he held in his strong right hand, was as thick as
his index finger, but it tapered to a wicked whippy slimness at its striking
end. And it was that whip-like final foot of switch that came hurtling toward
the soft skin of Ci-ci's tummy at blinding speed.
"Ouuwwww!!" Ci-ci yelped, as she moved her arms to deflect the blow.
"Back, I say! And keep your hands, down. You'll get another for trying to
block that one.
Shaking, the pig-tailed young maiden lowered her tremulous hands to her
sides. Once they were clear of her body, Dao lashed out again, switching her
sharply across her belly, just below the pleasingly pronouced swell of her
ribcage.
"Back, I told you!"
And Ci-ci stepped back, and after taking another flick of the switch-tip
across her right hip, back again until her hips were only inches from the
roaring stove.
"Six strokes it shall be -- one for each cup of water you have wasted." Dao
was enjoying his moment of tyranny. He knew that Feng would have been pleased.
Once again he imagined the old bastard grinning evilly in some infernal region,
his right arm raised in masculine encouragement, while his left hand stroked his
prodigious manhood.
"Please...not here... the stove.... it's too hot..."
"Well, then, you'll just have to keep your feet firmly planted while you
take your six strokes, won't you? You should have thought of that before you
were so careless with our well water, girl. Hands at your sides!"
Ci-ci, cowering in fear, obeyed, her body trembling in apprehension.
Chiang Chan reached into one of the canisters of water and splashed a
handful against the stove, causing the hot metal of the dingy furnace to hiss
violently in protest, as steam rose toward the vent in the ceiling. "Yes, wench,
you had better take your whipping bravely." Ci-ci shuddered at the thought of
the scalding metal touching her tender bottomflesh.
"Now if you stand your ground as Dao gives you these six, you will have
nothing to fear from the stove. If you do not ... well, that is your own
concern. Are you ready?"
"N-no...please," Ci-ci murmured as she tried to brace herself.
SWICKKK!! "Aghhh!!" The switch cut into both of her thighs, perhaps four
inches above her knees. Fresh tears welled up in Ci-ci's eyes; it was all she
could do to remain in place.
SWICKKK!! "Aaaaahhhh!!" Again, four inches higher; to Ci-ci it felt as if
the blow had severed both of her quadriceps, the long smooth muscles that gave
the fronts of her thighs their pleasing curves.
Dao, gripped and re-gripped the deep-biting switch, spinning it deftly in
his fingers, as if searching for its sharpest edge. The two fresh stripes
accentuated the lushness of Cici's dust-blackened thighs. Dao smiled through
his crooked jack-o'-lantern teeth at the way Ci-ci's shapely legs quivered in
fearful anticipation of his next violent stroke.
Dao feinted two or three times, while his comrades laughed at Ci-ci as she
flinched from the pain-dealing weapon. But there was nowhere to hide from the
slender rod -- the steaming stove was immediately behind her, and Dao stood
directly in front of her, with his three colleagues in cruelty arrayed in a
semi-circle behind him.
SWICCCKKK!!! "Aieeeeeaaahhhh!!" When Dao launched the third blow Ci-ci's
hands flew reflexively across her upper thighs in attempt to protect them from
the savage onslaught. The blow caught her painfully just above the wrist of her
right hand. But worse, it angered the gruesome figure with the gnarly switch.
"I thought I told you to keep your hands at your sides, girl!"
Seeing the look in his eye, Ci-ci begged forgiveness. "I'm
...sorry...please...I won't do it again."
"Maybe you'd better take her arms, boys," Dao called to his pals and Zheng
and Lin stepped forward and each took an arm and stretched it at arm's length,
parallel to the ground. Zheng's bullish strength was such that Ci-ci felt that
he might pull her right shoulder from its socket.
The arm-twisting forced Ci-ci's shoulders to dip slightly, once again
emphasizing the delicious fullness of her sixteen-year old breasts. Dao's
tongue protruded obscenely from his malevolent lips as he eye-balled her twin
treasures. He was tempted to abandon the pattern of his strokes in order to
engrave a slender, red-edged streak or two into her tender lust globes right
then and there, but decided to defer that pleasure, and continue on with his
original plan.
Those juicy jugs aren't goin' anywhere, he thought to himself, as he
clenched his remaining teeth and lashed out at Ci-ci again, this time with a
back-hand motion, SWICKKK!!! catching her high on the tender flesh of her
upper thighs.
"Aaaiiiaahh!!" Ci-ci groaned, as she fought desperately to absorb Dao's
ferocious blows without giving ground and falling back against the hissing metal
of the stove. In between strokes she tried to dig a toehold into the
unforgiving surface of the barracks floor, as if seeking a stronghold from which
her body could not be driven backward against the steaming metal.
SWICKKK!! Four! -- "AAUUUAAHH!!" This time the switch left its fiery
kiss on Ci-ci's pubic mound, scalding her dark-fringed mons with unimaginable
pain. But still she held her ground.
SWICCKKK!!! Five -- "AAAIIIAAGHH!! -- A fierce cutter to her midsection,
a small knot on the switch seeming to find its way unerringly into her
umbilicus.
"Only one more, wench. But I'm going to make it a good one!"
Ci-ci's parched throat gulped with despair as she looked upward at the
ugly man with the switch. But his eyes weren't on hers; the grinning
gap-toothed man was staring menacingly at her vulnerable treasures. The
mist-dampened coating of coal-soot did nothing to conceal the delicious size and
shape of her twin targets.
"Let her go, boys." Dao motioned with a gesture indicating that Zheng and
Lin should release her hands. "You'll get a better look at this next one from
over here.
When the Scorpions released her arms, Ci-ci crossed them over her chest;
her right hand stroked what really was a sore triceps muscle, but she had little
hope that Dao would be fooled by her ruse.
And he wasn't. But it was Chiang Chan who spoke first. "Put your hands
behind your neck girl, and lace your fingers together."
Her torso oscillating gently in fear, Ci-ci slowly lifted her arms up and
away from their defensive position in front of her soft-skinned breasts, and
linked them together behind her head. As she did so she was conscious of how
her healthy young pectoral muscles lifted her dark-streaked pleasure globes
slighly higher on her chest, as if for the delectation of the four leering
Scorpions who surrounded her.
Richard Chan had made her pose in this position for him any number of
times, sometimes for long minutes, while he walked around her, studying her
boldly proffered breasts, and her deliciously desirable nipple buds from every
conceivable angle. As if he were a surveyor, mentally assessing how much her
girlish globes had blossomed since their last encounter. Until the disappearance
of the Golden Dagger, Richard Chan had pampered her love-globes with nothing but
caresses and kisses and the gentle bites of a skillful lover; but today she
seemed to have endured a cruel blow for every sensual caress that she had ever
received.
As Dao watched Ci-ci adopt her provocative position he recalled that Chiang
Chan's father George had posed that blonde German slut in just this way, in the
doorway of Richard Chan's study a few weeks earlier. But she had been on her
knees, Dao recalled with a grin, as befitted a blonde-haired, round-eyed slut.
Ci-ci's tits weren't quite as spectacular as the blonde's had been, but they
were nice. Damn nice. With the kind of tight brown nipples any red-blooded man
would love to sink his teeth into.
Curiously, Chiang's thoughts also turned momentarily to the German beauty
and her cock-pleasing, pink-nippled globes of desire. Who could ever forget
that afternoon when he had chanced upon the sight of the full-breasted blonde
hanging in chains in his father's punishment room off the den? Chiang Chan had
watched covertly as his father, armed with a punishing whip, had circled her
dangling body, clad, at least at first, in the filmy revealing garb of a harem
slave. Even now, weeks later, he could still hear the sharp report of the whip
as it exploded with violent fury on the blonde's magnificent breasts in his
mind's ear.
What had ever become of her? Chiang Chan wondered. Shanghai seemed to have
swallowed her up, he thought, just as Dao barked a command that brought him back
to the present.
**********
"Stick your tits out, wench!" growled the gap-toothed villain.
Ci-ci stood there, still half-covered with coal-dust, with eyelids closed
and legs widespread. Her inter-laced fingers fidgeted nervously, her out-thrust
elbows trembled visibly, and her lovely breasts heaved with each staccato
breath, as she waited for the sixth stroke of the pain-dealing switch. A stroke
that she sensed would make the other five seem like love-taps.
Dao's switch was lifted high, poised to bury itself in Ci-ci's
pruriently-proffered lust melons, when a voice interrupted him.
"Wait!" Even with her eyes closed Ci-ci recognized the cool, detached voice
of the heir to the Chan empire. "Why don't you clean the soot off of her tits,
Dao, so we can see them."
"Yeah!" chimed in Lin the Drooler. Ci-ci opened her soft brown eyes to see
the boy actually twitching with sadistic lust. She shuddered at his eagerness,
his impatience to see the ugly gap-toothed man bring his atrocious weapon down
on her girlish breasts.
"Aye, boss. That I will." Half-thankful for any reprieve, Ci-ci trembled
in expectation as Dao looked around the dingy barracks, presumably for some kind
of a rag. Then his eyes seemed to focus on an object lying off in the corner
opposite the coal bin. Ci-ci's eyes followed his across the room until she saw
what he had seen, and then her heart sank.
For Dao was striding briskly across the room to retrieve a stiff-bristled
scrub brush, which looked as if it hadn't been used for months.
"Yeah, that's it," cheered Lin enthusiastically. "That'll scrape the dirt
off those juicy tits!"
"Do you think you can handle the job, boy?" Dao asked, as he returned with
the brush. Might as well let the lad have some fun.
"Can I? Yeah! I'll clean 'em up good for you, Dao, you'll see!"
The acne-scarred youngster took the heavy brush from Dao's outstretched
hand, and approached his captive, a rapacious glint in his eyes.
Ci-ci's eyes welled up in tears.
"Now, you just keep your hands behind your head, sweetie, and this'll only
take a minute," Lin giggled, as he dipped the brush lightly in one of the
canisters of water.
Ci-ci closed her eyes and then felt a stab of pain as Lin cupped her left
breast roughly in his left hand. Moments later she felt the sensation of the
cold well water dripping down into the valley between her close-set mounds,
followed almost immediately by the stiff bristles of the floor-brush scraping
over the tender flesh of her breast.
"Mmmmggghhff" Ci-ci's lips grimaced almost inaudibly in pain as Lin
painstakingly set about scrubbing every square centimeter of her breastflesh,
raking the abrasive bristles backwards and forwards across her love-globes.
Ci-ci watched him with disgust; the amount of saliva that trickled from the
corners of his mouth down onto her dark-tipped treasures almost made it
unnecessary for him to re-wet the brush, but he did so anyway, enjoying the way
the chilled water made Ci-ci's pleasure globes shiver gently while he worked on
them
The Drooler spent a good minute scouring her left breast until he and his
comrades could detect the faint tracery of delicate blue veins pulsing nervously
under Ci-ci's ivory-hued flesh, before turning to its twin where he applied
himself with equal diligence. He seemed to find a special gratification in
returning her aureoles and nipples to their former state of pristine
cleanliness, scrubbing them until the mahogany-tipped lust-buds stood in
well-polished arousal, gleaming wetly in the pale light of the oil lamps that
lit the Scorpions' barracks. Small droplets of the chilly well water seemed to
cling for dear life to Ci-ci's desirable nipple-crests -- as if loath to fall
to the grimy floor, never to touch such feminine perfection again.
When Lin stepped back, pleased with his work, Dao took the tip of his
springy switch and pressed it directly into Ci-ci's moist left nipple and then,
using considerable pressure, pushed her love-nugget back into her breastflesh
until she gasped in pain. Ci-ci planted her feet and fought desperately not to
take the fatal half-step backwards into the seething embrace of the grim black
stove.
Dao pressed harder still, until the tapering switch bowed in protest.
After maintaining that dreadful pressure for half a minute or so, Dao at last
released the little nubbin, which sprang resiliently back to life as if
invigorated by his cruel treatment. Gap-tooth then gave Ci-ci's other breast
thirty seconds of the same nipple-boring abuse. But when he was done, Ci-ci's
once dormant nipples were puckering nicely.
Ci-ci bit her lip as Dao flicked her partially-distended love-buttons
briskly with the tip of his switch, gently but firmly teasing them to an
ever-more ardent erection. When his ministrations were done, Ci-ci was dismayed
to see the tips of her breasts thrusting forward shamelessly, a pair of
upthrusting bullets of desire.
Then, and only then, was Dao ready to unleash his sixth stroke on Ci-ci's
tantalizing body as it broiled in the radiant heat given off by the stove.
Studying her pulsating breasts he pondered for a moment whether to strike
her pleasure melons with a punishing downward stroke; she being much shorter
than he, that was certainly an attractive proposition. The upper slopes of her
breasts could not have been posed more favorably for such a blow.
On the other hand, there was a lot to be said for a horizontal cutter. One
that would punish those dark nipples that he had teased into such bold,
impetuous erection for his own perverse pleasure.
Sensing his comrades' impatience, Dao decided to go with a side-arm cutter
instead of an overhead slash. He drew the ugly switch back along a plane
parallel to the ground.
Ci-ci closed her eyed and braced herself for the appalling blow.
"Let her have it!" She recognized the rumbling tones of the Ox.
"Bust those babies open, Dao!" Ci-ci shuddered at the inflammatory words,
voiced in an excited high-pitched squeak, from Lin the Drooler.
"Open those pretty brown eyes, honey. I want you to watch this," Dao
muttered as he waited for Ci-ci to open her tear-filled almond-shaped eyes.
"Now take a nice deep breath and stick those fine young tits out. Further,
wench! Or I swear by the Great Wall that you'll get three instead of one!"
Certain that Dao would make good his diabolical oath if she refused, Ci-ci
summoned all of her courage, inhaled deeply and boldly thrust her quivering
pleasure-globes out toward the four leering thugs.
As soon as she did, Dao struck, whipping the black switch forward with
lightning-like rapidity and thunderous force until it drilled into the firm and
tender flesh of Ci-ci's breasts an eye-lash below her distended nipple-buds.
"AAAAAAIEIAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!" Ci-ci screamed and then she screamed again as
the force of the blow forced her backward against the hissing stove, where she
felt the scalding heat of the blazing metal branding her rounded buttocks for a
millisecond before she tore herself away and fell to her knees. Ci-ci's slender
fingers reached for her switch-savaged breasts, hoping against hope that the
touch of her own gentle hands would somehow soothe the excruciating pain in her
throbbing love globes.
"Well-struck, Dao," Chiang-Chan congratulate him. "Now, gentlemen, I think
our young friend could use a bit of exercise before her bath." Then, turning
toward the bare-chested giant, " Zheng, put the water on to heat. You two,
bring the girl outside."
Ci-ci could hear Zheng emptying the great canisters of water into cauldrons
on the stove, even as Dao and Lin lifted her roughly by the arms and began to
lead her toward the door. What cruel fate, she wondered despairingly, waited
for her outside, in the shadow of the Black Pagoda?
Chapter 41 Ricksha Bondage
Her punishment for wasting the well water now completed, Lin and Dao
dragged Cici bodily outside into the cool night air. At Chiang Chan's imperious
gesture, they unceremoniously let her fall to the ground next to the ricksha
that they had purloined from the drunken coolie on their way back from the
harbor. The rainclouds had blown over for the moment and the moon and stars
cast a fair amount of light on Ci-ci's body, which was still dark with coal dust
except for her clean-stropped buttocks, and brush-scrubbed breasts.
"Well, boys," Chiang Chan asked his comrades, "Have you ever had a ride in
a ricksha?"
The three men shook their heads, no. Ricksha rides in China typically
consisted of the very poor ferrying the very rich; Chiang Chan knew that it
would be a bit of a treat for the three working-class Scorpions to be accorded
this luxurious method of travel, even if they had no particular place to go.
Especially when one considered that their porter was going to be a nubile,
naked sixteen-year-old wench.
"On your feet, girl -- you are going to take each of the boys for a little
ride to the Black Pagoda and back. And be quick about it. Remember -- you're
bathwater's heating inside. If you dawdle too long, the water might get
uncomfortably hot." Chiang Chan winked at his comrades, as Ci-ci climbed to her
feet.
"Who's first? Lin? Very well. Why don't you get the buggy whip from the
horse cart, boy? Just to make sure she moves at a good clip." Lin eagerly
climbed into the cart, retrieved the light whip, and then, cradling one of the
bottles of rice wine in his hands, seated himself in the carriage portion of the
ricksha, while Ci-ci, her back to the carriage, took each of the rail-shaped
ricksha handles in her small hands.
She looked out across the grassy courtyard which separated the Pit from the
Black Pagoda. In the moonlight she could see that the lawn was encircled by a
circular cobblestone pathway. She judged that the Pagoda was approximately
seventy yards away as the crow flies, and therefore the circular drive was
perhaps a furlong in circumference. An eighth of a mile; not too great a
distance, she thought to herself. She could surely manage four circuits of such
a course, given that the cobblestone path was fairly level.
"Hurry up! I want to go for a ride," Lin giggled half-drunkenly. A split
second later Ci-ci felt a sharp crack on her shoulder.
"Let's go, girl! And be quick about it!" And the Drooler took another
pull at his bottle and flicked her again with the buggy whip he had appropriated
from the horse cart.
Ci-ci lifted the rails, and started forward.
As she had expected, pulling the ricksha along the cobblestone path was not
too arduous. It would have been even easier, had it not been for the fact that
Lin was liberal in his use of the buggy whip, flicking her every few seconds
across the shoulders and back.
****************
As she lugged the cart around the circular path, Ci-ci's thoughts turned
once again to her beloved sister, Peony. Now it was clear to her that her
sister had tried to warn her on their last meeting.
The last time she had seen her sister had been the day after Richard
Chan's brother had brought that exotic-looking blonde woman to the Black Pagoda.
The following day had been Ci-ci's one afternoon off each week, and she had
stopped by the tiny lodgings that she and her sister had shared.
When she had tapped at the door her sister had cried out, "No, don't come
in yet." and she had had to wait in the hallway for a minute or two.
When at last Peony had come to the door, Ci-ci had taken one look at her
and assumed that she had been ill; she seemed to have aged a year in a week;
her eyes seemed to be puffy from crying, and she moved with the slowness of one
whose every step was wracked with pain.
When Peony saw that it was her sister on the threshhold she threw herself
upon Ci-ci and held her close, saying "I'm glad you have come. There may yet be
time for you."
Puzzled by this enigmatic remark, Ci-ci asked "What are you talking about,
my sister? And what has happened to you? Are you not well?"
Peony had taken her face in her hands. "Please, Ci-ci. I beg of you. Do
not go back to the Black Pagoda. You don't know... you can't know... The
Chans..."
"Dear sister," Ci-ci had responded patiently, "We have been over this
before. I know that Richard Chan has shady dealings. No, wait." she continued
as Peony tried to interrupt. "He is a rich and powerful man. I know he did not
make his fortune teaching children to sing hymns. But he likes me." She gave
Peony a warm smile. "I know it's hard for you to believe, because I'm not half
so pretty as you, but he finds me attractive."
"Ci-ci, in the name of our mother, I beg..."
"No, Peony. It's all right. Don't cry ...You know as well as I do that we
must help the children as best we can." She hugged Peony tighter. "And this is
the only way I am able to help you help them, Peony. Do not be afraid on my
account."
"Now," Ci-ci had continued, holding out a small purse, "here are my wages
for the week. Take it, Peony; there should be enough there to buy a book for
Lee Yuan -- he's such a bright little boy. We must see that he has a chance to
go to school. And a doll for the girls. Ci-ci held Peony at arm's length and
squeezed her hands warmly. "Don't worry about me, my sister. The spirit of our
mother will protect me. Now I must get back -- I have to clean Mr Chan's
library tonight."
And she turned on her heels and left. And Peony, who had been too ashamed
to speak of her dreadful ordeal at the Black Pagoda, had watched her younger
sister walk quickly away, back to the home of Richard Chan, who had presided
over her own cruel flogging and rape there only the day before. Peony had stood
there waving with one hand, tears streaming down her face. Praying desperately
that her sweet young sister would not fall, as she had, into the clutches of
the Black Scorpions.
When Ci-ci reached the corner, she had turned and given Peony one last
quick smile and a brief wave. They had not seen each other since. And as Ci-ci
felt Lin's lash sting the delicate skin of her back yet again, she wondered if
she would live to see her dear and beautiful sister again.
**********
Ci-ci's legs had begun to tire as she neared the halfway point of her
first lap around the circular path. When she began to slow, Lin began to sting
her buttocks with the light whip.
"Bring those knees up, girl!" Lin chortled gleefully. He reveled in his
new-found aristocracy -- the bottle of wine, the ride in a ricksha in the
moonlight. And best of all, a perfect view of the tapering back, shapely legs
and nicely rounded asscheeks of his pretty little pack animal.
Halfway around the first lap Ci-ci glanced up at the dark spires of the
Black Pagoda that towered above her. One room, near the top of the great
palace, seemed still to be illuminated, even at this very late hour. Ci-ci
thought, but could not be sure, that she saw dark shadows standing in the
window. She noticed that Lin had quieted down as they neared Richard Chan's
princely residence, probably because he was in fear of waking the Lord of the
Scorpions or his mistress, Mai-Lee, who Ci-ci suspected of conspiring to
incriminate her.
As she passed the pagoda and jogged into the backstretch leading back
toward the other three Scorpions, Ci-ci noted that ahead of her there seemed to
be a pathway that began some twenty or thirty yards off to the right of the the
circular track and which led into a wooded area. FLICK!! the whip stung her
deep-clefted buttocks again as she tried to force herself to think. Where could
that pathway lead? Was there a chance to escape the Scorpions' dark underworld,
by dropping the ricksha and running for her life?
FLICK!! the whip cracked her bottom again. "Higher, girl! Lift those knees
higher. Hee-hee" Lin laughed drunkenly. "That's better! That's the way to
jiggle that ass!"
Lin was the youngest of the four, and presumably the swiftest. It would be
risky indeed to challenge his speed, especially in her exhausted state.
But the Ox...surely she could outrun him...
A hundred yards and a dozen stinging flicks of the whip later, Ci-ci pulled
up in front of the other three men, back where she had started, a few yards from
the entrance to the Pit. She stood there motionless, her chest and shoulders
heaving from her exertion, while Lin climbed out. "She's a good little pony, she
is, Ox" he told the huge man who was next to take his seat in the carriage.
"But you've got to use the whip if you really want to get that sweet ass in
motion."
As soon as the Ox had settled himself in the cart, Ci-ci knew that the next
circuit would be far more difficult. The giant was twice the weight of Lin, and
three times her own. But the balance of the ricksha was praiseworthy, and she
took the rails in her hands and set out again, albeit much more slowly now that
she was towing such an over-sized passenger.
Had she been able to see the Ox's face she might have been astonished; the
man mountain sat in the ricksha seat, his legs widespread, wearing a childlike
look of wonder on his vacant face as Ci-ci padded her way toward the Black
Pagoda. The giant's mind was as small as his body was huge.
As she jogged slowly along, laboring under Zheng's immense weight, her
tender feet feeling every uneven edge of the cobblestones,Ci-ci tried to
calculate the odds of escaping the ponderous giant by fleeing down the pathway
she had seen earlier. Surely he was the slowest of the foursome; this was her
best chance -- in all likelihood her only chance -- would she even be able to
survive several more hours of the Scorpions' 'hospitality'?
She tried to preserve her strength for her dash for freedom, slowing down
as she passed the Pagoda for the second time. But when the Ox sensed that she
was slowing down and taking the fun out of his ride, he mumbled "Faster, girl!"
and cracked her smartly across the shoulders with his whip.
"Ouwww!" Ci-ci grimaced; Zheng's lightest flick stung more than the boy's
hardest stroke.
As she rounded the curve and began heading back toward the Pit, she noticed
the two shadowy figures waiting for her back at the starting line. But she gave
them only a moment's thought, as she trained her eyes on the darkness to her
right, searching for the beginning of the path. And suddenly there it was!
Perhaps thirty yards ahead.
Her heart was pounding in her chest and her shoulders ached from the strain
of pulling the Ox's ponderous body around the cobblestone drive. Ci-ci decided
that it would be best to get as close as possible to the path before making a
run for it. Twenty yards... fifteen...ten...five... And then she dropped the
ricksha rails and sprinted madly toward the opening between the trees.
"WHAAA?!?" the Ox bellowed as the ricksha stopped dead, and the slim figure
of the Scorpions' slave-girl raced off into the darkness. Clumsily the big man
clambered down from the seat and lumbered off in pursuit.
Ci-ci had only taken a step or two away from the ricksha when a sudden
thought nagged at her consciousness -- there was something wrong. Something not
quite right. But what?
Hearing the ponderous brute behind her, she tried to run even faster. Lungs
pounding, she tried desperately to increase the gap between herself and the Ox.
She was only a few yards from the entrance to the path when she realized in
a flash of insight what had been troubling her. Just as it struck her that she
had only seen two of the three waiting Scorpions at the finish line, a tall
shadow, no doubt that of a small tree, seemed to loom toward her on her right.
Where had the third man gone?, she wondered as the looming shadow seemed to
move suddenly in her direction. And then her query was answered when Dao's
switch came whizzing out of the darkness only to bury itself in the yielding
flesh of her plump young breasts.
"AAAAUGGHHH!" Ci-ci screamed, the impact of his vicious swing having been
increased exponentially by her onrushing speed. The blow threw her off balance
and she careened headlong into the thicket of brambles that lined one edge of
the path.
She cried out again, as the prickers and thorns tore at her flesh, as she
scrambled frantically to free herself from the sharp embrace of the thornbush
that enveloped her as if it had has a life of its own. The more she struggled
the deeper she seemed to sink into the devilish hedge.
THWICKK!! THWICCKK!! THWICCKKK!!!!
Ci-ci felt Dao's switch crease her bottomflesh, once, twice, three times as
she struggled to escape the thorns..
"It was clever of the boy to notice the path; and cleverer still for Chiang
Chan to send me to guard it, foolish girl!" Dao bellowed as he continued to
slash at the backs of her thighs which gleamed in the moonlight.
Just then the Ox joined them, wheezing from the exertion of his short
sprint.
"The little slut tried to run away, Zheng," Dao confided. "She tried to
make you look foolish."
The Ox tried to come to terms with the idea that the girl's actions had put
him in a bad light. Then he reached down, and grabbed Ci-ci by both pigtails,
and lifted her bodily from the thorn-hedge; Ci-ci groaned in pain as she felt
her flesh being torn by the tenacious prickers.
When she had been jerked clear of the thorns the Ox threw her to the ground
roughly, face up, her legs shamefully widespread.
"Not here," Dao cautioned his over-sized friend. "Let's get her back out
in the open."
The Ox growled, but reached down and grabbed Ci-ci by her pigtails, and
started dragging her supine body roughly back toward the ricksha.
By now Dao was aware that Chiang and Lin were also approaching from the
Pit, with the boy carrying a torch that helped to illuminate the dark night.
Soon all four were standing just outside the entrance to the pathway, with the
towers of the Black Pagoda once again in view.
Meanwhile the Ox jerked Ci-ci roughly to her feet, facing him. When Lin
drew closer with the torch, the four men saw that the front of Ci-ci's body was
criss-crossed with faint red trails -- stark testimony to her losing battle with
the thorn-hedge. Her legs, her loins, her tummy, her breasts and shoulders --
each sported a few of the spines that had broken off in her flesh.
"I ought to..." the Ox growled, as he formed a huge ham-fist intending to
direct a devastating blow at Ci-ci's unprotected torso.
"No, Zheng. Not now," Chiang Chan ordered sharply, as he put a hand on the
big man's shoulder. "One should not shoot an arrow at a beautiful bird until
one has tired of watching it fly and hearing it sing," Chiang philosophized.
"And our pretty little nightingale has songs we have not yet heard. Sad songs,
no doubt. Hold her!"
Dao's powerful arms pinned Ci-ci's arms behind her. Then Chiang Chan took
the torch Lin had brought and held it in front of him at chest height. Ci-ci's
body looked more desirable than ever in the uneven light given off by the
flaming brand. Her painful encounter with the thorn bush had removed much of
the remaining coal dust from the front of her body. Four cocks tightened with
resurgent lust at the sight of her thorn-studded breasts, her succulent nipples,
the gentle pressure of her rib cage against her flat stomach, and the delta of
the love-goddess, the inverted V of girlish pubic hair that seemed to beckon to
each of them.
Chiang Chan stepped closer, still holding the torch in front of him, as if
to illuminate her beauty in the nocturnal gloom even more; but it was not the
light of the torch that Ci-ci feared. As Chiang moved a few inches closer, she
felt the dragon's breath of the torch upon her protruding breasts. At first the
warmth felt good in the cool night air, but not for long. With a glint in his
eye, the leader of the Scorpions edged closer still. Not so close that the
flickering flames actually singed her flesh -- Chiang Chan was careful not to do
that -- but they seemed to bathe her dark-nippled love gourds in an infernally
hot caress.
As the fire's glow became more and more intense, Ci-ci's dark eyes searched
anxiously from one man to the next, but her silent appeal found only four pairs
of eyes that gleamed with the fierce intensity of unsated male lust. The gaze
of those menacingly thin-slitted eyes seemed to rake her girlish flesh with
desire. She struggled desperately in Dao's grasp, but his arms were bands of
steel enclosing hers.
"Hold this," Chiang said to Lin, extending the torch. The boy took the
torch from his leader's hand and held it as Chiang had done. Close enough to
Ci-ci's body to hurt, but not to burn.
"You should be more careful, wench." Chiang pushed Lin slightly to his
left so that the boy held the torch about a foot away from Ci-ci's right breast.
"You look like you've fallen into a patch of briars. Perhaps I can be of
assistance."
Dao and the Ox exchanged grins and nudges as Chiang Chan reached toward one
of the three barbs that were lodged in Ci-ci's left breast.
"It must hurt a great deal to have thorns as sharp as these stuck in your
pretty breasts?" Chiang's statement ended with the hint of a question mark.
"Y-yes..." Ci-ci replied cautiously.
"Well, don't be alarmed. My men and I will be happy to assist you. Hmmm.
They look quite entrenched. I don't think they'll pull straight out, do you,
Dao?"
"Looks like you might have to twist 'em, boss," Dao agreed, playing along
with his new squadron leader. Dao's tongue protruded licentiously between two of
his widely-spaced teeth as he tightened his grip on Ci-ci's arms. Standing
behind her, looking down over her shoulder, his eyes ravaged Ci-ci's
crimson-stippled breasts. This was going to be fun.
"No... don't...please..." But Ci-ci knew that her pleas for mercy would
fall on deaf ears.
"Yes, they look like tricky little devils. I wonder, which way should I
twist them? Like this, do you think?"
"Aaaaahhhhhh!!"
"Oh, forgive me. Did I twist it the wrong way? I'm only trying to help,
you understand."
"Help her some more, chief!" Lin's giggled as he moved the flaming torch a
centimeter closer to Ci-ci's sweat-sheened lust globes.
"Please...let me..."
"Certainly not... it is my pleasure, surely. I am delighted to be of
assistance." Chiang Chan bowed to her, enjoying his feigned courtliness. "Now,
where we? Oh yes. Perhaps if I twist the thorn in the other direction. Is
this better?
"Ooooughhhhhh ... don't..." Ci-ci groaned. It felt as if Chiang Chan had
plunged a hot needle into the soft outer curve of her breast and then given it a
quarter turn.
"Ah. I've got a good tight grip on it now. Hold her tight, Dao."
"N-no...it's alright..."
"Nonsense, girl. We'll take care of everything."
Ci-ci could feel the spine digging deeper into her tender breast as Chiang
secured his grip.
"Please... just leave it alo..."
"EEAHHHHHH!!"
"See, there it is." Chiang held up the offending thorn in the torchlight.
It was nearly an inch long, and half its length was coated with breast blood.
"That wasn't so bad, was it? What do you think, Dao? Should we try the one in
her nipple next?"
Ci-ci choked back her tears and looked down at the thick brown barb that
was lodged in her aureole, an eyelash below the tip of her left breast.
"No... please... I can do it mys..."
"Unghhhhhhhhhh!!"
"Hmmm, this is a tough one. It will be difficult to get a god grip on this
one; it's buried quiet deep, you see."
"Ohhh! Owwwwww!!
"Got it now. Out she comes." But as Chiang extracted the barb with
infinitesimal slowness, he wiggled it this way and that exacerbating Ci-ci's
discomfort.
It took Chan the younger another quarter of an hour to pluck the remaining
thorn barbs from Ci-ci's body, while Lin's torch threatened to slow-roast her
flesh, but at last, to her relief, he was done.
"Well, what do you say we return to the ricksha and let our friend, here,"
gesturing toward the mammoth figure of the Ox, "finish his ride?"
Zheng, his unhappiness at not being permitted to mete out his own
heavy-handed brand of violence on the soft body of their prisoner not forgotten,
acquiesced, and pushed Ci-ci forward ahead of them as the fivesome retraced
their steps back to the ricksha. The Ox gestured silently to his gap-toothed
colleague to hand him the switch, and the big man wasn't shy about using it on
the back and shoulders of the lovely young housemaid as he followed her and the
others back to the cart.
**********
The tall slender figure of Richard Chan lowered the field glasses from his
watchful eyes as he stepped back from the window. His blue silk dressing gown
was open and the hands and mouth of his naked mistress had been pleasuring his
throbbing erection even as he had taken voyeuristic pleasure in watching Ci-ci's
alfresco torment. Mai-Lee's lips seemed to suck salaciously at his manhood in
time with each of Ci-ci's breast-bouncing strides around the track. He had
licked his own lustful lips as he watched Lin and Zheng pepper those baby-soft
buttocks he loved so well with the buggy-whip. Even in the dim moonlight he had
been able to see Dao prepare his ambush and thwart Ci-ci's foolish bid for
freedom.
And after his nephew's men had tracked the escapee down somewhere in the
woods and dragged her back into view, he had watched with grim,
testicle-tightening satisfaction as Chiang Chan had done something to her
breasts, he could not quite make out what, that had caused her lovely brown eyes
to brim with tears.
Hers was a youthful beauty he had rarely known; he would miss her. But
there was no room for mercy at the Black Pagoda. Especially toward treacherous
thieves, be they ever so beautiful.
The Lord of the Black Scorpions had related the events he witnessed from
the window to Mai-Lee as they had transpired. He little knew that it was the
full-breasted Eurasian beauty who knelt before him, worshipping his cock with
her sublimely talented lips and tongue, who was responsible for this entire
chain of events. Nor did he see Mai-Lee's green-black eyes sparkle with
vicarious pleasure, nor her nipples firm with desire, as she heard of each
cruelty being inflicted on her former rival.
**********
When the four Scorpions had retraced their steps to the cobblestone
pathway, Ci-ci was directed to take the rails of the ricksha in her small hands
again and transport the Ox back to the starting point. But Zheng was no longer
inclined to dispense gentle flicks with the buggy-whips. On the remainder of
her lap, he lashed her with Dao's switch at every step. Ci-ci felt one
flesh-cutting stroke after another on her back, buttocks and thighs.
When at last Ci-ci made it back to the starting gate, she released the
rails and slumped, exhausted to her knees.
"Don't get too comfortable, sweetie," Dao taunted her. "You surely don't
think you're going to cheat me out of my ride, do you?"
"You know," Chiang Chan thought out loud. "We'd better make sure that our
pretty little beast of burden doesn't abandon us and try to run away again; Dao,
bring that rope from inside."
Dao disappeared back into the Pit and returned with the long rope that the
Scorpions had used to hogtie Ci-ci earlier. Ci-ci was not unduly alarmed by
this addition to her woes; binding her hands to the rails would not really make
her labors that much more arduous.
Dao, working quickly, tied the girl's left wrist to the rail of the
ricksha, and was about to cut the rope, so that he could bind her other wrist
when Chiang Chan spoke again.
"No; don't cut the rope. Pass it between her legs."
The gap-toothed thug considered the notion for a moment and then grinned,
and nodded. He proceeded to pull the long coarse rope forward around the front
of Ci-ci's left thigh, and then slipped it between her legs, stepped around to
her right and pulled the rough hemp through the gap between her legs, while
Ci-ci squirmed, anxious to avoid its scratchy caress.
"Good. Now pull it taut."
And with one powerful tug by the tall, homely Scorpion, the rope, which had
only been a nuisance, had found its way between the soft lips of Ci-ci's
ebony-fringed pussy.
"Unnnhhh...please... It's too tight!"
"Nonsense. Now the other wrist, Ox."
"You won't be dropping the rails during MY ride, sweetie," Dao smirked as
he wrapped the rope around Ci-ci's slender right wrist several times, before
looping it securely around the right ricksha rail and tying it off.
When he was done and had climbed into the ricksha seat, Ci-ci tried to move
forward, but had only taken half a step before she felt the rope chafing the
soft skin of her most intimate parts.
CRAACKK!! Dao's switch scalded her ripe buttocks again. "Get moving,
wench!"
Just then there was a brilliant flash of lightning, followed almost
instantaneously by a dreadful crackle of cosmic electricity, and then, a few
seconds later by a great roll of thunder that rumbled through the heavens. It
appeared that the weather -- which had been mild for hours after the squall of
the afternoon and evening - was going to take a turn for the worse again.
But it was the rope between her legs, not the disturbances in the
atmosphere, that troubled Ci-ci. The rope which chafed her girlish
pleasure-nook was not only painful, it slowed her progress greatly; while she
had been able to maintain a slow jog-trot when transporting Lin and Zheng, she
was slowed to a painful walk by her restrictive pussy-bondage.
Dao, of course, was not disposed to sympathize with her difficulties and he
peppered her rounded buttocks with cut after smarting cut with his rough-hewn
switch.
It took Ci-ci a full five-minutes to complete half the circuit; when she
approached the half-way point, there was an another ominous roll of thunder that
seemed directly above them. Dao looked skyward briefly and then barked, "I'm
going to give you a break, wench. Take the short-cut. Cut across the grass."
At first Ci-ci was grateful for this reprieve; the distance across the
grass was about a third shorter than the remaining semi-circle on the path.
But she had only taken a few steps into the grass, when she realized that
how wrong she had been. The heavy rains earlier in the afternoon and evening had
softened the ground, and the wheels of the riksha quickly sank into the mud,
even as her own feet slipped on the wet grass.
"Hurry up, damn you!" Dao bellowed. "It's beginning to rain again!"
But Ci-ci could go no faster. Dao lashed her bottom with the switch at
each difficult stride as she struggled to drag the cart through the mud.
Several times her feet slid out from under her altogether on the wet ground, and
the full weight of her body pressed down against her binding crotch-rope.
"Faster, slut!" Dao roared again as they neared the half-way point across
the soggy plain. And for what seemed like the hundredth time, Ci-ci felt the
cruel bite of the switch on her tortured buttocks.
"I - I .. can't" she gasped as her feet slid out from under her once again,
and she fell heavily against the rope between her legs.
"Get moving, you lazy wench, I'm getting wet out here."
And in fact the wind had picked up and was blowing the cold rain almost
horizontally, directily into their faces, making it all the more difficult for
Ci-ci to make progress through the ever-more treacherous sea of mud that the
grassy area was becoming. She could no longer see Dao's companions on the
cobblestone circle; presumably they had ducked inside to escape the tempest.
It took every ounce of her strength, and every fiber of muscle in her taut,
straining back, arms, legs and shoulders, to get the wheeled cart in motion
again. The rain seemed to have turned into an unseasonal monsoon, blasting
sheets of rain at her with such force that that she could barely see; she would
have loved to have been able to wipe the raindrops from her eyes, but her hands
and wrists were securely lashed to the handrails of the ricksha.
Dao, anxious to get inside out of the storm, but not inclined to wade
through the muck and mire in which he found himself, continued to fume,
flogging his lovely porter's bottom frenziedly; fortunately for Ci-ci the switch
was becoming rather well-worn now, and its blows didn't have quite the bite of
those atrocious six cuts that he had given her when she had stood near the
stove.
Each step taken was a struggle, and every yard traversed a small victory,
as Ci-ci trudged nakedly through the muck, gasping for air, shivering violently
in the cold rain, desperately trying not to slip.
At last, though, she could make out the edge of the circular track through
the blinding downpour, perhaps five yards away. Summoning her last reserves of
strength, groaning under her heavy burden, she kept planting one bare, muddy
foot in front of the other, until at last she was able to drag the heavy cart
out of the muddy grass on to the cartpath. When her task was completed she would
have fallen to her knees, utterly spent, and oblivious to the pain of kneeling
on the uneven cobblestones, had it not been for the cruel pussy-rope. She
gasped for air as she glanced back over her shoulder at the ricksha's wheels
that were caked in inches of oozing mud. She wondered how she had ever managed
to pull the ungainly vehicle through the swamp-like sea of mud between the Pit
and the Black Pagoda. And then, as if some capricious sky god had been playing
a cruel trick on her, the rain eased up, and within a minute was once more
little more than a light drizzle.
"Bring her inside, Dao" she heard Lin call out gleefully from the barracks.
"The wench's bathwater is ready."
As Dao roughly untrussed her, Ci-ci groaned in despair; if it had not been
for her abortive escape attempt, the subsequent thorn-removal, and Dao's
"short-cut", the water she had carried to the stove earlier would probably have
been pleasantly warm. But by now it was probably bubbling merrily away...
The last of the wrist-ropes fell away just then, and Dao pushed her roughly
in the back.
"Get your sweet ass inside, girl. You should know better than to keep
Scorpions waiting!"
CHAPTER 42 A Steam Bath for The Slavegirl
Shivering from her exposure to the driving rain, and muddy from her shins
down, Ci-ci stumbled back inside the Scorpions' barracks to find Dao's comrades
at the far end of the room. They had just finished sliding a massive wooden
drinking trough across the rough floor of the Pit.
"So, how do you like the bathtub, we've arranged for you, wench? Climb in
-- make yourself comfortable."
"She looks cold, don't she, boss?" Lin giggled as he took a pull at the
wine bottle before passing it to Zheng.
"Yes, boy, she does." It did not seem strange to the others for Chiang Chan
to call Lin 'boy'. Even though he was only three or four years older than the
pimple-faced boy from the mountains, they were separated by a huge gulf of
maturity. "But have no fear. We'll warm her up soon enough. Well, what are you
waiting for, wench? Are you going to get in or should I have the Ox pick you up
bodily and throw you in!"
The rain had washed away much of the coal dust and mud that had coated the
front of Ci-ci's nude body, but by no means all. Even so, Dao mused, their
pleasure-girl looked desirable. Why was it, he wondered, that attractive young
women looked so tantalizingly fuckable when they were soaking wet?
Ci-ci, shivering with cold, blushing sheepishly in recognition of the fact
that her nipple-crests were chilled to an eye-catchingly brazen erection,
stepped over the thigh-high wall of the animal trough, while her four tormentors
gathered around her, one on each side of the improvised tub.
Although she had been naked for hours - hours which seemed more like weeks
-- being completely encircled by the Scorpions exacerbated her sense of shame.
Ci-ci instinctively crossed her right arm over her tempting young breasts, while
her left hand fell shyly, protectively, to shield the velvet-thatched juncture
of her thighs.
"Lin, bring a pitcher of water from the stove. Who's got the soap?
"I found some, boss." The Ox took a swig from the bottle of rice wine, and
held out a small brick of coarse soap.
"Good." Ci-ci watched as Lin lifted dipped the pitcher into the cauldron
that had sitting on top of the stove. Moments later he returned to them,
carrying a pitcher that was full nearly to the brim.
"Ah, here's Lin with our water," remarked Chiang Chan. Take the pitcher,
girl. And pour it over your right shoulder. Nice and slow. So that it runs
down your front and your back."
Ci-ci stared fearfully at the liter-sized porcelain ewer that Lin was
holding by its handle. Each side of its cylindrical surface appropriately
displayed the venomous image of a black scorpion against a red background.
Faint mists of steam rose slowly from the ominous pitcher.
"Take the damn thing, girl!" Lin switched hands gingerly as Ci-ci backed
away, shaking her head. If the pitcher was too hot to hold for very long, she
thought, its contents were going to feel like the breath of an angry dragon when
it came cascading over her soft shoulders.
"Stop stalling, wench! Do it!"
But when Ci-ci took another step backward, Chiang Chan impatiently
grunted, "Very well then. Dao, Ox -- grab her arms!"
The Ox dropped the cake of soap into the crude tub and roughly pulled
Ci-ci's right wrist away from her pouting breasts, while Dao seized her left no
less firmly. Ci-ci struggled desperately to escape from the iron grip of the
two Scorpions who faced each other on the long sides of the tub, but to no
avail.
"You should have done it yourself, girl, when I gave you the chance. Lin, I
guess you shall be the one to christen our lovely prisoner."
Nodding eagerly, divining the meaning of the unfamiliar European term only
by its context, the pimple-faced boy stepped forward holding the steaming
pitcher gingerly at shoulder height. Ci-ci retreated in the rectangular trough
until her legs backed into the far end, but then there was nowhere left to run.
And nowhere to hide.
"Her shoulder first, Lin."
The Scorpions had pulled Ci-ci's arms outward, until they were extended
sideways, at just below shoulder height. In fact the Ox and Dao were engaged in
a playful drunken tug-of-war with her arms; she feared that the two strong men
might dislocate her shoulders at any moment.
Lin, smirking boyishly, approached her, holding the red and black pitcher
aloft, until it was positioned directly above her softly rounded right shoulder.
Using a great deal of care, he tipped it slowly so that a few ounces of the
near-scalding water trickled over Ci-ci's shoulder, as she gasped and shuddered
in pain.
"What's the matter, wench? Haven't you had a hot bath before?" Chiang Chan
gave her a few moments to compose herself before whispering softly, but in a
tone that would brook no contradiction, "Again." Chiang nodded to the skinny
adolescent, who proceeded to let a second more voluminous cascade of the
steaming water pour down Ci-ci's right shoulder.
Ci-ci's nubile body quivered in agony as the streams of water coursed down
her back, down her upper arm, and worst of all down on to the upper contours of
her brave-nippled right breast.
"Aaaaaahhh!! It's too hot. For the love of heaven..."
Chiang Chan's lip curled into a thin smile. He had checked the simmering
water by dashing a little on his wrist just before Dao had brought the girl back
inside. The water had been hot enough to cause him to curse like a Cantonese
sailor, but not so hot that the skin had blistered. It would hurt, but not
lastingly harm, her beautiful flesh.
"The other one now, boy."
Lin the Drooler stepped under Ci-ci's outstretched right arm, which the Ox held
firmly in his grasp, and crossed behind her.
"N-no... please... it's too... Aaaiiiiiiiyyyyaahhh!!" Ci-ci shrieked
again as the grinning fool of an adolescent christened her other shoulder with
the steaming liquid. And then, to the delight of her leering audience, she
began to dance frantically as the hot water began to pool around her dainty
feet. Each of the men, knew the familiar sensation of stepping into a too-hot
bath, and each smirked in amusement at Ci-ci's breast-jiggling gyrations that
sought to keep at least one foot out of the hot water.
"How much have you left? Half-full? Good. Let's wet her sweet ass down
now. Pour it right where her neck meets her collar bone."
"N-no....Ouwwwww!!" Ci-ci's young body vibrated in shock when the
near-scalding water splashed down her back, much of it eventually streaming down
the pleasing curves of her baby-soft buttocks. One wave of liquid was channeled
into a thin stream that ran right down into the deep narrow canyon between her
splendid bottom-globes.
"Good work, lad. Now bring us a fresh pitcher, nice and hot from the
kettle." Chiang Chan eyed the pleasing curves of Ci-ci-'s pouting breasts with
a sadistic leer. "Her tits look like they might have caught a chill outside.
We'd better warm 'em up a little."
Lin moved with eager alacrity to fetch another pitcherful, while Ci-ci
heard the deep voices of the Ox and Gap-tooth chuckling at her plight. Her
breasts were already so tender -- she could not bear the thought of her
love-melons being subjected to the Scorpion steam bath.
She watched fearfully as Lin poured more water from the cauldron into the
pitcher, grateful for the fact that the simple act of pouring it reduced its
temperature somewhat.
The Ox held her wrist in one hand as if it were no more substantial than a
loose thread on his shirt, as he lifted the wine bottle to his mouth again.
Ci-ci wasn't sure if their drinking was in her best interests. On the one hand
anything that might dull their lusts seemed a favorable circumstance; on the
other hand she had heard Peony say often that alcohol had a way of bringing out
the worst in men...
Lin was back in seconds, grinning his foolish grin, his eyes bright with
anticipation as he lifted the pitcher and held it about eight inches above the
sensuous upslope of Ci-ci right breast.
"Pour it on right on the base of her breast, Lin, so that the water spreads
out evenly in all directions. Do it. But not too fast. We want to make this
last, don't we, boys?"
Dao's ardent cock pressed against his loose-fitting black trousers like a
blunt instrument as he watched Lin gently upend the pitcher so that a few ounces
of the piping hot water inundated Ci-ci's tempting breast, even as she struggled
frantically to free herself from the relentless grip of the two Scorpions.
"Aaagghhhhhhh!!! Stop...please...I can't sta....AAAGHHHH!!!"
Lin, saliva bubbling out of his mouth, drenched her love-globe a second
time, starting the pitcher at the point where the lovely mound melded into her
chest wall, and then pulling it back toward him. His motion bisected the upper
contour of Ci-ci's breast with a gentle cataract of hotly hissing liquid, that
ran downward over her quivering breast in all directions. Lin lowered the
pitcher slightly to improve his accuracy as he moved the pitcher over her
crinkly brown areole and her uptilted mahogany nipple.
The two cups of water that Lin had used on her left breast, were still
running down her belly, between her thighs, and down her shapely legs when
Chiang Chan spoke again. "Hmmm. Now her breasts don't really match, do they,
boys? One is normal and the other is the color of the setting sun -- that will
never do. You had better do the other one, boy.
Dao's balls tensed with man-lust as he hung on to Ci-ci's left wrist, while
his young comrade doused her other pain-melon with the remaining half pitcher of
steaming liquid. Lin carefully parceled the contents out into three agonizing
doses, spaced about thirty seconds apart. As he watched, excited beyond
measure, Dao judged that Ci-ci's steam-bath would have been painful enough on a
pair of breasts that had never suffered a moment's discomfort; it must have been
agonizing beyond belief for a pair of tits that had been strapped and switched,
thorned and de-thorned. Once again he had the strange fancy that Feng the
Butcher was leering at Ci-ci's tortured breasts as he squatted in some
sulphurous corner of hell muttering, "Remember -- her ass is mine, boys!"
Ten minutes and any number of trips to the stove later, Ci-Ci had been
drenched, a pitcher at a time, with gallons of steaming stove-water. Her,
hair, chest, back, legs, buttocks and groin had all been treated to numerous
heated christenings. She stood there in the trough, pinkly perfect, in the few
inches of water that had collected at the bottom of the tub.
"Very nice, Lin, very nice indeed. Our young wench is a vision of moist
loveliness, isn't she? But what kind of a bath would it be without soap; the
soap is in the corner there, girl. Use it!"
Ci-ci bent from the waist to pick up the brick of soap which had come to
rest against the edge of the tub on Zheng's side. Her quick feminine dip so
enhanced the natural curvature of her buttocks that Dao, standing behind her and
facing his mountainous cohort, Zheng, could barely restrain himself from
climbing into the tub, slamming her soft body up against its sloped wooden wall,
and jamming his hardened cock-shaft between the delectable twin ovals of the
genuflecting beauty then and there.
Ci-ci rose daintily, shyly, to her feet, holding the off-white cake in her
tiny hand.
'That's it, baby. Now lather up for us. All over."
Flushing modestly Ci-ci began rubbing the soap along her wet forearms. She
closed her eyes as she did so, seeking for a moment to forget the cruelty of her
captors, trying to imagine that it was twenty-four hours earlier and that she
was merely bathing the youthful loveliness of her body in the privacy of the
female servants' bathing room at the Black Pagoda. As she caressed her yielding
body, the soap lathered very nicely, and within a few seconds her hands and arms
were glistening with a delicate froth.
"Nice. Now the legs. No -- lift your foot up on the top of the trough.
Good. First the foot. All around it -- clean that mud off of it. That's it...
Very nice. Now the ankle...good...keep going...lots of lather now, wench, lots
of bubbles...Good...Up over the knee, now... Nice and slow....Rub it in good."
Ci-ci, having little choice, followed Chiang Chan's request to the letter.
Her feet and lower legs had been caked in mud as a result of her arduous trek
through the grassy courtyard, but the foot of her right leg was now as clean as
the kitchen of the Emperor's cook. Ci-ci's foot was pointed in a most pleasing
manner with the innocent, natural grace of young womanhood, enhancing the
beautiful lines of her long, sleek legs.
"Up the leg, now, girl. Slower...slower... take your time." Chiang turned
to Dao. Nice legs, eh, boys?" His men didn't answer. They were all staring
open-mouthed at the beautiful bather, each man fantasizing in his own way that
he alone was a secret voyeuristic intruder on this most intimate of feminine
rituals.
"Higher, wench. Slide your hands up those nice slippery thighs. Soap
'em up good, honey. All the way up, now. Nice... Good... now the other leg.
That's it...right up on the edge of the tub. Lovely...nice and slow for us,
now. Enjoying the view, Ox?"
The huge bull of a man merely grunted. The flat-nosed Scorpion's face was
creased with a brutish smile; Ci-ci was facing him, with one pretty leg lifted a
few feet in the air and bent at a most attractive angle, with her bare foot
resting on the top of the trough. With her eyelids closed the pigtailed young
beauty used both of her hands to spread the lather in smooth even strokes around
her pretty foot, cleansing it of the muck and blades of grass that it had
accumulated outside. Then around her ankle, up her lower leg, sensually
lingering on her calves. Then to her velvety soft-fleshed thigh, moving her
hands in slow, upward-moving oval patterns. From his angle, the slow-witted
Zheng was able to study the delicate petals of her sparsely-mossed femininity
with the assiduous devotion of a botanist studying the rarest flower of the
Indies.
"She's a beauty, isn't she, boys? Now for that pretty little ass of yours.
Put your leg back down in the tub, now. Good...Now lean forward a little ...
that's good ... a little more... Look at those tits, boys -- I'll wager that
the saintliest monk in Tibet would want to give those jugs a good squeeze!"
Chiang took the bottle from Zheng and swallowed a mouthful of wine before
beginning his coaching anew. "Now spread your legs a little... A little
more...Good ... Now slide that soap across your bottom. That's it...All
over...Use both hands.... up and down...all around.... That's it...polish that
sweet ass for us!.. Beautiful."
The Scorpions watched transfixed as the pigtailed girl continued to perform
her sensuous ablutions.
"Slide that soap between your cheeks, now, wench. Soap your crack up nice
and clean for us, baby. Deep down in there. Good...good...Is your finger
soapy? No... the longest one ...yeah, that's the one ... fine ... soap it up
good. Now slide it right in there, girl....right up into that tight little
asshole. Nice...all the way in, slave...I want to see that slick little finger
disappear inside you!"
Ci-ci felt tears streaming down her face, as she debased herself for the
pleasure of the four leering Scorpion thugs.
"Now your pussy...move your legs apart, we want to see it all, don't we
boys? Everything you've got. Oh, that's nice.. real nice.... Mmmmm... Look at
that sweet, soapy pussy. That's it ... slide those soapy fingers back and forth
in that hot little slit...nice and slow... soap that clit up, good, honey.
How'd you like to be that bar of soap, Lin?" When the lad thrust his pelvis
forward in response, Chiang Chan winked as if to say, "Don't worry boy, you'll
get your chance to trade places with that soap very soon."
"Good...now your belly...around and around, nice and slow... beautiful."
And then, echoing Dao's musings a little earlier, the heir to the Scorpion
throne wondered silently, "I wonder if even Professor Leung could explain why
the sight of a bathing woman is so alluring."
"Excellent... Now for those juicy tits. I'll bet they're damn tender about
now, aren't they? Lift 'em up for us while you wash 'em...Nice... Soap 'em up
good, baby. That's it ...Both hands...all around 'em....nice and slow...around
and around...yeah!!"
"Now push those pretty breasts close together for us...Squeeze 'em...
Nice...Now the nipples...rub the soap right over 'em...Pinch one while you scrub
the other one...Harder...that's better...make those little brown nuggets gleam
for us, girl. See, wench? We Scorpions know how to treat a lady!" Chiang Chan
winked at his comrades.
The other three watched as Chiang Chan suddenly let his loose-fitting black
trousers fall and stepped forward so that his well-muscled thighs were pressed
against the outside of the trough. His manhood soared proudly outward toward
Ci-ci, engorged with the sadistic blood lust that was the both the birthright
and the hallmark of the Chan dynasty.
"On your knees when you see the cock of a Scorpion, girl!"
Ci-ci, still facing Zheng the Ox, fell obediently to her knees in the few
inches of hot tub-water.
"Good, now come over here."
Ci-ci kneel-walked toward the youngest of the Chans, still holding the
diminished brick of soap in one hand, her soft brown eyes drawn to Chiang's
manly weapon as if it were a lodestone. Her young body was a vision of damp
feminine beauty, clad only in evanescent patches of frothy white bubbles.
Soon she was facing Chiang Chan and his impressive erection. Chiang stood
along the short side of one end of the rectangular trough. Her back was now
toward Lin, and the enormous figure of the Ox was on her right and Dao, his dark
eyes glistening with the frenzy of lust, stood to her left.
"Kneel right up against the edge," Chiang ordered in a voice that had been
groomed to have the ring of command.
Shamed almost beyond caring, Ci-ci pressed against the edge of the tub.
Kneeling in the thick-bottomed tub, her breasts were at the same height as
Chiang's inflamed manhood.
"Now, lean forward."
Blushing furiously, Ci-ci leaned forward until the tip of Chiang's swollen
cock pressed against her frothy lust-globes. He shivered with pleasure.
Ci-ci's breasts were palpably, deliciously warm from the series of steaming
cascades they had endured.
"Very nice. Now take it and put it between those lovely breasts of yours
and make love to it with those sweet, soapy tits." He paused, and then added
sternly, "One more thing, wench..."
Ci-ci who had cupped her slippery breasts in her tiny hands, preparatory to
using them to pleasure Chiang Chan's cock-shaft, looked up at him questioningly.
"See that you please me well with your breasts, girl. Or I will direct my
gentle friend, here," Chiang gestured at the hulking Ox, "to punish them for
failing to do so. With the strap he used on your bottom before."
Ci-ci needed no further encouragement. The thought of enduring an
Ox-whipping on her tender breasts was inconceivable. Anything but that!
Desperate to please her tormentor, she slavishly pressed her hot soapy
pleasure-mounds together around Chiang Chan's manly phallus and moved against
him as sensually as she knew how, letting his cock-meat slide luxuriously back
and forth in the smooth, sexy valley between her inflamed breasts. Ci-ci tried
stoically to put aside any thought of how sore and sensitive her breasts had
become, owing to the abuse that they had endured, and how much pain the least
friction brought them.
She pressed her head against Chiang Chan's abdomen, lifting his shirt
with her silky black hair, so that her lips might kiss his belly, and her tongue
might probe his navel while her tempting breasts performed tantalizing miracles
of sensuality on the blue-veined pole between them.
Chiang Chan groaned softly in pleasurable lust; his uncle had not
exaggerated. Ci-ci's skin, especially the skin of her breasts, was of a
smoothness, a silkiness that had to be touched to be believed. He had been
aroused since the Scorpions had returned to find her beautiful body encased in
that rigorous but erotic bondage; but the touch of Ci-ci's warm and luscious
breasts on his virile member sent wave after wave of obscene desire coursing
through his body.
He barely had to move; he merely had to lean forward slightly so that the
beautiful pleasure-girl could make love to him with her breasts. Now and then
she removed Chiang's virile cock-staff from the canyon of desire between her
breasts and rubbed it all over her soapy globes, circling each of them in turn,
letting his phallus feel the ripe weight of her soft mounds as it explored her
undercurves, and then letting it delight in the hardness of her flinty brown
nipples. At one point Ci-ci pressed her left nipple against his pee-hole and
held it there for half a minute, while she stroked his rigid cock with one soft
soapy hand, and his hairy, lust-filled balls with the other.
The minutes passed slowly for Chiang's men while they passed the bottle
back and forth and looked on with ever-increasing envy at the site of their
leader being pleasured by the froth-covered bathing beauty. Lin was visibly
fidgeting and picking at his crotch, even more anxious than the others to get
his own hands on the shapely young pleasure-girl.
Chiang continued to bask in the intensely pleasurable sensation he was
experiencing. The nocturnal silence of the Pit was broken only by the snoring
of the lone drunken Scorpion across the room and the squishy sound of Chiang's
rock-hard cock sliding vigorously between Ci-ci's slick-lathered breast-globes
and his increasingly loud grunts of depraved lust.
Until Chiang Chan barked, "Lin!"
"Yes?"
"More hot water -- her breasts are not as warm as they were."
"But please...sir...I have done everything you asked..." Ci-ci's voice was
faint. "No more hot water ... please ... not again..."
"That's good, boy, Chiang said a moment later as Lin handed him the
steaming red and black pitcher. "Nice and full. This should warm them up very
well indeed. Hands behind your back, wench!"
"Don't...I beg of you...I have tried to please you..."
"Ox! The strap!"
"Aye!" Zheng assented, and he turned his back on his comrades only to
return a few moments later snapping the dreadful strop loudly in his
thick-fingered paws. Ci-ci glanced up at him long enough to see that whatever
trace of humanity might once have glimmered in his eyes had long since been
dulled by his vast intake of alcohol. Zheng's square bovine jaw was set with a
grim resolve; the resolve of a man determined to exact a cruel revenge for
Ci-ci's attempted escape from her ricksha slavery during his watch. She had
made him look bad in front of his comrades, and now, if his commander were only
to give the word, she would pay...
Ci-ci was distraught with fear as she heard the explosive reports of the
thick-witted behemoth popping the thick strap. "No! Not that!! Anything
else...but not that...please... I'll do it...I'll do it..."
The kneeling slave-girl, frantic to escape another encounter with the Ox's
whip, quickly clasped her hands submissively behind her back, and leaned back
on her haunches, her entire body trembling with fear.
But despite her intentions, tears began to well up in Ci-ci's eyes, when
Chiang Chan hoisted the steaming pitcher. "Please, sir...don't...it's so
hot..."
"Girl, I told you that you were going to have to please me well with your
breasts. It pleases me to slide my cock through a pair of hot and soapy tits.
And I say that they're not hot enough. Now kneel forward and stick your lovely
melons out for me, or I'll have my muscular friend here whip them bloody."
Chiang nodded in Zheng's direction. "Take a look at him, girl. Can you doubt
that he would enjoy carrying out such an order?"
The trembling maiden glanced over her right shoulder at the ferociously
leering behemoth; his huge hand slid up and down the strap lovingly; clearly the
hulking half-wit would like nothing better than to receive Chiang's blessing to
use his length of leather on her once again.
Ci-ci closed her eyes and knelt upright, her dark-nippled succulent breasts
lusciously proffered for their next semi-scalding drenching. Then she felt the
first few drops land on the upper slope of her left breast. She had resolved to
remain in position to endure the steam torture come what may, but when the
searing liquid came in contact with her tender love-mound, she winced in pain
and involuntarily pulled away slightly.
Seeing her back away, Chiang frowned and softly whispered one word.
"Zheng."
Ci-ci did not see it coming until it was too late; she heard a low
animalistic growl emanating from her right, but her tear-filled eyes were still
half-mesmerized by the menacing erection of the handsome young squadron leader
who stood before her. But just out of her field of vision Zheng's thick leather
strap came hurtling toward her with the irresistible momentum of an Indian
juggernaut. The Ox's growl swelled into an exultant "YEAAHHH!!" when the strap
exploded with a deafening WHACCKKKK!!! upon impact with Ci-ci's beautifully
upturned breasts, crushing her brown pleasure-nuggets and sending shrapnel-like
shards of pain coursing through both of her bobbling mounds of breastflesh.
"AAAAAEEEIIIIAAHHHH!!!!"
"Good one, Ox! That'll teach her!" the reedy voice of the Drooler chirped,
as Ci-ci's hands reached protectively for her tortured breasts. The Ox drew the
lash back, grinning the grin of a seven-year-old who had won praise for
successfully accomplishing some simple child's task.
"Put your hands behind your back girl and resume your position, or you
shall have another one."
"No...no.....I'm sorry, sir ...ohhh, it hurts.... see... I'm doing doing as
you say....Please, sir ... don't let him hit me again," Ci-ci whimpered as she
scrambled bravely back into her kneeling position within arm's length of Chiang
and the steaming pitcher.
"There, that's better. Now see that you stay there. And keep your hands
at your sides, slave-girl, or I'll give the Ox more work to do!"
"N-no...please no... I will...I will..."
Whereas before he and Lin had held the pitcher several inches above Ci-ci's
body, allowing the water to cool slightly in its descent, this time Chiang held
the hot pitcher flush against her breast. So that her protruding nipples, still
aching from the Ox's savage blow, might feel the heat of the porcelain pitcher
even as the steaming contents were about to baptize the shapely upper curves of
her breasts.
But though the nerve endings in her inflamed nipples screamed at her to
pull away from the pitcher's fiery touch, Ci-ci dared not back away. Anything
... anything ... was better than another breast-burning stroke from the
simple-minded sadist with the strap.
And then the water came again. First in a thin trickle, then in a steady
stream, and at last in a gushing downpour that drenched the alluring upper
slopes of both of her rosy breasts, breasts that were already hyper-sensitive
from a day and a night of abuse. Once again, every nerve cell in her twin
treasures implored her, begged her, shrieked at her to protect her breasts with
her hands, but she dared not, for fear of another lash from the mighty man with
the strap.
"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!"
Chiang Chan slowly moved his arm back and forth across his body, first
anointing one rosy dark-nippled mound and then the other with the steaming bath
water as Ci-ci knelt at his feet, her torso oscillating with pain, as more and
more of the piping hot water came rushing down in a seemingly unending Niagara
of pain on her poor defenseless breasts. Ci-ci's arms quivered uncontrollably at
her sides as she fought desperately to suppress her primeval instinct for
self-protection.
When the entire contents of the pitcher had been emptied, Chiang Chan
directed her to re-soap her breasts quickly, and then in response to his curt
command, she edged closer again on her sore knees, so that Chiang could once
again plunge his throbbing cock into her hot and slippery breast cleavage.
For poor Ci-ci, thanks to this last and worst dousing, her breasts were
now as sensitive as they would have been from a twelve-hour sunburn. Chiang
Chan's every thrust between her flame-red mounds brought fresh agonies of pain.
He rocked back and forth slowly, the intensity of his pleasure, heightened
by her every grimace of pain and mounting with every slow, sexually-charged
passage through that fleshy canyon of lust, as Ci-ci stroked his manly spear
with her reddened pleasure-mounds.
The sensation was pleasurable beyond imagining and Chiang Chan could not
long sustain the intensity of his lust at such a pitch. After another few
moments, the first of a series of throaty groans spilled from his mouth.
Followed only a few seconds later by a torrent of his seed spilling from his
throbbing, twitching engine of lust. His semen spurted from his cock-tip as if
fired from a cannon, coating Ci-ci's froth-covered tit-globes with a second
lathering of pale liquid.
His heart racing, his breathing ragged, it took nearly half a minute before
Chiang Chan could voice the words that his three comrades had been waiting for
nearly two hours to hear. "All right, boys, you can have your fun now."
Sexually spent, Chiang Chan wiped his dripping organ clean on Ci-ci's cheek
and held his cock before her lips so that she might lick the last degrading
droplets of pleasure from it before he returned it to his dark trousers. And
then, replete, he sat down on the nearest cot as he watched his henchmen impose
their depraved will on the beautiful body of the innocent young maiden.
In a matter of seconds the thuggish trio had turned Ci-ci so that she was
facing the other direction -- and three lust-hardened male organs. Each of the
Scorpions had stepped out of his trousers while their leader had administered
his protracted breast-fucking, and she got a good look at their stiff pricks for
their first time. In her chaotic and confused mental state Ci-ci was briefly
struck by the fact that the men's organs were much like the men themselves.
Lin's was long and thin and poked lewdly at her from greasy strands of pubic
hair. Dao's was big, ugly, and slightly twisted; such a weapon would punish any
woman with the courage to take it inside her. And the Ox's phallus was indeed
ox-like, nearly as long as her forearm and with a circumference equal to that of
her own wrist.
"Soap 'em up girl!" Dao's voice was crude, obscene. "All three of those
cocks! Ain't none of us had a bath yet today, did we, Ox?"
From the smell of them, Ci-ci thought, none of them had had a bath in a
week. But that was the least of her concerns. Dutifully she lathered up the
three cock-shafts, using both of her hands to slide the slippery soap sensuously
along their flesh-tubes. She began with Dao's dark-veined rod, moved on to
Lin's scrawny prick, and turned finally to Ox's massive truncheon. She needed
both hands to encircle it fully. How, she wondered, could a woman ever
accommodate such a monster, especially a woman as petite as herself?
As soon as the three Scorpion cocks were as frothy as her own body had
been, Lin's distended organ was at her lips even as the big men who flanked him
ordered her to stroke their organs with her tiny hands. "Kiss it, wench," Lin
urged. "Kiss it all over! Mmmm. Use your tongue on it, too. Hold it
straight up, now and suck those balls! That's it, girl. Get 'em nice and wet.
Roll 'em around in your mouth."
Ci-ci didn't much care for the taste of the soap, but she reasoned that it
was doubtless preferable to the taste of the vile Scorpion man-cocks themselves.
And far better the soap than the strap.
Blushing with shame, and fearful of incurring their wrath yet again, Ci-ci
slavishly did as she was told. She held Lin's cock straight up and slid her
tongue along its length from root to tip, while he squirmed with the uniquely
sweet pleasure of adolescent arousal. At his barked command, she leaned closer,
letting her tongue caress every inch of his throbbing pole while her soft lips
and warm breath merely grazed his flesh with their tantalizing presence.
"Alright, now, wench, take it in your mouth."
"Yeah, stroke it, baby!" her right hand was sliding up and down the length
of Gaptooth's ugly prick, while her left was trying in vain to encircle Zheng's
fleshy column of lust.
"Go down on it....that's it...suck it, girl...take it all in....Mmmm,
that's good...Keep going...Suck it...suck it...suck it.....Aahhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Ci-ci could almost feel the innumerable disgusting sperm in Lin's semen
slithering toward the back of her throat as he shot his boyish load into the
back of her mouth. When he was done, Dao pushed the still-babbling youngster
impatiently aside and thrust his own, larger, longer, cock between her lips.
"Both hands!" growled the Ox, and Ci-ci swung her right hand, now free of
Dao's erection, over to join its sister around Zheng's humongous cudgel. She
sucked and stroked and stroked and sucked until Dao's gnarly cock was positively
pulsing with lust. And then, in a surprising, un-Scorpion-like burst of
generosity, Dao stepped back, and then off to one side, gesturing for the Ox to
take his place at the narrow end of the trough.
And then, for the next minute or two, Zheng's horse-cock occupied Ci-ci's
entire attention. The Ox held her by the pig-tails with one hand and poured
more rice wine down his gullet with the other, while she nursed at his massive
member, gradually replacing the soapy lather with her own saliva. His cock-tip
was as big around as a tangerine, but that did not deter the huge belching brute
from forcing her lips wider apart than she thought they could possibly spread
and thrusting his mighty bludgeon between them.
The inexperienced girl did her best to please the ogre-like Scorpion and
some minutes later she could literally see his plum-sized balls contract with
fuck-lust only seconds before launching a viscous torrent of thug-semen into her
throat.
And then, the Ox, too, fell back sated and Ci-ci, after choking violently
for a few seconds on his copious ejaculate, relaxed. At last, her ordeal seemed
to be over...
But only moments had elapsed before she heard a splashing in the tub behind
her. Before she could turn around to see who had joined her, her kneeling body
was slammed face first against the inclined end of the wooden animal trough. The
unpleasant stench of stale alcohol assailed her nostrils, even as strong hands
pinned her shoulders against the trough. Muscular thighs wedged her legs apart,
and then the hands left her shoulders and descended to her hips.
She felt the powerful hands seize the perfect roundness of her splendid
buttocks, testing their firmness, their resiliency. Cupping them, stroking
them, squeezing them, groping them. And then, she realized with a wave of
horror, spreading them ...
With her inflamed breasts forced violently against the aging, splintered
trough, Ci-ci then felt a thick fleshy protuberance, slick with soap, pressing
against the portal of her one remaining virginity. A moment later she heard the
gruff voice, the raspy pitiless voice of the gaptoothed man, grunting, "This
one's for you, Feng!"
And then she heard an unfamiliar voice, a voice that sounded more like
the tortured cry of a wounded animal than that of a beautiful young girl, as she
felt Dao's virile cockmeat stab viciously at the tiny, defenseless rosebud that
guarded the entrance to her nether passage...
********
Chiang Chan watched the rest of the proceedings in interested silence,
as a thin curl of smoke rose from his pungent post-coital Turkish cigarette.
His first day as a Scorpion squadron leader seemed to have been an unqualified
success...
Chapter 43 Luk Yee and his Fair Wife
After making his farewells to Li Chang at the house of Wen-chi earlier that
evening, Luk Yee, Li's trusted aide and confidante, had stopped by the house of
Ming-tsu at Li's request, to alert her that his friend had had to leave the city
suddenly. He was careful not to say anything about the trap into which Li had
apparently fallen and which was the cause of his flight. Ming-tsu knew Li only
as a lieutenant of the Black Scorpions, and at this point it was undoubtedly
safest not to disabuse her of that notion.
As he slowly made his way homeward after their brief encounter, with a
brisk wind and a light rain at his back, Luk remembered the strange brightness
in Ming-tsu's flashing brown eyes. Although it was doubtless only concern for
Li Chang, her reaction had given him a peculiar twinge of uneasiness. His
friend's exotic lover had thanked him courteously for his news and had asked him
with a dazzling smile to come in and give her more details. Anxious to get home
to his new bride, he had declined politely. As he was descending the walk to
the street, she called after him softly, with more than a hint of invitation in
her seductive voice, beseeching him to let her know the minute he had any news
of Li's whereabouts, and inviting him to return again when he had more time.
Had he not been so in love with Qieu, his wife of ten days, he would gladly
have taken Ming-tsu up on her offer to discuss Li Chang -- or anything else! --
at greater length inside her home. He had met Ming-tsu once or twice before,
briefly, but tonight her beauty was truly radiant, and she had exuded an aura of
sensuality unlike that of any woman he had ever known.
As she stood in the doorway listening to his brief explanation of Li's
departure, the scent of orange blossom had seemed to billow out of her clinging,
low-cut, black silk blouse and filter through his nostrils to pass directly into
his blood-stream, firing it with unexpected excitement. He had wavered,
briefly, at her door, but his sense of loyalty to his friend and his wife had
won out over his animal instincts, and he had made good his departure.
As he began his journey homeward a brief moment of spitefulness caused Luk
to envy Li Chang his seductive mistress, and the untold sexual pleasures that
they had surely shared. His own wife, Qieu, while as fair a wife as a man could
wish for, remained timid and reluctant when he had tried to take her into his
arms. Timidity and reluctance, he smiled covetously to himself, were not likely
to be obstacles that Li Chang had to contend with very often with a tigress like
Ming-tsu.
In his mind's eye Luk pictured Ming-tsu's lovely body sprawled sensuously
across a bed clad only in a brief, low-cut black chemise. Her lustrous raven
hair spilled across a pillow of virginal white. Her red lips parted in frank
invitation, her amorous, heavy-lidded brown eyes drawing him closer and closer,
as she slid one silky golden thigh languorously against the other. Her breasts,
half-revealed by her skimpy garment, firm-crested and heaving with desire, while
her left hand slowly, teasingly, lifted the hem of the chemise higher, higher,
higher...
Luk Yee shook his head to clear it, embarrassed by the erection that was
swelling within his trousers. He turned to face the wind-blown rain as if
feeling nature's elements on his face might cool the ardor that nature had
stirred up below.
After feeling the cool rain on his face for a moment the better angels of
Luk's own nature prevailed and he began to ponder the fate of Li Chang and their
comrades who had joined together to oppose the Black Scorpions. Since the
strange death of Professor Leung he had dropped his classes at the University
and had scraped a living together teaching students in secondary schools. But
most of his time and energies had gone into the conflict with the Scorpions.
Now that events had taken a decided turn for the worse, Luk Yee was glad that he
had told his wife nothing of his membership in the secret society. Qieu had met
Li Chang at the wedding, but she knew him only as a friend -- not as the leader
of a crusade against the cabal of gangsters who ruled Shanghai.
As he continued homeward in the misting rain, Luk Yee's thoughts turned to
the wedding itself, which as for many men, had been the happiest day of his
life. His wife had been beautiful, and her father, usually so sombre, had once
or twice flashed the smile typical of the father of a bride. His friends -- Li
Chang, Liu and the others -- had all been in high spirits.
********
Luk Yee had no family of his own to speak of; his father, like countless
other Chinese of the generation of the Taiping Rebellion, anxious for a better
life, had sailed to San Francisco in the railroad-building years after the
American Civil War, hoping to send for his wife and only son one day. But there
was no place for a family in the difficult and dangerous life of a migrant
railroad-worker.
Luk Yee still treasured a letter that his mother had received from faraway
America many years earlier. In part of the letter his father had written with
great pride of being on the crew that built the Central Pacific's railroad line
east out of Sacramento California through the treacherous ridges of the Sierra
Madre and across the vast arid stretches of Nevada before linking up with the
westward-stretching Union Pacific in the Promontory Mountains of northern Utah.
He had been, his father had written proudly, part of one of the greatest
engineering accomplishments since the building of the Great Wall itself. His
father had speculated, in that letter, as to how many of his honored ancestors
from northern China might have taken part in the building of the "Wall of Ten
Thousand Li" {Five Thousand Kilometers} as the Chinese called it, which had
taken scores of generations to complete. And today, he had written, when that
Golden Spike had been driven into the ground, he had felt the hands of his
elders reaching out to congratulate him across the great sea of space and the
eternity of time that had always separated them before.
Luk Yee had been but a young boy when his mother had read that part of the
letter to him for the first time, with tears of longing and tears of pride. But
it had been the last letter they were ever to receive from America. His father
had perished in a detonation-caused landslide only two days thereafter, as they
later learned from the family of a friend who had worked on the same crew.
Luk's father had been only one of thousands of his countrymen who died
building the railroads that stretched across North America. His mother had been
crushed by his death, but even in her grief, gave prayers of thanks to her own
ancestors. For it had been the spirits of her own ancestors, she felt sure, who
had made certain that Luk's father had post that last precious letter on the
morning after he had written it, and had somehow guided it safely across the
dangerous wilderness of the American west, and then across the vast Pacific, to
her tiny hand.
After his mother had died a dozen years later after a long illness, Luk Yee
found the rest of that letter among her meager belongings. The yellowed pages
looked as if they had been unfolded and re-folded into a tiny rectangle a
hundred times.
When he unfolded the brittle scraps of paper, he read of a husband's love
for a fair but faraway young wife, and how his father lay at his campsite each
night, looking up at the galaxy of stars high in the desert sky, longing for the
time when they could be together again. So that he could hear her gentle voice,
and smell her silky hair and feel the touch of her small hand on his and taste
the sweetness of her lips once more. How he longed to take her in his arms and
... Luk Yee had blushed when he had read the more intimate passages of the love
letter for the first time. Who ever thinks of his or her parents as having
passions equal to one's own?
********
So, there had been no family of his own at the wedding, but it had been a
joyous day nonetheless. As he walked homeward in the gentle rain, Luk relived
that festive day -- the pledges of love, the music, the toasts, the dinner, the
dancing. So swept up was he in his pleasant memories that he relaxed his usual
vigilance.
And took no notice of the shadowy figure that followed him in the rain...
********
When he arrived home, Qieu was sighing gently in her sleep in their simple
bed. Luk lit a pair of slender ivory-colored candles and placed them in
candle-holders on the floor on either side of their bed as he admired his wife's
beauty just as he had every day since they had met. Even in the near-darkness
of the twin candles' gleam, the silky softness of her long hair, the beautiful
features of her face, and the womanly curve of her hip as she lay curled on one
side, gladdened his heart.
He undressed slowly, wondering whether tonight was the proper night to
assert his marital rights. Though they had been married ten days, he had yet to
see his wife naked. Qieu had blamed her unusual shyness on female
indisposition, but even one so young as Luk was aware that it was extremely
improbable that a woman's 'curse' should last this long. As he slipped out of
his rain-dampened trousers, one of Qieu's legs stirred nervously in her sleep
and she kicked the blanket away, revealing one smooth amber-gold leg, bare to
the hem of her celadon green chemise. Celadon, the sea-green shade of much
Chinese pottery and porcelain, was Qieu's favorite color.
Luk Yee, naked now, blew out the candles and slid into the bed alongside
his wife and moved closer to her. Facing away from him, Qieu could not feel the
warmth of his breath nor hear what seemed to him the deafening pounding of his
heart. He pressed his body gently against hers, spoon fashion, luxuriating in
the radiant warmth of her sleeping body. He felt his manhood stiffen, quivering
with the anticipation of long-deferred love-making. He half sat up in bed so
that his lips could touch the soft of flesh of Qieu's upper arm as his right
hand reached for her bare leg.
He touched her with the gentlest of touches, half-fearful that she would
waken, half-fearful that she would not. Slowly he slid his hand up along the
silky-smooth flesh of her thigh, lingering, stroking, caressing, while he
pressed his body a little more closely against hers.
The touch of her thigh-flesh sent ripples of erotic electricity through his
maleness. Luk felt his testicles tighten within his sensitive scrotum, while his
cock pulsed with desire. His hand crept higher, under the chemise now, gently
stroking, exploring her upper thighs in the near-total darkness of the room as
he drew closer and closer to his goal.
The one small corner of his brain that was still capable of rational
thought registered the fact that there was something odd about the feel of her
velvety thighs. For a moment her flesh would feel invitingly soft and then
there would be something else ... something ... but, even though it was his
fingers doing the exploring, he could not put quite put his metaphorical finger
on the sensation.
No matter; he pressed still more closely against her, his cock, now swollen
to full erection, pressed flush against the delicious roundness of her buttocks.
The hem of the chemise was up around her waist now, and a brief wisp of gossamer
silk was the only obstruction between his concupiscent yearnings and paradise.
Luk Yee moved his head higher and planted a soft kiss on the cheek of his
sleeping beauty.
"Mmmm," Qieu smiled drowsily.
Then, as his right hand crept across the front the of flimsy undergarment
she turned toward him, still more asleep then awake, and her right hand fell
squarely on his throbbing erection.
"Ah! Aahh!!" Qieu cried, as she recoiled as if she had been given an
electric shock. Her voice was fearful, and her eyes were instantly wide with
panic as she sat up in the darkness.
"Qieu! Qieu! It is only I. Luk Yee, your husband." Luk tried to comfort
his trembling wife. He covered himself with the blanket, so as not to frighten
her further, but there wasn't much to left to frighten her with; her alarmed
reaction had drained the excitement from his body.
Qieu clung to him, her breasts beneath the chemise warm and round and full
against his bare chest. Her voice was shaking, "I'm sorry, Luk. I... I must
have been having a nightmare... I dreamed that ... that I ... that they..." but
she could not continue.
"It is all right, my love. I am here. There is nothing to frighten you."
But it was not all right, thought Luk Yee, as he cradled his wife in his
arms, and wondered at her strange nightmare. A husband could not live without
affection forever. And as the breathing of his lovely wife slowed as she
drifted back into a troubled sleep, Luk's thoughts returned to the seductive
Ming-tsu, and it was of breasts that tasted of orange blossom and thighs that
squirmed with passion at his touch that he dreamt that night.
Chapter 44 Qieu -- A Story of Fear and Courage Throughout the next day, Luk Yee began to become more and more alarmed. That there was no word from Li Chang was not so strange; he, after all was presumably safely in Formosa by now. But when Luk had gone to the house of Wen-chi, no one had answered the door. Luk Yee consoled himself with the thought that perhaps the old man and his grand-daughter were merely out visiting friends. Liu had always preferred to attend to her grandfather's needs herself, and thus they had no servants to answer the door when they were out. Luk Yee made the rounds of his cell leaders, being careful to see that he was not followed, warning them to be cautious, that there was likely to be a counter-strike from the Scorpions. But no one could tell how much, if anything, the Chans knew of their organization, so the degree of danger was difficult to assess with certainty. ****** Qieu had woken that next morning before Luk Yee, who had risen while she was preparing the morning tea. Each of them was pre-occupied and withdrawn; he, concerned with the fate of Li Chang and the future of their cause; she, plagued with nervousness and guilt regarding her fearfulness with respect to performing her marital obligations. Luk Yee earned only a pittance from his teaching duties, and she had a sense that he had been neglecting them in recent weeks, especially since the mysterious suicide of his strange hunchbacked professor. As a result Qieu had begun taking in sewing as a means of augmenting the meager family income. Her father had offered to help the young couple, but Luk Yee, conscious of the fact that his father-in-law's business was not prospering as it once had - partly due to the iron grip of the Chans on the city's economy - had refused to accept any help. As she plied her needle and thread, doing peacework for a textile jobber, Qieu lamented the fact that she had no mother to ask for advice. Her mother had died not long after Qieu's birth, one of the millions who had lost their lives during the famine-plagued years of the Taiping Rebellion, of which her father rarely spoke. As a girl she had asked about her mother often, but as she grew older she could see that it gave her father great pain to talk about her, and so over the years, she had begun to inquire about her mother less and less frequently. But she did know, from her father, that her mother had been beautiful and kind, and that her memory was treasured by all who had known her in their home city of Nanking. Working quickly and skillfully Qieu finished her quota for the jobber early in the afternoon, and set about finishing the scarlet gown with which she intended to surprise Luk Yee. She had worked on it a little each day since the wedding, and it was nearly done. When at last she had finished the garment, and tried it on to make sure that it fit perfectly, she realized that Luk Yee would be home before long. She just had time to bathe and shop for the items that she would need for their special dinner. While she slipped out of her clothes Qieu lit a candle in front of the small shrine that honored her long dead mother and wondered what she would have done in Qieu's place, had she been plagued by the same fears. But, alas, no answers were forthcoming from the shrine. A few moments later Qieu stood nude on a small absorbent mat alongside the small basin of water that she had taken care to conserve all day. Qieu was not an envious person by nature, but she envied the relative ease with which the well-to-do were able to keep clean. She picked up the amber-colored sponge, dipped it in the lukewarm water and rubbed it lightly across her breasts, smiling slightly as her nipples stiffened slightly at the touch. She closed her soft brown eyes as her hand moved the porous natural sponge lower, rubbing her ribcage and midriff gently, until her golden skin was gleaming like a dewy mountain meadow on a spring morning. Then she dipped the sponge in the basin daintily, wetting it, and slid it further down, below her tiny waist and across the gentle rise of her mons. And then lower still, touching herself intimately; she quivered slightly with sensual pleasure as she wondered if tonight she would have the courage to let her beloved touch her as the sponge had done. When she was done with her sponge bath, Qieu did something that she had never done before. Even though she was alone she blushed self-consciously as she dabbed a drop or two of attar of mimosa into the narrow valley between her nude breasts, and then, even more hesitantly, added a touch of the scent to the secret place between her soft thighs. As she looked down at the graceful curves of her supple body, it was impossible not to be troubled again by her secret; at times such as these the thought plagued her that perhaps she should never have married at all. Perhaps ... but Luk Yee was a good man, she consoled herself. With luck all would be well in the end. Yes, a good man... her other self seemed to reply ... one that does not deserve a wife with a shameful secret... ******** It was nearly dark when Luk Yee returned home that night, greatly fatigued from his tireless crossing and re-crossing of the city to alert his comrades to the danger of their situation. Qieu had resolved that she would tell Luk Yee her secret that evening, come what may. Accordingly she had it in mind to prepare his favorite meal, a thick steaming soup of seafood and laboriously hand-cut home-made noodles, seasoned with the pungent red chiles of Szechuan. She had also spent more than they could really afford on a fine bottle of shaohsing, the Chinese rice wine. As she prepared the broth Qieu recalled "Tu Kang Makes Wine", the two thousand-year-old story that her father had told her as a little girl. The ancient folk tale made manifest the importance of wine to nearly a hundred generations of the people between the two great rivers. Once, while her father was enjoying a cup of shaohsing, he had recounted to her how the wily European, Marco Polo, had endeavored to convince the Chinese court to renounce their wines made from grain in favor of the grape wines of Europe. And how none other than the great Khan himself had risen to the defense of the native wines of Cathay. Soon the broth was steaming, rich and red and redolent with spices, and awaited only the last minute addition of the fast-cooking seafood, noodles and vegetables. Once the soup was safely begun, Qieu washed her hands quickly and changed into her new gown of scarlet trimmed with gold, and awaited Luk Yee's arrival. When Luk Yee finally returned home he took one sniff of the aromatic dish and smiled broadly; Qieu was standing with her back to him, ravishingly radiant in her new dress, a blood-red hibiscus provocatively pinned to the raven-black hair behind her left ear. At the conclusion of their wedding vows Qieu had transferred a white hibiscus from behind her right ear, where its location signified her availability, to behind her left ear, which, in the lore of the people of the islands, proclaimed to the world that she had found the man she loved. It had been the most charming moment of a blessed day. It struck Luk Yee that his wife must have spent many minutes at the flower-seller's stall looking for a specimen whose color so perfectly matched the dress she had made. A dress that out-crimsoned even the deep red richness of the seafood soup. Luk said a silent prayer of thanksgiving to the gods for his beautiful wife, crept up softly behind her, brushed aside her ebony tresses and kissed her gently on the neck as she stirred the soup. As he inhaled the delicate scent of mimosa and hibiscus it occurred to him what a blessing it was to unshoulder, if only for a few hours, the weighty burden of leadership. Smiling shyly when Luk Yee's hands began to stroke her flanks, Qieu spun away neatly, giving her handsome husband a warm smile but cautioning him that his dinner was at a crucial stage. Cautioned by this edict from his culinary empress, Luk Yee retired gracefully and took a seat at their charming little dining room table. Their entire apartment, though small, was beautifully arranged. Qieu had artfully applied the ancient Chinese belief in 'feng shui' -- harmonious aesthetic balance -- to every corner of their lodgings. After adding the final ingredients to the soup, Qieu poured two cups of Shaohsing and they happily toasted each other while the seafood and the noodles cooked to the desired tenderness. Then Qieu used a deep ladle to pour the soup into an elegant serving dish of Kaolin porcelain -- a wedding gift from Liu -- from which they each served themselves. Their talk was of neighbors and friends; Luk Yee did not wish to burden his wife with his fears for the safety of Wen-chi and the others. Luk Yee was contentedly slurping away in the noisy fashion of Chinese noodle-eaters when they suddenly heard a sharp rapping at the door. Qieu smiled seductively at her husband. "It is probably our neighbor, that nosy baker's wife again. Let me get rid of her. This is our night." Then she walked over toward a window adjacent to the front door and peeked out through a crack in the curtain. "Yes? Who is it?" "Is this the house of Luk Yee?" she heard a deep voice inquire. Qieu hesitated and just then the tall man on the doorstep, who was clothed in black from head to foot, turned slightly toward the curtain from which she watched. And even through the tiny crevice in the curtain she could see the gaps between his ugly yellowing teeth. And the two men, one huge and bull-like, one young and slight, who waited watchfully a step or two behind him. At the sight of the gaptoothed man, Qieu suddenly felt as cold and bloodless as a harbor eel. Trembling, she backed away from the window and then, making up her mind in an instant, whispered to Luk Yee. "Out the back window! Now! There are men looking for you. Bad men. There is no time to argue with me . Go! Go! And do not come back until it is safe. I will be all right. Go! Go! Go!!" They heard the insistent pounding on the door again, louder this time. "Luk Yee!" the threatening voice called again. "I'm coming," Qieu lied in a quavering voice. "One moment." His head spinning and his mind racing, Luk Yee rose, congratulating himself on having told his wife nothing of his activities. The men who were looking for him would surely have no interest in her. She knew nothing of his work. And she knew nothing of where he was going. For the simple reason that he himself didn't know where he was going. He was fortunate that his wife had reacted so swiftly. Luk turned and ran to the back window which opened on an alley which led toward the labyrnthian maze of streets of that quarter of Shanghai. "I will return when it is safe my love! Or send for you. They will leave when they see that I am not here." "Go! For the love of heaven, Go!" Again the heavy fist pounded at the door. "Luk Yee!! Open up before I kick the door in!" Qieu glanced quickly out the window, and saw that Luk was nearly at the end of the alley. She said a prayer of thanks that he had escaped. Then, closing the window softly, she took a deep breath to compose herself, and walked on shaky legs toward the door. When she opened it the gaptoothed man looked at her strangely for a moment while his two comrades joined him in the doorway. The leader of the three spoke. "We are looking for Luk Yee. We have news of his friend Li Chang." "My husband is not here; I do not know where he is. But what of Li Chang?" The men pushed past her roughly, and quickly searched the small living quarters finding no one. "Where is he, woman? Your husband?" "I do not know," Qieu said, her voice quaking. "I have not seen him since this morning." "You haven't, have you? I suppose you were eating two bowls of soup and drinking two cups of wine yourself?" "I...I..." WHAMPPP!! Gaptooth's right arm lashed out wickedly, backhanding her across the chest. The force of his powerful blow crushed her tender breasts as if the crimson robe had been no thicker than tissue paper. "Nghhhhhh!!" "For the last time -- where is he?" Gaptooth roared. "I told you," Qieu moaned in pain, "I don't know." Dao signalled for the Ox to pinion her arms behind her and then Gaptooth buried his bony knee into the soft tender place between her legs, causing Qieu to cry out in agony. She would have fallen to her knees and beyond had not the Ox held her up. "Lying bitch! You're coming with us! Where we can talk things over without being disturbed by prying neighbors!" And Gaptooth grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her toward the door. Trying her best to remain calm, Qieu asked, "Where are you taking me?" But in her heart of hearts she already knew the answer. "You will see, wife of Luk Yee. You will see. Gag her, Ox!" Two minutes later, the Ox, and the Drooler were ushering Qieu toward the horse cart waiting in the street, while Dao, the man with the Jack-o'-Lantern smile, stood by, armed with Feng's phony credentials, prepared to assure any inquisitive neighbor that he and his men were acting on behalf of the emperor himself. And once the onlookers had dispersed, the horse-cart set off in the direction of the Black Pagoda. ********* Less than an hour later, Qieu was standing, trembling in fear, between the two great columns that supported the dark dungeon of the black pagoda. The huge man and the smirking boy had been sent off on other business. But not before the big brute had assisted Gaptooth in tying her hands tightly behind her back. And now she was alone with Gaptooth. The long mirror that lined one wall reflected the eerie torchlight of the subterranean chamber and seemed to make Dao's grinning split-toothed visage an even sicklier yellow than before. The beautiful young wife of Luk Yee forced herself to be calm; she did not think that he knew... that he rememembered. Perhaps there yet was hope. In a way she was thankful that she was still gagged, that her features were partly obscured. She tried to keep her head turned to one side, to make it more difficult.... In the gloomy darkness her eyes peered into the far corners of the room; corners that held ghostly shapes of whose purpose she could only guess, but which sent ghastly chills of terror coursing through her slender body. Then she heard a voice... THE Voice ... the sinister Voice without a face... the Voice that had been as dry and forbidding as the trackless wastes of the barren Gobi Desert far to the north. The Voice was now accompanied by a slow, increasingly ominous tread of footfalls downward toward the corner of hell in which she found herself. Footsteps that echoed eerily in the cavernous dungeon, each one seemingly weighed down with the sense of inescapable doom that accompanied them. The Voice was close enough now to be understood. "The stars have blessed us, George, just as Mai-Lee's astrologer predicted they would. It was no coincidence, my brother, that I sprang our trap on Li Chang on the night when the earth was closest to Mars, the Roman god of war. Last night we put an end to the schemes of Li Chang and the interfering old man; tonight we have taken the wife of his best friend, and through her we shall ... Ah, here she is!" "On your knees before the Lord of the Black Pagoda, woman!" the gaptoothed man growled, and shoving violently downward on her shoulders, sent Qieu sprawling forward. The Voice, that voice that she would never forget, would have sent a long tremulous shudder through Qieu's body even if she had never heard of Li Chang; but she knew him to be her husband's best friend. The pretty young wife of Luk Yee tried desperately to still the panic that seemed to be enveloping her like the dark, hilltop-hugging clouds of an autumnal typhoon. Was Li dead? Dying? And the old man -- could he mean Li Chang's venerable foster father? Now, as she saw the two men step through the grim doorway, she saw, for the first time, the possessor of the sinister Voice. Before she averted her eyes, while she silently implored her mother's spirit to impair his memory, she noted that the speaker was tall for a Chinese, and slender, and he was clad in a silver robe. His hair was black edged with silver, and cut short -- in one of Richard Chan's few affectations -- in the manner of the Roman Caesars whose renderings Yuk Lee had one shown her. His eyes were as black as his hair, and narrow-slitted; his lips were thin and remorseless. Next to him strode a slightly younger man, a shorter, stockier, smiling man, but one who bore an unmistakable familial resemblance to the elder of the two. When the two men were about ten feet away, Richard Chan stopped abruptly. Even though Qieu's eyes were cast floorward, she could sense his eyes upon her, analyzing, scrutinizing his captive. But his pause was only momentary. Then he addressed the gaptoothed man sharply, "Dao, why did you not tell us that an old friend had come to call?" Qieu felt the cold fingers of dread tighten around her heart. He knew. "An old friend, sire? " "Dao, Dao." Richard Chan clucked sardonically. "You will never reach the Council of Twelve unless you develop a better memory for faces. And bodies." Then the Lord of the Scorpions approached the young woman who knelt before him, visibly quaking, and lifted her chin so that she was forced to look into his cold dark eyes. "It gives me great pleasure to see you here once again, Miss Wu; your last visit was most enjoyable. I trust that you will stay longer this time." The icy hand of fear closed tighter on her heart. Richard Chan's keen eye had been unerring. For Qieu was indeed the daughter of Cheng Wu. Her father was the shopkeeper from Nanking ** who had so stubbornly refused to contribute to the Scorpions 'protection' racket'. Until his his only child, a lovely young woman who had been nicknamed Cherry in her childhood, had been abducted, blind-folded, and dragged to the Black Pagoda. Once there his lovely daughter had been stripped and whipped and raped and, when the Scorpions had done with her, dropped off half-naked and half-dead on his doorstep on that terrible dawn more than three years ago. As an example to any of Cheng Wu's neighbors who might be inclined to join him in his obstinacy. That incident had terrorized her father into acquiescing to the Scorpions's demands and had aged him twenty years in twenty hours. And the trauma of her abduction had left Cherry Wu, now Qieu Yee, with the physical and psychological scars that threatened her marriage. And here she was, for reasons she could only guess, once again a prisoner in the dreaded lair of the Black Scorpions. ** Please see the Prologue
Chapter 45 The Kneeler, the Cane, and the Bloody Corsage In response to Richard Chan's taunt, Dao stared at Qieu's face intently for some seconds before nodding his head in recollection. "Aye, sire, I think I remember now. I broke the new bamboo cane in that night, I think -- the one from the Hunan marshes." "Precisely, Dao. And a fine weapon it proved to be, did it not?" "Aye, that it did. Fifty solid strokes and it hardly frayed a bit. You know," Dao added conspiratorially, anxious to get on more friendly terms with his august master, "When I first saw her tonight she looked familiar. But her hair is much longer now." Qieu remembered the odd glance Dao had given her when she had opened the door. And she remembered the cane too -- how could she not? She had felt its cruel cutting bite on her tender flesh from her shoulders to her knees. The silver-robed tyrant paced back and forth thoughtfully in front of Qieu. "Let me see. How long has it been, Miss Wu? Three years? Or is it four?" "George, I should say... in fact I would wager, that she still bears a certain scar on her right shoulderblade. Do you remember that stroke, Dao? And three, no, make that four scars on her bottom. There were ... let's see... two nasty cuts on her upper right thigh. There were two more -- deep ones -- on her left breast, and a nasty gash across her belly. Here. And Richard Chan gestured from a point just below Qieu's right breast down across her midriff and ending on her left hip. "Well, George, what do you say? I'll wager you my '87 Chateau Lafitte claret against that Mouton Rothschild that you prize so highly that she still bears that scar on her shoulder... running obliquely across the scapula. Like so." Qieu shivered when George Chan drew a line with his finger across the back of her right shoulder. George considered the wager for a moment. Was it really possible that his brother could remember the location of this girl's worst injuries three years and countless female dungeon-victims later? He was sorely tempted to make the plunge. The 1787 claret was such a precious prize, being nearly a century old. The Bastille had still been a mighty prison-fortress and Louis XVI had still had his head when its grapes had been picked. And the crowned heads of Europe had been drinking that estimable vintage ever since. His Mouton Cadet from the house of Baron Rothschild was a treasure, without question, but it was hardly of the nearly priceless quality of the Chateau Lafitte. His greed got the better of him. "Done!" said George. "Dao, let's see her shoulder." "Right. Right away sire." And the hulking Scorpion stepped behind Qieu, inserted a short-bladed knife into the fabric of her crimson collar and proceeded to slit the fragile silk downward with no more difficulty than he would have had tearing a withered scroll from the T'ang Dynasty. "Mpfffghh ... mpfghh..." Qieu begged into her gag. She had spent many hours making that dress in order that she might please her husband. And this brainless thug had turned a beautiful work of domestic art into nothing more than a colorful scrap of fabric in less time than it took her heart to beat twice. Qieu heard the sound of fabric ripping again and then the cool air of the dungeon on her bare back. The scarlet silk had split open, baring Qieu's gracefully tapering back down to the upper terminus of the appealing buttock cleft which peeked seductively at her captors through her sheer undergarment. The tear in the fabric also revealed a thin diagonal scar running across her shoulderblade, in precisely the position that Richard Chan had predicted. "Incredible!" George Chan marvelled that his brother could remember the worst gashes of a flogging that he had administered three years ago. "I shall send the Mouton by tomorrow, my brother." He regretted his loss of the wager, but the girl, he was compelled to admit, was not easy to forget. Her black hair, which swirled around her head in a an ebony cocoon, was lustrous, and brilliantly set off by the flame-red hibiscus she wore behind her ear. And her eyes, though bright with understandable fear, were alert, intelligent, and soulful. And her body... George's speculations about Qieu's body were aided when Dao dragged her back to her feet. Sensing the inevitable, Qieu tearfully turned her back toward the Brothers Chan as Dao continued to shred the back of the crimson robe that she had finished that very day in order to please her new husband. And it was these same scars, of course, that had inhibited her from being intimate with her husband. How to explain them? She even feared that he might think that her beloved father had been responsible for them. In a moment Dao had slit the back of her gown from collar to hem, and only a flimsy wisp of white silk protected her shapely bottom from the licentious stares of the fraternal titans of the Black Scorpions. "Would you care to double up on our bet, George?" "No, thank you. I have lost enough tonight. But let us see if you are right again. You said, 'four scars on her bottom', Richard, I think? Let us see if your memory is as sharp as Dao's blade. The rest, Dao!" Gaptooth ripped at the sundered silk, and ripped it apart all the way to the hem, revealing Qieu's nicely curved legs. The silky-smooth thighflesh was marred by two faded, but noticeable striations high on her right thigh, just as Richard had foretold. It was these thin ridges of scar tissue that Luk Yee had felt when he caressed her on the preceding night. "Just as you said, sire," Dao muttered, shaking his head in admiration. And then, as if to prove his master wrong, he seized Qieu's flimsy undergarment and ripped it apart, baring as lovely a pair of bottomcheeks as one would ever want to see. Branded with four faint ridges, marks left by his own bamboo cane, nearly forty months ago. Dao's manly cock stiffened in virile pleasure at the sight. ********** Had it been that very morning that he'd been at the Pit? Slamming Ci-ci violently against the edge of the trough, spreading her baby-soft buttocks and forcing his mighty truncheon into her fuckable young bottom? His cock throbbed in remembrance, as if the lovely pigtailed maiden's rectal muscles were still clenched unwillingly around it, fighting every centimeter of his penetration, but succumbing, inch by spasming, ass-clenching inch to his punishing anal rape. He had only been inside her sweet, clutching rectum a scant thirty seconds before his blood-rich organ was ripe for orgasm, but somehow he had contrived, by an immense effort of will, to defer his climax nearly a quarter of an hour. Fifteen minutes during which he had thrust deeper and deeper into her cock-grabbing ring with a rapacious violence unusual even for a veteran of a hundred such assaults. He had fucked the whimpering beauty with an ape-like savagery, ultimately jamming his mighty prick into her so hard that his simian balls hurt from their innumerable violent collisions with Ci-ci's sweet young buttocks. Dao had once witnessed the mighty Feng thrust his fleshy broadsword in and out of the unwilling rectal scabbard of a round-bottomed young girl from Kowloon for an hour to win a bet. He had thought then -- and still did -- that it was remarkable that even a man-beast like Feng could persist in such an ass-fucking marathon without abandoning himself to the consummate pleasures of climax. But this morning, when his volcanic lust had finally erupted several inches deep inside Ci-ci, he had extracted his slimy, swollen cock-shaft from her well-fucked bottomcheeks and flipped her around in the trough so that she faced him. Only then had he seen how his ferocious butt-plundering had driven her tender breasts into the splintered end of the trough time and again. The pink globes, still inflamed from the scalding cataracts of water that had drenched them repeatedly, were criss-crossed with swirls of blood. His dwindling cock had begun to revive at the sight of the thin streams of breast blood, and he had stuffed his still-dripping maleness into her pretty mouth then, forcing her to cleanse his manhood by exchanging her sweet saliva for the foul rectal juices and slimy seed which coated it. But even her degraded cock-licking did not assuage his lust. Rather, it had inflamed it anew and he soon began to thrust his pulsing thick-veined manhood deeper and deeper into Ci-ci's warm girlish throat, choking her with his length and girth. He had lasted even longer in her mouth than he had in her cock-hugging bottom, perhaps half an hour, as he had throat-fucked her with thigh-thrusting vigor while she lay pinned helplessly against the inclined edge of the wooden tub. And when he had come, in a shuddering semen-shooting climax, and pulled away from her, he realized that Lin the Drooler was standing directly behind him, stroking his own firm erection, ready to pick up where he had left off... ******** Qieu's nude buttocks, whose curved contours Dao had just bared, were in no way inferior to the bottom-ovals he had pillaged this morning. Like Ci-ci's, Qieu's derriere was plump and rounded and deeply cleft; perhaps Feng's death had not been such a bad thing for him after all, Dao mused. Not if it meant that he was going to be Richard Chan's most trusted 'bodyguard' and be entitled to a greater share of these delicious female spoils of war. "Miss Wu," continued Richard Chan, who, having won his bet, was now in a high good humor. "That color," referring to the scarlet of the gown hat Dao had ripped to shreds, suits you admirably. But then," he added with a wink to his brother, "I always think that red looks good on a woman." George beamed knowingly at his older brother; if the girl did not cooperate, it was altogether likely that she'd be wearing a fresher, more sanguinary shade of red quite soon. Qieu, who well knew the savagery of which Richard Chan was capable, turned to face him, holding what was left of her hand-made gown bunched together in front of her. Her heart pounding in her chest, she decided to confront him. When Richard Chan saw that she wished to speak he motioned for Dao to strip away her gag. When the scrap of fabric had fallen away, Qieu addressed the brothers who appraised her semi-nudity with lust-filled eyes. "Why have you brought me here again? My father has done nothing to interfere with your dealings." "It pains me greatly Miss Wu," Richard Chan began sardonically, "to inform you that you have a most lamentable taste in male relatives. A few years ago your father earned my wrath with his foolish obstinacy. For which you paid a severe price." Qieu looked at him not speaking; his words were certainly true. "After your father's change of heart, I bore neither of you any ill will whatever. Have I harmed you in any way since?" "No." And indeed he had not. But as she stood there trembling Qieu asked herself the same questions she had been puzzling over for an hour. Why had they come for her husband? How was Li Chang connected to this? Why was she here? "But you, you were not content to forget our little altercation, were you?" Richard Chan's voice had grown darker, edgier. "You took it upon yourself to marry one of the leaders of those who oppose us. And no doubt incited and assisted his sedition." "Luk Yee a leader? A leader of what?" Qieu's voice showed genuine surprise. "He is guilty of nothing more than being a student. Or he was until the death of Professor Leung." Richard exchanged glances with his brother; the girl did seem genuinely taken aback. On the other hand, the idiosynratic individualism of the hunchbacked professor was well-known; it had come as no surprise to the Chans to learn that some of the troublemakers had learned their rebelliousness at the feet of that notorious free thinker. "Do you deny that your husband was a friend of Li Chang?" Qieu did not understand -- what did Li Chang, her husband's best friend, and an honored guest at their wedding, have to do with the Chans? "Yes. I mean, 'no'. We both knew Li Chang. What of that?" "Miss Wu, your pretended naivete annoys me. Dao! " "Yes, sire." "The Kneeler. And be quick about it. Perhaps that will loosen her tongue!" ******** Five minutes later, the silken-haired wife of Luk Yee found herself shackled to the Kneeler. The Kneeler resembled a long, narrow, thick-sided crate, about a yard long, a foot wide, and about two feet deep. The sides or rails of the sturdy rectangular crate were fashioned from blocks that were three inches wide and ran the length of the crate. Three heavy iron rings were mounted in the rails on either side of the crate. Qieu's ankles were fettered so that she knelt across the opening of the narrow crate, with her widespread ankles shackled to a pair of rings which were spaced about two feet apart. Her pretty bare feet were spaced about a foot to the left and right respectively of the central, as yet unused, ring, and pointed toward the grim dungeon floor. Her lower legs spanned the open middle of the crate, so that her knees rested on the three-by-three that formed the upper edge of the far side of the Kneeler. Qieu's wrists, too, were shackled, and each was elevated directly upward by a chain affixed to a stout rafter overhead. She had only been kneeling on the three-by-threes for thirty seconds before both her ankles and knees were aching -- her entire weight pressed downward against the only parts of her shapely body that were supported by the sharp rails of the diabolical crate. But it was not her ankles and knees that gave Qieu her greatest concern; Dao had stripped the ragged remnants of her red dress away, leaving her naked on the crate, her kneeling body held upright by the chains that lifted her arms heavenward. Her dark-tipped breasts, wearing the striations Richard Chan's unerring memory had predicted, and her exquisite pleasure-nook, topped with a delicious tangle of silky black pubic hairs, were once again frankly displayed to her captors. Or at least to one of them -- Dao was now out of view somewhere behind her. But the Lord of the Black Pagoda stood directly before her. George Chan had lingered until Qieu had been stripped of her scarlet gown, his dark eyes raping her nudity, but then he had made his excuses explaining that he had an assignation with Ming-tsu in a short time. So now it was Richard Chan alone who stood before her, pensively admiring Qieu's charms. His thin-slitted eyes, that had known the nude bodies of a thousand maidens, compared hers to the numberless females whose delights he had sampled in the past. The fact that he had remembered her flogging so well spoke volumes about the high regard in which he held her youthfully slender figure. Qieu's breasts were not overly large, but they seemed to have been crafted to perfection by some lustful god, high and close-set, perfectly round and yet perfectly pointing, capped by a delicious pair of quivering mahogany tear-drops. Her belly was no less perfect, the bones of her lower ribcage pressing gently against her beautiful skin, her navel a deep-etched jewel of loveliness. Her torso tapered to a tiny waist, before swelling into womanly hips; midway between her rounded hip-curves was the vertex of desire between her legs; with her knees widely splayed, the puffy folds of Qieu's labia seemed to beckon Chan's hands and mouth and manhood to explore the treasures hidden within her lovely portals of desire. But it was not of her delicious body that Richard Chan spoke first. "Such a lovely flower," he began, inclining his face downward toward her head so that he could inhale the fragrance of the tropical hibiscus. "And such a vibrant shade of red. I am gratified to see that you share my interest in botany, Miss Wu. On your last visit, I believe that I introduced you to one of the many uses of our native bamboo. This evening, I would like to continue your botanical education. Dao is holding a slender cane made of the denxia wood of Borneo. Perhaps you have heard of it? No? A pity. The indigenous people of that island use it to make bows for their archer-warriors. Because its wood is both extremely hard and extremely flexible. Dao, why don't you demonstrate for us?" "WHISHHKK!! "Aaaaaghhhhh!!" Dao had struck her viciously across the backs of her naked thighs, a few inches above her knees, causing Qieu's body to jerk in agony and her chains to rattle. Richard Chan was pleased to see that Dao's very first stroke had brought tears to Qieu's almond-shaped brown eyes. "Although you were not in a position to see, a denxia cane, properly swung, seems almost to bend slightly when it is wielded, giving it a most unusual and effective snap when it finds its target. Would you not agree?" Qieu nodded her headed silently; her thighs were on fire -- after only one stroke from the atrocious cane. " I regret that you can not see the cane's flight at present; but perhaps you will have a better vantage point to study its path later on." Qieu shook her head from side to side fearfully. "A better vantage point" could only mean that the dreadful instrument might soon be flashing toward the front of her unprotected body. Richard Chan merely smiled his thin-lipped smile at her demurrer. I must say, Miss Wu, that you look most charming indeed on the Kneeler. So vulnerable, so naked, so beautiful. I think, Dao, that henceforth I shall call it the Nanking Kneeler, in honor of Miss Wu and her native city." Pleased by his own generosity of spirit, The Lord of the Scorpions continued, "Now that you have felt the bite of the denxia cane, perhaps you will tell me what I wish to know." His smile vanished, and his voice rasped out, "What do you know of your husband's dealings with Li Chang?" "I know noth.... " WHISCCKK!! "Auggghhh". At an almost imperceptible nod from Chan, Dao had whipped the slender rod across her honey-gold legs again, halfway between her trembling knees and her nicely curved buttocks. "Do not lie to me, Miss Wu. Can it be coincidence that the daughter of Cheng Wu should marry this conspirator?" "Please...you must... believe... He does not even know that...." THWICKK!!! "Aaaarrghhh!!" The gaptoothed thug had ripped the cane into the pleasingly rounded juncture of Qieu's thighs and buttocks, leaving a third red streak across her nicely curved legs. The Lord of the Scorpions leered at his nude captive. Each of Dao's vicious strokes caused her perfect breasts to jiggle gently on her slender frame. Richard Chan felt his cockshaft stiffen with pleasurable anticipation. For a moment he was tempted to wrench the cane from Dao's hands and lay a thin stripe across her bobbling love-plums himself. But there would be time enough for that later. In his dungeons, time was ever the ally of the Lord of the Black Pagoda. And forever the enemy of the long parade of young women who had been whipped, raped, and tortured for his pleasure. "He does not even know what, Miss Wu?" Chan hissed. "You speak in riddles." "That I... that you..." WHICCCCKKKK!! "AIIIAAHH!" The lovely wife of Luk Yee felt her bottom erupt in pain. "Speak, woman ... quickly ... the truth." Qieu looked up at her tormentor; even though the air in the dungeon was of a nipple-chilling coolness, she could feel perspiration beginning to trickle down her face and body. "I never told him about....what happened here before. I was afraid that he would not love me ... if he knew..." The elder Chan gestured again. THWICCCKKK!! "Aaaghh!" Her buttocks were ablaze. "You insult me, Miss Wu. You feared that your treacherous scum of a husband would not care for you if he knew that my filthy hands had enjoyed your charms first? Is this what you are telling me?" "Y-yes...No... " THWICCKKK!! "Eeyaaaahhh!! ....please... no..." WHHICCCKKK!!!! "Aaaaaiiiiiiaaahhh!" Behind her Dao was grinning through his crenelated teeth. The last four blows had been to Qieu's quivering bottomcheeks, each one ever so slightly harder than its predecessor. A most effective tactic that he had learned from Feng -- the subtle, inexorable escalation of pain hung over a victim like a cloud of doom. Causing a dreadful anguish that stemmed from the victim's ever more certain conviction that no matter how violent the stroke just endured had been, the next one would be even worse. Richard Chan strode around behind the girl on the Kneeler to see the results of Dao's efforts so far. "The denxia wood seems to have made quite an impression on you, Miss Wu," he said with a sardonic sneer. And indeed their were already four livid lines that straddled her buttock-crease, and three more across her sleek golden thighs. Qieu hung in her chains, her nude breasts rising and falling with every labored breath; in between blows the dull ache caused by the Kneeler added to her woes. "Please...my husband does not know ... that you... you brought me here before... I was ashamed to tell him." "Very well...Then tell us what you know of Li Chang." "Nothing...nothing at .... THWICKKKK!!! "Aaaaiiaahhh!!" "Foolish, stubborn woman. I see we shall need to take harsher measures. Dao, take down her hair." The gaptoothed man gave the Lord of the Black Pagoda a puzzled glance, but walked around in front of Qieu and held the denxia cane out horizontally in front of her with his left hand, making it clear that she was expected to take it submissively in her mouth. When Qieu merely glared at him, the gaptoothed Scorpion spanked her smartly across the left breast with the palm of his right hand, causing her to jerk backward in chain-rattling pain. Grimacing in pain, Qieu did then accept the instrument of her torture into her mouth, while Dao proceeded to clumsily remove her rather intricate series of hairpins. The first of these liberated the fragrant red hibiscus flower from its position behind her left ear. "Let me see it, Dao." Dao, mystified, handed the Master of the Scorpions the flower while he proceeded to undo the rest of the hairpins. When the last came free, Qieu's long straight tresses tumbled down to the shoulderblades that protruded gently against the smooth skin of her back. Richard Chan turned the flower over in his hands. "It would be a shame to deprive you of this ornament, Miss Wu. But let me see...Yes the stem looks thick enough..." Then the silver-robed mandarin turned toward Dao. "Take her hair and pull it together in a pony-tail." The gaptoothed thug, unused to the ways of coiffures, bunched Qieu's hair obediently. Richard Chan, still holding the flower, stalked across the dungeon toward a small wooden cabinet. Then without looking backward he gave Dao further directions while he opened the door to the cabinet. "You will find a reel of twine cord on the south wall. Cut a yard from it and knot it around Miss Wu's ponytail. Tightly." After obtaining the desired length of cord, Dao encircled Qieu's pony tail twice, knotting it securely, and leaving two feet of string dangling from her hair. Meanwhile Richard Chan continued to open a series of compartments in the cabinet. "Ah, here we are. I was sure that I had one down here." Qieu watched in trepidation as Chan fiddled with the flower briefly before retracing his steps and taking his position in front of her again, his hands clasped behind his back. "The French have quite a way with flowers, Miss Wu. Have you seen not their diplomats' wives with their ornate corsages? No? Je regrette beaucoup. But it is quite a lovely custom, ma cherie. It involves fastening one or more flowers to a woman's gown." Richard Chan smiled a chilling smile, while his eyes ravaged Qieu's ripe-breasted nudity. "Oh, ma foi! -- I nearly forgot, you're no longer wearing your gown, are you? Cela ne fait rien, my dear. It makes no difference. We shall make do quite nicely without it." Qieu's soft brown eyes followed Richard Chan's right hand, as he withdrew it from behind his back and made a conjuror's pass through the air before her eyes. When his hand at last stopped moving she could see that it still held the fragrant crimson flower. But there was something in the flower's stem that caused it to reflect light from the glimmering torches in the dungeon. And then she saw it. A sharp-gleaming inch of silver needle protruded from the hibiscus. Looking upward at her tormentor, she noticed that Richard Chan's were dark and malevolent and seemed to be mesmerized by the dark chocolate tip of her left breast. And his right hand was moving, with the utmost deliberation, toward the object of his fascination. Qieu began shaking her head wildly from side to side sending her chains rattling and her new pony tail flying. "You can't ... no... for the love of heaven..." "Since you are married, the left breast would be appropriate, would it not?" The ruler of the Scorpions cupped her the rounded fullness of her breast in his left hand, while Qieu rocked back and forth in her chains. "Hmmm. Miss Wu -- If you are to wear this lovely corsage I have prepared for you, your nipple will need a bit more -- elan." Smiling maliciously, Richard Chan held the dull rounded length of the needle beneath Qieu's nipple-bud, and then flicked upward, scraping her dark pebble briefly and then quickly back downward. He repeated this stimulating exercise a few times, and then, holding the needle point upwards, he flicked her love-nugget back and forth from side to side, watching carefully as her breast-tip gradually thickened in response to his touch. He continued on in this vein for another minute or so, teasing the brown nipple-crest until his gentle stimulation caused it to thrust toward him yearningly." "Lovely...very, very lovely. Now, ma cherie, I think you are ready for your corsage." Then, his face a mask of cruelty, his eyes as dark and deadly as those of a dragon, Richard Chan's right hand, bearing its diabolical fleur de mal, inched toward the quivering nipple-bud of Qieu's left breast...
Chapter 46 A Sharp Needle and a Valiant Nipple Qieu closed her soft brown eyes, took a deep breath and drew backward slightly, as if by so doing she might delay, if only for an instant, the breast-piercing pain of Richard's Chan's nipple corsage. But the Lord of the Scorpions was not to be denied. Qieu expected a quick plunge of the needle through her tender nipple, but apparently Richard Chan had other ideas. After teasing her love-bud briefly with the sharp tip of the needle corsage, he held its keen point flush against the delicate undercurve of Qieu's breast and pressed inward until she gasped in pain. Then he jabbed it firmly against the rounded outer contour of her breast, as if he had an unerring instinct for exactly how hard he could stab her without breaking the skin. Again and again Qieu felt the stabbing pressure of the needle against her soft breastflesh, wincing in pain at its every application. She noticed that Chan was studying her reactions closely, occasionally nodding to himself as if in satisfaction after a particular thrust evinced an usually pained response. "Miss Wu, you seem to be watching me watching you. I have made a little study over the years as to the location of the most sensitive nerve endings in a woman's breast. I assure you that such researches have proved most helpful in my work." Richard Chan's demeanor was that of an erudite professor who had sold his soul to the devil's dungeon-master. "If I ever publish my findings," he smiled cynically, " I shall be sure to dedicate a chapter to you." "But you, no doubt," he continued, "like an amorous young Frenchwoman, are anxious for your lover to affix your corsage. I shall not not keep you waiting any longer." Dao moved a step closer to get a better view as Richard Chan seized the perfect roundness of Qieu's honey-gold breast in his left hand and used his right to steer the sharp-tipped corsage in the direction of Qieu's sweat-sheened breast. The tall slender ganglord paused briefly to use the sleeve of his robe to wipe the slippery moisture away, removing the last defenses of Qieu's elegant out-thrusting love-bud. Dao felt his cock pulse with a fresh infusion of lust-blood as the needle drew closer, closer, closer to its straining reddish-brown target. But when Chan pushed the tip of the needle against the side of Qieu' nipple, it was not merely to test her nerve-endings as it had been before. This time the needle seemed to sense its exciting mission and it attacked Qieu's stiff teardrop with energy. But whereas the silky-soft skin of Qieu's breasts would have been only too easy to pierce, her defiant brown nugget fought the sharp intruder valiantly, as if Qieu had summoned every last reserve of her will in defense of the spunky little lust-button, and had offered herself in sacrifice to some goddess of love or war in order to reinforce its delectable outer surface. Richard Chan enjoyed this pleasant dalliance, this miniature mano a mano between the attacking needle and the defending nipple. He could, of course, have ended the combat rather easily with a quick thrust of his wrist, but in sexual matters he had found that slow seductions, and protracted love-making were ultimately the most satisfying. It was a lesson that he had long since learned to apply to his erotic adventures in the forbidding cellars of the Black Pagoda as well. The ruler of the Scorpions was not content merely to mediate the desperate duel between needle and nipple however; he was also its catalyst, using just enough force to punish without quite piercing, thus enabling the vicious little needle to continue to wage its insidous war of attrition against Qieu's swollen nipple bud. Qieu writhed in intolerable pain on the Kneeler as her valiant brown crest resisted the impaling intruder for almost two minutes, but in the end taut quivering flesh was vanquished by sharp silver, as Richard Chan had known it would be, and the needle opened a narrow passage halfway between the base of Qieu's distended nugget and its quivering tip. Dao's cock throbbed with excitement at the sight of the tiny bead of scarlet that formed at the point of invasion. He had been rather impatiently watching this unequal joust. Had it been he wielding the needle, he would have jammed the sharp instrument through Qieu's swollen nipple in the time it took the pale blue vein visible beneath the soft skin of her upper breast to pulse. But even a journeyman like Dao was slowly coming to realize that the refined techniques of Richard Chan offered an interesting contrast to the more bloodthirsty methods of which Feng the Butcher had been the past master. "Eaahhh!" Qieu gasped as the pain of the invasive needle sent shudders through her lovely breast, causing her to jerk violently at her confining chains. "Be still, ma petite fleur," Richar Chan cautioned her. "Unless you wish to feel the sharpness of this needle plunging directly into your lovely nipple, rather than through it." He touched the index finger of his left hand to her right nipple and pressed firmly against its plucky tip, making his meaning abundantly clear. Dreading the thought of the needle plunging directly into her breast, Qieu bit her lip and watched helplessly as the Lord of the Scorpions jabbed the pin microscopically deeper into the side of her distended breast tip. He seemed to be in no hurry to complete this pleasurable undertaking, drawing out the nipple piercing for agonizing seconds that seemed more like endless minutes to the fair wife of Luk Yee. Though it seemed much longer to Qieu, it was only moments later that the encrimsoned silver point forced its way through the other side of Qieu's proud lust-nugget, thereby enabling the underside of Qieu's brilliant red hibiscus to properly embrace her equally praiseworthy left breast.
Chapter 47 Japanese Bondage: The Education of a Sadist Now that the nipple-corsage was firmly in place, Richard Chan gave his thuggish companion new direction. "Dao, take the string that is hanging from Miss Wu's hair and pull it down so that it passes through the middle ring." Qieu had wondered why Chan had had Dao tie her pony tail into a tight knot earlier. She was now about to find out. Moment later Qieu also learned the purpose of the third, central ring on the Kneeler. Dao pulled her head back, so that she was looking upward at the dingy rafters of the dungeon ceiling and at the jack-o'-lantern smile of the tall tormentor who stood above her. Then Dao's face disappeared as he crouched down, pulling at the twine even harder, as he pulled it through the ring that was mounted on the 'ankle' side of the Nanking Kneeler. Qieu could feel her back arch painfully as her head was pulled further and further back. Richard Chan looked on, his rapacious organ throbbing with desire as his minion gave the twine that bound her pony tail another strong tug, bending her even further backwards. Qieu's athletic but sensuous thigh muscles were boldly defined against her flesh, the curvature of her rib cage pressed more firmly against the tightly-stretched skin of her midsection, and her perfectly-sculpted breasts were lifted so that they pointed skyward. "Tie it off," Richard Chan ordered, and as Dao knelt to secure the knot, he was interrupted by his master's angry voice. "Bah!! You released the tension, you fool! I want that cord so tight that she feels it in every strand of her hair! Do you hear me?!" "Sorry, sire," Dao mumbled, and he tugged on the thin cord until Qieu cried out from the pain that she felt in the roots of each of her hundred thousand hairs. It was as if a thousand demons were pulling at her fine raven tresses. "That's better. Now tie it off, without releasing the tension. Good...Excellent." ******** The Japanese had long been Richard Chan's mentors in terms of intricate bondage positions. Not long after his graduation from Oxford during the mid 1860's his late father had taken he and and his brother George on a tour of Japan. Jiang Shao Chan, a gangster aristocrat himself, had considered it appropriate that his sons learn the ropes, as it were, of manhood. It was only proper that the sons of such an august personage learn the proper relationship between male master and female submissive. And where better to learn such lessons than in Japan in the last years of the feudal Tokugawa shogunate, a period of considerable depravity among some of the Japanese nobility. The highlight of that trip had been a most stimulating week spent at the great estate of Lord Yamasone -- the Feared One as he was known to his cowering vassals -- near beautiful Lake Hakone in the shadow of Fujiyama. On each night of their stay the great daimyo, or feudal lord, had presented tableaux of beautiful young women and adolescent girls, the wives and daughters of his vassals, enmeshed in bondage positions of astonishing intricacy. On their final night at the castle of Yamasone, the Feared One had entertained his honored guests by offering for their pleasure the punishment of one Yumi, the comely daughter of one of his tenant farmers. Yumi, a nicely curved seventeen-year-old, had apparently dared to resist the Daimyo's embraces. Yamasone's minions had suspended the tempting young creature's nude body by one ankle from a rafter in the ceiling of the great hall. Then one of Yamasone's beautiful concubines had spent some minutes stimulating Yumi's nipples by stroking them skillully with a wing-feather from one of Yamasone's stable of hunting falcons. Once the girl's pleasure-buds were sufficiently protruding from her shapely breasts, the captain of Yamasone's guardsmen used a thin but sturdy cord to prepare tiny nooses, which he cinched painfully tight around her puckering nuggets. Then he carefully anchored the nipple cords to the same rafter from which she hung, thus allowing Yumi to be tortured, in the spirit of the Japanese art of jiu-jitsu, by the weight of her own slender but shapely body. The final refinement of her ordeal had been the application of a dozen pussy-burning strokes between her slim legs with a six-thonged eelskin whip, one each by the eight guardsmen and then one each by Yamasone and his three eager guests. The soft but stinging eelskin whip, Yamasone had assured them, had been fashioned from eels much like the delicious unagi on which they had just dined. After the brothers had retired late that evening, Yamasone sent one of his servants to escort the offending beauty to the room Richard and George Chan were sharing, with the message that the still-aroused young gentlemen were at liberty to put into practice the arts they had learned during their brief stay. After removing Yumi's only garment, a new white kimono with the Chinese ideograph for "Slave" boldly embroidered in red across the back, they had used her obi, her red kimono-sash, to tie the young maiden's arms behind her back, fingertip to elbow. Then Richard Chan had lain face up on the tatami mat and undone his own kimono, revealing his swollen spear of man-flesh. His brother had forced Yumi to kneel down, straddling Richard, but facing in the other direction, so that Richard was treated to the lovely sight of her nicely-cleft bottom moving up and down while she swallowed his erect organ with her girlish vagina. Meanwhile George had armed himself with a yard-long length of Hokkaido bamboo and ordered Yuki to bounce more energetically on his brother's phallus. When her response was only half-hearted, George slashed at her defenseless peach-sized breasts with the knobby cane. That vicious stroke incited Yuki to greater efforts, and she began to dance on his brother's manhood as if her life and health depended on pleasing him. As indeed it did. But even at that young age Richard had been possessed of remarkable sexual stamina, and after long minutes of bouncing up and down on his sturdy erection, Yuki's energies flagged, and her movements became less enthusiastic. She had no sooner committed this unpardonable transgression, though, than George attacked her breasts with the cane again, this time blistering her perky brown nipples. And so the night had gone, with each of the Brothers Chan taking turns underneath their nubile concubine de soir, while the other flogged her succulent breasts, belly, and thighs each time she slackened her efforts. By dawn, the beautiful farmer's daughter was half-crazed with agony, the last foot of the once-pale bamboo was splattered a brilliant scarlet, and the two sleepless sons of Jiang Shao Chan were confirmed disciples of the unholy cult of sexual sadism. ******* Notwithstanding this one unforgettable encounter, however, in Richard Chan's opinion some of the Japanese bondages he had seen were so complex, with ropes running in all directions, that a Master did not have the proper access to his pain-wracked work of art. Richard viewed this as curious because it seemed to run counter to the Japanese cultural outlook that generally seemed to subscribe to the belief that "less is more". An ethos of simplicity that one saw in their rock gardens, in their origami, the art of paper folding, in their ikebana, or flower arranging, or in their chano-yu, their refined and ritualistic tea ceremony, which however complicated in detail, left a guest with an overall impression of austere simplicity. In each of these aspects, the Japanese seemed to seek simplicity and harmony in art and culture; but in bondage, at times, some of their practitioners yielded to an almost baroque taste for artistic and erotic complexity.
Chapter 48 Qieu's Bondage and a Wild Ass Whipping But Richard Chan had not yielded to that desire for intricacy in his artful bondage of Cherry Wu, as he still preferred to think of her. He stepped back to admire his artistry. Whips and rods were doubtless effective, but applying them, while intensely gratifying, did not satisfy his refined aesthetic sensibilities in quite the same way that a cleverly conceived bondage position could do. The pretty young wife of Luk Yee was now bent backward into an irregular circle. Her ankles and knees, which still pressed cruelly against the blocks of wood, provided the base of the flattened sphere, in the six o'clock position. Her dark-fringed pubic area was at about three o'clock. Her thighs, which had moments ago been vertical, were now bent back at an angle, with every straining muscle clearly defined. Qieu's arms were held more tightly than ever in their original upright position, but her perfectly formed breasts, one of them now sporting the cruel badge of the hibiscus and a single, still-swelling droplet of blood, pointed almost directly upward. Her tear-filled eyes were at about ten o'clock and her long black ponytail completed the circle, pulled downward with scalp-savaging tightness by the hair-cord that was lashed to the ring between her ankles. "Now, Miss Wu," Richard Chan began again. "Where were we? Oh yes. I think you were about to tell me of your husband's dealings with Li Chang, were you not?" The Lord of the Scorpions had walked around behind her, so that, in her semi-inverted position she could not avoid seeing the implacable resolve etched into his sinister features. His villainous visage hovered over her eerily, bathed in the waxing and waning torchlight which seemed to cause dark shadows to dance a macabre dance across his predatory features. She could no longer see where Dao had gone. Perhaps he had left? Surely one torturer was preferable to two. "I swear to you. I know nothing ... he is my husband's fr..." WHAACKKK!!! "Aaaaaghh!!" The front of Qieu's thighs erupted in a blaze of pain. The Gaptoothed thug had not left the dungeon; he had merely gone in seach of a new weapon, a weapon no less atrocious than the one he had, for the moment, abandoned. "Well-struck, Dao. A four-tailed flogger is a fine choice for thighs and belly, I always think." Through her tears of pain Qieu saw Richard Chan's raise an eyebrow ever so subtly. WHAACCKKKK!! The flogger struck again, a little lower this time, a few inches above her knees. "This particular flogger, Miss Wu, was made from the twice-dried hide of an onager, the wild ass of central Asia. It was one of my late follower Feng's most trusted implements, coming as it does from an equine that roamed the plateaus of his native land. I am told that it bears quite a remarkable sting." "Very well, perhaps you know nothing of Li Chang. But you certainly know your husband, do you not? Tell me about his activities, his friends." "Please...aaaah, my hair...I have told you... He is...was ... a student" The sinister eyebrow lifted again. WHACCKKK!!! Dao ripped the four strips of leather viciously into Qieu's soft belly flesh. "Aaargghhhhh!!" The bite of the strips of ass's hide, was atrocious indeed. When the chaotic metallic jingling of Qieu's bondage chains had subsided slightly, Richard Chan continued. "The truth, woman! Do you play me for a fool? It can hardly be a coincidence that a woman that I ... entertained ... so thoroughly a few years ago should be the wife of a seditious radical. Qieu fought to maintain her composure even though nearly every part of her body was in agony. Her ankles and knees were raw from the Nanking Kneeler. The backs of her legs and her buttocks had been caned. Her back, neck, and long black hair bore the brunt of an excruciatingly tight bondage. Her lovely brown left nipple bud had been pierced with the hibiscus corsage. And now her lithe thighs and slender-waisted midsection were tasting the sting of Dao's lash. In her inverted position she felt trickles of perplexed perspiration running confusedly downward from her breasts to her throat, as well as streams of sweat along the deliciously concave arch of her torso. "Please... I-I have told you already. My husband knew noth..." The evil eyebrow twitched again. WHACCKKK!! "Aaaiiiyyyeeaaahh!!" The flogger had landed high on her velvety thighs this time, seemingly stripping away the topmost layer of girlflesh.. Dao was in a whipmaster's paradise. To have the soft body of a beautiful young creature bent backward before him in such a sexually provocative posture was the stuff of sadistic dreams. Qieu's thighs were quivering deliciously in fear and expectation. Even as her ankles and knees were wide-spread, so were her upper thighs. The sweet outer lips of her pink labia and her moist clitoris teased his manhood into an ever more throbbing arousal. The raven-haired beauty's torso was pulled back cruelly, with her soft sensuous skin pulled tight against the bones of her pelvis and rib cage. And above them, her temptingly firm love-plums seemed to be lifted heavenward as if in homage to some cruel deity. The sharp-tipped floral corsage pinned to her left nipple added an element of charming asymmetry to the erotic vignette. "Tell me what you knew of Professor Leung." "Nothing...nothing at all...He was my son's teacher ... and he took his life." Once again the eyebrow lifted. WHAAACCKK!! The four strips of ass's hide had come at her from on high this time, ripping into her backward -bent torso only two inches below her jutting breasts. "Aaiiiahhh!!!" Qieu's upper body shuddered in chain-rattling agony. "He was a traitor; my nephew has told me that he encouraged his charges to challenge entrenched authority. In Shanghai, Miss Wu, I am authority. But enough of him. What of your husband's friends?" "I ...I hardly know most of them." The scowl in Richard Chan's glowering face deepened. Qieu saw his hand move in front of his enshadowed face and then make a quick gesture with his thumb. And then... WHACCK!!! The leather lashes attacked her tenderest parts, searing the outer folds of her femininity with their blazing kiss. "Ouuuuhhhhhhhhh!!!" Qieu wailed in agony. "Please...not there...I can't bear it..." "The truth, woman! His friends! Their names!" "Mother...please ... save me" Qieu implored her long-dead mother. "Again, Dow!" WHAACCCKK!! Another atrocious lash to her pubic area! One of the leather tails stung her swollen clitoris as if had been guided by the devil's own hand. Had the sturdy rings not held her hair and ankles fast, the force of the blow would surely have driven her from her precarious perch. "AAAAAIIIYYYEEEHH!!!" "His friends -- Tell me!" "I ...don't... know." This, despite her agonies, was a lie. The diabolical visage darkened again. This time the Lord of the Black Pagoda made a quick darting gesture with his index finger. WHACCK!! Even in her inverted position, Qieu could see the next horrific blow coming. The four lashes sped through the murky darkness above her and then came hurtling down to explode with a horrendous impact against the ripe-nippled lushness of her right breast. "AAAIIIAAHH!" The shattering pain ripped another involuntary scream from her lips. 'Mother, give me courage," Qieu prayed silently. She did know the names, if not much more, of Luk Yee's acquaintances. But she had no idea which of them, if any, were embroiled in the apparent opposition to the nefarious schemes of the Black Scorpions. "I am losing patience, Miss Wu," Richard Chan whispered in a voice tinged with hideous savagery. When Qieu remained silent except for her whimpers of suffering, he gestured again. Dao tightened his grip on the thick handle of the four-thonged whip and drew a bead on Qieu's upthrust right breast. He felt that his reputation was at stake, indeed his future as Feng's successor as Dungeon-master of the Black Scorpions might well be in jeopardy, if he were to fail in his misson to extract information from this mouth-watering young creature. Dao summoned every ounce of strength he could muster and swung the leather strips through the air again until they landed with concussive force on Qieu's trembling lust-melon, the four thongs snaking out to impart excruciating anguish to every curve of her firm young breast. Qieu screamed long and loud once again, but still said nothing. The Tyrant of the Black Pagoda studied her closely. Was it possible that she really knew nothing? It defied probability, but it was possible. Richard Chan happened to glance at the ornate wall clock that had played such a role in Liu's undoing and cursed silently to himself. He had promised to take Mai-Lee to the Chinese Opera this evening and would have to leave shortly. But perhaps a long-term ordeal would prove more efficacious in drawing the truth out of this young beauty, if indeed there were more truth to extract. He made his decision. "Dao. I just remembered that I have an engagement this evening. Fetch me the Mongolian ball gag on the wall there. No, not that one, you fool," Chan blustered impatiently. The snaggle-toothed oaf barely knew a ball gag from Baluchistan. Feng would not be easy to replace. "The one with the spiked ball and the two short chains. Yes. That's the one." Meanwhile, Richard Chan was undoing the cord that bound Qieu's hair to the iron ring between her ankles. She breathed a sigh of relief that at least the terrible hair-pulling strain on her scalp seemed to be over. But she speculated wildly at the nature of the 'Mongolian ball gag'. Knowing the Black Scorpions as she did, she was confident that its application would not be pleasant.
Chapter 49 The Nipple-gag of Genghis Khan
When her hair was undone, Qieu was able to kneel more or less erect once
again, although her back and neck still ached from their bondage ordeal.
Richard Chan was in front of her now.
"It pains me to have to remove this lovely corsage," Richard Chan began
as he commenced to pull the needle back through Qieu's tortured nipple-bud.
"But not, perhaps, as much as it will pain you," he added sardonically, as he
dragged the needle backwards through the tiny passage it had opened, but taking
care to retract it at a slight angle, so that the agonizingly slow retreat of
the sharp little soldier was nearly as unbearable as its invasion. Qieu's body
jerked in suffering when, with a final wrench, Richard Chan ripped the
blood-stained needle clear of her swollen nipple-nugget.
"Aaaaiiiiieeeaahhhh" Qieu gasped in pain.
"I shall have to leave in a moment, Miss Wu, but I wish to leave you
something to remember me by in my absence." He held up the device Dao had
retrieved and spun it around in his hands so that she could see the diabolical
implement in its entirety.
"It's quite simple really, Miss Wu. We were speaking of our shared
interest in botany earlier. This little device was inspired by what children
call 'prickerballs', the many-spined fruit of the sycamore tree. But, as you
can see it is slightly larger. So that it will just barely fit into your pretty
mouth. It took one of my artisans six months to file away at the lead ball --
yes, it is lead, and quite heavy, as you will see -- to create the spines.
There are ninety-nine of them, a number which Mai-Lee assures me will bring me
good joss. But perhaps," he added with a venomous sneer, "it will not prove to
be such a lucky number for you."
Warming to his subject Richard Chan went on. "The ball will fit into
your mouth quite snugly. Like this." And Richard Chan inserted the leaden
sphere into her mouth. Qieu had to open her jaws intolerably wide to accept it,
but no sooner had she done so than she felt the spines digging into her tongue
and the tender roof and sides of her mouth.
"Ah -- and perhaps you were wondering what the two chains were for?"
Indeed Qieu had been wondering at the purpose of the pair of short
chains that had been forged into opposing faces of the leaden gag. The fact
that Richard Chan had removed the needle corsage from her breast gave her an
ugly presentiment of the truth. The chains looked to be made of iron, were
thick and sturdy and about four inches long.
Deftly, Richard Chan let the two chains fall toward Liu's succulent
young breasts. "One additional thing, well, perhaps I should say two, is
needed. Nipple clamps."
Qieu's blood ran cold at the realization of what lie in store.
"Perhaps you are unaware, Miss Wu, but through the centuries ingenious
men, and some women, have contrived a nearly endless assortment of devices to
torment the lovely crests that so beautifully adorn the female breast. Yours,
for example, are quite exquisite indeed. For our present purposes, we will need
a device that that can be attached to your nipples so securely that even my
oversized friend here," Chan gestured in the direction of his gaptoothed minion,
"could not pull them off. At least not without doing terrible damage to your
lovely breasts."
Qieu fearfully studied the unblinking countenance of the Lord of the
Scorpions. She was not at all sure that her villainous captor would find such
an eventuality altogether displeasing.
Chan smiled as he watched Qieu's lovely naked body tremble with
unreasoning terror. "Fortunately in my rather comprehensive collection of some
three hundred styles of nipple clamps, I have just such a pair."
"Dao, prepare her nipples, while I search for the proper clamps."
Leering greedily, Dao lowered his mouth to her left nipple, tonguing
greedily at the thin trickle of needle-induced breast blood, before latching on
to her lust-tip with his lips and sucking on it skillfully. Meanwhile the thumb
and third finger of his left hand gripped the twice-whipped love-bud of Qieu's
other breast and worked it deftly in his fingers.
Richard Chan retreated to the cabinet in which he had found the needle
and extracted a pair of screw-clamps that indeed looked as if, once fastened,
they would be next to impossible to remove.
Returning, he congratulated Dao on the energy with which he had attended
to Qieu's lovely brown nipple crests. The little buds themselves stood eagerly
at attention in resplendent salute to his efforts. Perhaps there was hope for
the ungainly lout yet...
The Lord of the Scorpions attached the first of the clamps to Qieu's
right breast, slowly twisting a little knob on the clamp so that it tightened
with remorseless rigor to the base of her aroused nipple. Qieu felt the
resulting grinding pain almost immediately, but its pressure paled in comparison
to the agony she felt when Chan attached the second clamp to her perforated left
nipple, and then slowly screwed it thumbscrew tight on her delicate
blood-smeared nubbin.
"Now, just to make certain that they are on securely," Chan added with a
lecherous sneer, "why don't you try to shake them off?"
Qieu, still kneeling on the Nanking Kneeler, had no doubts whatever
about the tightness of the nipple clamps, and shook her shoulders
half-heartedly.
"Dao!"
WHAACCCKKK!! Gaptooth's whip scalded her upper thighs again.
"Aaaaiiiaahh!!
"Mr. Chan said to shake those tits for us, honey! Now shake 'em!"
And Qieu shook her shoulders a little harder, rattling her wrist chains
a little louder, shamed by the way her tightly-clamped breast-fruits bobbled for
the pleasure of these two sadistic monsters.
WHAACKK!! Another thigh-burner "Harder, honey! Get your hips into it.
We want to see those tits dance!"
Blushing with mortification, the spike-gagged young beauty gyrated
wantonly in her chains until her delicious breasts were bouncing a lascivious
dance, causing the nipple clamps to sway to and fro excitedly. But as she
already knew, they were in no danger whatever of falling off. They clung to her
tortured breast-tips with the relentless, sharp-toothed tenacity of the fighting
dogs of Kuala Lumpur.
Dao's tongue licked lustfully at his lips as he enjoyed Qieu's sensuous
Dance of the Love Apples.
"Yes, I think the clamps are on quite tightly indeed," Richard Chan went
on. "Now we have only to attach them to the chains."
Only then did Qieu realize how short the gag-chains were. Richard Chan
had to exert great pressure to lift the nipple clamps up so that they could be
linked to the patiently waiting chains that hung from the spiked gag. When he
was done both of Qieu's delectable brown nipples were stretched cruelly upward
by the inescapable gag-chain-clamp connection.
"Now I must leave. You will wear the "Mongolian Nipple Gag" -- I must
confess that I abbreviated its name earlier, so as not to spoil the surprise --
until I return at midnight. You are free to release the pressure on your tender
breasts by spitting out the gag at any time. In fact why don't you do that for
us, now, Miss Wu?"
Half crazed with pain, Qieu, not thinking clearly, but delighted to rid
herself of the irritating spiked ball, and the atrocious strain it exerted on
her swollen brown love-nuggets, spit the gag out. A millisecond after it had
left her lips though, she remembered -- the ball was lead, and the nipple clamps
were unmercifully tight.
A split second later she felt a blinding wave of pain rip through her
lust-buds as the heavy ball's downward descent was halted by the fiendishly
tight nipple clamps.
"AARRGHH!!" Qieu groaned in nipple pain. A moment ago her breasts had
been pulled cruelly upward; now the heavy leaden ball swung to and fro several
inches below her nipples, torturing them with the implacable force of gravity.
"It is quite an effective method of discipline is it not? Legend has it
that Genghis Khan himself devised a primitive form of this same device as a
punishment for a full-breasted Uzbeki princess who had earned his wrath by
disdaining to please him with her mouth. I dare say that after a few hours of
such torment she was suitably contrite and attentive to his every demand."
"And your mouth, Miss Wu, has earned my wrath, by refusing to share your
knowledge of your husband's treasonous dealings with me. So it is only fitting
that your mouth should feel the keen-edged spines of the Mongolian Nipple Gag
just as did that prideful princess."
"As you have seen, Miss Wu, when you can no longer stand the strain of
having the Mongolian Nipple Gag in your mouth -- and few can bear it more than
half an hour or so -- you are at liberty to spit it out. It will quite likely be
bloody when you do -- the spines are quite sharp, as you have already noticed.
But as you have seen, when you cough up the ball, your nipples will pay a heavy
price." The Lord of the Scorpions gave her a crocodilian smile. "You are, you
see, entirely in control of your own destiny."
The silver-robed Lord of the Black Pagoda turned to leave and then
paused in mid-step as if he had just remembered something. "One more one thing,
Miss Wu," he began as he turned to face the tortured beauty again. "Since you
have been less than fully co-operative, each time you spit the spiked ball out,
Dao will give you a full stroke across the tops of your breasts with the denxia
cane, before replacing it. Dao, perhaps you will demonstrate?"
And the gaptoothed man, only too anxious to oblige, picked the dreaded
whippy cane up from the floor, and took only a moment to draw a bead on the
alluring upper slopes of Qieu's nude breasts before whipping the cane downward
with a ferocious roar, and burying the Bornean bludgeon deep in the soft curves
of her throbbing breastglobes.
"EEEAAIIIIAAAAEAAHH!!!!" Qieu's high-pitched scream was one of
inarticulate agony.
Then, at Chan's direction, Dao calmly lifted the spiked leaden ball
upwards and roughly forced it between her pink lips, tugging her nipples
violently back upward in the process.
"Other than that, our friend Dao is not to touch you. Is that understood,
Dao?"
Through her tears of agony, Qieu saw a quick flash of displeasure and
disappointment cross Dao's face, but it was gone in an instant.
"Aye, sire. I understand."
"I trust, Miss Wu, that you will be in a more communicative frame of mind
when I return from the theater. I wish you both a most pleasant evening."
And Richard Chan bowed deeply, turned on his heel and headed for the hidden
staircase.
Leaving Qieu with the sharp-spiked ball tearing at her mouth, the chains
and nipple clamps tearing fiercely at her swollen lust-nuggets, and her scowling
gaptoothed jailer slapping the cane against the palm of his hand, only too
anxious for her to ease the horrible pressure on her love-buds by spitting out
the heavy gag.
Because then and only then did he have his master's permission to whip
the soft yielding flesh of Qieu's firm young breasts with the diabolical denxia
cane...
Chapter 50 Mila the Slave-Dancer - and Her Dance of Pain
After leaving Qieu to the tender mercies of his ill-favored new
dungeon-master, Richard Chan quickly ascended the circular staircase that led to
his suite of rooms on the second floor. Upon his arrival there, he was not
overly suprised to find that Mai-Lee was taking longer than expected to choose
from among the extensive collection of finery that he had showered upon his
number one concubine.
Richard Chan's elderly manservant assisted him in donning a fresh robe,
this one of silver trimmed with a green of precisely the same color as the
superb pendant Mai-Lee would be wearing tonight in her delicious decolletage.
His stunningly beautiful Eurasian concubine was equally resplendent in western
or Chinese garb, but when wearing western gowns, she preferred daring French
fashions which allowed her to show off her splendid cleavage, to the more sedate
styles of the Victorian British.
Having finished dressing before his annoyingly dilatory mistress,
Richard Chan reposed himself in his favorite armchair, a sturdy and comfortable
piece of furniture upholstered in midnight blue velvet, and mentally reviewed
the whirlwind of events that had swept through the Pagoda in the preceding
thirty-six hours. The discovery that Ci-ci had stolen the Golden Dagger and her
subsequent punishment and banishment to the Pit -- he reminded himself to speak
to his nephew Chiang Chan on the morrow to make sure that she was servicing his
men properly; the setting and springing of the trap for Li Chang; the abduction
and torture of Liu and Ming-tsu's clever ruse to discover Li's wherebouts ; the
taunting and branding of Li Chang; the mysterious death of Feng, Liu's suicide,
the death of Wen-chi and the disposal of their bodies as well as Li Chang's.
All capped off by the suprising discovery that the wife of Li Chang's ally, Luk
Yee, was none other than the beautiful Cherry Wu. A fact that made her second
visit to his dungeons and her ensuing interrogation all the more satisfying.
But now all of his schemes had come to fruition. Wen-chi and and Li
Chang were at the bottom of Shanghai Harbor, and it was only a matter of time
before he would be able to lay his hands on Luk Yee and put an end, once and for
all, to the troublesome pack of do-gooders who alone stood between the Brothers
Chan and absolute mastery of all Shanghai and the coastal provinces of central
China.
But there remained one minor annoyance, one trifling uncertainty...
Mai-Lee had been badgering him incessantly all day about the priceless
pearls and diamonds that Ming-tsu had borrowed on the prior evening for the
purpose of bedecking Liu, the petite beauty who had led them to Li Chang. Even
at that moment his brother George was no doubt retrieving them from Ming-tsu --
that was, in fact, the reason that George had been compelled to leave the
session with Miss Wu before it had really warmd up. Ming-tsu, George's
mistress, had doubtless secreted the jewels safely away somewhere -- but still,
it was odd that she had removed them from the Black Pagoda ...
To make matters worse, the impatient Mai-Lee was capable of the
nagging persistence of a colony of termites. If it weren't for her oral
virtuosity and her magnificent body, Richard might well have thrown her over
months ago. But any temptress who could unfailingly bring his
forty-odd-year-old body to a shuddering ecstatic climax twenty or thirty times a
week was a prize not easily cast off.
His brother George, of course, found Ming-tsu every bit as bewitching as
he himself had found Mai-Lee; but while Mai-Lee was both a beauty and a virtuosa
of sexual technique, she lacked the aura of danger and intrigue and passion that
hovered around the equally beautiful Ming-tsu, that was in its own way equally
captivating. Mai-Lee reminded Richard Chan in some ways of Mozart, gifted and
skilled in her art beyond all imagining, graceful and elegant but always imbued
with a certain restraint; whereas Ming-tsu was more like Beethoven,
smoldering, passionate, volcanic, capable of letting herself go with an
animalistic abandon that would have been utterly foreign to Mai-Lee. He and his
brother had been fortunate indeed to possess two such nonpareil paramours.
Speaking of good fortune, Cherry Wu, the girl he had left in the
horrible grip of the Mongolian Nipple Gag was herself quite a trophy. Richard's
lip twisted into a cruel smile. Could there be a more gratifying pursuit than
the sexual torture of an enemy's wife or lover? He rather hoped that the
charming Miss Wu had enough stamina not to let the excruciating gag fall from
her pretty mouth more than half a dozen times or so; if not, a full dozen
strokes, say, from Dow's denxia cane might well do inordinate damage to her
alluring breasts. It was only fitting that beautiful women should be made to
suffer for the erotic pleasure of the Master of the Black Pagoda; but the
despoliation of beauty was a fool's excess.
Richard Chan's thoughts turned to Qieu's sensual gyrations when she had
made her futile attempt to free herself from the vicious nipple clamps. How she
had jiggled her lovely breasts so frantically to escape the inescapable grip of
the screw-clamps. Her shameless writhings reminded him of a most exciting
encounter with Mila de la Vega at the House of Madame Wong a little over a year
ago...
********
A month or two before Ci-ci had come to the Black Pagoda and provided
him with a second convenient outlet for his prodigious lust, Mai-Lee had taken
ill for two or three days, as the result of having consumed a bad oyster. Due
to her indisposition, and his otherwise enforced celibacy, Richard Chan had
taken it upon himself to pay a visit Madame Wong's brothel. The infamous Madame
Wong, not-so-affectionately known to her pleasure girls as the Dragon Lady, was,
of course, a trusted underling of the Chans; Richard's occasional personal
visits to her bordello were half business, half pleasure. On the one hand, he
fulfilled the role of an Inspector-General, making sure that both the service
and the women were of the highest possible quality. But satisfying himself that
both conditions were true was, needless to say, a labor of love.
This particular visit had coincided with Madame Wong's discovery that
Mila, the voluptuous Eurasian beauty from Macao, {see Chapter 6 "Yin and
Yang"} had been keeping a slightly excessive share of her tip money for herself,
thereby cheating Madame Wong and thus, indirectly, the Brothers Chan, of an
infinitesimal incremental addition to their incalculable wealth. Such an
egregious violation of Scorpion business ethics naturally warranted a severe
punishment. The fact that Mila's mathematical ability was inconsequential in
relation to her sexual prowess, and that the error was probably unintended
counted for nothing in the draconian system of justice enforced in the realm of
the Black Scorpions. Justice must be done, and it must be seen to be done, to
prevent other pleasure girls from daring to attempt similar transgressions. It
was Richard Chan's good joss that the pleasure value of the imposition of
'justice' on beautiful young women equalled or perhaps even exceeded its
deterrent effect.
Mila was one of the most popular girls at Madame Wong's; she had an
exotically beautiful face and an alluring olive-gold complexion, the product of
her mixed heritage. She had a pliable disposition as well, and although she was
not, perhaps, overly intelligent, gentlemen rarely came to Madame Wong's
bordello seeking intellectual companionship. Whatever mental shortcomings she
may have had were more than compensated for by a truly breathtaking body.
Richard's visit to the House of Madame Wong had happened to coincide
with one of Madame Wong's occasional 'Harem Nights'. Each of the dozen or so
pleasure girls on duty, -- including the slender, exquisite Peony, the seductive
middle-eastern dancer, Fatima, and sweet-bottomed Binh -- the Vietnamese girl
whose marvelous anal-ytical talents were known to every wealthy connoisseur of
sodomy in Shanghai -- were clad in the diaphanous costumes and golden bangles of
an Ottoman seraglio.
Richard Chan had seen Mila on occasion in the past, but never dressed
in a costume that so boldly displayed her charms. Like the other girls she was
entirely nude underneath her filmy, low-cut halter and gauzy white pantaloons.
The pleasure-girls wore halters of various colors and fabrics that
night, to complement their uniform of sheer white harem pants. Mila's top was
of a nearly transparent cinnamon silk, a shade which brought out the highlights
in the skin tones of her eye-catching cleavage . Her golden midriff, too, was
frankly displayed above the low-slung harem pants which covered just enough of
her rounded womanly hips to conceal the northern end of her fetching buttock
cleft.
But notwithstanding their attractiveness, it was neither her unusual
dark eyes nor her blemish-free golden-bronze skin that made Mila one of the most
sought-after pleasure girls of Shanghai. It was ever, and always, her
magnificent breasts. Mila was short for Milagros - Miracles - and indeed the
size and youthful firmness of her breasts were was nothing short of miraculous.
The skimpy rust-colored top could not begin to contain the majestic orbs, nude
almost to the nipples, which overflowed the silken fabric as surely as the
Yangtze Kiang overflowed its levees in the flood years. As she stood before
him, awaiting his verdict, Mila's every nervous breath threatened to burst the
tiny cinnamon bandeau in two.
Not only did her flimsy garment do almost nothing to cover Mila's
luscious melons, it was unnecessary from the point of view of support. Mila's
temptingly dark-nippled half-domes rode high and firm on her athletic young
frame, beautifully self-buttressed by a remarkable set of pectoral muscles that
supported her awesome mounds in all of their gravity-defying majesty. Mila's
bulging bronze-skinned breasts were naturally close-set as well, and her halter
accentuated her gorgeous cleavage by nudging her succulent mounds closer
together
Mila had had inherited her opulent treasures, it was said, from her
father's side of the family. Pedro de la Vega had been a lusty sailor from
Malaga on the Costa del Sol. This adventurer's mother, grandmother and three
beautiful sisters had all been well-endowed Malaguenas of mixed Spanish and
Moorish ancestry. It was to these numberless generations of busty dark-eyed
senoritas that Mila owed her voluptuous figure .
Facially, Mila more nearly resembled her equally attractive Cantonese
mother, whose charms had seduced the virile Spaniard seaman. Her eyes were
attractively almond-shaped but languourously heavy-lidded like many of the
sultry beauties of Mediterranean climes. Her slightly overlarge pupils gave her
an exotic quality, hinting at her mixed blood, making the irises of her eyes
look brown in one light, and nearly ebony in another. Her lips were full and
sensuous, and like her beautifully concave buttocks, suggested the north African
beauties among her ancestors. Her skin was a burnished gold -- owing to the
strains of Arab ancestry on her father's side and a Polynesian ancestor on her
mother's side. Beautiful wavy ringlets of hair, long, black, and meticulously
curled, fell halfway down her back.
As he sat in judgment of the wantonly dressed wrongdoer, Richard Chan's
eager cockstaff surged to life as he visualized himself stripping the sheer
terra-cotta chiffon away from her proud hillocks, baring her mahogany-tipped
nipples. He pictured his hands cupping the fullness of her breasts, his
thumbnails taunting her bold brown pleasure-buds. In his mind's eye he saw his
mouth descending to anoint her glorious globes with gentle kisses -- at first.
Gentle kisses which soon evolved into more determined mouthings and eventually
into a frenzy of nips and bites. And then, when Mila's pleasure melons were
slick with his salacious saliva, he pictured himself forcing her to recline in a
sea of harem pillows, while he straddled her slim-waisted torso. Then, in his
amorous daydream, he crushed her marvelous mounds together and slid his lengthy
manhood through the deep fleshy canyon of her cleavage until his cock-tip could
endure the sublime ecstasy no longer and erupted with Vesuvian violence,
drenching her bountiful breasts with his seed.
********
Giving his his head a quick shake to clear it of these erotic reveries,
Richard addressed the gorgeous miscreant. "So you imagined, Senorita de la
Vega, that you could steal from the House of Chan with impunity?"
"Please, sire," the dark-eyed pleasure girl entreated him, with tears in
her eyes, falling to her knees before him in supplication, "it was an innocent
mistake. Nothing more. I swear it."
Mila's contrite kneeling posture only served to inflame his ardor even
more. In that provocative position the entire upper contours of her succulent
breasts were naked to his lustful gaze -- including her ardent brown
nipple-nuggets. What a night this promised to be!
"There can be no such thing as an innocent error when my interests are
at stake, wench," Chan chastized the frightened beauty. "Carelessness is as
culpable as criminality."
Richard Chan had paused for a moment to think while his thin-slitted
black eyes raked Mila's tantalizing flesh. Then, nodding his head with a
satisfied smile, he announced his decision, one that promised to extract the
last ounce of pleasure from a girl so generously blessed by nature.
He cleverly offered Mila a choice of punishments, giving her the
option of lowering her filmy pantaloons to her knees and leaning across Madame
Wong's desk for thirty wicked strokes of the much-feared malacca cane across her
caramel-colored buttocks and thighs; or, she could commit to dance for him,
bare-breasted, for an hour, in time to the music of his choice.
Mila, like all of the girls at Madame Wong's, had heard fearful tales
about the rigors of a Chan flogging, and, as he was nearly certain she would,
she elected to dance for him rather than endure a beating. He reminded her
sternly that she was to dance for an hour, without interruption, in time to the
music or that she would be punished for her failure. Mila, an athletic young
woman who prided herself on her excellent physical condition and stamina -- she
was frequently called upon to satisy an ardent lover for an entire night (and
not infrequently two at once; in fact, on one noteworthy occasion, she had been
chosen to provide the 'entertainment' for the eighteenth birthday of a trio of
male triplets, each of whom seemed to have stored up a lifetime of male sexual
energy for just that occasion) --accepted the terms of his proposal, confident
that she was equal to the challenge.
While Mila reached behind her back to undo the knot which held her
improvised brassiere together, Richard Chan summoned two of Madame Wong's
musicians, a drummer and a flautist. The drummer was a slender bearded man in
his late forties; the flute player was a pot-bellied fat-jowled scoundrel with
piggish eyes who greatly enjoyed his work. And what man would not? The pair of
itinerant Persians had been hired to accompany the sensuous performances of the
middle-eastern dancer Fatima {Chapter 24} whose belly ballets were a much
appreciated high point of Harem Night at the House of Madame Wong. What
musician could desire a more stimulating engagement than accompanying the
sinuous writhings of an houri like Fatima?
As Mila wrestled with the knot of the reddish-brown bandeau, her
golden wristlets jingling gently, she glanced around the room taking in her
surroundings. Her 'judge' was magisterially seated on a comfortable divan
upholstered in red brocade in a small anteroom that adjoined Madame Wong's
office. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a beautifully crafted
cherrywood desk that was covered with papers, envelopes and books. A small
hourglass stood on the corner of the desk nearest to her.
Mila had been immediately intimidated by the way Richard Chan's dark
eyes locked on the majestic curves of her breasts and the two surging
dark-tipped nipples which graced their centers and poked boldly at the
ultra-sheer fabric of her top. When the knot came loose, and the wisp of fabric
fluttered gently to the ground, she heard her audience of one give a barely
audible gasp of pleasure. For her now-naked breast-tips were fully commensurate
with the size and shape of her glorious breasts -- big and bold and brown and
pointed, perched deliciously atop areoles of a slightly lighter shade of
chocolate. Mila was used to men's stares of course, but there was something
unusually obscene about the way Richard Chan ogled her treasures. His gaze was
dark, diabolical. Mila was accustomed to the eyes of sinful men. But there was
something in Richard Chan's intense stare that was beyond evil. Something
dreadful. Something almost inhuman.
But Mila tried to clear her head of such fears. After all, she had only
to dance for him, and please him, did she not, and all would be well. And when
had her body ever failed to please a man?
A moment later The Lord of the Black Pagoda made a quick conductor-like
gesture with his wrist which was the musicians' signal to begin. A moment later
he inverted the hourglass on Madame Wong's cherrywood desk -- an hourglass whose
sands would count the longest hour of Mila de la Vega's young life.
The sultry bare-breasted lovely began to dance to the erotic music in
the way she had seen Fatima do many times, gliding on the balls of her bare feet
and undulating her hips with the natural grace of a born dancer. She was not as
skilled a dancer as Fatima by any means, but her body was a sumptuous confection
of curves that more than made up for her relative lack of proficiency. She
moved her arms and shoulders sensuously as she had seen Fatima do, while her
bare feet tripped lightly around the small room, her shiny anklets reflecting
the light given off by the oil lanterns which illuminated the room.
Beneath the pantaloons Mila's thighs were long and strong, her hips
broad and her buttocks round and ripe. Above the low-slung pantaloons her
golden midriff was ever so slightly fleshy -- not a bad thing for one who is
called upon to belly dance.
For the first several minutes all went well, as Mila danced seductively
for the Lord of the Scorpions, only slightly unnerved by the way his gaze
burned with comet-like intensity into her voluptuous breasts as they swayed and
jiggled and bounced to the rhythmic strains of the Persian duet. But after
about ten minutes Richard signaled for the musicians to play faster and louder,
and Mila, already whirling at the speed of a dervish and perspiring profusely,
was severely challenged to keep up with their music.
The drums continued at a driving pace, at an ever-increasing tempo
until, some twenty-four minutes into the hour, Mila, her upper body aglow with
perspiration, her pantaloons soaked to a crotch and buttock-clinging
transparency, was too exhausted to continue. The musicians, also somewhat
winded, paused as well. Mila stood before Richard Chan, slightly bent at the
waist, her sweat-soaked breasts heaving from her exertions as she fought for
oxygen.
"You have not kept your side of the bargain, Mila," Richard Chan
admonished her in a stern voice as he rose from his seat and turned the
hourglass on its side, in order to freeze the time of Mila's ordeal.
"I-I ... know ...sire..." she panted, barely able to speak. " Forgive
me. The music ... was too fa..."
SMACCKK!! Richard Chan's powerful right arm spanked the heavy globe
of Mila's left breast with authority. "I do not accept excuses, girl!"
"Ouwwwww...." Mila was still moaning when SMACKKK!! Richard Chan
followed with an equally ferocious left-handed slap to her right pleasure-mound,
spraying droplets of breast-sweat into the air.
"Now, dance!" Richard warned her through clenched teeth. "And the next
time these splendid beauties stop moving," he continued as the palm of his right
hand stroked her reddening flesh, feeling its warmth, "your punishment shall be
doubled!" And he re-turned the hourglass to its upright position and gestured
to the musicians to begin anew, indicating that the out-of-breath dancing girl
was to begin dancing without further delay. Then, before taking his seat in
the plush divan, he added, "See that you please me well, girl, or you shall have
six strokes of the malacca cane across your nude breasts as well as the thirty
across your bare bottom for trifling with me!"
Out of the corner of his eye Richard Chan noticed the fat flute player
rubbing his swollen crotch; neither musician's eyes had left the shapely dancer
since she had begun her suggestive performance.
Mila's breasts seethed with unaccustomed pain. Madame Wong had wisely
instituted a house rule that forbade Mila's clients from punishing her luscious
love-melons with anything more damaging than an ivory-handled scourge with seven
tight silken knots which stung like bee stings, but which left no lasting ill
effects. The shrewd whore-mistress well knew that the great city of Shangai
was home to any number of affluent aficionados of the cruel arts. Sybaritic
sexual epicures who would gladly have traded their favorite concubine for the
privilege and pleasure of disciplining such a provocative pair of girl-globes.
Under such circumstances, Mila de la Vega's mouthwatering beauty might not have
lasted more than a few months.
But of course such constraints did not apply to the ruler of the Black
Pagoda. And so it was that Richard Chan's vigorous spanks were the worst pain
that Mila's sensitive lust-globes had ever known, though she had long since
grown accustomed to the energetic squeezing and groping that was incidental to
love-making with a woman so majestically endowed by nature.
Fighting her fatigue, Mila began again, to slower music, making every
possible effort to move her delicious body as wantonly as possible, to make her
ripe-nippled breasts sway and shimmy and bounce and vibrate for her master's
pleasure.
And indeed Richard had been pleased at the erotic sight, feeling his
powerful organ lengthen and thicken within his silver robes as Mila continued
her thrilling gyrations. At times she would stand directly in front of him, and
then arch her back away from him, with her knees bent and her feet planted. Then
she would shimmy so rapidly with her hips that her upward-pointed breasts seemed
to take on a life of their own, vibrating on her nearly horizontal chest as if
an electric wire had been strung through her puffy brown nipple-buds.
{A notion, Richard had made a mental note to himself, that deserved
further exploration. It had only been a few years ago that he had first read of
a young American, one Edison, who had discovered a way to harness electricity
for the purpose of illumination; the possibilities of using such energy to
stimulate the yin and yang of pleasure and pain seemed limitless. A gentle
current could surely be used to provide delicious stimulation; a more intense
one, properly focused, might well be used for the darker purposes of which he
was already a past master.}
But Richard set aside such electrifying observations and basked in the
breast-jiggling, cock-thrilling performance at hand. After a few more minutes
he gestured to Mila to roll her sweat-soaked pantaloons down a few inches.
Despite the fact that she had been dancing for him in bare-breasted splendor for
many minutes, Mila was shamed by this order. Turning her back on Richard,
careful not to slow her seductive undulations, she dutifully slid her long,
flame-tipped fingers down her tapering flanks into the waistband of the filmy
pants and rolled the fabric down a couple of inches over her shapely hips. She
eased the sheer pants down until a few wisps of damp ebony pubic hairs wriggled
free of the clinging waistband and peeked over it. Meanwhile Richard Chan was
confronted with the the lush upper contours of her wriggling buttocks, and the
inviting groove between them.
"Lower!" he hissed, and Mila, flushing, lowered the pantaloons another
few inches until the gauzy band looked like a white rope across the middle of
her bronzed behind, and her dark bush and the uppermost inch of her labial
petals were offered to his gaze.
After a minute or two of feverish bottom-ogling, Richard realized that
the rolled-down pants were inhibiting her movements somewhat and he gestured for
Mila to pull them up again, and for the drummer to increase his tempo...
The wild-eyed drummer responded instantly, and, the pulsing tempo of the
drums became ever wilder, ever more frenetic, ever more exhausting and by the
forty-fifth minute, Mila's strength had been sapped and she could no longer keep
pace with the driving rhythm. When her efforts became almost laughably out of
synchronization with the music, Richard Chan turned the sandglass on its side
once again and held up his hand to silence the musicians.
"Enough!" He ordered disgustedly. "Stand before me, girl!"
Mila had taken her stance before him, tears streaming from her brown
eyes. "P-please, Master... I am doing my very best to please you ... I swear
it."
"You have broken your word to a Chan, Mila. Such effrontery cannot be
countenanced. Stand on your toes. Higher! Now, raise your arms above your
head. Extend them fully. Cross your wrists. Since this is your second
failure, you shall receive four blows instead of two. And if you fail again," he
snarled, "you shall have six!"
Richard had paused for a long moment then, to drink in the tempting
sight before him. Mila truly had the breasts of a love-goddess, and with her
arms aloft, her sweat-sheened treasures could not have been more provocatively
posed. The flesh on Mila's torso was drawn tight over the sweetly curved bones
of her rib cage in a way that seemed to accentuate her nudity by drawing
attention to the ample globes which thrust boldly forward just above them. The
subtle touch of forcing Mila to cross her wrists drew her dark-tipped
hemispheres of flesh tantalizingly close together. Mila's dark nipples were no
less impressive than her luscious breasts themselves; they surged outward from
her majestic breasts with a prideful hauteur that seemed almost to invite
discipline. Thick beads of perspiration clung to her swollen lust-buds as if
they were loath to lose contact with such desirable tit-bits of flesh.
Richard gritted his teeth and swung his powerful right arm giving Mila a
vicious open-handed slap to the outer curve of her glorious left breast.
SMACKKK!! "Oooouuwwwhh..." Mila was amazed that a man so slender
could be possessed of such strength.
Mila's left breast was still bobbling gently when Chan's arm came
sweeping back from the other direction.
SMACCKK!! A punishing backhand to her other mouthwatering melon.
"Aeyaaghhhh!' Even a year later, Richard still remembered how the solid
contact with her resilient love-mound had made his knuckles tingle at the time.
Then the Lord of the Scorpions caught his ripe-nippled slave-dancer off
guard by surprising her with a wicked left-handed whack to the inner curves of
her left breast. SMACCKKK!! "Aaaiiiaahh"
Mila was still moaning when he punished the same tender globe with
another solid right. SMACKK!!
"Aaarghhh!"
"Now you will dance for me again, girl. And remember -- the next time
your breasts stop moving they shall receive six. And then eight. And then
ten." Richard Chan's voice had been utterly devoid of pity. "What is more, if
you fail again, I will deliver the blows with this gift your employer has so
generously bestowed upon me." Richard reached into his silver robe and withdrew
an ornate breast paddle that Madame Wong had commissioned especially for him.
The paddle was beautifully carved from unfinished Malayan oak, with a
rectangular blade that was about four inches wide, a little less than six inches
long, and a punishing centimeter thick. In the center of the striking surface
of the blonde wood was the miniature image of a reclining Chinese beauty, nude
save for an artistic but utterly undefending scarlet sash around her waist. A
monstrous black scorpion sat astride her gently curved abdomen, its pincer-like
forelegs reaching out toward her tender brown nipples, its venomous tail poised
to strike between her slightly spread legs, so as to deposit its painful poison
in her most vulnerable cavity.
"I know this timer well, Senorita de la Vega. You have still a quarter
of an hour to go. See that you do not fail me. And do not try to deceive me
with half-hearted efforts."
Even the mathematically-challenged Mila was able to calculate that if
there were fifteen minutes left in the hour, her first two stints must have
averaged over twenty-minutes each. Surely she could negotiate the final fifteen
minutes. Especially when faced with the harrowing prospect of the
wicked-looking Scorpion-paddle.
When the music began again Mila danced with new confidence, sure that
this time she could not fail. But she misjudged the amount of energy she had
expended on her first two dances. Once again the music picked up speed quickly,
forcing her to whirl, shimmy, and shake at a faster tempo then she would have
liked. Her anxious eyes returned nervously to the sandglass every few seconds.
But the tiny grains of silica seemed to drift downward into the lower bowl with
all the speed of geological erosion, as she danced on, and on and on.
Still the compelling beat of the music continued to pick up speed and
volume, the drums pounding louder, faster, louder, faster, forcing her into an
utterly exhausting tempo.
In an attempt to buy time and conserve her strength, at one point Mila
dropped to her knees before her leering audience of one, and leaned back on her
haunches. Then she slid one hand into the waistband of her virtually
transparent harem trousers and stroked herself between her wide-splayed thighs,
feigning ecstasy while she continued to shimmy her upper body with such a
cock-pleasing suggestiveness as to virtually hypnotize the pair of sweating
musicians.
Richard Chan enjoyed her submissive knee-dance for a minute or two
before gesturing to her to rise to her feet again. Her legs had rested long
enough. And once again the dark-haired beauty began her frenetic Devil's Dance
for the pleasure of her stern master, spinning, whirling, gyrating, undulating,
her lust-inspiring body a study in sexual perpetual motion.
And every few seconds the nearly exhausted beauty glanced at the
sand-glass on the desk.
"RUN!" she screamed silently to the leisurely sand-grains, "RUN!"
Mila guessed that there were perhaps two or three minutes left on the
glass.
"RUN!" Her heart seemed to be pounding in her chest as loudly and as
quickly as the beating of the devilish, driving drums.
"RUN!" Her smooth supple thighs were aflame with muscle fatigue.
Richard Chan took his eyes off the shimmering curves that were vibrating
orgiastically for his pleasure to glance at the musicians. Sweat was cascading
down the bearded drummer's face; his hands were a blur as he tattooed the drums
at the breakneck pace dictated by Richard Chan. The veins in the neck of the
heavy-set flautist were bulging from the strain of his marathon duet. His face
was beet red, but his agile hands continued to dance across the finger holes
almost faster than the eye could follow.
Richard Chan's gaze quickly reverted to the nude torso of the writhing
beauty before him; Mila's breasts seemed to pulse with a life of their own, not
with a wobbly floppiness, but rather with the hypnotic rhythmic oscillation of
firm breast-flesh. Her bold dark-tipped nipple-buds seeming to inscribe
evanescent circles in the air with her every shimmy. The subtle bluish tracery
of the veins in her opulent globes seemed to have become slightly more
pronounced, as if the strain on her heart and lungs had caused her blood vessels
to swell with urgency
"RUN!" Mila screamed soundlessly at the sands in the hourglass from the
depth of her soul. Her lungs seemed to have sucked all of the oxygen out of
the small room and to be collapsing inward upon themselves. "Hold on, for
God's sake hold on," she exhorted herself through the excruciating fatigue.
There can't be more than a minute left... "RUN! "RUN!" "RUN!" she implored the
slow-moving sand as she danced for the sadistic pleasure of the Lord of the
Scorpions.
Mila could not have been more than half a minute from safety when the
pain in her chest deepened and her tortured lungs gave out as completely as if
she had been floating in an airless void between the moons of distant Mars. She
fell heavily to her knees before the divan on which Richard Chan sat, choking
and gasping for air, holding on to his legs as if they were all that prevented
her from passing out altogether.
"Up, girl!" Richard Chan had ordered pitilessly as he rose to his feet
while Mila's hands clawed at his robes. When the utterly spent girl made no
effort to rise, he pulled his right leg free from her grasp and gave her a short
but crisp kick in the midsection, just below her puckering navel.
Mila wheezed and bent forward in pain. His second compact kick seemed
to bore into the sensitive tissues of her perspiration-drenched left breast.
"Unnnnnghhhh! ... Please ... not there..." she choked out the words, "I
am ... trying to... get up..."
But the exhausted beauty took so long to drag her tortured body to her
feet, that Richard was seeing with impatience by the time she presented herself
before him for the next phase of her punishment.
"Hands behind your neck girl. Interlace your fingers."
Mila slowly complied, feeling her soft skin tighten over her ribcage and
her tumultuous breasts rise provocatively as she did so.
"Remarkable!" Even in the act of punishing her protruding mounds,
Richard Chan could not help but whisper a sotto voce tribute to their lush
desirability. The outer curves of her breasts were pink from his earlier slaps.
But not for long, Richard Chan smiled grimly to himself ... after six solid
blows with the breast paddle her swollen globes would be as red as the sweet
cherries he had seen in Kyoto on his long ago trip to Japan.
He tightened his grip on the sturdy handle of the wooden breast paddle
and gave Mila a ferocious swat across the outer curve of her left breast.
WHACKKK!!! the dreadful sound of the impact seemed to fill the room
until the unevenness of the duel between hard wood and soft breast-flesh was
made manifest by Mila's ensuing wail of pain.
"Oooooohhhhh...it hurts...ple..."
Her left breast was still wobbling when the tight-jawed sadist followed
up his first blow with a second thundering WHACCCKKK!! as he slammed the flat of
the paddle into the same tortured lust-melon again, re-igniting the pain in
Mila's burning tit-globe.
"Aaaiiiiieeeeeeaaahh!!" Mila's body shuddered in agony. "N-no more...
please.." she entreated as she lifted her interlaced fingers back over her head
and held them out to Richard Chan prayerfully.
"Hands behind your neck, slut! Or I shall double the blows. Better...
much better...what delightful targets..." Richard transferred the paddle from
his right hand to his left; unfortunately for Mila, years of practice in the
arts of discipline had made the strength in his left arm nearly equal to that in
his right.
"N-n-no... I can't ta..."
Richard eyed the firm flesh of Mila's nervously trembling right breast,
clutched the paddle more tightly and swung again...
WHAACCKKK!! The force of the blow sprayed her breast-sweat in every
direction as the stunning globe caromed off the thick paddle, and bobbled
convulsively on Mila's chest for two or three seconds.
"AAIAARRGGHH!!!! Dios...merced....no mas."
In her agony, Mila was babbling words that she had not heard since her
childhood, before her Spanish father had sailed away to new adventures, never
to return.
"Do not invoke your European God to me, wench! He holds no sway in
Shanghai!"
And then he lashed out with the paddle again, compressing every ounce of
his strength into a compact but powerful swing.
WHAAACKKKK!!! "EEYYYAAHHHHH!!"
As soon as the rigid paddle made its fourth hellish contact with her
jutting breasts, Mila crumpled to her knees, her fingers still submissively
interlocked behind her lovely neck.
"On your feet, wench!"
"Please ...your excellency ... please" Mila sobbed as she climbed again
to her feet.
"The sides of your breasts are quite red indeed, Mila. Would you prefer
that I did not strike them anymore?"
"Yes... gracias ... thank you, Master."
"De nada, mi bonita, de nada. But you do have two strokes left. But
since you insist, I shall honor your wish and apply them to the tips of your
breasts, rather than to the contours that I have struck before."
"N-no... for the love of heaven ... I didn't mean..."
"It does not matter what you meant, wench, it is my will which rules in
Shanghai! Now prepare your nipples properly."
"Que? ... W-what ...? I-I don't understand."
"Caress them, cara mia, tease them. Bring them to the same state of
excitement and readiness that you have brought me."
'Por favor ... please..."
"Do it! Or you shall have four instead of two!"
Richard had watched intently as Mila's delicate hands rose to cup her
well-paddled mounds. Her golden wrist-bangles jingled as she slid her slender
fingers under her sweat-moist lust-melons, and then around them with a practiced
circular touch, trying to soothe the burning pain, as well as to stimulate her
semi-dormant love-buds.
"Be quick about it girl! If your nipples are not fully erect in one
minute, they shall receive four strokes rather than two!"
"One...two...three ...
Mila closed her eyes as Richard Chan began to count off the seconds, and
tried desperately to imagine that she was in another, safer place. With a gentle
attentive lover. Her nimble fingers teased and squeezed her breasts, in
emulation of that imagined lover, while her long nails scraped at her nipples.
"Seventeen....eighteen...nineteen....twenty...
Mila's dexterous fingers fairly flew across her breasts, caressing, stroking,
teasing, tweaking.
"Thirty-three... thirty-four ... thirty-five..."
Millimeter by millimeter Mila resurrected her sensitive nuggets as she
strummed them back to life with her thumbnails.
"Forty-nine ... Fifty ... Fifty-one..."
With only a few seconds to go Mila seized her nipple-crests between her
thumbs and forefingers and squeezed them, pinched them ... tight ... tighter ...
and then harder still.
"Fifty-nine...Sixty. My compliments, Mila. Under the circumstances, a
most praiseworthy accomplisment.
Indeed. Mila's chocolate-chip nipple-buds stabbed the air in their
new-found excitement. Dark. Defiant.
Defenseless.
Destined for discipline.
Doomed to yet another cycle of pain.
Richard Chan's carefully removed the overturned hourglass from its place
on the cherrywood desk. Than with a sudden sweep of his long arm he swept the
ledger-books and invoices off of Madam Wong's desk leaving its surface
completely bare.
"Flat on the desk, girl. -- And see that you keep those lovely nipples
hard!"
Mila eased herself on to the desk face down, spreading her thighs
slightly. Her strenuous exertions caused the filmy white pantaloons to cling to
her plump buttocks like damp tissue paper.
Richard eyed her netherglobes lustfully for a second before remembering
his chief purpose. "On your back, slut -- Are you so stupid as to think that I
had you tease your nipples so that you could rub them against the desk?"
Her body trembling, Mila rolled over on to her back. Even flat on her
back her breasts sat high on her chest, stunningly firm. Her swollen nuggets
surged skyward boldly but trembled with fearful anticipation
"Lovely, my dear. Quite lovely. Keep stroking those nipples. Now slide
back toward me, so that your head extends over the edge of the desk."
Mila continued to tease her mahogany-tipped love buds as she scooted her
hips backward toward the iron-fisted despot of Shanghai, until she felt her
pretty head hang free of the desk. The edge of the desk pressed against the
back of her neck
"Keep sliding those beauties back toward me ... more ... a little more
... back... back. You may use your hands to hold on to the desk for balance now
... back ... perfect."
Mila's long black hair fell to the floor; the edge of the desk pressed
agains her spine at a point a little more than halfway up her back. More to the
point her upper back and shoulders hung downward, clear of the desk, and her
magnificent breasts hung free. Richard Chan had always enjoyed the effect of
inversion on a good set of breasts, and in this position, Mila's splendidly
out-thrust lust-melons were as eye-catching and paddle-tempting as can be
imagined. Firm. Luscious. Infinitely vulnerable.
Richard tightened his grip on the paddle. "You will need to hold on
tightly to the desk," he advised her grimly.
Then, standing slightly to Mila's left, he gently pressed the sweet
spot of the paddle, its punishing midpoint, to the center of her left breast,
touching her ardent nipple, taunting the brown bud with the thickness, the
unsparing hardness of the wood. Mila's body shivered in trepidation as Richard
Chan drew the paddle back slowly about two feet, and then eased the weapon
forward toward her breast once more, addressing her rosy globe with a practice
stroke, as if he were a small boy who wanted to strike a certain spot on a tree
with a stick.
"N-no... you can't...ayuda me... please..."
"I can't? Foolish girl. Lo siento mucho, querida. I am so very sorry,"
the elder Chan lamented in a voice dripping with insincerity, "but there is no
one to help you here."
Twice more he repeated the same motion, grooving his stroke, enjoying
the way Mila's protuberant pomegranates palpitated with dread. On the fourth
swing of the pendulum, however, the Tyrant of the Black Pagoda took his arm back
much faster and then swept it down in precisely the arc he had practiced. Mila
felt the paddle whiz past her inverted chin a microsecond before it blasted
into the center of her bulging breast with a vicious THWUCCKKK!!! Her flattened
nipple exploded in pain, sending waves of burning agony radiating inward through
the entirety of her pain-wracked pleasure-globe.
"Aaaaaahhhiiiiiieaaaaahhhhh!!!" Mila screamed in anguish. If she had
not been holding onto the edges of the desk with a death grip, the blow would
have surely have caused her to topple backward down to the floor. The Dark Lord
of the Scorpions drew the horrible paddle back to assess the damage he had done.
A moment earlier Mila's left breast had been rosy only around its outer
contours; but now her entire melon was flame-red, rubescent with pain. Her
heroic nipple had been utterly crushed by the onrushing paddle, and was only now
reasserting itself, as if it were a bloodied boxer who had been driven to his
knees, and was now trying unsteadily to regain his feet.
Richard Chan admired his handiwork for thirty seconds or so, studying
the deep rectilinear indentations his blow had left. "Remember this, Mila, the
next time you are thinking about cheating the House of Chan. Now, on your
feet!"
Mila pulled her overhanging body back up onto the surface of the desk.
"Hurry up! On your feet I said!"
Mila slowly swung her hips around and slid off the desk. Once again her
slender fingers reached for her treasures and cupped the rosy globes gently,
having nothing to soothe them with but the touch of her soft hands. She cuddled
her badly inflamed left nipple with two fingers.
"Have you forgotten, Senorita de la Vega? There is yet one stroke
remaining. Uno mas."
"Please, master...no more... por el amor de Dios ... no mas..." Mila
whimpered piteously.
"Kneel for me, senorita. Facing the desk."
The distraught Eurasian beauty, still trying to quench the furious fire
in her left breast with her hand fell to her knees, her lips quivering with
fright.
"Closer."
Mila, her body a study in submission, kneel-walked several inches in the
direction she was facing.
"Closer, mi querida. I want your thighs and belly flat against the side
of the desk."
As Mila inched closer, Richard Chan's intention dawned on her.
"N-no...for the love of God..."
"Flush against the desk, girl. Rapidamente!" and Richard gave her a
vicious paddle-swat across the rear of the sweat-soaked pantaloons which
afforded her plump bottomcheeks virtually no protection from his wrath.
"Aaaaaaahhhh!" Mila yelped before pressing her body against the desk.
Richard's unerring eye had not disappointed him -- the height of the desk was
such that its beveled edge nestled perfectly under Mila's luscious pain-globes.
"N-n-no... God ... help me."
Richard Chan stood directly behind the kneeling girl and put a knee in
the small of her back, while he reached around her body with both arms and
pulled the desk closer, so that Mila's ruddy breasts were propped up
provocatively on Richard Chan's improvised altar of lust-sacrifice. Her
mahogany nipples seemed to shiver with terror, as if she were Marie Antointette
waiting for the guillotine to fall. And well they might -- a paddle-blow in this
position would be neither as sharp as the guillotine of the Jacobins, nor as
fatal. But it promised to be every bit as painful.
Richard let the paddle rest briefly on the top of Mila's right breast,
briefly, as tears of pain and fear continued to stream from her almond-shaped
eyes. He lifted the paddle an inch or two and then tapped the obscenely
out-thrust love-gourd that was so beautifully posed atop the cherrywood desk, "I
shall make this last one, one you will long remember, Senorita. I do not think
you will steal from me again," he hissed.
And with that grim valedictory, The Scorpion King lifted the paddle
about a foot above Mila's burnished pleasure-melon and then slammed it down on
the upper slope of her breast, crushing the swollen globe against the
unforgiving surface of the desk.
THWAACKKK!!! "AAAAAAIEAAAAAAHHHH!!!!"
********
Richard Chan's exciting reminiscence of Mila's tormented writhings was
momentarily interrupted by the advent of Mai-Lee, who was beautifully draped in
a stunningly low-cut creation of a Paris couturier. But as he escorted his
number one concubine to their waiting carriage, Richard's thoughts returned once
more to the other, less fortunate Eurasian beauty.
********
After the final paddle blow, he had forced Mila to mount the desk
again. He had quickly slipped out of his elaborate robe and climbed atop the
desk, and ripped her flimsy, sweat-drenched pantaloons to shreds. Then he
buried his jade-hard phallus deep in the velvety slit between her silky thighs
with one detemined thrust.
His long-fingered hands had reached for Mila's red-streaked miracles
then, cupping, squeezing, crushing the tortured mounds, while he pounded away at
her steaming pussy.
********
As he assisted Mai-Lee into the waiting carriage, he remember with pride
how, notwithstanding Mila's sublimely stimulating dance and the accompanying
breast-discipline which had aroused him to a fever pitch, he had given Mila a
most thorough plundering indeed. He had battered away at her tender body
ruthlessly, filling her exquisite love nook with his maleness, ramming it deep,
deep, deeper into her velvety vagina until at last he could bear her
cock-clutching convulsions no more, and he emptied his ball juice into the girl
who had committed the unforgivable crime of miscounting her tips.
When he had returned home on that long-ago evening, a pale Mai-Lee,
still unwell, had asked him where he had been for the last several hours.
"There was an exhibition of south-Asian dance in the old quarter, my
love," he had answered truthfully, with a slightly crocodilian smile. "It was
most enjoyable. Quite unlike anything I have seen before."
Chapter 51 Of Dreams and Schemes
It was a little after dawn on the morning after his near-drowning, when
Li Chang and his rescuers, Chung-hua and his daughter, stumbled into the
fisherman's house. It had taken all of the pair's strength to help their
newly-crippled friend from the boat to a bench . Li sat there, dripping and
exhausted while Chung-hua looked for a rickhsha to transport them to his simple
home, Li having assured them that he would make good the cost. Once there, they
clumsily maneuvered Li into a room that had once been occupied by Lily's
brother, who no longer lived there.
A short time later Chung-hua dispatched Lily to seek out an apothecary,
in hopes of finding something that would still the terrible pain in Li's
shattered legs.
While they waited for Lily to return, Li considered his situation. Even
though he had only known them for a short time, Li's instincts assured him that
both the fisherman and his daughter were honest and trustworthy. After
cautioning the fisherman never to speak of them, Li carefully wrapped Mai-Lee's
diamonds and pearls in a small cloth bag and secreted it underneath some old
clothes in a small dresser in his humble room.
Lily returned a few minutes later and offered him a cup of green tea into
which she had poured a few grains of the opiate she had obtained from the
apothecary. It did not take long for the drug to take effect, and soon Li's
eyes grew heavy-lidded and he drifted off into a troubled sleep. Exhausted by
his long ordeal and sedated by the drug, Li slept for many hours. Narcotics,
even mild ones, are know to cause strange dreams, and in Li's case his dreams
were macabre to the point of madness...
Grotesque phantoms clad all in black pursued him, no matter how quickly he
ran -- in his dreams, at least, he could still run. When at last he had managed
to escape the pursuing shades and stopped to rest, he woke to find himself lying
in the arms of Ming-tsu on a beautiful deserted beach, under a blood red sky.
But as his lovely mistress pressed the lush curves of her breasts and hips
against him, drawing him into a warm and intimate embrace, he suddenly realized
that the woman of surpassing beauty in his arms was in reality a woman only down
to her trunk; her lower limbs converged mermaid-like into the twisted black tail
of a scorpion.
But still the woman-thing kissed him ardently and drew him ever closer.
Just when his throbbing penis drew near to her font of desire, her ghastly
scorpion's tail curled up between her legs and stung him. Stunned,
semi-paralyzed by the scorpion's sting, Li could only lie on the beach and watch
helplessly as the otherworldly incubus lowered her sensuous red lips to his
maleness and began to suck what he sensed was the manhood, the life essence out
of his body.
The tide came in as she drained him of his seed, a tide whose every wave
forced him to struggle harder and harder for breath. As the tide began to
engulf him, the scorpion-woman metamorphosed once again, this time into a
horrifying two-headed amphibian. The two heads were dragon-like images of the
Brothers Chan, and the sea serpent's twelve lengthy tentacles closed tightly
around him and began to drag him out into a vast forbidding sea.
Soon finding himself underwater, Li struggled desperately to free himself
from the grasp of the sea-monster, and had almost done so, when the ghostly
figure of Wen-chi drifted toward him through the ocean depths with his arms
outstretched beseechingly. Li reached for his father's hand but missed, as the
tentacles tightened around him once more. A few moments later Liu had almost
struggled free again when he saw the pale image of Liu, nude, beautiful,
loving-eyed, swimming toward him, her arms extended to save him. But just when
her life-giving hand was inches from his, the two-headed monster spun him away
from his salvation and dragged his drowning body downward into the dark depths
of the watery abyss.
Li awoke from the nightmare shrieking like a madman and dripping with the
cold sweat of terror. Hearing his cry, Lily came to him, stroked his feverish
face and murmured softly to him, assuring him that he was safe and among
friends. Then she held his head and began to hum a familiar Chinese lullaby. A
lullaby which whose message was that a baby was to a family as a flower was to a
plant -- its crowning glory. As he drifted off to sleep, Li wondered if he
would live to father his own child, and if he did, whether he would be half so
good a father as Wen-chi had been to him.
When he awoke again, Lily brought him tea and set a bowl of rice before
him. He sipped at the tea slowly, and lifted the rice bowl toward his face with
one hand while he worked the chopsticks nervously with the other.
There was a small mirror on a table across the room and he looked into it
in silence while he ate; his face, scarred forever by the Chans' hot iron,
seemed to have aged fifteen or twenty years overnight. There was gray around his
temples that had not been there when he had dined with Luk Yee not so many hours
ago. Li resolved to grow a beard to cover the ghastly scar, and indeed the
sides of his face were never to be clean-shaven again.
Just as he would never be clean-shaven again, he sensed that the pain which
ravaged his shattered legs would never totally leave him in this life. It would
be a chronic, grinding pain which, over time, would play a role in transforming
Li Chang from the flawed but optimistic young idealist he had been three days
earlier into quite another kind of man.
Just then Lily re-entered the little room, bringing with her a richly
scented bouquet of flowers that she had just picked for his room. She helped
Li, still faintly shivering from the hours he had spent in the cold waters of
the bay, up into a simple wooden chair near the fire and placed a blanket over
him.
As Li thanked her for her care, his eyes welled with tears and his heart
ached with pain as his thoughts turned to that other gentle creature who had
brought the sweet scent of springtime to her every encounter. Liu, whose love
he had had, but never known. He thought, too, of his venerable 'father',
Wen-chi, who so richly deserved a more peaceful passing to the next world than
the one which the fates had chosen for him.
And then Li Chang, having nothing else to do, fought off the pain in his
limbs and began to review his circumstances. In his immobile condition, he was
unable to go to Luk Yee -- if indeed the Chans had not seized his friend as
well. And it would be unfair and dangerous to Chung-hua and Lily to summon Luk
Yee to their home, in the event that Luk was being watched. The less the old
fisherman and his daughter knew about his dealings with the Scorpions the safer
they were.
Li reached out and stirred the fire in the tiny fireplace in his room. He
sat and stared into the fireplace for a long time thinking and brooding.
Lily came back into the room two hours later to find Li still staring into
the fireplace silently, concentrating intensely. She sat and watched his
motionless figure for a long time, until his eyes suddenly brightened and he
nodded quickly to himself as if he had come to an important decision.
Then he glanced up, and saw the pretty young woman standing in the shadows
watching him. "Forgive me," he smiled. "I did not see you there."
"Sir, so rapt was your concentration that I do not think you would have
noticed a water buffalo standing in your doorway," Lily responded with a gentle
smile.
"Perhaps not, Lily, perhaps not, " Li responded softly as he turned in the
direction of the young maiden who stood against the door. Lily's slim but
shapely figure was hardly reminiscent of a water buffalo. She wore the simple
tunic and trousers of a working-class woman, but she wore them with poise and
dignity and a pleasing sense of self-worth.
Lily was only of average height, but her long legs gave her the impression
of being slightly taller. Her oval eyes had both the softness emblematic of
kindness, and the sparkle which betokens a vivacious nature. Her black hair
hung down in long braids. She had been unconsciously toying with one of her
braids and when Li had startled her by speaking, she had let the braid fall.
The dark plait of hair had accidentally come to rest across the lovely contour
of her right breast, a nicely curved cone which pressed subtly, but insistently,
against the thin silk of her maroon-colored tunic.
"Forgive me, Lily, for ignoring you. I must have appeared to be in a
trance, I suppose. But it was time well spent." Li stroked the side of his face
thoughtfully, and then grimaced as another wave of pain shot through his legs.
"My honored father was the wisest man I have ever known. I am faced with a very
difficult task and I have been trying to seek inspiration from him."
Lily nodded encouragingly, her dark eyes dancing in the firelight.
"Wen-chi -- that was my adopted father's name -- often quoted Confucius.
In fact, although he would never have boasted of it, I believe that he had
committed all of the Master's Analects to memory. But of all of the ancient
sage's wise sayings, do you know which of his thoughts lingers with me tonight?"
"Which one is that, sir?" Lily's face was both intelligent and beautiful
in the flickering firelight.
"The Master said: 'Where there's a will, that is lightly done'."
Lily nodded affirmatively. "It is true. Do you not think so?"
"Yes -- that is indeed the first step. But in my situation I fear that I
must draw not only on the wisdom of The Master, but also on the genius of his
great contemporary."
"Who would that be, sir?"
"Do you know of Sun Tzu, Lily?
"I think I have heard the name, sir. But that is all."
"He was the greatest general of his time. Perhaps of all time. He once
defeated Ch'u's army of two hundred thousand men, with a force of only thirty
thousand. So celebrated was his victory that the king, Ho Lu, asked him to put
his knowledge of strategy and tactics into a book that his other generals might
study.
Sun Tzu did as the king wished. And his book, "The Art of War", is
still read by generals and statesmen in every corner of the globe, twenty-three
centuries later."
"He must have been a brilliant general indeed, sir."
"Yes, perhaps the most brilliant of all. Can you guess, Lily, what Sun Tzu
called the opening chapter of "The Art of War"?
"No sir," Lily blushed, "I'm sorry, but I could not guess."
"He called that first chapter, 'Laying Plans' ". And Li Chang turned
slowly back toward the fire, and stared into it with the intense concentration
of a general planning a difficult and dangerous campaign, one whose outcome was
greatly in doubt.
Chapter 52 The Scarlet Letter and the Vain Concubine
In the dark hours before dawn two nights later a shrouded figure crept
stealthily toward the main gate of the Black Pagoda and slid a small package
through the heavy iron grating.
When the parcel was found in the morning by the gatekeeper, the gatekeeper
brought it to a footman, who in turn brought it to Richard Chan's chamberlain.
The chamberlain, or head-servant, one Bao-tseng, was a small, slender, crafty
man slightly past middle age, whose head continually turned from side to side,
hawk-like, as if watchful for danger from an unexpected quarter. As well he
might; petty jealousies and rivalries were rife in the Black Pagoda, among the
male servants as well as the female concubines. Great power appertained to
those who had the ear of Richard Chan and, apart from his brother, no man was
closer to Richard Chan than Bao-tseng. He was one of the few servants -- Ci-ci
had been another -- who was permitted to approach the bedchambers of the Richard
Chan's palatial residence.
Chan's chamberlain took the mysterious parcel from the footman, taking
pains to give his underling a supercilious glance to remind him of their
considerable difference in status. Bao-tseng examined the package thoughtfully.
It was wrapped in brown paper and inscribed with the courtly inscription, "To
the Personal Attention of His Excellency, Richard Chan" in bold scarlet
characters. The self-important chamberlain put the parcel under his arm and
strode officiously down the long hallway, his wary eyes darting left and right
as he passed each doorway en route to the magnificent bed-chamber where the Lord
of the Black Pagoda had spent the night.
********
That eminent personage was at that moment reclining, his ebony-trimmed
silver night-robe unsashed, on a spacious divan in the Sapphire Room, one of the
four bedchambers he shared with his favorite concubine. Mai-Lee, clad in only in
a short, sheer pale-blue nightgown, was lying face down between his naked thighs
when they first heard Bao tapping at the door. The exotic courtesan paid the
untimely interruption no heed whatever, stroking her master's towering penis
with one hand while taking each of Richard's apricot-sized testicles in turn
into her talented mouth, licking and nibbling at his hairy man-balls as if they
were the most succulent of litchi fruits.
The tapping at the chamber door stopped and then resumed again. "Can't you
tell that fool to go away?" Mai-Lee asked, in between mouthfuls, while she slid
her soft hand up and down Chan's upright erection. Her green-black eyes
flashed with prideful spirit. "Your servants, Richard, are all such imbeciles."
And then she attacked the incredibly sensitive root of his manhood with her
glistening tongue; although still in her early twenties she knew, from her own
erotic experimentation, more about the pleasure zones of a man's body than an
entire colloquium of tiresome professors of anatomy.
Richard Chan was tempted to admonish her conceit by rejoining, "Never
forget, Mai-Lee, that you, too, are a servant here, albeit a servant in a gilded
cage," but the overpowering sensuality of her touch induced him to reward her
impudence by pressing the back of her silky-haired head down harder against his
throbbing genitals. There would be time enough to address her unseemly pride
and insolence later.
So stimulating and zestful were Mai-Lee's expert oral caresses that Richard
Chan ignored the second and third raps on the door as well. When the rapping
still continued, Chan snappishly instructed the majordomo to come back later.
But Bao-tseng was insistent. "Your excellency, this appears to be a matter of
grave importance."
"Oh, all right, then!" Chan growled as he pushed away his pouting,
moist-mouthed concubine, pulled his robe together around his waist, and went to
the door, opening it part way. "This had better be critical."
Bao-tseng, who had straightened from his peeping posture at the keyhole
while his master strode toward the door, explained. "The wrapping is marked
"Extremely Urgent", sire," the avian-faced chamberlain explained, pointing to
the characters on the wrapping of the package. But while his fingers pointed to
the package his darting eyes were surveying the interior of the Sapphire Room.
Mai-Lee was stretched luxuriantly out on the long divan on her side, her black
hair wild around her nude shoulders, her long, luscious legs bare beneath a
brief chemise that clung lovingly to her stiff-nippled breasts. The voyeuristic
Bao-tseng had seen generations of toothsome beauties come and go in his long
service at the Black Pagoda, which dated back to the years when Richard Chan's
late father, Jiang Shao Chan, had ruled the largely ill-gotten Chan holdings.
But of all those seductive creatures, all those slaves to the passions of the
House of Chan, none were more shameless, more vain or more seductive than the
arrogant Eurasian beauty, Mai-Lee.
Mai-Lee stared back at the majordomo brazenly, contemptuously, as she
stroked a long golden thigh with her crimson-tipped fingernails. And gave him a
flaunting glance that seemed to say, "Don't you wish, little man? Don't you wish
that you could have me, if only for an hour?"
Unconscious of the fact that Bao-tseng was ogling his number one concubine
as if he'd like to devour her, Richard Chan inspected the wrapper and muttered
impatiently, "Hmm, very well. Hand it over. Wait out here."
As the servant bowed and backed away in the traditionally deferential
manner of Chinese servants, the Lord of the Black Scorpions closed the door and
opened the package. As he did, Mai-Lee changed position so that she was
kneeling on her hands and knees at the end of the divan closest to her master,
facing him, with one chemise strap at half-mast around her upper arm, thus
baring most of her honey-gold right breast. As he removed the wrapping,
Mai-Lee caught a momentary glimpse of an expanse of white paper, covered with
scarlet characters, and then the unmistakable sparkle of precious stones. She
was quite surprised to see Richard Chan, normally the most inscrutable of men,
looking quite disconcerted.
Having contrived to remove her rival, Ci-Ci, from the Black Pagoda, Mai-Lee
had been particularly sexually attentive these last few days, not wishing to
give her imperious master the slightest cause to regret having dismissed his
nubile young maidservant. Mai-Lee had heard it whispered that, after flogging
her severely, Richard had turned her ex-rival over to his brutal minions, and
that Ci-ci had been the Scorpions' barracks-girl ever since. Such a fate served
the soft-skinned little slut right, Mai-Lee had rationalized to herself, for
daring to threaten her own position as number one concubine to the Lord of the
Scorpions.
Said Lord, meanwhile, was staring enigmatically at the paper that had
fallen out of the parcel.
"What is it, Master?"
"I'm not quite sure," he whispered, half to himself.
Richard opened his hand to reveal one of Mai-Lee's diamond earrings, which
had been missing since the interrogation of Liu, and two of the twenty-odd
pearls from the spectacular necklace that Ming-tsu had draped around Liu's
throat for the purpose of taunting Li Chang. Mai-Lee clapped her hands with
greedy child-like delight at the sight of her precious stones. The enclosed
paper appeared to be a letter, neatly folded in two and sealed at the edges with
a drop of red wax.
Richard Chan opened the letter, sat down in the midnight blue armchair in
the center of the Sapphire Room and began to read the carefully inscribed
scarlet characters.
Your Excellency,
For reasons you will soon understand, Mr. Chan, I wish to remain
anonymous. I am a pawnbroker in the city, a merchant who sometimes deals in
valuables with uncertain histories, if you understand my meaning. A day or two
ago a young woman of great beauty { and the letter went on to describe Ming-tsu
perfectly} came to me and said that she was in the possession of some diamonds
and pearls which she hoped to sell.
When she showed them to me, I was astonished. In all my years in this
business, I have never seen their like, sire. They were perfect in every
respect.
"Madam," I told her, "I cannot possibly raise the value of gems of this
caliber overnight."
"How much can you pay; I need money quickly," she said.
I offered to pay her the equivalent of a hundred pieces of gold for one of
the diamonds, and two of the pearls, with the understanding that, in thirty days
time, I would raise the money to buy the rest. With each of us in possession of
one diamond, I felt confident that she would return to me to complete the
transaction, rather than to one of my rivals; the pair of diamonds earrings
together was worth much more than each of them separately.
She agreed, and I gave her the money in currency.
But then, this morning, I heard a rumor in the teahouse that there were
priceless gems of this description missing from your household. And knowing
your power and influence in the city, I have hastened to return them to you.
One day soon, after you have recovered the others, I will come to you and
ask to be reimbursed for my losses; but for now, it is enough that I have done
you a good service. Your excellency, I am willing to put my faith in your
generosity even as you may have confidence in my loyalty to your interests. A
man in my business can accomplish much with powerful friends.
There was no signature.
Richard rose from the chair, and strode back across the room with a
determined look on his face. He opened the chamber door to find the sycophantic
Bao-tseng standing patiently across the hallway awaiting instructons.
"Chamberlain! Send for my brother and his son and have them come to me
immediately. Tell them it is a matter of the utmost urgency. Now!" Richard
said in a decisive voice to the waiting headservant, who backed away quickly,
bowing obsequiously.
"It shall be done sire. Immediately."
Richard closed the door and sank back thoughtfully into the armchair again,
considering the contents of the letter. Had Ming-tsu been tempted to make one
cobra-quick strike at instant wealth? If she had, he vowed angrily, she would
soon learn that Richard Chan would strike back with the ferocity of a
snake-killing mongoose. The fact that she was his brother's concubine would not
spare her from his wrath.
Meanwhile his luscious green-eyed courtesan had slipped off the divan and
begun crawling sensuously across the room toward him on her hands and knees.
One slender powder-blue strap had slipped off her shoulder and halfway down her
arm, and Mai-Lee's delectably close-set breasts were well on their way to
winning their sensuous battle with the U-shaped neckline of her skimpy
nightgown. She knew her master well; when he took a seat in the great armchair
or reclined on the divan in the Sapphire Room, it was almost an unspoken signal
that he would welcome her amorous attentions. It was only when he took a seat
behind the businesslike oaken desk in the far corner of the room that she knew
that he did not wish to be disturbed.
Mai-Lee padded across the thick carpet with a feline grace and a practiced
pout on her mouth; she knew that he never failed to find such kittenish
submissiveness arousing.
The decadent Lord of the Scorpions read the pawnbroker's letter a second
time while Mai-Lee once again undid the sash of his robe, and spread his knees
slightly, so that she could slide closer to him. Kneeling between his legs she
positioned herself artfully so that by turning her head and shoulders from side
to side, her marvelous mane of ebony hair could swish tinglingly back and forth
across Richard Chan's upper thighs, his randy testicles and his semi-tumescent
phallus, even as her warm, thinly veiled breast-cones brushed against his lower
thighs with tantalizing sensuality. Mai-Lee's lips were also busy, tongueing
her master's muscular legs reverently, as if the fine hairs on his legs were the
most flavorful of delicacies. She continued worshiping his body with her lips
and breasts and hair as she teased his ardent manhood slowly back to life.
Chan's throbbing member lengthened and thickened with each passing brush of her
dark tresses.
Then Mai-Lee's talented pink tongue reached for his penis and swirled
around Richard's blood-swollen cock-tip as if it were the tastiest confection in
Shanghai. Just as she had done in their private box at the Chinese opera the
prior evening ...
CHAPTER 53 The Girl With the Golden Throat
The prior night's performance had featured a 'clapper opera' by the great
composer Wei Chang-sheng, a composer whose life had straddled that of the great
European, Mozart.
Richard Chan had been exposed to European opera during his years and
travels while a student at Oxford. Europe in the 1860's had been the heyday of
both Verdi and Wagner, and he had come to enjoy the passion, the power, and the
brilliant orchestration of European opera very much. But he was still fond of
the native Chinese opera with its peculiar conventions, and its oddly-pitched
(to European ears) singing. The music of Chinese operas seemed strange to
Western tastes, he knew, with its austere accompaniment of drums, bamboo flute,
and the characteristic wooden clapper which punctuated the lyric recitatives.
But it still took a proud place in his heart of hearts.
The silvery-voiced heroine of last night's production had not progressed
far along her path to tragedy when Mai-Lee, resplendent in her evening gown of
shimmering green silk, had slithered sensually to her knees in their private box
and reached inside his jade-trimmed silver robe. Richard Chan's box had been
specially constructed along the general lines of those in Italian opera houses,
but with a slight difference. He had cunningly devised sight lines so that the
occupants of the box could see the stage and much of the audience, but the
audience could only see the heads and shoulders of the august occupant of the
box and his guests. And thus the most exquisite carnal pleasures could be
enjoyed even as the singers and musicians attended to the more aesthetic
longings of the soul. Richard Chan had found few things in his experience more
arousing than having a warm-lipped young concubine on her knees worship him
slavishly within the hearing distance of an auditorium filled with hundreds of
people.
Had anyone looked up at the Chan box in the darkened theater, they would
have thought that his lovely companion had momentarily taken her leave and that
the (apparently) sole occupant of the box seemed to be intensely moved by the
performance on stage, so rapt had been the expression on his face while his
mistress played the part of an erotic muse at his feet.
Mai-Lee's oral virtuosity had equal to that of the singers on the stage.
She had stroked and fondled and tasted and half-swallowed his virile cockmeat
for most of the evening, three times bringing him to powerful shuddering orgasms
during the long performance, three times exciting him to the point of drenching
the back of her warm mouth with his sticky man-juice.
At this performance, at least, the soprano had not been the only artist
with a golden throat.
On the ride back to the Black Pagoda, Richard Chan's thoughts turned to
Miss Wu, the beautiful young woman whom he had condemned to the dreadful
torment of the Mongolian nipple-gag under Dao's watchful eye. Thanks to
Mai-Lee's loving labors he felt so sexually replete that he resolved that if
Qieu had not yet confessed her husband's whereabouts, it might well be more
clever to release her than to submit her to further fruitless torture. There
was a good chance, surely, that if he released her and had her secretly
followed, that she would soon lead him to Luk Yee.
*******
Richard Chan leaned back in the armchair and closed his eyes in ecstasy
while Mai-Lee tongued his throbbing phallus, licking it, teasing it to an
ever-more formidable erection. While the Eurasian beauty paid homage to his
noble organ, Richard Chan visualized in his mind's eye the erotic scene in the
dungeon that he had witnessed upon his return from the opera on the prior
evening ...
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....
Chapter 55 The Master of the Five Continents
Richard Chan smiled to himself as he visualized the breast bondage of
Cherry Wu and relaxed back in the armchair and abandoned himself to Mai-Lee's
awe-inspiring oral caresses. Her eyes, sensual, slavish, seductive, latched on
to his while she tongue-whipped his straining member into a frenzy. When it was
seemingly as hard as the ramparts of the Great Wall, she slowly backed away from
him on her knees, nonchalantly letting the other blue shouderstrap fall, baring
her taut-nippled honey-gold breasts.
When the dark-eyed seductress was clear of his long legs, she spun around
so that she was facing away from him, still on her hands and knees, letting
Richard admire her nicely-curved thighs, and the shapely buttocks which dimpled
the sheer azure fabric of her brief chemise with their luscious roundness.
Then she began to rotate her bottom in slow, sweet circles. She looked
back over her left shoulder, her raven hair partially obscuring her left eye,
her green-black eyes bright with desire. "I need you inside me, Master. Deep
and strong and hard. In my bottom. All the way in. Can't you see how it
beckons you?" she breathed as she wiggled her behind lasciviously.
"You could tempt Mencius himself, you little whore," Richard Chan growled
with a grin, referring to the ancient philosopher. He slid off the armchair,
knelt behind her, and ran his virile hands under her short shift, squeezing her
soft upper thigh-flesh even as his thumbs lifted the flimsy garment up over her
now-naked hips, baring her nude buttocks. Chan ran his hands over their
roundness, enjoying their warmth, their firmness.
"I was naughty at the opera last night, Master," Mai-Lee mewed. "Very
naughty."
"You were indeed, you little slut!" Richard rasped lustily as he stung her
behind with a ringing spank.
"Mmmm," she wriggled. "Thank you, Master."
SPANK! he slapped Mai-Lee's quivering bottom again with his right hand
while he stroked his manly shaft with his left.
SPANK! He whacked the firm flesh of her right buttock, and slid the back
of his hand down into the deep cleft of her derriere that he might feel her
moistness.
SPANK! He blistered her buttock rounds again, hitting her so hard that
his hand stung.
SPANK! Richard Chan slapped more and more color into her quivering
bottomglobes.
"Mmmmm ... I'm so hot ... Put it in me, Master," Mai-Lee purred in her
kittenish voice.
The Scorpion King slid his blood-engorged penis up and down Mai-Lee' fleshy
nether lips, enjoying the pussy-warmth he knew so well. But he had another
target in mind for his lance of flesh this morning. His prick eased its way up
through Mai-Lee's butt-cleft, letting her twin bottom globes caress either side
of his throbbing member. And then he spread her cheeks wide to reveal her
puckering anus. The little rosebud glistened in the morning light, thanks to
the unguent the tantalizing Eurasian beauty had applied in anticipation of the
morning's love-play.
Richard Chan positioned his sturdy bludgeon at the tiny portal, letting his
ruddy cocktip taste the lubricating oil Mai-Lee had applied. He was just about
to thrust his meaty organ into her yearning sphincter when there was another
sharp rap at the door.
"Sire -- your nephew is here!" it was the voice of Bao-tseng.
"Let him wait," Mai-Lee whispered seductively. "I need you in me, sire.
Now." She pressed her bottom backward against Chan's throbbing cock, but the
interruption had dampened his virility.
Richard Chan cursed mightily. "I must see him, Mai-Lee. It is about your
pearls that he has come."
At this point Mai-Lee edged away; suddenly the untimely interruption didn't
bother her quite so much. "I understand, sire."
"Our talk will not take long, my dear. Go to the Ruby Room and wait for me
there. I shall join you shortly."
********
"Nephew," Richard continued, a moment later, when his young kinsman was
ushered breathlessly into his presence. "You are to take your squadron of men
and go to the house of Ming-tsu, and search it thoroughly for valuables and
money. Keep a close watch on the men you take with you. Make certain that they
do not make off with anything. When you are done, bring whatever you find back
here to me. And bring Ming-tsu as well. Am I correct in thinking that she does
not know you?"
"That is indeed true, uncle. I was at university when she and my father
were ... close. But I have seen her -- when we took the bodies the other
night." Chiang Chan neglected to mention that he had also seen as much of
Ming-tsu's luscious body as any man alive when he had spied on her recent erotic
encounter with his father in his father's office.
"But uncle," Chiang Chan asked warily, "Does my father know of this? He is
... quite fond of Ming-tsu, as you know."
"Yes, I know, I know. You are not to harm her -- unless she resists or
tries to escape." Richard Chan stroked his angular chin thoughtfully. "Where
is my brother? I shall consult with him, of course before taking drastic
action. But the woman must be brought here now!"
"He spent the night in the country, uncle. He will be back at his city
home shortly. I left word for him to come here immediately."
"Well done, nephew. Now be off with you -- there is not a minute to lose.
Ming-tsu may be planning to flee the city -- after having deceived your father
and me."
"I understand, uncle. If she is still in Shanghai, my men and I shall find
her." Richard Chan's capable young nephew hurried out, wondering what to make
of this unexpected mission.
********
Richard Chan sat for a few moments, pondering the strange events of the
morning, and thinking about what he might do with Ming-tsu, should she be
apprehended and her guilt established. About five minutes later Bao-tseng
passed the doorway of the Sapphire Room and saw his master sitting in his
throne-like armchair, engrossed in thought.
Tthen a cruel smile slowly spread across Richard Chan's vulpine features,
and he rose from the armchair, brushed past his chamberlain hurriedly and strode
rapidly down the long plushly-carpeted corridor toward the Ruby Room, another of
Mai-Lee's elaborate bedchambers in her wing on the second floor of the Black
Pagoda.
Chan opened the door of the Ruby Room quietly, without knocking, to find
Mai-Lee lying on her back on the huge round bed that dominated the room, facing
away from him. Where the Sapphire Room had been beautifully decorated in
various hues of blues, the textiles, carpets, and walls of the Ruby Room were
done in bold shades of erotic crimson.
The coverlet of the bed was blood red, but had been pulled most of the way
back to reveal sheets of the purest white. Mai-Lee lay sprawled across the
sheets, wearing only a brief thigh-length dressing-gown that was presently
bunched around her nubile hips. The dressing-gown was of precisely the same
shade of brothel-scarlet as the bedspread. Mai-Lee had apparently found time to
bathe - a luxury she indulged in several times a day - while he had been
pondering Ming-tsu's fate -- her long, glistening legs were still damp and soapy
as if she had thrown on her brief silk wrapper without making any attempt to
towel herself dry.
Mai-Lee was making soft mewing noises. As Richard Chan stepped closer, he
saw the reason why. His insatiable strumpet was pleasuring herself with the
device he called the Five Continents.
The 'Five Continents' was a peculiarly-shaped rod of solid glass, perhaps
twelve inches long. The rod had been artfully fashioned so that it appeared to
pass through five small, nearly contiguous spheres of solid glass. The colorful
sphere-clusters represented the five continents, each slightly larger than the
one preceding it. The smallest sphere, the one that was buried deepest inside
Mai-Lee's pleasure-channel, was of a sapphire blue representing Australia; also
inside her, pressing more tightly against the sensitive walls of her vagina was
the one of emerald green, representing Europe, and a still larger one of
midnight black, denoting the dark continent, Africa.
Mai-Lee, moaning soft moans of pleasure, was just in the process of easing
the red ball emblematic of the American double-continent into her eager love
nook, leaving only the largest sphere of all -- the golden ball of Asia --
whose diameter was equal to that of the phallus of a very, very well endowed man
-- nestled between her thighs. Another four inches of rod, enough to provide a
handhold, protruded outward from the golden sphere.
Richard Chan watched his nymph-mistress silently for a moment or two. He
had spent many hours designing this pleasure toy, and Mai-Lee had
enthusiastically taken part in the project, experimenting with clay models,
tinkering with spheres of different sizes, assisting him and his artisans in
crafting the device so that it gave his concubine the maximum possible amount of
pleasure. It had taken an army of journeymen many attempts to determine the
proper gradations in the size of the glass clusters, to find just the right
sort of glass, the right combination of time and heat at which to temper it, and
so on.
But when the Five Continents was at last proudly presented to him by the
chemist he had put in charge of the project, he knew at once that he was in
possession of the finest pleasure device in Asia, one that he had used to tease
Mai-Lee to the topmost peaks of passion many times, especially in the depleted
moments following one of the orgasms she was so adroit in coaxing from his
ardent phallus.
Mai-Lee was in some far-off lost world of her own at that moment, sliding
the clustered spheres in and out of her moist vagina, each glass ball stretching
her wider as she slipped the sphere-rod deeper and deeper into her. Three
brightly-burning candles stood side-by-side on a small table adjacent to the
scarlet bed; the Five Continents was especially pleasurable, Mai-Lee had found,
when the brightly-colored glass was heated as hot as she could stand it.
Richard Chan approached the bed, and knelt down above Mai-Lee's face, but
facing in the other direction.
"Permit me, my dear," he whispered and he took the pentachromatic love toy
from her and rotated the heated cluster-cylinder gently within her, as she
shuddered in the throes of inexpressible lust. As he pressed the golden globe of
Asia against, and then into her quivering love channel, she gasped with
pleasure and her fingers worked at the sash of his robe.
Richard Chan slid the thermal sphere-stick deeper into Mai-Lee's
lust-cavern as he bent forward to touch the tip of his tongue to her moistly
gleaming clitoris. She had bathed using her favorite oil of jasmine, and its
fresh floral scent mingled with her woman-smell forming a potpourri of rare
delight.
He tongued her skillfully and then he felt her hands sliding his own robe
open and then her warm hands were once again on his cock and balls. He lowered
his body slightly, so that she could use her marvelous mouth on his genitals,
while he undid the belt of her robe with one hand while skillfully moving the
Five Continents inside her, twisting it, turning it, moving it in and out,
adjusting the angle ever so slightly each time. Once, twice, three times he
brought her soapy, sweet-smelling body to blissful orgasms with his clever
invention, while she licked and tongued and teased his genitals to within a
hair's breadth of orgasm. But Mai-Lee, for once, had let her passions get the
best of her. In her hedonistic excitement Mai-Lee had made the error of raking
her sharp nails across the back of the Master of the Five Continents, drawing
blood.
Richard Chan had come in Mai-Lee's infinitely talented mouth three times at
the opera last night, and was sorely tempted to do so again. But when he felt
Mai-Lee's nails tearing his flesh, he decided upon another course of action. He
climbed off of his full-breasted courtesan and told her to kneel up in the large
bed facing him, their robes both open to the waist. He told her to play with
her breasts then, while he stroked himself, and Mai-Lee's hands had made
skillful love to her bold-thrusting still-soapy treasures, cupping and squeezing
the firm globes, tweaking and pinching her damp nipple-crests.
********
Unbeknownst to the pair of lovers, there was another pair of eyes on
Mai-Lee's gorgeous body. Or rather one eye, old but still bright with covetous
lust. Bao-tseng crouched at the keyhole to the door of the Ruby Room his right
eye fastened on Mai-Lee's kneeling nudity -- her splendidly full-nippled
breasts, her sensuous belly and dark-thatched loins, her supple golden thighs.
The lecherous chamberlain pretended that it was his aging hands, and not
Mai-Lee's, that caressed her shamelessly out-thrust breasts and her bold brown
nipples.
********
It was only when Mai-Lee's nipples were a pair of straining chocolate
nuggets that Richard Chan positioned her for the piece de resistance. The
moment he had been waiting for since her insolent outburst earlier that morning.
He pulled his still-willing love-slave off of the bed and toward an
armchair covered in crimson brocade. Then he made Mai-Lee face the armchair
from a distance of about two feet, with her feet spread about the same distance,
and then he directed her to bend from the waist so that the weight of her body
was supported by her hands, which were in turn supported by the arms of the
chair.
It was a charming posture, her full, dark-nippled breasts hanging like lush
fruits, her perfect deeply-cleft buttocks curved to a lovely concavity.
Richard towered over her inclined figure, his penis angry with lust.
"Where is the hairbrush I gave you last week?"
"It ... it is in the dresser in the corner ... in the second drawer ... but
why ..."
Richard Chan quickly rifled through the drawer and located the hairbrush.
He had selected it not for its fine camel-hair bristles which admittedly
imparted a lovely sheen to Mai-Lee's long dark tresses. But for its smooth,
solid, durable wooden back.
"Earlier, my dear, you remarked that 'my servants were all imbeciles'.
Your condescending attitude has been a concern to me for some time, Mai-Lee.
Never forget that you, too, are a servant."
WHAPPP!!! Naked and wrathful, Chan slammed the back of the hairbrush into
Mai-Lee's right bottom-cheek, just below the midpoint.
"Owwww!" Mai-Lee stood up in pained surprise, rubbing her pink buttock.
''Miss Tan," he began, using her family name which he used only when angry,
"if you come out of that fetching position again, I will have you taken
downstairs. I assure you that I can arrange it so that you remain quite, quite
motionless while I punish you at my leisure."
Mai-Lee had witnessed some of the punishment the Brothers Chan had meted
out to Peony and had herself taken part in the flogging of Ci-ci. Her hands
were back on the armrests and her invitingly rounded ass was high in the air
before Richard Chan had finished the sentence.
"Where was I? Oh, yes. You would do well to remember, Miss Tan, that you
are only a servant."
WHAPP!!! High on the left cheek. "Ouwwww!"
"And that you are here only to serve me."
WHAPPP!! Low on the right cheek. "Aaaahhh! Yes, Sire!"
"See" WHACKK! A thigh-burner. "Owwww!"
"That" WHAPP!! A scorcher to the ripest curve of her ass. "Ahh!"
"You" WHAPP!! Again to the same pinkening spot. "Aaahh!"
"Don't" WHAPP!! Flat wood on rounded flesh. "Aaahhhhh!"
"Forget" WHAPP!! And again. "Aaahhhhhhhh!!"
"It!!" WHAPPP!! Another scalder to her crimson bottom-cheek.
The center of Mai-Lee's right bottom oval was crimson now, and tears were
streaming down Mai-Lee's face now.
"Miss" WHAPP!! A blistering blow to her other buttock. "Ouww!"
"Mai" WHAPP!! Deja vu! "Aaaaahhh!!"
"Lee" WHAPP!! A third butt-burner to the blushing buns.
"Tan!" WHAPP!! Yet again -- four in a row to the same wriggling cheek.
Then Richard Chan began spanking Mai-Lee's squirming, firm-fleshed thighs,
smacking them firmly with the paddle, again and again until Mai-Lee's golden
upper thighs were nearly as red as the bedspread. And then he returned to her
rosy-cheeked buttocks and gave each of her plump nethercheeks another half dozen
swats.
It was only when Mai-Lee's upthrust ass was a blazing crimson that he
stepped up close behind her, kicked her bare feet a little wider apart, spread
her bottomcheeks and positioned his swollen cock at her delicate anal ring.
Presciently, Mai-Lee had soaped her rectum well during her bath; that would make
the Scorpion Lord's entry a little easier.
With his legs tight up against her warm, well-paddled thighs, Chan reached
his long arms around to cup Mai-Lee's pendulous breasts while he worked his
phallus into her puckering channel. The angle of her inclination seemed to make
her rectal grip on his meaty cock-shaft, always pleasantly tight during their
occasional anal encounters, even more exquisitely pleasurable than normal.
The Tyrant of the Black Pagoda proceeded to give his number one concubine
an ass-fucking she would long remember, pounding into her with an athletic
intensity uncommon for a man of his age, while she grunted animalistic cries of
pleasure-pain in time with his every punishing thrust. When at last he emitted
a guttural roar, and emptied his seed deep into her bowels, his body collapsed
on top of her and the amorous twosome fell face forward into the cushions of the
armchair like a pair of exhausted gladiators.
********
Standing in the hallway outside the Ruby Room Bao-tseng lifted his eye from
the keyhole, adjusted the tent his aging erection had made in his robes of
domestic office, and retreated silently down the hall wishing that it had been
he who had had the pleasure of spanking and sodomizing the impudent Eurasian
courtesan.
Chapter 56 The Cruel Bargain
After concluding his interview with his uncle, Chiang Chan stepped out of
the rear entrance of the Black Pagoda into the bright morning sunshine. Walking
briskly he started across the grassy lawn that separated the Pagoda from the
Scorpions' barracks. Along the way he noticed a number of the deep ruts left
when Ci-ci, the Scorpions' ricksha-slave, had struggled to pull the cart through
the rainy quagmire a couple of nights earlier. It struck him that based on the
depth of the wheel ruts it was rather remarkable that she had been able to
complete her trek through the mud at all.
A few moments later the handsome son of privilege drew near to the Pit, the
Scorpions' barracks, where he intended to round up his comrades and proceed to
the lodgings of Ming-tsu as his uncle had directed. As he approached the door to
the building, he saw two female figures slowly making their way in the other
direction, one supporting the other.
Chiang Chan smiled grimly and reflected on the strange bargain that had led
to their exodus...
********
Late on the prior evening Chiang Chan had been poring over a wage-book at
the barracks. The Chans were businessmen, albeit unconventional ones, and
Chiang had been brought up to pay close attention to revenues and expenses. He
was seated at the square table near the entrance to the barracks when he heard
the first tentative tap at the barracks door.
Dao, the Ox, and Lin the Drooler had spent much of the prior day renting
Ci-ci's tender body out to the other Scorpions who shared their Spartan
lodgings. A steady stream of their comrades came off duty in two's or three's
every few hours, and only the unfortunate few among them who had gambled or
drunk away their wages, and were thus unable to afford Dao's price, were
deprived of the pleasure of plundering the pig-tailed teenager's nubile young
body. The three Scorpions' business venture had been temporarily interrupted
that afternoon, when Chiang Chan had summoned them to bring Luk Yee and his wife
back to the Black Pagoda for questioning, but had succeeded only in finding the
latter. Dao himself, of course, had stayed on at the Pagoda to assist Richard
Chan in the interrogation of Qieu.
At that late hour, most of the Scorpions were out prowling the city, some
searching for Luk Yee and the other followers of Li Chang, others terrorizing
the populace into submission to the iron-fisted extortionate rule of the House
of Chan. In Shanghai, surely, darkness had long been the handmaiden of evil.
The long nights and the murky fogs that blew in off the harbor had cloaked the
criminal enterprises of the Chan dynasty in mystery for a generation or more.
With most of their potential customers on duty, at least for the moment,
Lin and Zheng were busy securing Ci-ci for the night in a tiny alcove near the
front of the barracks. The Drooler encircled the poor girl's wrists with a
length of coarse heavy rope and lashed them to a beam that jutted out from a
wall high overhead, and then the Ox pulled the rope so tightly around the beam
that the brutalized sixteen-year old beauty was forced to stand on tiptoes, her
lovely breast-mounds crushed against the uneven surface of the the rough stone
wall.
Not an easy position to sleep in, but Ci-ci was grateful that tonight,
perhaps, she might be permitted some respite from her seemingly un-ending
ordeal. Since her dreadful first night at the Pit -- the fire-building, the
ricksha-pulling, the torturous hot bath etc -- Chiang Chan's men had, with one
noteworthy exception, largely refrained from further torture, flogging her only
(but unmercifully) when she was rebellious or disobedient. Like most gangsters
they were materialistic, and were quick to capitalize on the advantages of
renting her succulent young body out to their fellow Scorpions. An hour of
intense pleasure with a velvet-skinned young beauty in exchange for three hours'
wages seemed a good bargain to most of the Scorpions, and a most lucrative one
indeed to the Ox and Lin, who had appointed themselves treasurers of the
enterprise during Dao's absence.
The opportunistic flesh-merchants had found many takers. During the prior
forty-eight hours Ci-ci had found herself lashed to nearly every one of the cots
that lined the Scorpions' barracks, as she was passed from one depraved gangster
to another as carelessly as a bottle of cheap wine.
*******
Ci-ci had made one attempt to escape, in the wee hours of her second night
at the Pit. Her final Scorpion 'customer' of the night had fallen into a
drunken stupor on top of her after raping her, and she had been able to
extricate herself from his bearish embrace. She had slipped out of the tawdry
cot silently and tiptoed toward the door, hoping to make good her escape.
She had opened the heavy door soundlessly, and paused briefly to shiver
when the chill of the night air enveloped her nudity, stiffening her
tear-drop-shaped nipples in the process. She stood there silently in the
doorway for a moment trying to clear her head and regain her bearings, when
suddenly a giant shadow loomed in the darknesss to her right.
The shadow of the brutish behemoth, Zheng, the Ox.
Ci-ci had darted away quickly, but having been bound to one cot or another
for much of the prior thirty hours had stripped her of much of her foot speed.
Her heart pounding frantically, she ran in the opposite direction away from her
massive pursuer and across the cartpath and into the grassy area between the Pit
and the Black Pagoda with the lumbering giant in hot pursuit.
At first she put a little distance between herself and Zheng, stretching
her lead to three yards, five yards, seven yards. But the grass was still
slippery from the prior night's downpour, and was soon her undoing.
The first time she slipped she merely broke her stride momentarily allowing
the Ox to close the gap. But the second time she hit a slippery patch her feet
went completely out from under her and she fell awkwardly to one knee. And that
was all the time Zheng needed to tackle her from behind, putting his massive
shoulder into the center of her back with the force of a steam locomotive,
driving her naked body face down into the damp grass. Ci-ci was a strong girl,
as evidenced by her struggles with the ricksha, but the Ox, whose weight was
nearly three times her own, overpowered her as easily and as ferociously as a
ravenous wolf would an innocent fawn.
She had struggled futilely as she felt the goliath's meaty thighs wedging
themselves between her own bare legs, spreading them wide apart. Moments later
she felt the horrific pressure of the Ox's huge irresistible cock-bludgeon as it
pressed against the rear entryway to her raw girl-sex, and then its punishing
invasion which seemed for a moment as if it would cut her in two.
His cudgel seemed to stretch the walls of Ci-ci's sensitive vaginal sheath
to the bursting point, turning the sensual thrill of male penetration into a
painful ordeal. The Ox had punished her viciously with his cockshaft while he
held her face down in the grass in the moonlight, pounding his meaty manhood
into her with pile-driving force.
At first, Ci-ci was not entirely certain that the imbecilic giant was even
aware of the savagery of his assault. But after he raped her the man-beast had
grabbed her by the pigtails and dragged his exhausted victim through the wet
grass over to a nearby tree.. Holding her by the hair with one hand he broke a
sparsely-leaved bough from a tree branch with no more difficulty than a normal
man would have had picking a mandarin orange. Then he threw Ci-ci roughly
face-first against the tree and flogged her moonlight-dappled thighs and
buttocks until every last leaf had fallen from the bough.
When he was done, blood was streaming down Ci-ci's legs. He marched her
over to the well, and gestured for her to wash away the grass and blood. When
she had finished her cold-water ablutions Zheng pushed his meaty index finger
into her breastbone midway between her ripening breasts and gruffly muttered the
only words of their brief but traumatic encounter.
"I don't like to run."
********
Zheng had just finished lashing Ci-ci's wrists overhead, while Lin
watched, lash-strap in hand, when Chiang Chan, who had been about to begin his
journey home to his father's estate, had been startled by a soft tap at the
heavy wooden door at the entrance of the Pit. Chiang walked over to the
entrance thinking that perhaps one of the Scorpions had inadvertently locked
himself out. But when he opened the barracks door, he was pleasantly surprised
to find a young woman in a long cloak standing before him, her beautiful face
pale in the moonlight. Her eyes were intelligent but seemed possessed of a
great sadness. She looked vaguely familiar and Chiang wrestled with his memory
as he tried to recall where he had seen her.
The young woman, held a small embroidered handbag in a death grip, and
gave the appearance of trying to look over his shoulder. She smiled at him
nervously. "Sir, forgive me for disturbing you, but I am looking for my sister;
I have not seen her for several days."
A barely perceptible smile crossed Chiang Chan's face. "One moment, miss."
He closed the door and turned toward his men and motioned for Zheng to pull a
dark curtain across the entrance to the alcove, thus blocking the visitor's view
of the slave-girl whose nude young body was cruelly distended by the
wrist-ropes. Zheng stood in front of the curtain blocking it with his bulk;
Lin, armed with his leather strap, was stationed behind it, alongside their
naked prisoner.
Chiang Chan re-opened the door allowing the attractive young woman to peer
inside the Scorpions' lair. "What makes you think that your sister might be
here?"
The woman's voice was no more than a whisper. "I overheard a conversation
at ... at my place of employment, sir."
At those hesitant words, Chiang Chan remembered where he had seen her. He
had seen her face, he was nearly certain, on one of his carnal excursions to
the House of Madame Wong.
"It may have been only a rumor, but I ..." she looked nervously in the
direction of the Black Pagoda which towered, dark and sinister in the moonlight,
a hundred yards away. "I became dreadfully worried when my sister did not visit
me last night. It was her night off, you see." The young woman trembled with
agitation. "When I asked at the great house at which she worked," and here
Peony gestured in the direction of Richard Chan's evil palace, which she had
passed en route to the Scorpions' barracks, "they would tell me nothing."
Only someone who had experienced the horrors of Richard Chan's dungeons
firsthand, as Peony herself had, {Chapter 10} could know the full scope of the
terrors that had assailed her while she had waited at the front gate of the
dreaded citadel. The gatekeeper had kept her waiting for several minutes, and
she came close to bolting more than once. But the courage of a sister's love
had overcome her fears, and she had waited nervously for her interview with the
head of the servants, not that it had done her much good.
For not only had the bird-like chamberlain, Bao-tseng, told her nothing of
her sister's whereabouts, he had dismissed her with the patronizing and surly
officiousness of which only a high-ranking servant was capable. From that
unproductive interview she had come directly to the Pit.
Peony looked around the long, dingy barracks, the rows of disorderly cots,
slovenly heaps of discarded clothing and boots everywhere. Weapons - clubs,
knives, ropes - were strewn around the room haphazardly. The barracks smelt of
maleness, and -- like the dungeons of Richard Chan --emitted an aura of
dominance, of utter ruthlessness. Peony was accosted by the surreal impression
that no spark of human decency had ever illuminated its foul precincts.
"My sister's name is Ci-ci, sir," Peony continued with a tremor in her
voice, addressing Chiang Chan. "She is sixteen, very pretty, with long
pigtails."
Chiang Chan eyed the lovely visitor. Her lustrous black hair fell in a
black cloud across the collar of her cloak, while Ci-ci's hair was done in
girlish pigtails, but the resemblance between the two young women was
unmistakable. The same soft brown eyes and elegantly-arched eyebrows, the same
beautifully-chiseled cheekbones, the same sensual mouth. The visitor seemed to
be only a few years older than her soft-skinned sister.
"Sister ... go away...please ... before it is too late..." The voice from
behind the curtain was weak, but unmistakable.
"Quiet, you!" Lin whispered louder than he realized. Screened by the dark
curtain, the acne-scarred adolescent whipped his thick leather strap across the
backs of Ci-ci's shapely thighs with a loud, THWACCKKK!!
The lash was followed momentarily by a soft, half-stifled groan of pain.
Trembling, Peony summoned up her courage. "Sir, I ... I heard my sister's
voice." She glanced at the huge mountain of a man who stood in front of the
curtain, his bovine face impassive. The goliath's dark, loose-fitting trousers
bulged with a man-lust stimulated by the enjoyable task of binding the nude body
of his prisoner only moments earlier. Finding not a scintilla of human
compassion in the Ox's expressionless face, she turned back toward the handsome
and intelligent countenance of the young man who seemed to be in command of the
grim barracks.
Chiang Chan regarded the soulful-eyed elder sister with a sinister smile;
the younger sister was clearly near the limit of her endurance. She had babbled
more or less incoherently earlier in the evening while the last half-dozen
Scorpions had satisfied themselves at her expense. Perhaps it was time to ride
a new pony. And what a pretty pony it was that faced him in the doorway...
"Miss ...?
"Peony, sir. My name is Peony." The slender young woman's graceful fingers
worked nervously at the clasp of her handbag.
"Peony, the girl we are holding here is nothing more than a thief and a
whore. Is your sister a whore?"
The flat, brutal monosyllable tore at Peony's heart. For that indeed was
what she herself was, thought Peony. A whore who permitted men to use her body
for their pleasure. To support her orphaned siblings, it was true. But still a
whore.
"There must be a terrible ... mistake, sir," Peony continued haltingly as
she tried to regain her poise. "My sister is not a thief. And could never be a
..." she found it difficult to verbalize the word, "whore."
"You think not? Perhaps you'd care to come inside and join us, and we can
discuss the matter?"
The faint voice came from behind the curtain again."Peony ... Go! Save
yourself! Do not worry about me. For the sake of the children, go! And don't
come back! Don't ever come back."
CRACKK!! Lin's strap left a diagonal mark across the soft golden skin of
Ci-ci's back. "I said, 'Be quiet', slut!"
"Uhhhhhhhh!" Ci-ci moaned softly, behind the curtain, trying to stifle
her cry of pain so that her sister would not hear it. She was convinced that
only by pretending to be all right could she possibly convince her sister to
flee and save herself. She stared defiantly at the greasy-haired adolescent
brandishing the lash. And then she spoke again. "Sister, please... Go. Our
brothers and sisters need you. I will be all right."
Peony had winced in empathy at the all-too familiar crack of leather on
fragile girl-flesh as if it had been her own body which had felt the blow.
"You are my sister, too, Ci-ci," Peony called out so that she could be
heard through the dark drapery that separated them. "I cannot leave you."
Chiang Chan smiled at Peony's nobility of spirit. And pondered how to
exploit it.
"Won't you come inside, Miss? I'm sure that something can be arranged."
Peony, her heart fluttering with apprehension, stepped inside.
"Let me take your cloak, Miss," Chiang Chan offered as he reached behind
her and closed the barracks door behind her with an ominous 'click' that bespoke
an unpleasant finality. "It is much warmer in here than outside." The great
coal stove at the far end of the room blazed merrily away, oblivious to the role
it had played in the torture of Ci-ci on the night of her banishment from the
Black Pagoda.
"N-no. Please. Thank you for your hospitality," Peony added uneasily,
forcing herself to smile. "But I only want to take my sister home."
Chiang Chan's voice hardened. "If you wish to see your sister, you will do
as I say. Let me take your coat."
Blushing, Peony slipped out of the somber cloak she wore. Beneath it she
wore a wine-colored cheongsam, buttoned up to her collar, but slit high on both
sides to allow the clients in Madame Wong's 'greeting area' to enjoy Peony's
finest attribute, her long, supple legs. Rare was the client who did not slide
a lecherous hand inside the cheongsam to sample Peony's warm honey-gold
thigh-flesh before adjourning to a private room for more prolonged and intimate
embraces.
Chiang dropped comfortably back into his chair at the sturdy square table
on which Ci-ci had been hog-tied when he and his men had returned from their
harbor mission two nights earlier. His eyes scrutinized the attractive figure
of his visitor with inordinate interest. The cheongsam was very tight, in
keeping with Madam Wong's strict rules, and the fine burgundy fabric hugged
Peony's thrusting breasts like a silken glove.
An acne-faced boy carrying a braided leather strap stepped from behind the
curtain to join the slab-faced giant who stood in front of it. "Mmmm, looks like
fresh meat, boss," Lin leered as he undressed Peony with his eyes.
"Zheng, why don't you open the curtain and let our guest see the thief who
has been entrusted to our care."
The Ox took a step to his right, and then drew back the folds of the
curtain so that Peony could see the nude body of her beautiful young sister,
standing awkwardly on her tiptoes, the muscles of her shoulders, back, and legs
stretched taut by her strict bondage.
"Sister!" Peony gasped in horror. "What have they done to you?" Ci-ci's
body was criss-crossed with faint streaks that bore unmistakable witness to her
savage beating two nights earlier, as well as thinner, darker ones that the Ox
had inflicted when she had tried to escape. Not to mention the two lurid
inch-wide strap marks that Lin had left only moments earlier.
"Please, Peony," Ci-ci sobbed, "go ... go away ... before it's too late."
Screwing up her courage, Peony addressed Chiang Chan. "Sir, I have brought
money. If I pay you ...?"
"Ah, I see, " Chiang Chan said as he stroked his chin. "You wish to
purchase your sister's freedom. How much money do you have, girl?"
"I do not know how much it comes to, sir." Peony's words came out in a
rush. "I have not slept these last two nights, sir, trying to earn tips for
such a purpose." Peony's slender fingers opened the clasp on the handbag and
upended its contents on the table. A few bills and a cascade of coins, a few
gold, but mostly silver and bronze, came tumbling down. Marks, francs,
shillings, quarters and more attested to the cosmopolitan nature of Madame
Wong's clientele. "I think, sir, that there are coins from many lands."
More than half of the coins, some two dozen of them, were of the same
color and size. Chiang Chan inspected one carefully and then, separating those
shiny bronze coins from the others, pointed to the little pile he had created.
Then he asked in a friendly tone, "Did the same," he paused, searching for the
appropriate word, "er, client, give you all of these?"
Buoyed by his response, Peony responded, "Yes, sir. An Englishman -- very
well dressed. He was most generous, was he not? Is it not the Queen herself on
the coins he gave me?"
"Yes. Yes, it is, Peony. It is none other than the great Victoria
herself." Chiang Chan spoke with a trace of disdain in his voice. Most Chinese
were resentful of English imperialism. Chiang Chan pursed his lips. "Tell me,
Peony, what great service did you perform for this English gentleman that
induced him to part with such a king's ransom?"
Peony blushed, half with pride at her good fortune, and half with
embarrassment over the manner in which her little nest egg had come into her
possession.
"The truth, girl! What did you do for your prodigal benefactor?"
When the uneducated pleasure-girl stared at him blankly, Chiang Chan
smiled and continued, "That is to say, your generous ... client."
"I ... I had to ... sleep with him, sir," Peony stammered.
"I do not care for euphemisms, Peony."
When the slender courtesan stared vacantly at him again, he explained,
"Expressions which mask the truth. What do you mean, "Sleep with him?"
Peony stared at the sturdy table, unable to look her interrogator in the
eye, her face crimson. "I work at the House of Madam Wong, sir. It is my job to
... to please the gentlemen in whichever way they wish." The frank lustful
stares of the two men who stood near the curtain made her feel as if a pair of
dark hairy spiders were crawling across her naked body.
"And how did the munificent gentleman who gave you these coins wish to be
pleased? The truth!"
Peony's voice dropped to no more than a whisper. "I - I had to ... make
love to him with my mouth, sir. After ..."
"After what?" Chiang Chan's voice cut through the stillness of the room
like a knife.
"After ... after ... he beat me."
"Did he beat you severely?"
"Y-yes. Yes, he did sir. But it was worth it." Peony pointed to the mound
of coins on the table.
"Show me."
"W-what?"
"Show me how and where he beat you. I would like to see if this gentleman
got his money's worth."
Lin the Drooler giggled and elbowed his massive comrade.
"B-but..."
"Now, slut. If you hope to buy your sister's freedom."
From the corner of the room Ci-ci cried out weakly, "No, Peony. Go while
you can. I ... I will be all right."
"I thought I told you to be quiet! Lin turned toward his naked prisoner
and slashed the braided leather strap viciously across the pliant flesh of
Ci-ci's rounded buttocks.
CRACCKKK!! "Mmmmnnnnnnnhhh!" Ci-ci struggled once again to contain her
cries of pain.
Chiang Chan leaned forward in his chair, his eyes intent on Peony. "Show
me! Quickly! Or be on your way -- without your sister."
Peony's brown eyes darted swiftly toward each of the three male faces who
gaped at her expectantly. "I-I will.' And Peony turned her back to the three
Scorpions and worked nervously at the buttons which opened down the front of the
tight-fitting burgundy dress.
Lin was about to interject a command for her to turn around, when Chiang
Chan silenced him by lifting a finger to his lips and mouthing the word,
'Patience'.
When Peony's bodice was completely unbuttoned, she took a deep, breath and
slipped the cheongsam back over her gently rounded shoulders, baring her
shoulders and shoulderblades to the leering threesome.
Chiang Chan eyed the golden flesh fondly. Peony's skin, like her sister's,
seemed to have been poured from a vat of liquid gold. It was blemishless, save
for a single dark-red diagonal streak.
"Is that all? He bestowed such a fortune on you in order to deliver one
stroke of the whip?"
"N-no, sir."
"What else? Show me."
Trembling, Peony wriggled and let the back of the dress fall to her waist,
while she clutched the burgundy bodice to her nude breasts. Four more long
livid streaks stretched across the smooth skin of her back.
Lin felt his young manhood stiffen as his thin-slitted eyes focused on the
enchanting half inch of buttock cleft that was now visible above the swath of
burgundy bunched at Peony's rounded hips.
"Only five strokes? I can not believe an Englishman would part with such a
princely sum for only five strokes. Were there not more?"
Peony's body was visibly shaking with nervousness and mortification.
Her voice was dry, almost inaudible. "Y- yes, sir."
"Show us.'
In order to let the wine-colored silk slide down over her shapely hips,
Peony was obliged to lower her breast-concealing hands to her flanks, so that
she could shimmy the tight-fitting skirt down her rounded buttocks. Lin and
Zheng each silently edged sideways so as to steal a glance at Peony's lovely
dark-tipped breasts in profile.
Meanwhile Chiang Chan's eyes were drinking in the sight of Peony's lovely
bottom, which had taken the brunt of the Englishman's punishment. No fewer than
nine thin lash-marks, the tell-tale vestiges of blows delivered with a
single-tailed whip, curled around Peony's luscious quivering asscheeks. She
remembered the fury and the glee with which the ruddy-faced well-dressed
Englishman had whipped her, the way he had forced her to count off the blows, in
both English and Chinese. Knowing virtually no English, she had made numerous
mistakes in counting. Each error had unfailingly resulted in a stinging slap of
reproof to a proud young breast.
When he had finished flogging her the heavy-set Englishman had forced her
to suck his short thick cock with her warm mouth until his body convulsed with
pleasurable lust when he shot his swinish man-juice down her velvety throat.
But all of the abasement had been worth it -- had not the wealthy
Englishman given her more than twenty shiny coins bearing the image of Queen
Victoria herself? Coins which she could now use to buy her poor sister's
freedom from this den of thugs?"
"Peony, would you like to know the value of the Englishman's gratuity?"
"Y-yes, please, sir." Peony could feel the eyes of the Scorpions on her
nude buttocks. She prayed to the spirit of her dead parents that the amount
would be enough to free her sister with perhaps enough left over to buy the
children something.
"It is my pleasure," Chiang Chan continued as he winked at his two
comrades, "to inform you that the Englishman gave you the royal sum of
twenty-four farthings."
"Farthings, sir? Are they valuable then?"
"Oh, yes, Peony they have value. Enough, perhaps, to buy a few cups of
tea."
"B-but ... the Queen ... herself ... It is not fair..." Peony, her eyes
welling with tears, turned toward the three men, forgetful in her despair, of
her semi-nudity, holding the edge of the burgundy cheongsam across her loins.
The glow given off by the kerosene lamps of the barracks seemed to shimmer on
her mouthwatering breasts, and her belly of spun gold.
"Stupid slut!" sneered Lin the Drooler, unmindful of the fact that he would
not have known a farthing from a sovereign himself.
"Ah," Chiang Chan grinned mockingly. "You have learned a useful lesson,
wench. Never trust an Englishman." Then he smiled again. "Not even the
Queen."
Chiang Chan rubbed his hands together with satisfaction and pointed to the
rest of the coins and bills on the table. "The rest is of little value, either,
my dear, especially when compared to the prize we have in our possession." He
gestured toward Ci-ci.
Chiang Chan stood and let his eyes wander menacingly over Peony's semi-nude
body."What else have you to offer us?
"Peony... no. Don't do it..." came the faint voice from the alcove.
CRACKKK!! "Aahhhhh!"
Lin's lash had seared Ci-ci's bottom again. "Silence, cunt!!"
"I am waiting, Peony," Chiang Chan repeated in a low, sinister voice, as he
rose and walked around the table toward the bare-breasted pleasure girl. "You
are free to go if you wish. But if you go, you go alone."
"Wait!" Peony took a deep breath which caused her dark nipple-crests to
bobble deliciously. "I have one thing more." Peony, still holding her dress
up at hip-level, stooped and undid the false heel of her right shoe, and removed
something from the hiding place. She stood and held out a shiny gold coin
toward Chiang Chan.
"Please, sir. It is all I have in the world. I have been saving it to pay
for a teacher for my young brother after the New Year. But you may ..."
Chiang reached out and took the gold piece from her and flipped it in the
air deftly. Then he gestured toward Ci-ci, who was still moaning softly in
response to Lin' last whip-stroke. "So you thought that you could swindle me,
by offering me a low price for your sister? Very well, this will spare her the
beating the thief deserves tonight."
Then he turned back toward Peony, his dark eyes devoid of compassion. "But
what will you offer me for her freedom?"
Peony glanced at her brutalized sister and took a deep breath, and with
downcast eyes let the cheongsam drift silently to the floor,
"The only thing I have left, sir. I myself."
Chapter 57 Sisters in Slavery
Chiang Chan's gaze swept over Peony's slender but nicely curved figure.
Then his cold black eyes met her tear-filled brown eyes with the same merciless
intent that Peony had seen in his father's visage during her ordeal at the
Black Pagoda. Chiang was just about to speak when he heard someone pulling at
the massive door to the Pit.
A moment later Dao strode in, fresh from the cock-thrilling breast-caning
he had administered to Qieu, and still peeved that Richard Chan had not
permitted him to slake his lust on the dark-haired beauty who had been his
prisoner for several hours.
The gap-toothed Scorpion looked from one naked sister to the other. "What
have we here?" he asked gruffly.
"This young woman," Chiang Chan explained, indicating the slender Asian
goddess who stood timorously before them, "has offered to alter the course of
justice by buying her thieving sister's freedom with her own servitude. I think
twelve hours would be an appropriate period of time?" he looked questioningly at
Peony.
Having little choice Peony shuddered but whispered, "Yes."
"Well, Dao," Chiang Chan, continued with a smile, "now that you are the new
Dungeon-master, what do you suggest as regards Miss Peony." He paused and then
added, "Remember that she works for Madame Wong, and thus is indirectly an asset
of the House of Chan. So we must be careful to do nothing that would damage her
earning power."
"Can we sell her to the others, like we did her sister?" Lin mentally
calculated the profit from another round of flesh-trafficking.
"By all means; it will be midnight soon. Some of them will be returning
then."
"What say you, Dao?"
Dao ogled the slender beauty who stood before him crestfallen for a long
pleasurable moment. He took in the rhythmic rise and fall of her lovely
breasts, not overly large, but exquisitely shaped, delightfully dark-nippled,
and perfectly proportioned for her slender frame. His gaze traveled downward
over her intagliated navel, her rounded mons, and the nicely trimmed triangle of
woman-hair that framed the soft petals of her love-nook. Then his eyes moved up
lasciviously up and down Peony's beautifully shaped legs.
The gaptoothed Dungeon-master weighed his options for a long moment. And
then he spoke. "The slut looks flexible to me," he announced finally. "Ox,
fetch the Tsingtao Table Spikes."
********
Five minutes later, Peony was lying flat on her back on the sturdy square
table, her paltry collection of bills and coins having long since been divided
up among Chiang Chan's avaricious underlings. Her hips were positioned on the
edge of the table so that her dark-fringed womanhood was totally accessible to
any who desired it.
Peony's predicament was made far more uncomfortable, far more vulnerable by
the fact that Feng the Butcher had made a clever adaptation to the six-foot
square table. On either side of Peony's head, at arm's length from her body, a
pair of thick mug-sized disks had been removed from circular hollows in the
thick table top into which they had fit so snugly as to be nearly unnoticeable.
Upon their removal, the Ox had pounded two long thick pegs -- the table spikes
-- which fit securely into the circular openings. Each peg rose up about a
foot above the surface of the table.
Peony's arms were extended to a tricep-straining width so that they could
be cuffed to the bases of the pegs. But that was the least of her difficulties.
The diabolical Tsingtao Table Spikes allowed her captors to bend her limber legs
back over her shoulders and shackle them to the top of the pegs, leaving her
nude body totally at the mercy of her masters and their sordid clientele. Even
the remarkable flexibility of limb which had served Peony well in her enforced
profession, was put to a stern test by such a cruel bondage.
The Scorpions began filtering back a few minutes later, to find a new
lithe-legged beauty all trussed up and ready for fucking.
********
As the seedy Scorpion low-lifes filed in, Chiang Chan was struck by the
pagan symbolism of the scene, a primitive symbolism that might have appealed to
his misguided erstwhile mentor, Professor Leung. Peony was positioned, nay,
displayed on the table as if it were a sacrificial altar. A virtuous woman,
regardless of her unfortunate lot in life, an Iphigeneia, being offered
ritualistically, and unfairly, to the cruel lusts of the Scorpions, even as
pure young virgins had been sacrificed to cruel and lustful deities for
millennia.
What had the professor said? 'There will be no end to the troubles of
humanity till philosophers become kings?' 'Well, professor,' Chiang Chan said
sardonically to himself, 'in whatever corner of hell you reside, I hope you see
where philosophy has gotten you and this long-legged beauty. It is power which
rules. The power of evil. The power of the House of Chan.'
But then the cynical young prince of the Chan Dynasty looked at Peony's
face. Their was fear, there, to be sure. Fear and loathing.
But there was something else. A serenity. An acceptance. A stoicism.
The lovely sad-eyed courtesan, whose body was about to be sacrificed to the
inhuman lusts of a squadron of thugs, gave the impression at least, of one who
was certain she had done the right thing.
For a single epiphanic split-second the teachings of Professor Leung, and
indeed the wisdom of the ages, crystallized in the mind of the young Philistine
whom nature had designated as heir to the Black Pagoda. But then, poisoned by
his cynicism, that brief moment of enlightenment, fragile as a gossamer web on a
windy day, passed into oblivion.
And Peony was no longer a symbol, but only a firm-fleshed warm-blooded
woman. Lying on a table, not an altar. And it was not wise philosophers who
hovered around her seeking eternal truth. It was men of disturbed passions
seeking dark pleasures in a dangerous world.
********
After a few minutes of haggling, a price was agreed upon and the first
Scorpion, a well-built young thug from the slums of Shanghai, strode up to
Peony's desirable and vulnerable body and punched his virile cock into her
tender vagina. To the cheers of his cronies he rode her hard and long and well,
his hands roving all over Peony's torso and breasts while he pumped into her.
At length he came inside Peony and pulled away, his cock-tip moist with
man-lust, to the boisterous cries of approval from his fellows.
The second man was just about to take his place between Peony's thighs when
Dao raised his hand.
"For the money you're paying, a Scorpion deserves a clean pussy to fuck.
Bring the other girl over."
A few minutes later, Lin led Ci-ci over to the table, her wrists still tied
together behind her back. Her eyes were drawn and haggard, but her youthful body
had lost none of its sensual appeal. More Scorpions had trickled in during the
last few minutes, their tour of duty elapsed, and her eyes swept across the
faces of the newcomers, looking for even a hint of empathy, of compassion.
She found none.
For their eyes were not on hers, but rather on her tempting body, which was
a tantalizing blend of fresh, girlish youth and rich womanly curves. Most of
the Scorpions had already enjoyed her ripening body, but not one had tired of
it. And now they had a second delicious prisoner on which to slake their
darkest passions.
Ci-ci, drained by fatigue and abuse, was half asleep and only half heard
Dao explaining something. But suddenly she found herself on her knees, her
faces inches from her sister's semen-dripping pussy.
"Thirty seconds, slut! Get busy!"
It slowly dawned on the pig-tailed teenager that her depraved captors
wanted her to make love to her sister with her mouth. When she made no move to
do so she felt Lin's braided leather strap tear into the soft flesh of her back.
CRACCKKK!! "Unngghhh," she groaned, too exhausted to cry out in pain.
"Get your tongue in there, girl!"
This time Ci-ci obeyed, inserting her tongue hesitantly into Peony's
spunk-slimy love-nook, shuddering in revulsion at the vile taste of the
Scorpion's sperm.
"Time's up!" Dao called. "Ox!"
Zheng stepped forward and with a quick jabbing motion thrust his long
middle finger deep into pleasure nook. It came out dripping with semen.
"Lin -- go ahead!" Lin the Drooler pushed Ci-ci aside and lifted the
braided strap over his head and whipped it down between Peony's widely-splayed
thighs.
"SMACCKK!!! "AAARRRRRGHHHHHH"
"By the sword of Kublai Khan, you stung her clit with that one, Lin. Good
lad!"
Peony's animalistic cry of agony seemed to clear away some of the cobwebs
that clouded Ci-ci's befogged brain. After congratulating Lin for his accuracy
Dao seemed to be addressing her again.
"I'm only going to tell you this one more time, you thieving little slut.
You're going to clean your precious sister out with your tongue in between
customers. You've got thirty seconds to do it. After that Ox is going to jam
his big finger into your sis. If he comes out with no 'cum', no problem. If he
comes out with a little, Lin's going to give your sister a stinger across her
pretty legs. If Ox comes out with a lot of cum on his finger, she gets it
across the pussy again! That's your incentive to do a good job licking her
clean. You got it?"
Ci-ci nodded despairingly, and watched as the second Scorpion, a stocky
former farmer from the province of Szechuan, strode up to the table and after a
few practiced pulls at his swollen man-shaft, he drove it deep into Peony's
glistening pussy.
Meanwhile Dao motioned to the third man, another wild-eyed young savage
from the mean streets of Shanghai, to approach the table from the other side. A
few seconds later the third man had pulled his cock from his trousers and
placed it within reach of Peony's soft lips. When she did not immediately
respond to his invitation to take him into her mouth, the sadistic young
gangster wrapped his hands around Peony's breasts and squeezed her love-cones
brutally until she relented and accepted his thug-cock into her mouth, while the
farmer from Szechuan plowed her feminine furrow vigorously.
When he finished, Ci-ci's face was thrust into her sister's spread-eagled
love-nest once again, and this time Ci-ci did the best she possibly could, using
her tongue to clean Peony's vagina, hoping desperately to spare her brave sister
any more pain.
But when the thirty seconds was up, the Ox stepped forward again, and
rammed his middle finger deep into Peony again. This time it was judged that
the amount of semen Ci-ci had left behind was modest, and accordingly Lin lashed
at Peony's sleek hyper-extended thighs rather than her vulnerable pussy. But
even such a blow, across thighs whose skin was stretched to a delectable
tautness, fell and felt like a whiplash of almost incomparable savagery.
And so it went, one man following another, with Peony warming up one man
with her mouth while the man of the moment pounded away at her gaping pussy.
Even nature conspired against the beautiful enslaved sisters - the Ox's
finger was far longer than Ci-ci's tongue, and so, at the conclusion of nearly
every encounter, the Ox would remove the finger that he had plunged deep into
Peony, dripping with Scorpion-lust. And that dripping finger was the signal for
Lin to launch another cruel strap-lash at Peony's bottom and thighs. A state
of affairs which only worsened Ci-ci's overwhelming feelings of guilt for having
put her sister in the hands of their barbaric captors.
Dao had been the fifth to take a turn, and he had cock-punished Peony with
remarkable energy and stamina. The stamina, if not the energy, was not doubt
attributable to the fact that the gaptoothed dungeon-master had pleasured
himself several times while applying the denxia cane to the resilient flesh of
Qieu's rounded breasts. To his credit, Dao acquitted himself nobly on the
energy side as well, pumping his thick-veined phallus into Peony's juicy quim
with admirable elan until he fired his male-juice deep into her vagina.
A couple of hours later Lin embarrassed himself by ejaculating prematurely
almost as soon as Peony had taken him into her mouth. Shamed by the derisive
laughter of his comrades, he took his anger out on Peony, by lighting a two-inch
diameter candle and spending the next hour or two dripping sizzling hot wax down
onto Peony's belly and breasts even as one or more Scorpions ravaged the brave
beautiful courtesan.
Chiang Chan had watched the proceedings with the practiced eye of a voyeur
most of the night before becoming an active participant in the Scorpion rape.
Zheng, too, had been importuned by his comrades to wait until everyone else had
had a crack at Peony's pussy. Because invariably his mammoth weapon so
stretched a woman's vaginal channel that those who followed in his path were
cheated of the pleasure of a tight-clenching cunt trying to fight off an
intrusive male member.
*******
By late morning Chiang Chan had been summoned to the Black Pagoda for his
instructions vis-a-vis Ming-tsu. And thus it was that upon his return to the
Pit, in search of his men, after his interview with Richard Chan, he saw the two
feminine figures, Peony and Ci-ci, stumbling out into the sunlight, Ci-ci
crying and gesticulating half-incoherently, as her sister supported her while
Peony tried to erase from her own mind the dreadful memory of the finale to her
twelve-hour ordeal -- the punishing, pile-driving pounding the Ox had subjected
her to.
Chiang Chan watched the two women stagger toward the main road for a long moment
before turning his back on them and entering the Pit. He quickly roused Dao,
Lin and Zheng.
"Get dressed. Quickly. My uncle has given orders that we are to bring
Ming-tsu to the Black Pagoda.
Three sleepy jaws dropped at this startling news. Richard Chan was
summoning the bewitchingly seductive concubine of his own brother for an
'interview' at the Black Pagoda?
While his three comrades hurriedly dressed, Chiang Chan recalled the erotic
scene he had secretly observed in his father's den -- had it only been three
days ago? -- during which his virile father had ravaged Ming-tsu's 'unfolding
lotus'. Had it been only three days since George Chan had made Ming-tsu' ben-wa
balls click together like well struck snooker balls? Had it been only three day
since he had seen his father rap his tempting concubine's lustily pointed
nipples with a ruler and wished to heaven that it had been he, Chiang Chan who
had been wielding the ruler? Or perhaps something even more substantial?
No man could say what the future held. But if the stars ordained that a
certain day in the life of a man inclan encounter with the exotic Ming-tsu,
it would surely be a day not soon forgotten.
Chapter 58 The Dungeon of Fear
At about the same time that Chiang Chan was sitting down with his uncle for
the interview that would result in the order to bring Ming-tsu to the Black
Pagoda, that dark-haired beauty was slipping out of a whisper-thin celadon green
chemise preparing to step into a steaming hot tub. She glanced at the full
length mirror a few feet away and was dismayed to find that a restless night,
plagued by horrifying nightmares, had left her eyes, usually so luminous and
captivating, looking a bit tired and drawn.
As she slipped a pretty toe into the tub, the same fears that had kept her
on edge all night raced through her furiously, abrading her raw nerves and
leaving her stomach queasy. Taking a deep breath she slid downward into the
perfumed bath, the water of which was hotter than most people could stand. But
since her days as a blossoming adolescent Ming-tsu had always found hot baths to
be restorative to her nerves, soothing to her supple body and stimulating to her
thought processes.
Ming-tsu's seductive body had stood up well under the rigors of the past
few days, she judged, as she lifted a lissome limb out of of the soap-scented
water, admiring the pleasing curvature of her bent leg, as she doused it with a
dripping sponge. If only her nerves had been able to cope with the strain half
so well ...
********
During the past few days Ming-tsu had seen her fortunes climb with the
speed and trajectory of the brilliantly-colored skyrockets that were fired in
celebration of the New Year, only to plunge just as quickly. The strenuous but
ultimately rewarding bout of lovemaking in George Chan's den {The Unfolding
Lotus, Chapter 24} had surely convinced him that she was capable of pleasing him
as no other woman could. Was not the jade pendant he had given her following
that lusty encounter ample evidence of her success in that regard?
Furthermore, by targeting Wen-chi and Liu as relatives of Li Chang and
hoodwinking Liu into facilitating the capture of her former lover, she had
surely consolidated her position not only as George Chan's favorite concubine,
but also as a valuable ally in terms of extending the power and influence of the
House of Chan. A lifetime of ease and prestige as courtesan and confidante
seemed well within her enterprising grasp.
But the stormy night on which Liu had been forced to ride the Tiger to her
ultimate death had contained the seed of a new tempest. And that storm
threatened to destroy the edifice of success on which Ming-tsu had labored for
upwards of a year, within hours of its completion. When the Scorpions had
returned without the jewels after carting the four bodies off to the harbor, her
prospects had sunk as swiftly as the chained bodies Richard Chan's hoodlums had
thrown into the sea. All of the sexual humiliations she had willingly endured
to please George Chan, all of the depraved and sadistic impulses she had
satisied -- were they all to have been for nought?
Indeed they were, Ming-tsu concluded reluctantly, unless she came up with
the answer to the question that had plagued her every waking minute -- and she
had had precious few minutes of sleep that had not been punctuated by fearful
nightmares in the last few days -- since the death of Liu:
What could have happened to the jewels?
Ming-tsu adjusted her position slightly in her luxurious bath, unconscious
of the fact that the dark and lovely jewels that tipped her nicely-lathered
breasts, as eye-catching as any pearls, poked boldly through the gossamer mist
of bubbles that clung to them. Stiffened to a pleasing semi-erection, no doubt,
by the stressfulness of her perilous situation.
The seductive concubine had been in a state of ever-rising agitation over
the missing diamonds and pearls ever since the Scorpions had returned from the
harbor to tell her that they had found nothing in the garments of the four
victims whose bodies they had thrown into the bay. She had returned to the
Black Pagoda and searched its forbidding cellar with no success, and had gone
back a second time to search again only last night. She had been turned away -
although she did not know it -- only because Richard Chan had been entertaining
Qieu in the dungeons of the Black Pagoda at that very moment.
********
On her first visit to the dungeon of the Black Pagoda to search for the
missing jewels, she had lit a torch and had set about inspecting every dark
corner of the spacious dungeon, hoping that Mai-Lee's priceless gems had
somehow rolled out of sight whenever and however they had been removed from
Liu's body.
During her search she had become more fully aware of Richard Chan's vast
collection of contrivances, some artistic and refined, others bluntly brutal,
for inflicting pain on tender female bodies. From the ceiling above her hung an
astonishing array of rings and pullies, ropes and chains, instruments of bondage
that could be used to suspend a young woman in whatever fashion her tormentor
found most pleasing. Long tables, narrow benches and sturdy chairs of wood and
iron were equipped with a variety of evil-looking straps and chains that could
be used to bind a desirable damsel in any conceivable position. Dozens of
long-legged spiders and scores of repulsive black beetles, no doubt attracted
and nourished by the dessicated droplets of blood that covered them, scurried
soundlessly over an array of blood-stained wooden T's and X's and Y's, that were
propped against a wall in one grim corner.
But not all of the engines of the Chans' dire dungeons were so massive.
Smaller implements lined one entire wall, forming a gruesome gallery of
pain-dealing instruments. Instruments for flogging, gripping, and piercing
feminine flesh that had been gathered from the four corners of the earth, to add
to Richard Chan's voluminous collection. The whips and canes alone numbered
into the hundreds; of these only a few were museum pieces. Either Richard Chan
or one of his minions had tested nearly all of them on soft female flesh. Few
had been found wanting.
The longer her search remained fruitless, the more agitated Ming-tsu
became. For she was well aware that if she did not locate the jewels, she
herself might be next in line in the long procession of unfortunate beauties who
had come to grief in the Black Pagoda.
She doubted that she would ever forget the grim configuration of the rack
that she had chanced upon in a dark and airless corner of the dungeon, a rack
whose rusty windlass looked to rival, in age, a three or four century-old Ming
vase. But she had little doubt that if the ancient device was in the dungeon of
the Black Pagoda, that it worked and worked well.
She had stood there, flaming torch in hand, staring at the dreadful
mechanism for a minute or two, enshrouded in the eerie silence of the sinister
chamber of horrors, interrupted occasionally by the chilling sound of chains
clanking together overhead in response to an unfelt draft. So powerful was the
ghastly spell cast by the medieval machine that she could almost hear the awful
grinding of its powerful ratchet, the metallic rattling of its heavy chains, and
the faint, horrible cries of agony of the numberless nubile victims whose
sweat-covered bodies and taut, straining limbs had been tortured to the limits
of endurance and beyond. The sight of the rack had so unnerved her that the
slim hand which held the torch had shaken uncontrollably. When she had crouched
down on her knees to make sure that the missing jewels had not somehow slid
beneath the dreadful engine, she had had to look a second time to make sure that
her eyes had not deceived her.
But there had been yet another device in the gruesome dungeon, one that,
for Ming-tzu, had occasioned even more horror than the medieval rack, one that
had haunted her ever since. She was to learn later that one of Richard Chan's
army of agents had recovered the bizarre apparatus from the ruins of a Burmese
warlord's castle on the banks of the Irrawaddy, upriver from Mandalay. A
long-ago warlord who, according to legend, had been but twenty when he had been
scornfully rejected by a beautiful but too-proud Laotian princess. Never
forgetting this slight, the bellicose young tyrant plotted his revenge while his
armies grew mighty. Soon he came to be renowned throughout southern Asia for
his depravity and cruelty.
Three years after his failed courtship, the warlord had led a party of
raiders into the nearby realm of the princess for the sole purpose of abducting
the lovely maiden who had once rebuffed his advances. Then, upon their return to
his dark castle, the young despot had used his ingenious invention to revenge
himself upon the still-defiant young princess.
It was this ancient legend of a kindred spirit that had led Richard Chan on
a costly quest to find the warlord's castle, to salvage and restore whatever
evil implements of torture could be found in the wreckage of his fortress. It
was before that most-prized of all the warlord's cruel conceptions that Ming-tsu
stood now.
The seemingly innocuous device in question consisted of a two-part
vertical wooden frame with a hinged mechanism that opened upward, and a pair of
orange-sized circular openings. At first she had thought it to be merely a pair
of stocks for enclosing a woman's wrists or ankles.
But as she examined it more closely, she noticed that the warlord's
punishment frame was held upright by two sturdy posts, and that the two circular
openings were positioned about four feet off the ground. Slowly its true but
terrible purpose dawned on her. Try though she might, she could not tear her
eyes from the awful apparatus, staring disbelievingly at it as if doubtful that
the mind of man could conceive a contrivance as cruel and inhuman as the one
that stood before her.
Even after she left the dungeon, having found no trace of the jewels, the
memory of the bizarre Burmese mechanism obsessed her. And provided the stimulus
for the horrifying visions that had plagued her dreams these last two nights.
Chapter 59 Tortured Dreams
On the night after she had searched the dungeon Ming-tsu had had the first
of the recurring macabre dreams that were to haunt her nights.
In her dream she had found herself walking down a long, narrow corridor,
blindfolded and gagged, following in the wake of a man whose heavy footfalls
reverberated off the thick stone walls that were within her reach. Just behind
her strode two more figures, with lighter footsteps, who precluded escape in
that direction, and who occasionally reached out to guide their blindfolded
prisoner around a corner of the labyrinthian passageway.
Ming-tsu was conscious of the fact that she was dressed in layers of some
splendid silken raiment which rustled gently with each step she took. On an on
she trod, following the sound of the rhythmic drumbeat of footsteps made by the
man who led them toward some unknown destination.
The corridor seemed to be leading downward, ever downward as they walked.
The air in the endless winding hallway grew cooler and damper, as they burrowed
deeper and deeper into the bowels of whatever cavernous building they were in,
until at last they reached their apparent destination, a room so cold that
Ming-tsu's body shivered at the chill.
Once there, the two men at her side pushed her toward the man who had led
the strange procession. Ming-tsu felt the third man's powerful hands seize her
by the arms, subduing her ineffective struggles, while the other two men slowly
removed her garments, pausing now and then to fondle her glorious young body as
each layer of her delicate vestments was slowly stripped away. After her last
garment, a wispy undergarment of the flimsiest fabric imaginable, was gently
eased from her rounded shoulders, Ming-tsu felt her sensitive nipples stiffen
slightly in response to the chill in the air. Then the four dextrous hands
slid the shift down over her shapely hips, leaving her completely nude.
That pleasant chore accomplished, the two men who had so skillfully
undressed her used thin strips torn from her silken garments to pinion her
wrists behind her back, lashing each slim wrist lashed to the elbow of the other
arm. Only then did they strip away her blindfold.
When her blood-red blindfold was removed, Ming-tsu was not surprised to
find that she had been escorted to a murky, menacing cellar of some sort. She
was standing about a dozen feet from a high stone wall, in which were ensconced
two flickering torches which provided the only light in the dark and dingy
chamber.
As she peered into the darkness, the beautiful dream-captive gasped as she
took in the fearful visages of the men who had undressed her. Both were
faceless. Or rather, they lacked human faces. Each of them wore grotesque
Chinese demon masks. The taller of the two was dressed in an elegant silver robe
trimmed with black; his mask depicted a raging, scowling demon, whose
frightening facial features were outlined in garish shades of red and green and
black on a white background.
The other man was slightly shorter than Scowling Mask, and a little
heavier in build. He wore the image of a smiling figure, but the mask's smile
was hardly benign or comforting. It was instead a ghastly, ghoulish smile, a
smile half smirk and half leer, a smile steeped in dominance and lechery. The
facial features of the Smiler were daubed in bright hues of cerise, gold and jet
black on an ivory background, and were twisted into the evil grin of a being
who possessess the power of life and death over another. Smiling Mask wore a
copper-colored robe which seemed to shimmer metallically in the eerie light.
Ming-tsu had trembled at the sight of the malevolent-looking masks, but
that trembling had been as nothing compared to the shudder of pulse-pounding
fear that had rippled through her nude body when the third man, who had been
holding her by the shoulders, released his grip and spun her around so that she
could see him.
The other two men, however frightful their hideous masks, somehow exuded
auras of elegance and refinement. Not so the third man. He, too, was
disguised, but in his case his identity was preserved by a sinister black hood
that covered his head and face down to his shoulders, save for two slits in the
cloth that revealed a pair of dark, piercing eyes. The Executioner, as Ming-tsu
came to think of him, was bare-chested and muscular and wore ill-fitting baggy
trousers that were as black as his hood and as rumpled as the masses of tangled
hair that matted his broad chest.
Ming-tsu felt the Executioner's blazing eyes ravish her flesh as she stood
before him, raking their way slowly across the ripe curves of her proud breasts,
and down the smooth, sensuous midriff which tapered to her tiny waist. The
rapacious eyes lingered long on her gently curved belly, tufted with its
precisely-trimmed triangle of dark, silky pubic hair, and on the soft petals of
her sex, before descending to explore her bare and shapely legs.
As Ming-tsu's unblindfolded eyes grew more and more accustomed to the
eerie torchlight, she became convinced that her mysterious abductors had brought
her to the subterranean cellar of the Black Pagoda. As she acclimated herself
to the dim light of her grisly surroundings, she also gradually became conscious
of how the posture enforced by her tight wrist-to-elbow bondage made her
succulent breasts jut forward shamelessly for her captors' pleasure.
After the two masks had groped her a little more, squeezing her out-thrust
breast-goblets with lascivious gusto and exploring the more intimate treasures
between her naked thighs with depraved delight, her phantom abductors did what
she feared most -- they dragged her toward the dark recess where the massive
wooden X's and T's were stored. Near them, she saw a table covered with lengths
of rope and an assorment of fearful implements. But seeing these did not
frighten her half so much as the sight of the sinister mechanism that had
induced such dreadful sensations of fear and loathing in her only that
afternoon.
The wooden frame of the Burmese warlord was comprised of an aged and
splintered vertical board, about half an inch thick, supported by two sturdy
posts spaced nearly a yard apart. The ingeniously designed board was cleverly
carved into twin-arched upper and lower sections that were held together by an
iron hinge on one side of the board. The upper and lower sections each had
matching semi-circular openings. If the ancient hinge, which was open now, were
to be closed, the two halves of the board would come together, the two sets of
semi-circles forming two circular openings.
The purpose of the twin openings could have been neither more obvious nor
more ominous to Ming-tsu. She was soon forced to stand with her bare feet
spread about thirty inches apart, her toes touching the posts which supported
the hinged board. Once her feet were positioned properly, the Masks pressed the
wooden frame up against her nudity, so that her upper body was positioned snugly
against the circular openings in the boards.
The Smiler paused for a moment when he discovered that Ming-tsu's thrusting
lust-globes did not quite reach the lower edge of the semi-circular openings in
the dreadful board. But this minor difficulty was quickly overcome when the
Executioner forced her, by threatening to ram a gleaming silver dildo into the
beautifully puckered orifice between her girl-buttocks, to stand on tall
tiptoes, so that Ming-tsu's luscious breasts now protruded beautifully over the
lower edge of the half-inch thick semi-circular cut-outs. Her tender hillocks
had scarcely touched the wood when she felt the roughness of the Burmese
Breast-crusher's splintered surface lacerating the tender undercurves of her
breasts.
Ming-tsu quickly came to the realization that, while standing on tiptoes is
easily done in a narrow stance, it is rather more difficult when one's feet are
widely spaced. Glancing at the great mirror which lined the opposing wall,
Ming-tsu saw how her tip-toed posture forced the taut muscles of her thighs and
buttocks to tighten in a way that could only please her captors. In the mirror
she could also see the way the Executioner's greedy eyes explored her curves,
and the massive bulge that was forming in his crotch.
Once her mouth-watering love-melons were positioned properly in the
Crusher, the inky-hooded Executioner took six lengths of coarse hempen rope
from the nearby table and quickly lashed each bare leg at ankle, knee, and
mid-thigh securely to the stout upright posts that supported the hinged board.
Ming-tsu gasped with pain as her mysterious, powerfully-built oppressor pulled
the rough cord viciously tight around each of her legs, causing the hempen
ligatures to bite deep into her thigh-flesh.
Ming-tsu's chest was now flush against the Crusher and her nude breasts
were squeezed through the unhinged bottom half of the fearful stocks, so that
the wooden arcs that formed the lower arm of the breast vise were positioned
snugly against her chest wall.
Now that she was safely bound to the pedestal and her honey-gold breasts
were posed so temptingly on the lower portion of the hinged contrivance, the
copper-gowned Smiler approached her and reached for the upper half of the hinged
device. When Ming-tsu saw that the grinning Mask intended to force the matching
sections together, imprisoning the bases of her breasts between the two pairs of
semi-circular wooden bands that formed the Crusher she shook her head violently,
"No!" as she screamed into her stifling scarlet gag.
Behind his garish mask the lips of the copper-robed torturer curled into a
smile as cruel and grotesque as the one in the mask he wore. His dark eyes
brightened in intensity as his hands closed on the upper half of the twin-orbed
hinged device. Then, deaf to Ming-tsu's strangled pleas for mercy, he
endeavored to close the upper section of the hinged board down over her ripe
pleasure-melons. Using every ounce of his considerable strength, the Smiler
tried to press the bands of the upper half of the wooden frame, with its
slightly-too-small semi-circular openings, down around Ming-tsu's throbbing
breasts.
Unfortunately for Ming-tsu, the barbaric instrument had been designed for
entrapping and applying pressure to the breasts of the more modestly endowed
Laotian princess, not the more voluptuous treasures of a Ming-tsu, and try
though he might the Smiler could not manage to lock the two halves of the
Crusher into place.
Ming-tsu writhed -- to the extent her strict bondage permitted her to
writhe -- in pain as her masked tormentor tried to force the two halves of the
diabolical device together. Her imprisoned breasts were soon raw and inflamed
from the dreadful pressure he exerted, but her smiling nemesis, the veins in his
neck bulging from his efforts to close the wooden bands around Ming-tsu's
opulent pain-melons, refused to concede defeat. But finally, after minutes of
frustration for him and agony for Ming-tsu, Smiling Mask gave up and stepped
back from the pedestal, breathing heavily, while he paused to consider how he
might yet accomplish his nefarious purpose.
He was interrupted in his scheming when the Scowler raised a hand to get
his alter ego's attention before stepping around the pedestal behind Ming-tsu
and slipping his hand between her naked thighs in order to use his hand as a
sponge to dab at the abundant moisture there.
Thus the clever man whose mask was contorted into a grimace of rage, used
the fear and pain-induced juices of Ming-tsu's feminine body to lubricate her
magnificent breasts, laving them liberally with a mixture of feminine
perspiration and slippery glandular secretions. When her dark-tipped amber-gold
breasts were slick with her own wetness, he gestured for Smiling Mask to
continue.
The Smiler bowed to him in gratitude. Then, his copper robes coruscating
in the torchlight, the Smiling Mask reached once again for the dreadful hinge,
and swung it over Ming-tsu's well-lubed lust-globes, and this time, with a
mighty effort, he was able to lock the two halves in place, thus encircling
Ming-tsu's gleaming love-goblets in the atrocious breast vise.
The dark-hooded Executioner came around from behind Ming-tsu to join his
masked colleagues and the fearful trio stood there admiring their evil handiwork
for several minutes.
Bound ankle and thigh to the pedestal, Ming-tsu could do nothing but stand
on her tiptoes and suffer for their pleasure. The bases of her breasts, so
cruelly constricted by the narrow, rough-edged wooden bands of the
breast-crusher, felt as if they might explode. Her crinkly brown areoles seemed
to swell in protest, and the pale blue veins of her breasts seemed to rush to
the surface of her flesh, as if begging to be released from the agony that
coursed through the nerve endings in her tortured globes. The Smiler had
succeeded in his depraved design -- he had transformed Ming-tsu's dark-crested,
sweat-slick pleasure-mounds into two bulging melons of pain-wracked tit-flesh.
The three ghoulish figures whispered to each other softly, the Scowler
occasionally pointing at Ming-tsu's swollen, ripe-nippled love-gourds. At first
Ming-tsu supposed that he did so to call some subtle nuance of her torture to
his colleagues attention. But she soon came to the gut-wrenching realization
that the threesome were not discussing what they had already done.
They were discussing what they were about to do.
Chapter 60 Caught in the Crusher
A few moments later, after silently nodding to each other as if to seal
their agreement, the parley ended. The slender, silver-garbed torturer and his
copper-clad colleague each took a pair of tiny, tight-gripping tweezers from the
nearby table. The two Masks held the little tools so that they glimmered
briefly in the eerie torchlight, before lowering them to the level of Ming-tsu's
delectable nipple-buds.
At first the unholy twosome were content merely to seize her breast-tips
gently but firmly with the miniature tongs, tugging and twisting her buds until
they were nicely engorged and jutting out superbly from her viciously- vised
breasts. Ming-tsu cursed the lusty responsiveness of her body, a responsiveness
which had brought her so much pleasure in the past, but which had brought her
only humiliation and pain tonight. The opposing life-forces of yin and yang had
turned on her.
Soon the Masks had succeeded in their nipple-teasing stimulation, and
Ming-tsu's love-nuggets surged provocatively outward from the honeyed globes
that were themselves thrust shamelessly forward by the inexorable bands of the
breast-crusher. At that point the gruesome Executioner lumbered heavily over to
the dungeon wall and selected a nasty-looking six-tailed leather whip from the
plethora of instruments of flagellation that hung there. Then, while his wicked
partners continued to toy with Ming-tsu's sensitive nipples, the hairy, hooded
hangman presented the evil whip to the moist lips of the tip-toed beauty, so
that she might properly abase herself before the whip which would shortly master
her.
When Ming-tsu turned her face away from the appalling instrument in
revulsion, the Scowler frowned and set the relatively gentle pair of tweezers
aside and chose instead a crueler pair of pincers, larger and longer and with
sharp-ridged gripping ends. The angry-masked villain, his dark eyes bright with
intensity, moved the jaws of the pincers to one of Ming-tsu's swollen breast
buds, closing the two arms gently around the base of her mahogany-hued nipple.
The Smiler looked on intently, his mask frozen in a grotesque grin as the
Scowler slowly tightened the tiny jaws on the engorged pellet of flesh until
Ming-tsu, desperate to escape the dreadful pain of the pincers, lowered her
moist, submissive mouth to the Executioner's lash.
But the hooded malefactor was not content that Ming-tsu should escape
humiliation with such a brief touch of her sweet lips. One by one, the
Executioner drew the full length of each of the six thongs through Ming-tsu's
pouting mouth, forcing his beautiful prisoner to moisten every inch of each
strand of leather with degrading slavishness. Each time she paused, however
briefly, the cruel jaws of the Scowler's pincers closed tighter on a corky
nipple-bud.
When he was fully satisfied with her debasement, the bare-chested
Executioner took a position slightly behind her and to her left. In the long
mirror that lined one wall of the dungeon Ming-tsu watched the hooded figure
lift the vicious, black-handled whip high in the air before sweeping it down
violently toward her rounded buttocks.
CRACCKKK!! "MPPHGGGHH!!" Ming-tsu's cry of pain, like each of the many
that would follow, was smothered by her gag. The violent force of the blow
nearly knocked her off her tiptoes, but when she felt the wooden bands of the
Crusher grip her imprisoned breasts even tighter, she quickly rose up on her
toes again to ease the terrible pressure.
SMAAACCKK!! "NGGNNMGHH!!" The six thongs struck again, searing her supple
thighs with their fiery kiss. The Executioner seemed to focus all of his
considerable strength in his powerful right arm before launching the whip on its
cruel downward path. Neither Li Chang's whip, nor his strength, nor his ferocity
on The Night of the Forty Lashes, could come close to matching that of the brute
who flogged her now.
SWACCKKK!! "MPPHHH!!" A lightning bolt across her hips this time, further
pinkening Ming-tsu's golden buttock-flesh.
It was at this point that the Scowler in the silver robe stepped forward
again with his dreadful pincers, tugging and torquing Ming-tsu's agonized
lust-nuggets. While the black-hooded ruffian flogged her delicious bottom, the
silver-robed sadist trapped the tips of her nipples between the jaws of his
vicious tool, and twisted and wrenched the buds of her protruding, pain-wracked
breasts until Ming-tsu thought he would tear them from her body.
WHHACKK!!! "UNNNGHHH!!!" The man with the pincers tightened his grip at
the precise moment that the hangman's lash raked her ripe bottom summits.
CRACCKKK!!!! "AUNNGHHFF!!" The flogger struck again, raking her rounded
buttocks with the evil thongs, leaving six fresh striations across her gleaming
nether cheeks. Even in her pain Ming-tsu could feel a streamlet of perspiration
trickling down the canyon that bisected the rounded slopes of her buttocks.
Ming-tsu's tight-fitting gag stifled her screams, but it could not begin to
contain the copious streams of saliva that issued from her mouth in response to
the torment of the breast-crusher. Thin trickles of drool cascaded downward
continually, re-anointing her breasts with a slippery slickness and wetness that
seemed to inspire her abductors to further cruelties.
The Masks tortured her tempting breasts silently, giving her no reason and
affording her no recourse. While her profusely perspiring lust-gourds remained
trapped in the excruciating bondage of the Crusher, the Scowler worked on her
stiff-thrusting nipples, and the copper-robed Smiler selected yet another
implement. This time the grotesquely-grinning demon chose a large pair of iron
tongs whose spiked jaws opened just wide enough to enclose one of Ming-tsu's
bulging love-melons.
CRACCKKK!! "MMFFFGHH!!" The Smiler watched with scarcely disguised
delight as Ming-tsu's nude body shimmied deliciously in the Burmese torture-vise
as the Executioner delivered another savage lash to her nether-cheeks. The
leather thongs shredded the rich curves of her bottom like the claws of an angry
dragon.
As the Smiler moved the horrid tongs closer to her right breast, Ming-tsu
felt the six tongues of the whip between her wide-spread legs, the leather
strands playing caressingly over the prominent lips of her sex. 'Please,' she
adjured what ever forces governed the universe, 'not there'.
THWACKK!! But the gods of cruelty whom she had served so well, disdained
her entreaty. The Executioner had deftly swept the cruel thongs upward to
attack the innermost petals of her flower of lust. Her love-nook was instantly
afire with pain. "MMMMMNNNPHHHHF!!!!" she screamed uselessly, soundlessly.
But once again her cry was drowned in the crimson silk.
WHHACCKK !!! "UHRRRGHHH!" The Executioner's fiery lash ripped into her
bottom-flesh again, leaving lurid marks on either side of her deep
buttock-cleft.
Then the trinity of evil began to combine their efforts. While the Scowler
attacked Ming-tsu's left nipple with his evil pincers, the Smiler positioned the
terrible tongs around Ming-tsu's swollen and succulent right breast before
tightening the twin arms of the tool with inexorable and inescapable
ruthlessness. As the cold metal dug into the tender roundness of her breast,
Ming-tsu shuddered in pain. Pain which soon became unendurable agony when the
leering-masked torturer twisted her imprisoned breast in one direction and then
wrenched it back in the other. All the while Scowling Mask continued to attack
the mahogany-tipped nugget of her other breast. Seizing her throbbing love-bud
tightly between the dreadful pair of pincers, he proceeded to savage it with
painstaking and pain-giving thoroughness.
WHAACCKK!! "UMMPPPHHFFF!!!" The cruel thongs whip- flogged Ming-tsu's
perfect bottom-cheeks yet again.
And so Ming-tsu's nightmarish-ordeal continued, the Executioner lashing her
buttocks and thighs with barbaric savagery, while the two Masks slowly worked
their way through their awful arsenal of pincers and tongs. Each of their
dreadful tools seemed to be drawn to her captive breasts and their dark-tipped
nipple-crests as if there had been powerul magnets encased within her lush,
sweat-sheened love melons.
Yet even this dreadful triple-torture did not quench the blood lust that
seemed to possess Ming-tsu's mysterious captors.
It was only when the Masks had pinched and plucked every inch of her
swollen globes that they summoned their whip-wielding companion to join them
facing Ming-tsu. The grim-lipped executioner stood silently for a moment,
enjoying the sight of the Chinese beauty's red-tinged love-mounds, and the
impressions the various pincers and pliers had left on her golden treasures.
Through the hole in his mask Ming-tsu could see the Executioner's lips curl
into a grisly rictus of lust. The hooded sadist stepped to her left and
extended his dreadful whip at arm's length, so that the six red-tinged thongs
lay against the edge of the breast-crusher, curling across Ming-tsu's thrusting
woman-globes.
"NFGGMMPPHHHH!!!!" "NNMMMMFFGGGHHH!!!" she screamed into the muffling
crimson gag. If the ferocious whip had drawn blood from her well-padded bottom,
what havoc would it wreak on the delicate flesh of her naked breasts?
Ming-tsu suddenly realized that the Smiler had disappeared out of sight. A
moment later she felt her silky hair being pulled back roughly by his unseen
hand.
Now that her face was safely out of the way, the Executioner looked up at
Scowling Mask, who nodded silently. Then the gruesome hooded figure lifted the
evil whip high into the dark shadows of the dungeon before sweeping it downward
with shattering force across both of Ming-tsu's proud breasts.
THWAPPCK!!!! "MMMNHHGGPHHHHFF!!
Ming-tsu nearly swooned from the pain. Each of the six tongues of the
ferocious lash had blazed its own fiery trail across the luscious curves of her
imprisoned mounds.
Smiling Mask seemed pleased with the way Ming-tsu's upper body, nearly
immobilized by the Crusher and the thigh-constricting leg-ropes, spasmed in
mute, motionless agony. Then the Scowler, who had been stroking his chin,
pulled his hand away from his face and made a short chopping motion.
The Executioner grunted and strode heavily around to Ming-tsu's right and
once again laid the tails of his horrid whip across his captive's sumptuous
breast-fruits. He slowly dragged the vicious thongs back and forth across her
swollen tits, while the Smiler grabbed her hair and pulled her head back again,
preparing her for the next blow.
It wasn't long in coming. With her head pulled back, Ming-tsu could see
the whip soar upward into the shadows, and then, a split-second later, heard the
terrifying whistle of the leather flashing downward through the heavy air of the
dungeon.
She felt the ripping pain of the whip on her tender pain-globes a
milli-second before she heard the dreadful THWACKKK!!! the whip made when it
found the lush upper slopes of her breasts.
"MMMMMMPPHHHHHFGGGGHHH!!" The searing pain drew yet another stifled scream
from the almond-eyed goddess.
The Smiler released her hair, and her head fell forward. She caught the
eye of The Scowler, who returned the questioning glance of the Executioner
before raising his index finger.
One more.
The Executioner changed his position slightly; he no longer stood at right
angles to Ming-tsu, but instead about a yard in front of her and slightly to her
right. Through the gruesome hood she saw the Executioner's eyes boring into
the dark-mocha nipple-buds which were still inflamed from their losing battle
with the Scowler's pincers.
Ming-tsu desperatly shook her glistening, sweat-soaked head back and forth,
'No' but she might as well have saved her strength.
For the muscular black-hooded monster had selected his targets and there
would be no mercy, no escape.
The executioner lifted the whip to Ming-tsu's quivering brown bull's-eyes,
and rubbed the tip of the whip-stock against her bitable lust-nipples for a
moment or two, as if he were an officer making sure that the two men under his
command were standing at attention.
Then, satisfied that the dark-haired beauty's breast-buds had been teased
to an exquisite tautness, the grim-visaged Executioner drew the six leather
thongs back in a horizontal plane until his powerful arm was fully extended,
pausing for the briefest of instants at the height of his backswing as if to
re-calibrate his aim. Then his brutish arm shot forward, gathering speed as he
swung, so that the lacerating leather strips whipped into the ripe summits of
Ming-tsu's rosy-gold breasts with incredible force.
THWAPPPCKK!!! "MPPHFGGGHHHH!!"
The blow landed with such impact that it drove Ming-tsu's constricted
melons back against the encircling bands of the breast-crusher. It seemed to
Ming-tsu as if her crinkly areolae and her dark, puffy nipples had been shredded
by shards of shrapnel.
The Scowler solemnly nodded his head in approval, and the Executioner
inclined his head briefly in that direction, as if to express gratitude to the
Scowler for the opportunity to punish such a firm and succulent pair of breasts.
And still the fury of the Demon Masks had not been satisfied...
When she had seen the breast vise in the dungeon that afternoon, Ming-tsu
had been puzzled by a small container filled with gleaming metallic objects
which had been mounted on the side of the pedestal to which, in her dream, she
had eventually been so forcibly lashed. But as the Masks once again set to work
with their dreadful tools, she noticed the tiny circular openings, spaced half
an inch apart, in the wooden arcs that imprisoned her bulging love-mounds in
their terrible embrace.
In her dream she quickly solved the mystery of the metallic objects; the
slender shining lengths of metal were long, golden needles and slender, silvery,
breast-gouging screws which could be inserted in the numerous slits that lined
the breast vise. Needles and screws that could be driven with slow-stabbing
viciousness into a young woman's en-vised breasts to satisfy the depravity of
her sinister assailants.
As if reading her mind, the thin-lipped Scowler transferred the
nipple-gripping pincers to his left hand, which he then deftly closed over the
inflamed love bud of Ming-tsu's right breast. The pincer-wielder gradually
tightened his grip on the nipple-pincher even as he took one of the long golden
needles in his right hand. Then, holding the razor-sharp needle by a cap-like
protuberance at its thicker end, the Scowler guided it toward a needle-slit in
the vise that offered access to the soft underside of her left breast.
His thin-slitted eyes blazing with malice, Scowling Mask slowly pressed the
gleaming-sharp needle upward and inward, through the needle-slit, until it
pierced the tautly-stretched honey-gold skin of Ming-tsu's tender under-breast.
The beautiful concubine jerked violently and screamed soundlessly into her
gag when the needle first punctured her flesh. The silver-robed phantom's lips
had smiled within the scowl at this reaction; then, tightening his grip on the
needle cap, and with carefully calibrated slowness, he gradually forced the
excruciating needle deeper into Ming-tsu's quivering breastflesh, millimeter by
malevolent millimeter.
Once the Scowler's needle was embedded to the hilt in Ming-tsu's juicy
breast, the Smiler stepped forward, his visage twisted into a sadistic smirk.
Smiling Mask took a second golden needle and, with infinite slowness, drove the
slender barb downward into the same luscious lust-globe. The Masks exchanged
glances of mutual satisfaction as their beautiful victim's torso shivered and
shook uncontrollably in response to the appalling paroxysms of pain that coursed
through her body. Each of the masked predators then plunged a second golden
needle into Ming-tsu's other proudly-pointing lust-melon, before gesturing to
their henchman that he might take his turn.
The hooded hangman, sweaty and breathing heavily from the ferocious
flogging he had administered, picked up one of the long golden needles,
examining its length and sharpness in the flickering torchlight for a long
moment, before setting it down, and choosing one of the razor-sharp, silver
needle-screws instead. The grisly Executioner inserted the long, slender screw
into a needle slit on one of the wooden bands of the breast vise, and then
slowly set about screwing the fiendishly sharp barb downward into the rounded
upper slope of Ming-tsu's right breast. As soon as he pierced the deliciously
tawny skin and the first trickle of claret begin to spew from her tightly
constricted breast, the burly Executioner grunted with sadistic lust and ripped
off his dark hood, revealing the pale, bloodless face and bandaged throat of
Feng the Butcher.
The horrified Ming-tsu silently screamed her lungs out into her scarlet
gag, while the Phantom-Feng tore at the bandages on his throat, allowing the
blood from his slashed artery to spout forth through his gaping wound in great
crimson spurts, drenching Ming-tsu's nude, whip-streaked breasts and torso in a
crimson tide of blood. Then, while the silver-robed Scowler and the lecherous
Smiler silently nodded their approval, the burly executioner, sporting a
sadistic leer on his face and the ghastly gash on his throat, gave the
sharp-tipped needle-screw yet another violent twist as Ming-tsu's upper body
convulsed in unimaginable agony.
The Butcher was just about to drill the vicious screw even deeper into
Ming-tsu's blood-drenched breast, when three wraithlike figures suddenly emerged
from the murky shadows of the dungeon. Upon seeing them, the Masks seemed
petrified with fright, as frozen in place as the grotesque gargoyles of some
ghostly cathedral. They stood mesmerized with fear as the three silent
apparitions, their faces sea-green, their hair wet and tangled, their bodies
dripping and draped with seaweed, approached.
As they drew nearer, Ming-tsu recognized through her tears of torment that
two of the figures were the unearthly shades of Wen-chi and Li Chang. The
drowned specters silently approached the frozen figures of the Scowler and the
Smiler and unmasked them, revealing the horror-stricken faces of the Brothers
Chan. Then the two disembodied phantoms slowly led the two benumbed torturers
away to whatever divine retribution awaited them in the infernal regions.
Meanwhile the third shade, smaller, slighter, its face obscured by clinging
clumps of seaweed, strode forward fearlessly and stayed the hand of the dreadful
Dungeon-master who was just about to give Ming-tsu's breast crew a final, fatal
turn. The pallid figure drew the protesting tormentor away from his tortured
victim and led him slowly away into the darkest shadows of the dungeon -- or
perhaps toward his own dark corner in the depths of hell. Just before the two
figures vanished completely into the shadows, the frail, fragile phantom turned
back and strands of seaweed fell away from the greenish but still beautiful face
of Liu.
When the cords of kelp drifted to the dungeon floor, the long strands
split apart, sending a succession of white-gleaming pearls rolling across the
dark dungeon floor toward Ming-tsu's bare feet. A moment later the the faces
and bodies of Liu and Feng the Butcher melted away into the darkness, leaving
nothing of the Executioner behind save for the blood on Ming-tsu's breasts.
Ming-tsu breathed a great sigh of relief now that her three tormentors had
been spirited away. Her terrible ordeal at last was over.
It was a moment or two before she realized that the two torches which
provided the only light in the dungeon were waning quickly and would die out
altogether within minutes.
Leaving her trapped in the ghastly grip of the breast-crusher in the
Stygian underworld of the Black Pagoda.
Bound and gagged and utterly alone.
Alone, that is, except for the myriad of many-legged creatures which she
had seen earlier in the day crawling on the blood-stained wooden X's and Y's and
T's that stood against the nearby dungeon wall.
Creatures which would soon be drawn to the smell of fresh blood...
********
At that point Ming-tsu had awakened from her dreadful nightmare, drenched
with the clammy sweat of terror, to hear herself shrieking at the phantoms to
return and remove the fiendish screw they had left embedded in her breast. As
she returned to full wakefulness Ming-tsu continued to brush her hands over her
heaving breasts, as if to wipe away the blood which had seemed so wet, so red,
so real in her horrifying nightmare.
Such had been the stuff of Ming-tsu's dreams since the Night of the Tiger.
So fearful had they been that Ming-tsu, who was not an unduly introspective
person by nature, had nervously asked herself whether her macabre fancies were
the product of fear or guilt. Fear certainly, to some extent. But what of
guilt? It was an emotion foreign to her very nature. When she had summoned Liu
and Wen-chi to the depths of the Black Pagoda, ambition had been her single
purpose. And throughout that long terrible night she had stayed the firm course
of cruelty.
But now, with her dark dreams had come misgivings.
Had not Li Chang, that inveterate story-teller, once recounted to her the
story of a noble lord in a faraway land who had been visited by strange specters
from another world, specters who had prophesied that the noble lord would one
day be king? How that brave warrior, stoked by the fires of ambition and the
coaxing of a wife even more desirous of power than he, had lured the true king
to his castle and murdered him there, and proceeded to seize the throne?
The ambitious lord's lust for power was now satisfied. But the tale was
not yet done. To protect his usurped throne, the newly crowned king had then
piled murder upon murder, with each additional crime further blackening his soul
and luring him ever closer to the madness which soon overtook his guilt-ridden
queen. A near-madness which wrenched from him irrevocably the gift of sleep,
the beneficent sleep which eases the mind and soothes the soul. Of all the
hundreds of lines Li Chang had quoted to Ming-tsu on that long-ago night, there
was one which, with a slight change, had, within the last forty-eight hours
etched its way indelibly into the very fiber of her consciousness:
"Sleep no more! Macbeth doth murder sleep."
But it was her own name that had now usurped the Scottish king's, and taken
his place in the fearful sentence, the death sentence, that had repeated
itself, like a death knell, in her mind's ear, each night since the death of
Liu.
"Sleep no more! Ming-tsu doth murder sleep."
And so, indeed, it had come to pass. For merciful Sleep, when it came at
all to the ruthless young concubine, came accompanied by her frightful sisters
-- Nightmare and Hallucination.
Chapter 61 The Disobedient Concubine
Even now, as she lay in her steaming bath in the clear and blessed light of
morning, Ming-tsu's recurring nocturnal horrors had not entirely receded. As
she considered her predicament concerning the missing earrings and necklace,
Ming-tsu subconsciously splashed more water on her breasts, as if it were needed
to wash away any traces of blood that still lingered there from her ghastly
dreams.
She had been stalling Mai-Lee, with whom she was on as friendly terms as
possible for two women possessed of such remarkable beauty and selfishness. But
at their last meeting the beautiful Eurasian favorite of Richard Chan had made
it abundantly clear that she was upset that her elegant robe, which Ming-tsu had
borrowed for Liu to wear, had been ruined by Feng's arterial outpouring.
But Mai-Lee's impatience was the least of Ming-tsu's concerns.
The Chans themselves were restless, as well they might be, given the
costliness of the missing pair of diamond earrings and the pearl necklace. Had
not George Chan himself called on her only the night before, demanding their
immediate return?
********
The younger of the Chan brothers had come to Ming-tsu's home unbidden on
the prior evening to inquire about the whereabouts of the jewelry. Although his
face wore, as always, its familiar frozen smile, George had been in a foul mood,
in part because his visit had torn him away from his brother's most stimulating
interrogation of the young and lovely wife of Luk Yee. Neither was George's
mood improved by the fact that he had wagered and lost a very expensive bottle
of wine in the process. But most of all, he was in an evil temper because Mai
Lee's necklace and earrings remained unfound and unaccounted for.
When he had rapped determinedly on her door, Ming-tsu had at first
pretended not to be at home, while she frantically tried to think of a way to
forestall his inquiry. But when he refused to leave her threshold, she became
increasingly apprehensive that he knew that she was at home -- was he having her
watched, she wondered nervously? -- and finally she decided that she had little
choice but to admit him.
Ming-tsu hastily donned intimate apparel that she knew would please him and
then she started for the door. She was about to undo the latch when a sudden
wave of panic passed over her -- she had forgotten the ben wa balls! George
Chan had insisted, ever since the early days of their tumultuous relationship,
that she carry them inside herself whenever she was with him. In her anxiety
over the necklace and the earrings she had forgotten to insert them, but she had
not forgotten -- and never would forget -- George Chan's reaction the only time,
nearly two years earlier, that she had come to him without the two pairs of
metals balls embedded deep in her pelvic channels....
********
Her first visit to George's summer house outside of the city, had occurred
some two years previously. The younger Chan had dismissed his servants for the
evening so that the ganglord might enjoy his dalliance with his tempting new
plaything without fear of being disturbed.
After admitting his scarlet-clad concubine, George Chan had leisurely
poured himself a glass of sherry. Months later she had learned that George had
developed a taste for sherry while at Oxford, and that upon his return to
Shanghai had made arrangements for his agents in the Portuguese enclave of Macao
far to the south, to send him a few cases of the sweet Iberian wine each year.
Later she had wondered if Mai-Lee's father, who had been a Portuguese sailor,
might possibly have taken part in unloading the wine destined for his daughter's
lover's brother's table. Ming-tsu was a girl from a humbly family and little
formal education; but since she had set foot in the world of George Chan she had
made it her business to be curious about everything, in an attempt to keep up
with the wide-ranging interests of the Chans. It had been that curiosity, in
addition to her beauty and sensuality, coupled with an agile mind, that had
cemented her bond with Li Chang.
His smile having grown wider after taking a sip of the robust after-dinner
wine, George had ensconced his stocky maroon-robed body comfortably in an
armchair upholstered in a brilliant blue damask. She had posed for him, just
out of arms' reach, her dark eyes smoldering, her kissable lips curled into a
pout. It was a pose that she deemed to be at once seductive and yet submissive.
She slowly lifted her arms and ran her slender, scarlet-tipped fingers through
her glorious mane of long black hair. It was a motion that she had practiced
before a mirror a hundred times, one that she knew lifted her silk-encased
breasts into bolder prominence.
George's eyes had sparked with lust when he beckoned her closer. Until a
fortnight ago, when he had chanced upon her in a teahouse, she had been only one
of thousands of poor shop-girls in Shanghai. But George Chan had taken note of
the promise of pleasure in her dark eyes, the sensuous way her ripe young body
pressed against her too-tight dress, the feline grace which bespoke her every
movement. They had had a few brief but satisfying sexual encounters since, but
she knew that her future might well depend upon her performance on this, her
first visit to the palatial country home of the powerful gangster/aristocrat.
When she moved within reach, the younger Chan had slid his hands up the
slits in her crimson cheong-sam. She had worn red because she knew that George
liked the way that color brought added luster to her golden skin tones.
His knowing fingers had explored the smooth columns of her splendid thighs
skillfully, caressing, stroking, sqeezing her firm young woman-flesh, while she
had squirmed in pleasure and widened her stance slightly to afford him access to
even more sensitive regions. She had worn no undergarments, in keeping with his
wishes, and soon one of the ganglord's roving hands had slid up to fondle her
tingling pussy.
But as soon as he had thrust two questing fingers into her, his face
darkened.
"What is it, Master" she whispered, as she continued to move her pelvis in
slow, circular motions.
"The ben wa! I do not feel them." There was a hint of suppressed rage in
his voice.
"Forgive me, master. I was in a rush to dress for you after my bath, and I
neglected to insert them. Are you not pleased with my appearance?" she asked
teasingly, trying to change the subject.
George smiled at her darkly, the admiration in his eyes unmistakable.
"Very pleased, my luscious flower. Come with me."
She had preceded him down a richly decorated hallway, marveling at the
beautiful dark woodwork so typical of the homes of the Chinese upper classes,
rolling her hips in an ever-so-slightly exaggerated fashion, as if foretelling
rare and wondrous pleasures when they reached their destination.
But it had been her on whom special treatment was to be conferred on that
long ago evening. ...
George's bed-chamber was a large, somewhat garishly furnished room, which
had been designed and decorated with the sole purpose of stimulating his sexual
appetites. Erotic paintings and tapestries, much like those in his city home,
lined the walls. In the most striking of these, a Siamese beauty, her elaborate
dancing costume cast aside, knelt before the throne of a ruthless-looking Indian
maharajah. Wearing only the golden headress of a Thai temple dancer, the naked
girl's mouth was but an inch away from the swollen member of the be-turbaned
mogul. The dark amber skin of her lower back and sweetly-curved buttocks was
criss-crossed with lurid marks, cruel evidence of how staunchly the brave young
maiden had resisted, before ultimately succumbing to the cruel will of the
tyrant.
Against the wall opposite George Chan's luxurious western-style bed stood
an upright cupboard carved in the same eighteenth-century French style as the
magnificent desk which dominated the den in his home in the city. Ming-tsu
noticed that a tiny silver padlock held the two panels of the cupboard closed.
It was odd, she mused idly, that a man should choose to lock a cupboard in his
private bedroom.
Turning away from the ornate cupboard, Ming-tsu had let her eyes wander
among the rich fabrics and artifacts of the room while George made sure that the
phallus-shaped cream-colored candles in each corner of the room were lit. He
then proceeded to ignite one of the two elegant incense burners in the room;
almost immediately the room began to be flooded with a sweet aroma that
contained hints of clove, mint and other rich spices. Those mood-setting
preliminaries accomplished, George had sat on the edge of the large bed, and
leaned forward expectantly, his dark, slanted eyes caressing her body with a
candidly appreciative gaze.
As if responding to an unspoken command, she teasingly began to remove her
flame-red cheong-sam, unbuttoning it slowly and then slipping it off of her
shoulders, allowing her perfectly-shaped pleasure globes, capped by quivering
dark-bronze nipples, to burst free from their crimson confinement.
George's lips had parted with desire as she moved closer and offered her
breasts to him as if they were the most delectable of dim sum, the Chinese
dumplings often served as appetizers to a main course. She had let George bury
his face in the deep, soft valley between her orange-scented love-melons, while
she eased the tight-fitting cheong-sam down over the tantalizing curves of her
hips.
He had enjoyed the sensual banquet, suckling her ripe-nippled
love-dumplings with his mouth for some time, licking and tasting the delicious
curves of her young breasts with his greedy tongue until they were shiny with
his saliva. Then he had teased her tempting nipples with his lips and tongue
and teeth, until they stabbed the air in excited erection.
She had felt his hands on her bare shoulders then, a firm pressure that
indicated beyond any question that she was to fall to her knees. She did so
gracefully, while George reached over and removed a short round jar from a
nearby nightstand.
Then he sat upright on the bed again, his body language making it clear
that she was to undo his robe.
Her breathing had quickened as she parted the burgundy silk of his robe,
allowing George's cock to spring forth. It was much like the man himself -- not
overly long, but thick and solid and eager for the pleasures of debauchery.
"Mmmmm, Master," she had mewed while licking her lips and cupping his
semen-laden testicles in a soft hand. It is so thick and hard..."
She had reached for his swollen pleasure-shaft with her other hand, but he
had forestalled her. "No," he had whispered, "use this."
He had opened the jar then, revealing a dark, rather bitter-smelling
liquid.
She had given his virile testicles a gentle squeeze and then used her free
hand to reach for the jar.
'No," he stopped her again. "Put it on with your tongue," and his left
hand curled around behind her neck in order to pull her face downward toward the
jar.
"Have I told you that my brother Richard numbers botany among his
interests? This jar contains a remarkable compound, Ming-tsu. Oil of ginseng
root, mixed with a sap-juice distilled from the bark of a tree that grows only
in the rain forests overlooking the Straits of Malacca. As you shall see, the
mixture of the two can double or triple a man's potency and stamina."
Ming-tsu gingerly dipped her tongue into the viscous, bark-colored liquid.
She could vouch for the fact that George Chan's sexual desire and stamina were
in little need of enhancement by aphrodisiacs. But she obediently scooped a dab
of the syrupy love-oil onto the tip of her tongue and then applied it to
George's cock. She started at the base of his cockshaft and then slowly dragged
her pink tongue-tip up his fleshy knob, tongue-painting his man-weapon with the
dark liquid, while he closed his eyes and shivered with sensual pleasure.
It had taken her seven mouth-trips to the jar to fully englaze George's
throbbing member, but by the time she had finished coating George's man-cock
with the dark amber liquid, it seemed to have visibly increased in both length
and girth. While she tongued him, she had continued to gently fondle his
prune-sized testicles with one hand and her own moist pleasure-pit with the
other.
She had been quite beside herself with pleasure when George pulled his
dressing gown together, and pulled the covers off the bed so that he could lay
her warm, naked body on the stark white linen. He had slid a probing finger
into the hairy nest between her lush thighs again, further heightening her
excitement.
Then he had pulled away and said, "It would please me, Ming-tsu, if you
were to pleasure yourself. No, my little flower," he had added a moment later,
when she moved both hand southward. "With your left hand only."
Obediently she had slid the fingers of her left hand between her legs and
touched herself. She had closed her eyes, as she stroked her velvety slit,
paying special attention to her moist clitoris, abandoning herself shamelessly
to the pleasure of her own touch.
She had hardly noticed, or cared, when George had wrapped a red silken
scarf around her eyes, blindfolding her. Nor had she become unduly alarmed when
she felt a silken noose tighten around her right wrist, before being fastened to
the nearest bedpost. When her right wrist was safely secured, she heard her
master walk around the bed, no doubt enjoying the delicious sight of his
golden-skinned lover, her left hand sliding eagerly through her wispy black
nether-curls en route to her girl-cleft, while she writhed in passion on the
white sheets. Then she felt him encircle her left ankle with another silken
loop of fabric, and pinion it loosely to the post diagonally opposite the one to
which he had tied her right wrist.
In the preceding weeks she had gradually become aware that her new patron
had unusual tastes in love-making, so this gentle bondage, which allowed her a
fair amount of freedom of movement, was hardly remarkable. Then she heard his
voice, in measured tones that were husky with desire, tell her that it would
please him if she used her free left hand to caress her breasts.
She complied submissively, stroking her silky-soft breast-flesh and
tweaking her swollen nipples into even greater excitation, while she heard
George puttering around the room, opening and closing drawers. She thought she
heard the faint click of glass upon glass while she slid her
beautifully-manicured hand over the soft skin of her bold-nippled breasts.
She felt the mattress give under the weight of George's body as he returned
to the bed.
And then she felt it.
Between her legs.
Soft, wet, exquisite tonguestrokes on her aroused vulva. The sensation was
delicate and soothing at first, but then she felt the 'paint' left by George's
expert tongue-swipes begin to send incredibles waves of pleasurable excitement
through her love-nook. He was using his tongue to anoint her pleasure-organs
much as she had used hers to stimulate his dark-veined phallus.
She could feel George's breath hot between her trembling thighs. "Do you
like it, Ming-tsu?" George asked in a soft voice, "It is the oil of the coca
plant of South America. No," George continued, as she moved her left hand
toward the juncture of her churning thighs again. "Be patient, little one.
Please continue to caress your breasts. I will let you know when you may touch
yourself there."
She had lain there, moaning softly and oscillating with unrequited lust
while George slid his curled-up tongue between the soft lips of her labia, and
then stabbed it into her love channel itself, as he orally transmitted the
passion-oil to the intensively sensitive tissues of her vagina. Still stroking
the lust-stiffened pleasure buds of her perfect breasts, she felt his tongue
withdraw from her pussy. Then there had been a brief pause before she felt the
gentle touch of his newly-moistened tongue-muscle daubing her throbbing clitoris
with yet another dose of the tropical topical stimulant.
"Ummmmm, Master," she moaned. She had lain there in a rapturous sexual
paradise, the fingers of her free hand trapping, tweaking, squeezing her
distended nipples, while exquisite sensations such as she had never felt before
thrilled the very core of her feminine being. She reached yearningly to fondle
her hot, moist love-nest, which ached for the sweet release the touch of her
hand would bring, but again George forestalled her, whispering, "No, not yet.
Soon, my passion-flower."
She thought she would die of frustration if she could not satisfy the
aching longing in her aroused genitalia, but she did as her master bid,
contenting herself with caressing the soft curves of her breasts and the rigid
tips of her love-nipples.
As she did so, she felt the bed spring up slightly beneath her, indicating
that George had stood up. A few moments later, a fresh wave of incense began to
becloud her nostrils. But while the earlier scented haze had been one of
sweetness and spice, this new incense, from the second burner in the room, was
harsher, more acrid, almost sulphurous.
"Ah, much better," she heard George Chan mumble to himself, as he finished
tinkering with the second incense-burner. A moment later she heard the sound of
metal against metal. The sound, perhaps, of a key being turned in the silver
padlock on the cupboard door? Then there was the creaky sound of a door opening
on a poorly-lubricated hinge.
A moment later she felt something soft touch her woman-nook again. But not
a tongue, this time, although the touch remainded damp. She had felt her
clitoris swell with renewed passion at this second touch, which, she soon
sensed, was the touch of an artist's brush, a brush that applied the 'paint'
more liberally than George's tongue. As she squirmed with delight, she felt as
if the great medieval painter, Tung Yuan, were painting a miniature erotic
masterpiece on the beautiful pink canvas of her private parts. Within moments
the artist's brush had re-anointed her hyper-stimulated genitalia.
Only then did she hear George Chan softly whisper the words that her
sensually-charged body had been aching to hear. "Now, Ming-tsu. Now you may
caress yourself."
"Thank you, Master," she breathed throatily as her free left hand flew
between her legs to caress the sweet lips of her labia and the smooth walls of
her pleasure-nook, before coming to rest on her throbbing clitoral bud.
The soft, fondling touch of her hand on her pussy was paradise itself. For
perhaps five seconds. And then she realized that there was something wrong,
dreadfully wrong. A new sensation had replaced the delicious tingling between
her legs.
"Does the second coating not please you quite so much?" George's voice had
changed. It was still low, but now there was a mocking edge to it. "Since you
so carelessly forgot to insert the ben wa that I explicitly ordered you to wear
whenever you are with me, I felt it only proper that you should have a new
sensation to replace them. How do you like it?"
It had only been ten seconds since the brush had been lifted from her most
intimate flesh, but already Ming-tsu felt the embers of a conflagration
beginning to burn brighter between her soft, sensual legs.
"The second 'paint', Ming-tsu, is a mixture of the oil of Tien tsin chilis
-- you have seen their red pods in dishes prepared in the Szechuan style, have
you not? -- combined with the juice from a plant called urtica dioica -- the
English call it stinging nettle."
Ming-tsu was hardly listening to this informative dissertation. Her
botanical garden of desire was on fire. The fingers of her left hand clawed at
the raging flames between her legs, trying to dampen its heat.
"The burning sensation you feel comes from the chilis. Their oil is
hellishly hot, is it not? Particularly if the skin is broken. I hope that our
rather rough love-play the other night did not abrade your delicate tissues too
much?" he said with a faint sneer.
"Ooooouuuhhhhhhh." Her moans were soon as loud as her movements were
shameless. She remembered how George had ravished her two nights earlier,
seizing her legs and forcing them painfully back over her head and then, using
the leverage afforded by his dominant position, pounding his virile manhood
downward into her vulnerable body with a pleasurable but punishing ferocity that
had taken her quite by surprise. Her tender pussy was still sore from his
abusive love-making and the incendiary potions he had just brushed on her quim
had rekindled those flames. Her sensitive vagina felt like a caldera assailed
by seething lava.
She had strained at the silken bonds which imprisoned her wrist and ankle,
for George had provided enough slack to give her freedom to twist and turn on
the bed -- an effect, she mused ruefully in her blindfold, which had no doubt
been anticipated and permitted because it contributed to her masters voyeuristic
pleasure. She imagined, quite correctly, that he was standing above her,
stroking his thick, fleshy broadsword while taking pleasure from her lascivious
wrigglings.
Desperate to free herself, so that she could find a way to soothe the
dreadful burning, she turned sideways and tried to use her left hand to loosen
the silken cord which imprisoned her right wrist.
But she had no sooner touched the knot, when she heard a tell-tale
Whisssshhhh! Followed instantaneously by the resounding CRACCKKK!! that
accompanied a searing pain that coursed through her firm young buttocks.
"Aaaaaughhhh!!' she had cried out, but her strangled cry of agony was
interrupted by another
Whissssshhhh!! CRACKKK!!
"Eeaaaaghhhhh!!" Her bottom exploded in pain again, and she rolled over on
to her back again to protect it from her master's sudden wrath. Whatever it was
he had struck her with had no doubt come from the cupboard that she had heard
being unlocked.
"I do not think, Ming-tsu, that I gave you permission to undo your bonds?"
"Please ... I ... I ... am sorry, Master.
"As well you should be. I hope that my cane has disabused you of any such
notion?"
"Y-yes, Master. But it ... aaahhhhhh! ... it itches ... and burns!"
"Like the breath of three dragons, I am told. Excellent! For tonight we
are studying the properties of certain plants, are we not? The itching that
you feel," George continued, "comes from the juice of the nettles. Is it not
amazing how quickly its effect takes hold?"
There was no need to convince her; her fingers clawed frenziedly at her
burning pussy.
"Hmmm," George went on, a few seconds later, with a cruel edge to his
voice, "perhaps it was unwise to touch yourself, little one. By doing so, you
seem to have spread the oil, rather than removing it."
"Ooouuhhhhhhhhhh!" she had moaned, forgetting herself. "You bastard!"
Whisshhh!! THWUCCCKKK!! "AAIIAARGGHH!!"
"You forget yourself, my lovely concubine. Is that any way to speak to
your Master?"
The whippy cane had sliced her just above the proud centers of her nude
breasts, lacerating the upper edges of her soft brown areolae with a thin
lightning bolt of pain, and opening up a thin, red-edged gash that curled around
the outer slope of her left breast.
"It strikes me, Ming-tsu, that it is perhaps unwise for a woman to speak so
boldly to her master, when her breasts are so exposed to his retaliation. Is it
not so?"
"Y-y-yes Master ... I'm sorry ... please ... don't hit me there aga ..."
THWUCCKKK!! "AAIAAAEEEIAAHH!!"
He'd caught her flush on her aroused nipple-tips with the second
cane-stroke, sending her into fresh paroxysms of agony.
"It is I who will decide where you are struck, Ming-tsu, and how many times
you are struck. You would do well not to forget that."
Her nipples now aflame from her master's vicious cane-cuts, she had
squirmed feverishly atop the sheets, still desperately trying to soothe the
ghastly burning between her legs.
George Chan had waited until she had been utterly obsessed by the fire
between her churning thighs. It was at that precise moment, that she felt
George's brush, newly moistened, gently applying its diabolical venom to the
thin gash in her left breast that his withering cane stroke had just opened.
As soon as she felt the burning sensation on her breast, her free left hand
came up from its nest between her legs to slap frantically at his wrist, but the
only effect of her blow was to drive the brush against her other breast. George
seized upon that serendipitous moment to daub an inch-long chili-laced 'X', on
her right breast, with the two slanted lines intersecting precisely on the tip
of her aroused nipple.
As Ming-tsu writhed in redoubled misery, George spoke again. "My brother
tells me that it would take the bites of six dozen mosquitoes to equal the
effect of the juice of four nettle leaves. Would you not agree?"
"Y-y-yessssss! Oouuuhhhhhhhhh" Ming-tsu moaned as her honey-gold body
thrashed around wildly on the white sheets in a futile attempt to quench the
horrible burning. She rolled over on her stomach so that she could rub her
inflamed genitals and her burning breasts against the sheets, hoping to cleanse
them of the toxic unguents. Unfortunately, by doing so, she transferred only a
small portion of the oil to the bed-clothes, which did little to assuage her
suffering. Then, when she rolled over again, her back and buttocks came into
contact with the oil that had been transferred to the sheets, further
compounding her plight.
George Chan had let her splendid young body writhe in misery on the white
sheets for what seemed like hours but which in actuality had only been the
longest thirty minutes of her life, until the potency of the chili/nettle potion
had begun to wane. Then he had tied her free wrist to the the other bedpost and
thrown a heavy cotton quilt over her naked body, so that he would not come in
contact with the burning oils. She heard him slip out of his wine-dark robe,
and climb back up on top of the quilt, before straddling her body and inching
forward until she felt his knees on her shoulders and his swollen testicles
dangling above her lips.
He had removed the blindfold then, so that he might enjoy the look in her
eyes while he forced her to worship his lust-sodden, hair-covered balls with her
moist lips and tongue for long minutes, even as his own thick fingers slid back
and forth along his drug-darkened cock. At one point, when her energy flagged,
he had threatened to tint her sensitive anus with the carmine juice of the dark
red chilis if her efforts did not improve. The thought of such an excruciating
fate quickly rekindled her eagerness to properly stimulate his hairy ball-sac
with her warm mouth.
When he could bear this delicious oral foreplay no longer, George edged
backward slightly on her chest and then slid his thick, manly penis between her
soft lips, forcing her to tease its bitter-tasting tip with her pink tongue.
Despite the torment of the burning oils, she had learned much about pleasing a
man with her mouth that night. How to use her tongue to caress the very tip of
his cockhead, how to swirl his manhood around in her mouth, so that his swollen
phallus could feel the gentle pressure of the top of her mouth, the pleasant
touch of her suction-flattened cheeks and the warm, fleshy canyon of her throat
in turn. She learned to relax her throat so that her master could thrust his
manly organ so deeply into her oral cavern that his heavy balls smacked against
her pretty chin.
Seizing opportunity from calamity, she had studied George's expression as
she pleasured him, learning which oral caresses, in which sequences pleased him
most. As the night wore on the second son of the House of Chan had rewarded her
fellatious efforts with a week's worth of incredibly powerful orgasms, pumping
globule after juicy globule of Scorpion-nectar down her sweet throat in an
awesome barrage of ejaculation. By the end of the long, pain-filled, but
ultimately rewarding evening, her erotic artistry had so enslaved George's
passions that her eventual rise to the status of his number one concubine had
become a near certainty.
Chapter 62 Stern Warning: A Visit From George Chan
It was the memory of that harrowing but ultimately momentous evening that
caused Ming-tsu to remove her hand from the door-latch and rush back to her
bed-chamber to find and insert the ben wa balls, whose omission had once nearly
cost her dearly.
Trembling with nervousness, Ming-tsu came back to admit George Chan a few
moments later, mumbling the flimsy excuse that she had been lying down. She had
come to the door in an emerald green dressing gown belted at the waist, but
after unlatching the door she had fallen to her knees submissively on the floor,
in a posture that she knew pleased him.
When George Chan pushed the door ajar, he found Ming-tsu kneeling on her
haunches before him, her robe open at the bodice, revealing a brief, low-cut,
pale green chemise. The dark green negligee, cut in the French style of which
he was so fond, had also fallen away from her bare thighs, leaving them gold
and gleaming in the soft light that radiated outward from the caramel-colored
candles in each corner of the room.
The chemise had been one of George Chan's first gifts to her, and by
putting it on and wearing it -- for however briefly -- she hoped to distract him
from the subject of the missing jewels. George's tongue snaked out of his mouth
to moisten his smiling lips when he caught sight of the revealing garment. The
frothy chemise was the color of a tranquil sea and as substantial as the first
spider web of spring, its near transparency drawing attention to the curves and
hollows of Ming-tsu's exquisite body rather than concealing them.
For a long moment the younger Chan let his almond-slitted eyes feast on the
luscious, dark-crested, honey-gold mounds that jutted so provocatively against
the diaphanous wisp of silk. From there his gaze swept downward, to where the
dark green robe gathered at his beautiful concubine's trim waist and rounded
hips, and then down over the long, sensuous legs which peeked out from the
gaping dressing gown.
"How may I please you, Master," Ming-tsu whispered breathlessly.
But despite the salacious leer that had taken possession of George Chan's
face, his eyes were not smiling. They were as hard and as cold as the frozen
heights of Kang Rimpoche, the fabled Mountain of Precious Snow in Tibet. In the
dim candlelight the pupils of his oval eyes seemed to dilate with a serpentine
menace.
Despite Ming-tsu's submissive welcoming gesture, George had refused even to
take a seat. "Ming-tsu," he had said, "I do not know what kind of game you
think you are playing with the jewels of my brother's concubine. But if you
believe that you can take advantage of my fondness for you by appropriating the
property of the House of Chan you are mistaken." The way the barrel-chested
ganglord in the European-cut business suit hissed the word 'fondness' stripped
the word of every vestige of its customary meaning. "Very much mistaken."
Frightened by his tone, she looked up at him, and whether by some strange
play of light and shadow or whether by dint of her over-active imagination, for
a moment his smiling, iron-jawed face seemed to have been transformed into the
fearful visage of the Smiling Mask who had tortured her in her dreams the night
before.
Chan reached down and grabbed a handful of Ming-tsu's raven hair with his
left hand and pulled her to her bare feet as she winced with pain at his
roughness.
"I have been very patient with you on this matter," George continued, "and
I have urged my brother to do likewise. But his patience -- and mine -- is
nearly exhausted."
When Ming-tsu tried to stammer a response, Georg interrupted her. "Do you
have the pearls to give me now?"
"No, but..."
George Chan struck Ming-tsu sharply across the face with an open hand,
stunning her and sending her sprawling to the floor on her side, her long legs
protruding nakedly from her open robe. The dark-eyed beauty lay there, her
opulent breasts heaving from the shock of the blow, before lifting a dainty hand
to the corner of her sensuous mouth and wiping away a thin trickle of blood.
"I don't want 'but's', woman, I want the pearls. Get up!"
Seeing the raw hostility in the cold eyes behind the deceptive smile on
George Chan's face, Ming-tsu hesitated for a moment. The fallen concubine looked
up at her lover fearfully as he towered over her prostrate form. Behind him the
candles contrived to cast his dark shadow against the far wall, ominous and
predatory. Ming-tsu clambered to her knees, and gave George her most seductive
smile, a smile that promised untold carnal pleasures. "Master," she purred ...
George drove his leather shoe into the soft flesh of her flank as she
winced in pain. " 'Get up', I said."
Nervously eyeing George's tight-clenched fists, Ming-tsu rose to her feet.
Throwing caution to the winds she met George's frosty glare and slowly slipped
the dark green dressing gown off her rounded shoulders and let it drift into a
silken pool at her feet. She stood there, clad only in the low-cut chemise,
never taking her eyes from George Chan's face. But his eyes were elsewhere --
drawn irresistibly to the brazen breasts that pressed so shamelessly against the
fishnet gauze, and the delicious nipples that so audaciously dented the sheer
fabric.
The younger son of Jiang Shao Chan ran his eyes over the lush curves of
Ming-tsu's body with the licentious arrogance one would expect from the prince
of a criminal dynasty. Then he moved closer to her, so close that she could
feel his breath warm on her face. "If the jewels are not back in the Black
Pagoda in twelve hours," George whispered as he slid his right hand inside the
pale green bodice of Ming-tsu's low-cut chemise and cupped her left breast, "I
will no longer be able to protect you from my brother's wrath."
At first George's hand felt strong and manly on Ming-tsu's flesh. In the
belief that her charms were having their customary effect, Ming-tsu responded
passionately to the feel of his skillful fingers on her soft, sensuous breast,
throwing back her head and gasping with pleasure. The younger Chan lowered his
face to hers and crushed his lips down on her warm, inviting mouth, tasting the
blood on her lip. Ming-tsu explored his tongue with her own as she felt her
sensitive nipple swell under his virile touch.
But as the pressure of his lips on hers increased, so did his grip on her
thrusting goblet of flesh. Within moments George Chan's hand had closed on
Ming-tsu's breast with crushing force, bringing tears to her eyes and a soft
moan of pain to her lips.
George Chan pulled his mouth away from hers but did not let up on the
pressure. Ming-tsu was still moaning when he continued, "You of all people,
Ming-tsu, should know how ill-advised it would be to try to ... exploit my
affection for you," he said through clenched teeth as he tightened his steely
grip on Ming-tsu's throbbing love globe, and pushed her two steps backward until
the back of her head bumped heavily against a wall. Seeing the burgeoning panic
in Ming-tsu's eyes, he added in a harsh whisper, "And please do not be so
foolish as to try and run away. I have a man watching the house. If you make
an attempt to flee, you will be followed. And caught. And brought to me."
Holding her slender throat with his left hand, the barrel-chested ganglord
removed his rapacious right hand from her bodice. He leaned over to a nearby
table and picked up a gilded Persian letter opener which Ming-tsu had used only
minutes before his arrival. He held the pointed object before her face, letting
the candle-light play on the golden metal. Then he slid the letter-opener
slowly down her left-cheek, down across her jaw, and then further downward
still, until the tip of the gold-plated implement was pressed firmly against the
hollow of her throat.
Paralyzed with fear, Ming-tsu stood silently trembling while George slid
the letter opener further downward, across her collarbone, and then slowly down
across the sheer, sea-green silk which failed so miserably to shield her left
breast from his lascivious gaze. Using the tip of his makeshift knife, Chan
lifted the lacy upper edge of the low-cut chemise, and gently dragged it
downward, revealing first the kissable rim of Ming-tsu's soft brown aureole,
then her thrusting brown love-nugget, and in due course the entirety of her
succulent breast.
With his left hand still holding her tightly by the throat, George Chan
pressed the tip of the letter opener firmly into the underside of Ming-tsu's
dark brown nipple-tip, both lifting it and pushing it inward. Afraid to exhale,
Ming-tsu stood utterly motionless as her smiling assailant twirled the faux
knife-tip against her tender breastflesh, and then she breathed an inward sigh
of relief when he lowered the letter opener and traced a path down the mid-line
of her belly. George paused to jab at her recessed navel through the green silk
for a moment, before continuing southward across the gentle rise of her mons,
and then lower still, until the golden blade was pressed firmly against the wisp
of celadon fabric that enshrouded Ming-tsu's woman-cleft.
Ming-tsu shook her head frantically from side to side, imploring him to
stop, but with a swift flick of his wrist, George inverted the implement and
slowly pushed the dull end of the silk-sheathed implement into her as she held
her breath, frozen in fear. When he felt and heard the faint click of the
letter-opener against the outer ben wa ball, he smiled grimly and eased the
slender implement out of Ming-tsu's vagina as she breathed a long, slow sigh of
relief.
She felt twin beads of fear-induced perspiration trickle down her fine
cheekbones. "Master, please. I did not ta..."
"I do not want words, Ming-tsu," George Chan interrupted her with a
menacing growl. As he lifted his right hand he repositioned his fingers around
the handle of the letter-opener, until he held it in his fist in a downward
stabbing grip. Ming-tsu never took her almond-shaped eyes off the blade as he
lifted it up to face level before slamming it violently into the wall an inch
from her quavering throat. "I want diamonds!"
Then, leaving the tip of the blade buried in the wooden wall, George Chan
turned on his heel and headed for the door through which he had come. When he
reached the door he spun around and spat the words, "Do not forget, number one
concubine. Twelve hours!" to his terrified lover as her lovely body slowly
slumped downward to the floor, quaking like an autumnal leaf in a November
breeze.
Chapter 63 Two Mysteries and an Unexpected Guest
Ming-tsu shuddered in her bath at the recollection of George's brief but
portentous visit the night before. 'Think, Ming-tsu, think!' she implored
herself.
Where were the jewels? She reviewed the events of the final minutes of the
fateful Night of the Tiger again.
When she had left the dungeon, leaving Liu in Feng's care, {Chapter 34} Liu
had still been wearing the diamond earrings and the pearl necklace. But when
she had returned no more than ten minutes later, the dead dungeonmaster was
lying in a great pool of blood, his eyes and mouth frozen open in horrific
surprise. A few yards away Wen-chi lay dead, still bound to his overturned
chair. Liu, who had apparently died only moments before, was lying across Li
Chang's lap, with Feng's knife buried in her chest. Li, his legs shattered, was
still tightly bound to his chair. It seemed inconceivable that the only
survivor of the nightmarish scene could have hidden the sparkling gems anywhere.
Ming-tsu tried desperately to remember, as she had for three days, if Liu
had still been wearing the jewelry when she, Ming-tsu, had returned to the
dungeon. But in the shock of seeing the bloody carnage, she had not noticed.
It was only after the three Scorpions had carted the bodies away that she had
remembered the jewelry, and sent the fourth Scorpion, the acne-ridden teenaged
boy, in pursuit of the others.
She reviewed the possibilities again, as she had several times previously
without result. But this time she decided, somewhat grudgingly, to try to adopt
the methods of the man she had sent to his death. It might well be that she
would, in the end, have reason to be grateful for her months with Li Chang.
For, as befitted a young man raised by a brilliant scholar and logician like
Wen-chi, Li's thought processes were typically very methodical -- save perhaps,
she smiled naughtily to herself as her fingers strayed sensuously along the
inside of a soapy thigh, when certain matters of a non-intellectual nature took
precedence.
During their months together Li had, on several occasions, attempted to
impress upon her the importance and the benefits of rational analysis, and to
teach her the elements of applied logic, as they had been taught to him --
methods which thoughtful leaders had used, since the time of the great sages, to
analyze a problem systematically and comprehensively. Ming-tsu remembered that
Li had told her once that a writer from the faraway New World, known for the
strange fancies of his grotesque imagination, had once written that "while the
analyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is utterly incapable of
analysis." This, Li had said, was carrying the notion much too far. But if
such a brilliant writer, who had been so utterly dependent on his imagination
and ingenuity, had placed such faith and such importance in analysis, surely
those without his great gifts should do so as well.
At the time she had found his musings rather tedious, but Ming-tsu wished
now that she had paid closer attention to Li's occasional discourses on
reasoning. For the mystery of the missing jewels, certainly, was an opportunity
to test his academic theories in the demanding crucible of the real world.
So, Ming-tsu thought to herself, let's begin at the beginning and see if we
can not solve the mystery of the missing jewels.
Wen-chi? The old fool could barely see and hear and he was still firmly
tied to his chair. There didn't seem to be any possible way that he could have
hidden the jewels before his death. Or any possible reason why he would.
Could Feng have taken them from Liu and hidden them somewhere hoping to
retrieve them later? Possibly. Perhaps Liu had grabbed his knife while he was
taking the diamonds from her. But then, assuming Liu had cut Feng's throat --
who else could have? he surely hadn't chosen such a bizarre method of committing
suicide -- he would have had no time to hide them. Even if he had been so
foolish as to think that he, as the only survivor of the foursome, (once Li
Chang were disposed of) would not be suspected.
Could Liu have hid them? Ming-tsu wondered, as she slid the soapy loofah
across her chest, absently describing sensuous circles on each of her
ripe-nippled breasts. She could have, of course. But to what purpose? Liu had
apparently cut Feng's throat and then stabbed herself only a short time later --
her body and his had been almost equally warm when the Scorpions had come to
pull them away. But Feng's bloody throat wound had bled like a geyser,
drenching Liu's gown. If Liu had hid the diamonds, why were there no
bloodstains marking her path to whatever hiding place she might have chosen?
Ming-tsu had spent an hour studying every inch of the floor within a twelve-foot
radius of where Feng and Liu had fallen. Aside from the few steps that Liu had
taken toward the chair on which Li Chang had sat, the pattern of bloodstains on
the floor around Feng appeared to be completely random -- exactly what one would
have expected from a throat wound like Feng's.
What about Li Chang? Impossible -- his legs were shattered and his arms
were still tightly bound when she had returned to the scene. The most he could
have done was throw the missing jewels a few feet away, where they would have
been easily visible.
An outsider? She remembered that when she admitted the Scorpions to take
the bodies away, the underground entrance to the dungeon had been locked on the
inside. An outsider could not have escaped that way; and if an outsider had
tried to come up the circular staircase ... she remembered George Chan telling
her once that only a handful of people in the house were even aware that the
secret staircase that led from the second floor of the Pagoda to the dungeon
existed. And an outsider would have had a difficult time explaining his
presence if he happened to be seen on the staircase during the period in
question, once the jewels turned up missing. An outsider was not impossible,
but extremely unlikely.
So, Ming-tsu proceeded logically, it seemed impossible that any of the four
persons in the room could have hidden the diamond and pearls. Furthermore, it
seemed exceedingly unlikely that an outsider had secretly entered the dungeon,
and seized the jewels. That meant that the jewels had to have left the premises
with the bodies.
She had sent the boy -- what was his name? Lin -- yes, Lin, that was it --
after the other three Scorpions with the instructions to search the four bodies
carefully. Was it possible that the boy had forgotten her mandate? It seemed
very unlikely, since that was the only task he had been charged with. So,
assuming that he had passed along her instruction to the others, what were the
possibilies? If Liu had still been wearing the jewels, the four Scorpions could
not possibly have overlooked them. They either removed them from her body, or
threw her into the bay while dripping with priceless gems, which would have made
no sense whatever. If by some chance Feng or Wen-chi had pocketed them before
their deaths, surely the Scorpions would have found them with even the most
cursory of searches. As for Li Chang -- she remembered clearly that he had been
wearing a simple shirt and trousers with no pockets -- he could not possibly
have hidden the pearls on his body.
Ming-tsu, feeling better now that she was reasoning through the problem
rationally, slid the scented loofah leisurely along the outside of a shapely
thigh, and then languorously back along the inside of the same leg.
So, it seemed all but certain that either the gems were still somehow
lurking in some dark corner of the dungeon despite her meticulous search, in
which case they were probably still recoverable, or one or more of the Scorpions
had found them on Liu and had chosen not to cough them up when they returned to
the Pagoda. It seemed unlikely that one of the foursome could have palmed the
jewels while in the presence of the others, especially given Lin's instructions
to the leader that he was to keep a close eye on his men while they searched the
bodies.
She lay back in the tub, letting the steaming scented water sift through
her beautiful black hair. When her tresses were suitably drenched she poured a
small amount of an aromatic oil into her hands as she proceeded to wash her long
hair while she continued her train of thought.
What did she know of the four Scorpions? The big one, the one the others
called the Ox, was surely too stupid to organize a conspiracy, and the boy, an
obvious newcomer to the Scorpion fold, almost certainly lacked the guts even to
conceive such an undertaking. She knew little of Dao, the brute with the
missing teeth, and nothing at all of the fourth Scorpion, the young, rather
handsome man who seemed to have supplanted Feng as leader of that particular
squadron. She hadn't even caught his name. But there was a look of ruthless
intelligence in his dark eyes ... in fact his eyes reminded her of someone --
but who? That fourth Scorpion might well be capable of planning a conspiracy to
take possession of the jewels and then to deny that they had found them. Thus
leaving her in the dire predicament in which she found herself.
Nodding to herself, Liu climbed to her feet in the ornate tub. It really
was the only reasonable explanation -- surely she could convince Richard Chan of
the likelihood of her hypothesis.
Feeling much better, she stepped out of the tub and wrapped her wet hair in
one small towel, while she dried her back with another.
And then Ming-tsu proceeded to consider a second mystery, one which had
resulted from a strange interlude preceding George Chan's frightening visit on
the prior evening....
********
An hour or so before George Chan had begun pounding on her door, Ming-tsu
had filled a pitcher with water and was watering the numerous houseplants which
brightened her living quarters. She had almost finished the task when she heard
a single sharp rap at the door, followed by hurried footsteps.
She opened the outer door to find no one there. She glanced up and down
the street, which was filled, as with most urban streets, with a fair number of
passersby, but nothing out of the ordinary. She was just about to step back
inside when the noticed an envelope lying at her feet, on the little mat outside
her doorstep.
She stooped down, picked up the envelope and took it back inside and
proceeded to open it with the gold-plated letter-opener that George Chan was
later to find on the table. She was startled to find a large stack of currency
inside the envelope, and a note indicating that the sender was interested in
buying her night club. In recent months the club had been a bit of a sore spot
with Li Chang, who had asked her on several occasions if she were going to
dispose of it. Li had not been entirely comfortable with the revealing garments
she wore as hostess there, nor with her provocative behavior with the male
customers. The Night of the Forty Lashes had quenched his immediate anger, but
had not put an end to his concerns.
Accordingly, a few weeks earlier Ming-tsu had let it be known to a number
of successful merchants in the commercial district of Shanghai that she was
considering the possibility of selling the thriving club. The envelope
contained the first such offer -- an offer which stated that the enclosed funds
were a good faith deposit toward the purchase of the business. The letter went
on to ask Ming-tsu's pardon for conducting business in such an unconventional
manner, explaining that its author was about to leave for Singapore on business,
and that he wanted to make sure that Ming-tsu did not sell the property to
another before he returned. The earnest money would insure, the author hoped,
that he would be afforded the opportunity of making a counter-offer to any rival
proposal before Ming-tsu concluded the sale to another. Ming-tsu arched a pretty
eyebrow appraisingly when she read the signature on the letter; it was signed
'Sung Lo', one of the wealthy businessmen of the central district.
Ming-tsu knew Sung Lo slightly. He was a fat, forty-ish, oleaginous
merchant who had had the good fortune of being born into a wealthy family. To
his credit, though, he had had the business acumen - or was it the rapacious
avarice? - necessary to expand upon his inheritance. His riches had won him a
charming young wife some years ago, and she had in good time presented him with
two precocious daughters. The girls, now about fourteen and twelve, whom
Ming-tsu had met at a wedding once, had both the arrogance of their wealthy
father and the lovely features of their mother. They would be beauties in a few
years, without doubt.
Ming-tsu had counted the money carefully -- it was a handsome sum indeed
for a deposit -- nearly a third of the entire asking price she had had in mind.
She had pondered the curious nature of the proposal briefly, before secreting
the envelope containing the money in a beautiful inlaid dresser in her
bed-chamber.
Half an hour later George Chan's menacing appearance on her doorstep and
his subsequent threats had temporarily wiped the offer from her mind.
********
Ming-tsu toweled her perfect body dry as she considered the pros and cons
of Sung Lo's curiously-broached proposal. Despite its unorthodox nature she
could see no reason not to honor his wishes and defer the sale of the club until
his return. Sung Lo, of all men, could well afford to pay top dollar for the
business.
She spent some time drying her long black hair, and then brushing it into a
lustrous silky mane while she sat nude in front of a mirrored dressing table.
When her coiffure was done she poured a healthy dollop of a moisturizing lotion
into one cupped palm and then rubbed her hands together and began applying the
oil to her legs, first coating her sensuous limbs with the slick, scented
compound and then massaging it deep into her flesh.
When her legs were glistening in the mirror, Ming-tsu stood up and began
on her mid-section, polishing her loins, her rounded buttocks, her swelling hips
and her flat tummy with the gleaming liquid. Then she dripped a goodly drop of
the youth-giving oil on each of her breasts, and smoothed it into her lovely
lust-mounds, wincing a bit as she did so, remarking on the fact that they were
still quite tender from Li Chang's rough handling {Chapter 17} a few nights
earlier, and George Chan's brutality the night before.
As her hands slid gently over her chocolate-tipped nipples, she felt her
sensitive love-nuggets spring to life. She continued to stroke her breasts with
one hand, teasing her ardent nipples with her well-manicured fingernails, while
her other lotion-slick hand slipped between her thighs, to fondle her aroused
clitoris. Her fingers slid through her well-oiled nether-lips easily as she
pleasured herself; she had not had a man since her rendezvous with George Chan
in his den a few days ago, and in her long months with Li Chang it had been a
rare day indeed when they had not made love.
As the speed of her self-stroking mounted, Ming-tsu reached for the inlaid
box on the dressing table that contained "Jumbo", her beautifully-carved ivory
phallus. She gasped with pleasure as she steered the ivory shaft between her
well-oiled labia, and then pressed it still deeper inside her, filling herself
with its massive hardness, while she plucked her well-oiled nipples until they
leapt outward from her crinkly aureoles with a stiff, proud elan.
Ming-tsu's brown eyes studied the reactions of her face and body in the
mirror as she pleasured herself, noting the flush that encrimsoned her face and
upper torso as her excitement mounted. The whites of her eyes seemed to sparkle
with passion even as her pupils seemed to darken as if shamed by her lust.
With each slightly deeper plunge of the smooth ivory phallus, Ming-tsu felt an
all-enveloping sexual warmth radiating outward from her seat of pleasure.
"Mmmmm," she moaned softly as she abandoned herself to Jumbo's insistent thrusts
until she came in a shuddering convulsion of woman-pleasure.
She sat there on the dressing-table chair for a long moment, her legs
widely parted, her splendid breasts heaving with passion until her breathing
returned to normal. She removed Jumbo, slick with her female juices, from her
love-tunnel, and then, knowing that she would be seeing George Chan in a short
time, she opened the top drawer of the dressing table and removed a jewel box.
Inside the jewel box she found two familiar pairs of gleaming balls. After
rising to her feet, she took the smaller, golden pair and deftly pressed the
two ben-wa balls deep into her anal cavity.
When the outermost of the golden spheres had been buried metacarpal-deep in
her rectum, Ming-tsu reached into the jewel box again and look the slightly
larger silver pair and carefully inserted the metallic orbs into her vagina one
at a time. Once the four balls were safely ensconced in her two
pleasure-channels, she took a few steps to make sure that the ben-wa balls were
securely in place; George Chan had peppered her tender pussy with a dozen
stinging blows with a riding crop once, when one of the balls had come loose at
an inopportune moment, and then had assaulted her inflamed love grotto with a
ferocity unusual even for him. Ming-tsu was not anxious for a re-occurrence of
that painful experience, especially when the younger Chan was so clearly already
in a foul mood.
Ming-tsu had just finished these precautionary measures when she was
interrupted by a muted sound at her door.
'What now?' she wondered, with some exasperation. It was important that
she prepare herself well for her meeting with the Chans. She sensed that it
could well be the most important hour of her life.
The hand at the door tapped again. Surely it was not George Chan again.
His knock last night had shaken the walls of her house.
Still nude, Ming-tsu stepped softly to the window and pulled back the
drapery an inch and peeked out to see a young man, apparently in his early
twenties, on her doorstep. He stood with his back to her and the door, as if he
were trying to melt into the shadows of the doorway. He seemed to be anxiously
scrutinizing the passersby.
Suddenly the young man turned slightly and Ming-tsu recognized him -- it
was Luk Yee, the friend of Li Chang. For whom, she had heard, the Chans had
initiated a city-wide search.
Ming-tsu's native ambition quickly surged to the forefront of her
consciousness, thrusting the qualms of doubt, regret and guilt that had plagued
her of late deep into the recesses of her psyche, at least for the moment. The
fates, it seemed, had cast Luk Yee in the role of her talisman, her emblem of
good fortune. If she were to unmask Li Chang's most trusted associate to the
Chans ...
Flushed with excitement at the prospect of arranging the downfall of Luk
Yee, and thus surely solidifying her place in the Chans' hierarchy, she stepped
hurriedly into a brief undergarment and pulled it up to her waist and then
slipped into a low-cut ebony chemise whose flimsy silkiness clung to her
gleaming well-oiled curves like a second skin. She took a quick glance in the
mirror, brushed a few stray hairs into place and threw on her favorite emerald
green dressing gown, belting it very loosely at the waist.
She had noticed the way Luk Yee had looked at her when he had come to tell
her that Li Chang had fled the city {Chapter 43}. If there was one thing in this
world that Ming-tsu knew, it was men, and there was something not quite right in
his young marriage, she felt sure. She had seen in Luk Yee's troubled eyes that
night a hunger that she had rarely seen in the eyes of a newlywed. The hunger
of a man for a woman.
Surely, she thought to herself as she started toward the door to greet her
guest, by offering to satisfy that appetite, she could wrap him around her
fingers as easily as she had Li Chang ....
Chapter 64 The Trials of Luk Yee
Luk Yee turned quickly when Ming-tsu at last opened the door. "Forgive me,
but may I come in for a moment? I am hoping that you can help me."
Ming-tsu gave her young guest the warm seductive smile she had used on a
thousand customers at her club and gestured for Luk Yee to enter her house.
Looking furtively over his shoulder at the people in the street, Luk Yee
ducked inside the doorway and closed it softly behind him. When he turned to
face Ming-tsu he drew in his breath suddenly as he realized that she was
somewhat carelessly dressed. Her dark green dressing gown was belted casually
at her waist; beneath it, her long lithe legs peeked out through the folds of
the gown. Above the waist, the negligee descended from her rounded shoulders in
a deep V. In the middle of the V Ming-tsu's breasts, their smooth honey-gold
upper slopes eye-catchingly bare, pressed proudly against the shimmering black
silk which fought to contain them.
As Luk Yee stood there, breathing heavily from his long walk, the strange
events of the prior evening raced through his mind...
********
The past twenty-four hours had been even more difficult for Luk Yee than
they had been for Ming-tsu. He had fled the neighborhood when the Scorpions had
come for him, {Chapter 44} succeeding in losing himself among the throngs in
the Shanghai streets.
But no sooner had he reached relative safety in the anonymity of the
crowded market district than he began to berate himself for fleeing. His
initial reaction to the advent of the Scorpions had been that they were not
likely to have any interest in Qieu. They would ask her a few questions,
perhaps, but then they would leave.
But now, as he wandered aimlessly through the narrow, bustiling streets,
dark doubts gnawed at him. What if they did not?
Luk Yee had heard whispered rumors of the outrages the Black Scorpions had
committed on young women. The Chans were clever -- many of their victims had
either been shamed or terrorized into silence or had disappeared altogether.
Some into local opium dens that offered the added enticement of female flesh,
some into sailors' brothels, and some unfortunate young women had found
themselves in faraway slave markets, or perhaps, in a few cases, in the next
world. No one could know the true extent of the Scorpions' power, the true
depth of their depravity.
Luk Yee realized regretfully that no matter how troubling his thoughts, it
would be suicide for him to try to return to his own neighborhood at this time.
The Scorpions would certainly be watching his house. But, desperate for news of
his wife, Luk walked up and down the crowded market streets, past the countless
stalls of greengrocers, flower-sellers, butchers, fishmongers and the like,
hoping to encounter a familiar face from his own quarter of the city.
Just before darkness descended, as if in answer to an unspoken prayer, he
spied the familiar stout figure of Mrs Fong, the gossipy baker's wife, who lived
only a few doors from them. He did not know her well himself, but remembered
that Qieu had laughingly told him of Mrs Fong's tenacious tediousness any number
of times. A woman to be avoided at all costs.
The formidable Mrs Fong had worked for many years as a housekeeper at the
residence of a rather mercenary, mid-level employee in the British foreign
office. Gradually, over the years, the Chinese matron had adopted both the
middle-class complacency and the condescending attitude and manner of speaking
of the attache's wife, a meddling woman from the outskirts of London with a
bourgeois sense of self-importance.
Taking a deep breath, and muttering 'any port in a storm' under his breath,
Luk Yee approached the redoubtable matron while she was midway through the
process of squeezing a table-full of mandarin oranges within an inch of their
lives.
"Mrs. Fong..." he began.
"Haven't you any decent fruit?" the baker's wife bellowed at the proprietor
as she adjusted her over-sized bonnet. "These are all soft and bruised."
Luk glanced at the beleaguered countenance of the wizened greengrocer who
was sorting through a large basket of shallots. The old man's pained expression
betrayed his certainty that the oranges had been of admirable quality until Mrs.
Fong had groped them into submission.
"I shall see if I have any others, Madam," the elderly grocer said as he
bowed and retreated toward a stack of dilapidated fruit crates against the back
wall, grateful to be out of range of Mrs Fong's strident voice.
"Mrs Fong..." Luk Yee tried again.
"Swindling merchants," Mrs Fong grumbled in her robust voice. "Ought to be
shot, the whole lot of them!" Then the fearful termagant looked up and saw Luk
Yee standing alongside her. "Oh, it's you. What do you want? Can't you see I'm
trying to find some decent fruit?"
"I wish you luck in that search, of course, Mrs Fong, but I wonder if I
might have a word with you? It's a matter of great importance."
"I'll certainly need some good joss to find a firm piece of fruit in this
den of thieves. Hmmm. I think I see some plums over there," And the heavy-set
woman brushed past him, pinning him against a table of papayas with her huge
handbag, until she freed herself and set about mangling a cartonful of bright
red plums, giving each one a rather brutal squeeze before setting it aside
disgustedly."
Luk Yee followed her. "Mrs Fong. It's about my wife..." he began
uncertainly.
The baker's wife manhandled another plum, and set it down with a
contemptuous scowl, before giving Luk Yee her attention. "Yes, not a bad sort,
your wife. She talks too much, of course, and if you ask me, she's only
interested in herself. But that's to be expected of these young girls,
nowadays. They all think that they're the center of the universe. They don't
realize that some of us have more important things to do than chit-chat and
complain about the neighbors and spread rumors. Why, do you know what that
dreadful Mrs Lee on the corner told me just yesterday?"
Mrs Fong rattled on in this vein at some length before the laws of nature
asserted themselves and she was compelled to take a breath to restore some
oxygen to her massive but newly-depleted lungs. At which point Luk Yee seized
his opportunity and interjected, "Mrs Fong, have you by any chance seen my wife
since dinner tonight?"
"Why, yes!" Her lungs having re-loaded, Mrs Fong began issuing broadsides
again. "About an hour ago it was. I had just finished explaining to Mr. Fong
that his brother's daughter was a dreadfully ill-mannered little brat -- a
monster, really -- in my day girls were brought up to respect their elders, not
given license to do whatever they wished. A young woman knew her place in those
days, I'll have you know. It's no surprise that these modern girls are
disrespectful daughters one day and disrespectful wives the next. All they
think about is themselves!"
Mrs Fong gave Luk a meaningful glare to make sure that he understood that
his own wife was to be included in that number.
Luk Yee winced in discomfort. He had come to have doubts about Qieu's
capacity for affection, but he had never considered her to be the least bit
self-centered. But in the face of Mrs Fong's supercilious stare, he kept his
peace.
In the days ahead, when Luk Yee came to learn of his wife's courage in the
dungeons of the Black Pagoda, and of the horrors she had endured to protect him,
he had looked back on this conversation with Mrs Fong with a degree of shame.
He was to reproach himself endlessly for not having defended his wife's honor
more forcefully.
Mrs Fong, meanwhile, was off and running again, "When those three men in
those shiny black uniforms came for her -- your wife, I mean, not my niece --
although they'll be coming for her soon enough, too, I dare say. Quite snappy
those uniforms -- most young people don't care how they look nowadays." Mrs
Fong paused to squint at Luk Yee rather disdainfully -- his sudden flight had
left him looking rather disheveled.
"They came for "her", you say?" Luk Yee asked with alarm.
"Oh yes, and took her away with them afterward. Everything was all very
proper and official of course -- they seemed to have all the necessary
documents."
Luk Yee nodded gravely. He and Li Chang were aware that the Chans
operated hand-in-glove with the notorious Hsi Fong, the Commissioner of the
Imperial Seal and close confidant of the much-feared General Wang who reported
to the Emperor himself. Forged documents came as easily to the Chans as houris
to a Turkish pasha.
"Was she all right when you saw her last? Had she been harmed?"
"No, she seemed fine. A bit nervous, though." Mrs Fong leaned forward
conspiratorially. "What did she do?" she uttered in a stentorian whisper that
could be heard for ten yards in any direction. "Poison one of her in-laws?"
"No, of course not." Luk Yee, embarrassed, noticed that some of the
grocer's customers were backing away from him gingerly. He was barely able to
restrain himself from blurting out that if his wife ever were to take up
poisoning as an avocation, he would be happy to nominate the first candidate on
whom she might practice her venomous arts. "She has done nothing. It's all a
terrible mistake."
"Well," Mrs Fong exhaled in a tone of voice that clearly expressed the
sentiment, 'That's what they all say.' Then she looked over Luk Yee's shoulder
and said, "Is that all? I think I see some persimmons over there."
"Yes. Thank you, Mrs Fong." And with a polite bow, and a silent prayer that
Mrs. Fong might extend clemency to at least a few of the persimmons, Luk Yee
turned away crestfallen.
********
Luk had continued to prowl the streets for much of the night, hoping to
find another neighbor who had strayed from the proximity of his home, but
without success. Finally, his legs tired from the endless walking -- he had
long since forgotten that he had spent much of the day touring the city
conferring with his cell leaders, before returning to the splendid dinner with
his wife that had been interrupted by the advent of the Scorpions -- he found a
place to rest in the doorway of an abandoned warehouse and he curled up in it
for an hour or two of fitful sleep.
Upon waking, desperate for reassurance and/or advice, Luk Yee made his way
to the home of Wen-chi once again, but there was still no one there. None of
the neighbors had seen either the old man or his grand-daughter for two days.
With Wen-chi not at home and Li Chang presumably in Formosa, Luk Yee was at
a loss as to how to proceed to secure his wife's release. He needed Li Chang's
advice badly. Then it occurred to him that there was only one person, other
than the missing Wen-chi and Liu, and himself, with whom Li Chang was likely to
have communicated.
Thus it was that Luk Yee had hied himself to the home of Ming-tsu on the
morning after Qieu's 'arrest' -- not knowing, of course, that Richard Chan had
ordered Dao to release his wife from the cruel embrace of the Mongolian
Nipple-Gag several hours earlier, in the hope that the tortured bride might soon
lead him to her husband.
Chapter 65 The Temptation of Luk Yee
Luk Yee tried to focus on Ming-tsu's face while he made his overtures to
her, but he soon found that that was not so easy to do. Ming-tsu's
beautifully-furnished rooms were perfumed with rich intoxicating scents that
called to mind the legendary pleasure dome of Xanadu. A brightly polished
hardwood floor, partly covered by a pair of magnificent Persian carpets,
vibrantly-colored wall-hangings, and exquisite curios of porcelain, crystal, and
jade all clamored for his attention.
But the lithe, sensual body of the ebony-haired beauty who had sunk
luxuriously into a large, over-stuffed chair was the cynosure which attracted
Luk Yee's appreciative gaze and held it fast. Ming-tsu had curled herself into
an artfully erotic pose with her legs tucked beneath her. As if guided by the
hand of a mischievous, lustful demigod, her dark green robe had fallen away from
her bare legs.
It occurred to Luk Yee that Ming-tsu was dressed much as he had pictured
her in the erotic daydream he had had after their last fleeting encounter
{Chapter 43}. Clad in a brief but clinging black shift, she was lounging lazily
in a chair rather than on the bed of his imagination. But she wore the same
seductive, half-pouting expression and displayed the same golden thighs and
eye-catching cleavage that he had envisioned in his amorous reverie a couple of
nights earlier, after he had informed her that Li Chang had left the city.
"Ming-tsu," Luk began nervously, as he inhaled the faint but unmistakable
tart, sweet scent of orange blossom which enveloped her, "I must contact Li
Chang on a matter of great importance. Have you heard from him? I do not know
how to reach him."
Ming-tsu slid one bare leg against the other in a movement so subtle that
Luk Yee could hardly think it intentional, and yet so provocative that her
guest's eyes were drawn to her silky, golden thighs as if by some unseen
magnetic force. Ming-tsu smiled enigmatically as Luk Yee's eyes drifted
downward until he caught himself and jerked his gaze upward from her shapely
thigh-flesh and met her enticing brown eyes with his own.
"No, Luk Yee. I have not heard from him since you told me he had left the
city a few nights ago." And she would not hear from her former lover ever
again, she thought to herself, now that his body was anchored to the harbor
floor. "You seem very anxious this morning. Is there anything wrong?"
Ming-tsu leaned a little closer to Luk Yee in feigned concern. The
movement caused the emerald fabric of the robe to open into a wider V.
Luk Yee licked at his dry lips, trying desperately to keep his eyes trained
on Ming-tsu's lovely face. But not glancing surreptitiously at the
freshly-oiled, semi-nude orbs of flesh that were partly revealed by her
bewitching decolletage was as difficult as ignoring the brilliantly-colored
skyrockets that lit up the Shanghai sky on a New Years' night.
"Please forgive my appearance. I - I slept in the streets last night."
"In the streets?" Ming-tsu purred. "Curious lodgings for a proud new
bridegroom." She raised an elegant eyebrow questioningly. "Have you and your
wife had a falling out?"
"No, no, it is not what you think," Luk blushed furiously. Although
Ming-tsu was only a year or two older than himself, she seemed possessed of a
worldly experience that dwarfed his own. Like most young men of his age Luk Yee
had made a few trips to brothels before his marriage. There, his experiences,
while satisfying in a strictly physical sense, had been somewhat unfulfilling.
Since he was a man of very modest means, his sexual partners at the brothels
had been neither particularly attractive, nor had they taken much interest in
maximizing his pleasure. Then, when he had married, his beautiful wife, for
reasons he had yet to understand, had kept him at arm's length. He did not
consider himself a man of an excessively carnal nature, but there was no
question that his enforced celibacy, especially given the many hours each day
that he spent with his attractive young bride, had raised his level of sexual
tension, of sexual need, to a fever pitch. Even in his fatigue he could feel his
manhood reacting to Ming-tsu's provocative presence.
A few months earlier Luk Yee had listened spellbound one evening while Li
Chang had told him over drinks that it was not uncommon for he and Ming-tsu to
make love long into the night, and occasionally until dawn. Li Chang had made
this observation, not in a bragging or gloating manner, but with a
matter-of-fact air of wonder that such a ravishingly desirable creature as
Ming-tsu had chosen an ordinary man such as himself as the principal instrument
of her sexual pleasure. Li Chang did little more than hint at the specific
details of their embraces, but Luk Yee was left with the definite impression
that Ming-tsu's enthusiasm and artistry neglected no conceivable pleasures of
the flesh.
Luk had recently finished a course in western music at the university and
he had come away from that memorable conversation with his friend with the fancy
that Ming-tsu might be compared to a sexual musician who could play every
instrument in the orchestra with equal virtuosity. That she could stroke a man
with the delicacy of a harpist, or the vigor of a virtuoso violinist. That she
could use her mouth with either the light touch of a flautist or the more
energetic zeal of a trumpeter. That her exquisite body was equally capable of
vibrating like a reed in a gentle breeze, or pulsing with the rhythmic, pounding
passion of a tympanum in the service of a master drummer.
The sultry object of his musical musings was sitting with her weight on her
right hip, her shapely legs curled under her, seemingly oblivious to the fact
that her dark robe had fallen away from them. Once again she slid her left
thigh gently against her right, in a gesture so subtle that a geometer might
have had a hard time proving that she had moved at all, but so alluring that it
attracted Luk's eye like a shooting star on a clear summer night.
Blushing again, Luk Yee forced himself to jerk his appreciative glance from
Ming-tsu's golden thighs. When his eyes met hers he found mischief there. Her
lips were curled into a sensual smile that seemed to say, 'I have seduced men
whose experience is to yours as the Emperor's is to his shoemaker. Do you
imagine that you can resist my charms when they could not?' Knowing nothing of
the Night of the Forty Lashes, Luk Yee wondered if Li Chang was fully aware of
the effect Ming-tsu's seductive witchcraft had on other men.
As Luk Yee attempted to re-focus his attention on the purpose of his
visit, he considered how much he should tell Ming-tsu. Although he knew that Li
Chang loved and admired her, he also knew that Li Chang had kept his true
identity and purpose from her. As far as she knew, Li Chang was a Scorpion
district leader, nothing more. Luk Yee decided that it would be unwise for him
to tell Ming-tsu more about Li Chang than his friend had volunteered.
Furthermore, it was only proper that he should consider her safety, too. If the
Scorpions had come looking for him, because of his relationship with Li Chang,
surely there was a good chance that they would be seeking her out, too. He
decided to err on the side of caution, and to tell her as little as possible.
After taking another deep breath he began. "I spent the night in the streets
because my wife is missing; I have been up all night searching for her."
"Oh! How terrible! You must be exhausted. Please, let me make some tea."
Ming-tsu uncurled herself from the chair with a sensual grace that made Luk Yee
lick his dry lips. Then, while Ming-tsu busied herself boiling water on a small
fire, Luk Yee briefly explained that he was hopeful that she could help him find
Wen-chi. He did not tell her the true reasons for his desire to contact Wen-chi
-- that if anyone could help him secure the release of his wife and continue the
struggle with the Scorpions, it was the wise old man who had been more than a
father to Li Chang.
"Ah, yes," Ming-tsu whispered as she poured the boiling water over the
aromatic tea leaves she had deposited in a beautiful teapot made of white kaolin
porcelain. "Li Chang always spoke most highly of him." As soon as the words
were out of her mouth she realized her error, but proceeded to put the teapot
and a cup on a tray and carried it over to the table and set them down next to
the gilt letter-opener.
Luk Yee looked up at her sharply when she spoke of Li Chang in the past
tense. Nervously, Ming-tsu murmured, "I mean that when he spoke of Wen-chi, he
always did so with the greatest of respect."
Accepting her explanation graciously, Luk Yee spoke with evident admiration
and reverence for the wisdom of Wen-chi, while the tea brewed.
When the tea was ready, Ming-tsu poured a cup and presented it to Luk Yee,
bowing respectfully to her guest as she did so. But it was not respect that she
wished to convey with her bow -- it was the stunning sensuality of her body.
With her eyes cast downward, in the ancient posture that reflected an Asian
woman's traditional deference to men, Ming-tsu held her pose for a long moment,
drawing Luk Yee's tired eyes inexorably upward from the shredded leaves that
floated on the surface of his teacup, until they fastened on the deep V of her
open robe. Luk's hands trembled slightly as he drank in the beauty of her
close-set breasts, nude almost to the nipples, in the scandalously low-cut black
chemise.
Despite his resolve not to do so, and despite his affection and very real
concern for his wife, Luk Yee could not tear his eyes from the banquet of
breast-fruits that hovered before him. Ming-tsu was near enough to him that he
could make out the barely perceptible network of faint bluish veins, muted by
the amber-gold skin-tones which gave her treasures their honeyed glow. Luk
reached out to take the teacup from Ming-tsu with a trembling hand; when his
hand touched hers, an electric current seemed to pass between them, an
electricity that seemed to cause Ming-tsu's ripe nipples to swell with desire.
Her erect breast-nuggets pressed proudly against the filmy black silk which
concealed them but did nothing to disguise their bold and shameless arousal.
Ming-tsu looked up then, her dark brown eyes catching him in the act of
visually ravishing her charms. Luk Yee, his throat dry, licked at his lips
again as he tore his lust-hungry eyes from the gleaming curves of her
proud-nippled pleasure-globes and returned her gaze. He felt as awkward and
inexperienced as he had on his first trip to a brothel.
Ming-tsu smiled a courtesan's smile, her alluring, crimson-daubed lips
parted slightly, framing her sparkling white teeth. A schoolgirl could have
sensed that Luk Yee's hunger for her was palpable; for an accomplished
seductress like herself it was only a question of turning Luk's infatuation to
her own purposes. She scrutinized him carefully. He was young and slender, but
possessed, no doubt, of a wiry strength. Not bad looking at all, really, if one
overlooked his rather gauche naivete. This would be a seduction, Ming-tsu
imagined, that would be as enjoyable as it was productive of result. For
surely, if she could entrap Li's chief lieutenant, the confusion about the
pearls would be forgiven...
"Please," Ming-tsu whispered in a husky voice to Luk Yee, gracefully
sliding sideways in such a way that her emerald nightgown, as if in response to
an unspoken command, once again fell away from her tawny thighs. "You look
exhausted. Why don't you stay here until you recover your strength?" Her hand
reached out to touch his forearm and Luk Yee almost shivered at the lightness of
her touch. How would those soft, warm hands feel, he wondered, on his bare back
if he ... as he ...
"There is plenty of room with Li away," Ming-tsu finished her sentence
with a kittenish moue that was one part hospitality and nine parts seduction.
The invitation in Ming-tsu's voice was unmistakable. Her manner left
little doubt in Luk Yee's mind that if he were to recline in Li Chang's bed to
recover his strength, Li Chang's lover would be only too happy to join him,
should he so choose. And Li Chang was far away, in Taipei. Who would ever
know?
********
While Ming-tsu stepped gracefully away to pour a cup of tea for herself,
Luk Yee's felt his testicles pulse with desire and his manly young cock stiffen
with lust as he imagined himself pressing his reclining body against hers,
kissing her moist lips deeply as their bodies entwined themselves in a long,
slow, languorous dance of passion. After that first embrace, she would undress
him with a courtesan's practiced skill, admiring his trim and healthy young body
with her hungry brown eyes, before slipping gracefully out of her own flimsy
garments which had played such a useful role in his seduction. Then she would
return to his arms, her scented body nude and pulsing with desire.
Luk pictured himself worshiping Ming-tsu's surging, proud-nippled breasts
with his lips and tongue and teeth, anointing every inch of her delectable
pleasure-globes with ardent kisses, tongueing her bronze breast-buds until they
were as rigid with desire as his throbbing organ. He would mouth her delicious
love-pellets, encouraged by her soft moans of passion, seizing them between his
his lips, and then gently nipping at the thrusting pebbles with his teeth, while
her warm body writhed beneath him in shameless ecstasy.
He would linger on Ming-tsu's mouthwatering love mounds for some time
before turning his attentions southward, licking his way leisurely down her
golden belly until his face was buried between her soft, warm, orange-scented
thighs; he would savor the rich, womanly taste and smell of her, teasing her
with his mouth as she squirmed with desire. Then he would slowly mount her
luscious body, easing his rock-hard maleness into the hot, moist gash between
her eager thighs, and make love to her with long, strong strokes while her soft
hands gripped his hips and guided him deeper and deeper into the velvety
recesses of her quivering womanhood.
********
His hand shaking with desire, Luk drained his cup of tea at a draught, so
swept up by his imagination that he hardly noticed the near-scalding heat of the
pale green liquid.
********
After a few minutes of such exquisitely pleasurable lunges she would roll
over on top of him and and she would ride his ready-to-burst cock with a
tantalizing variety of feminine gyrations, each shudderingly exciting, but no
two precisely alike. His eager hands would once again caress her warm breasts
while he thrust upward with the insatiable energy of youth until the nude,
dark-haired love-goddess climaxed with a series of shuddering convulsions and
fell on top of him, her perspiration-covered breasts damp and hot against his
pounding chest.
Only after he had satisfied her thoroughly, would he dare to roll her body,
glistening with the damp glow of a lover's labors, over on to her stomach so
that he might act out his final fantasy, one that he had forever been too shy to
suggest to the bored prostitutes he had frequented. But Ming-tsu, he felt
certain, would be no stranger to the less-traveled byways of male desire.
As Ming-tsu took his empty cup and poured him a second cup of tea, Luk
envisioned her shapely golden body arched face-downward on the bed, her middle
bent over a pair of oversized Persian cushions that he had appropriated, her
luscious heart-shaped bottom high in the air. He would kiss every curved inch of
her nether ovals, teasing her flesh until she was quivering with anticipation.
Then, when the muscles of her rounded bottom-cheeks were fluttering with
desire, he would spank them, gently at first. Ming-tsu would gasp with
pain-pleasure at his blows, with pleasure soon winning the erotic duel. She
would beg him to smack her harder, and he would willingly comply, using the palm
of his strong hand to give her luscious hindquarters a rosy glow. Only then,
when were delicious buttocks were rosy and wriggling, would he take his position
behind her, spreading her supple buttock cheeks apart, slowly exposing her
secret rosette, while she rolled her rounded hips enticingly, beseeching him to
master her. He would wait until she begged him breathlessly to continue, and
then he would gradually ease his virile young body forward, inserting his
throbbing phallus into her tight little muscular ring, and then slowly
increasing the speed and depths of his manly plunges, while Ming-tsu writhed in
buttock-clenching splendor beneath him. Harder, faster, deeper he would lunge,
until she was crying out softly in passionate pleasure-pain, as his swollen
testicles slapped against her rounded asscheeks...
Luk Yee pictured himself thrusting his fleshy cudgel into Ming-tsu's tiny
rectal canal until he was overtaken by a sexual ecstasy that forced his
throbbing cock to propel jet after jet of hot male sperm deep into her rear
passage. And then, he mused, he would extract his half-depleted organ from
Ming-tsu's well-ravished bottom and offer it to her. At which point Ming-tsu's
scarlet lips and wet pink tongue would polish his semen-dripping, semi-tumescent
organ to a state of saliva-clean readiness. And then the entire wondrous cycle
of erotic pleasure could begin again...
Such were the delights that could surely be his, if only ...
********
"Luk Yee, what are you thinking about?" Ming-tsu interrupted his rapturous
reverie with her seductive voice, as she poured him a second cup of tea. "You
look like you are thousand miles away."
"A-a-actually," Luk stammered in embarrassment, as his eyes darted around
the room. "I was thinking about your pillows."
"My what?" she smiled, letting her eyes drop seductively to her gorgeous,
semi-nude breasts."
"N-no," Luk mumbled, blushing furiously, "the - the harem pillows - in the
corner."
The dark-eyed courtesan glanced over at the stack of pillows that had
played their part in Luk's erotic daydream. She felt the muscles in her buttocks
tense with pleasure as she recalled the ways in which she and her lover, Li
Chang, had put them to use. Luk Yee, judging from his blushing awkwardness, was
ripe for seduction.
The sweet, secret place between her thighs tingling with desire, Ming-tsu
repeated, "Luk, you must be exhausted. You have the look of a man who is
walking in his sleep." Ming-tsu had not been overly surprised by Luk's long
silence. She had grown quite accustomed to this effect that she often had on
men. Even so experienced a lover as George Chan occasionally lost himself in
erotic fantasies in her presence. His reveries, unfortunately, usually led to
rather more painful denouements than those of her other lovers.
Luk Yee, embarrassed by the nature of his musings, tried to collect his
thoughts. His desire for Ming-tsu was palpable, his arousal almost painful,
and yet he could not bring himself to betray his wife and friend. In addition
it was not totally beyond the realm of possibility that in his state of nervous
exhaustion he had mistaken her meaning. Ming-tsu had cleverly framed her
seduction in such a way that if Luk Yee were to rebuke her for being disloyal to
Li Chang, she could easily plead that her words had been misinterpreted.
Scolding himself for his lustful thoughts, Luk Yee was at a loss as to
where to look. Ming-tsu stood in front of him now, sipping at her own cup of
aromatic green tea. If he looked straight ahead his gaze would be met by the
golden thighs that peeked out boldly from the opening in her emerald nightgown.
If he looked up to meet her gaze, her half-naked breasts would interrupt his
field of vision.
Not knowing what else to do, the young student looked downward nervously,
as he sought desperately to change the subject. Seeing the still-full teacup in
his hand, he haltingly continued. "These cups are beautiful, are they not? Liu
hand-painted a wedding set for my wife and me that is very much like these cups
that she painted for Li Chang."
The words were hardly out of Luk's mouth when he heard the crash of china
on the polished wooden floor of the room.
"Oh, no," cried Ming-tsu mournfully. "I have broken it." She stepped
quickly across the room to find a rag to mop up the spilled tea and came back
and fell to her knees to clean up the mess. Luk Yee bent down to assist her,
and busied himself picking up the larger shards of porcelain. while Ming-tsu
swabbed at the floor. Although it was not his intention, Luk Yee was rewarded
for his helpfulness by an even more delicious vista of Ming-tsu's nearly
unencumbered breasts as they did sensuous battle with the wisp of silk that
strained to contain their pendulous fullness.
Luk Yee fought manfully to restrain his eager hands from reaching out and
slipping inside the whisper-thin black silk that failed so miserably at
shielding Ming-tsu's opulent amber-gold breasts from his gaze. He was close
enough to see a vein pulsing nervously in her left breast. Strangely, Ming-tsu
did not look up to meet his gaze. Rather she continued mopping at the floor as
if she were obsessed.
When he had picked up the last piece of broken china, he whispered,
"Ming-tsu, the floor is dry." But the beautiful courtesan seemed not to hear
him. She went on scrubbing the floor as if she were mesmerized, the
back-and-forth action of her arms causing her nearly nude breasts to move gently
to and fro in the low-cut silken chemise.
When still she did not speak, but continued to swab compulsively at the
now-spotless floor, Luk Yee decided that if he watched those bewitching,
bobbling breasts for another minute he would be enslaved forever. Luk stood up
warily and glanced down at the kneeling courtesan, her lovely almond-shaped
eyes glazed with a mysterious light. Softly, Luk Yee made his apologies, and
started for the door, puzzled by whatever strange passion had overtaken this
mysterious and beautiful woman.
How was he to know that when he had mentioned Liu's name, the beautiful
face of Wen-chi's grand-daughter, her long tresses matted with the water and
seaweed of Shanghai Bay, had stared up sadly at Ming-tsu from the steaming
translucence of the teacup? The sight had caused Ming-tsu to drop the cup.
Then, when she had fallen to the floor to clean the spill, Liu's image, her soft
brown eyes filled with reproach, had been reflected in the gleaming hardwood
floor.
When Luk Yee softly closed the door behind him, Ming-tsu was still on her
knees, trying to efface the ghostly phantom that only she could see.
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....
Chapter 67 The Sentinel from Szechuan
As Luk Yee stepped away from the door of Ming-tsu's lodgings, and headed
north toward the market district, he noticed a squat, compactly-built man of
thirty-five or so leaning against an adjacent house. The man, whose face was
lined as if from years of exposure to the sun, stared at him for a long second,
as if he were trying to make up his mind about something.
When Luk Yee passed him, he sensed that the man had taken a quick step in
his direction and then thought the better of it. By the time he got to the end
of the block, Luk Yee looked back at the stocky man, who was once again leaning
against the house that adjoined Ming-tsu's, and who met his gaze furtively
before looking anxiously in the other direction.
Puzzled by this strange by-play, but unable to make any sense of it,
Luk-Yee headed off in the opposite direction, still hoping to find some news of
his wife.
The thick-set man watched with a troubled expression as Luk-Yee disappeared
around the corner. But then his squarish face lit up with interest as he saw
four familiar figures approaching in a horsecat from the other direction.
He rushed toward the cart excitedly, jostling some passersby roughly as he
did so. "Chiang Chan, Chiang Chan, I just saw him."
Dao was the first to disembark from the cart, followed by the massive
figure of Zheng the Ox, then Lin, the acne-riddled teenager, and lastly the
young leader of the foursome, Chiang Chan, who seemed somewhat distracted.
"Ah, Tai Hwang," Dao began with a leer. "Why the long face? Didn't you get
your money's worth at our table last night? Wasn't the meat as sweet as it is
in Szechuan?"
Tai Hwang grinned crookedly. "Without a doubt, my friend. She was worth
every yuan." For Tai Hwang had been the second man who had come forward to rape
Peony as she lay helplessly on the square table in the Pit, her long slender
legs pulled back over her shoulders and lashed to the Tsingtao Table Spikes.
The stocky farmer from Szechuan had plundered her tender body roughly while his
callused hands, hard from a lifetime of manual labor, had explored the silky
softness of Peony's nubile body with the diligence of a man used to working the
long hours of a Chinese summer. He had delighted in digging his workingman's
nails deep into the soft flesh of her hips as he thrust heavily into her. His
pleasure had been augmented by his partner in the double rape, a wild-eyed thug
he had not known before, who had crushed Peony dark-nippled breasts in his
strong young hands until she had succumbed to his abuse and opened her mouth so
that he might thrust his Scorpion-cock between her lips.
Meanwhile, Chiang Chan had stepped forward, interrupting their vulgar
exchange "Who was it that you just saw, Tai Hwang?"
"It was him, I'm almost sure of it."
"Who, you fool? Stop speaking in riddles."
"Luk Yee. The one I followed the other night from this very house," Tai
Hwang added with a pained expression. "How do you think they knew where he
lived?" he added, indicating the three Scorpions who had visited Luk Yee's house
the night before and taken his wife back to the Black Pagoda where Richard Chan
and Dao had put her through a series of dreadful tortures. "It was I who
followed him home."
"You saw Luk Yee just now? And yet you did not go after him?"
"I am sorry, sir," Tai Whang sputtered nervously. "I started to follow
him. But your father himself ordered me to stay here to make sure that the
woman did not leave. How could I abandon my post?"
"After him, you fool! He may be heading homeward, in which case you know
the way. Lin, Ox go with him! Do not let him escape again." Chiang Chan
issued the orders crisply, as if he had been giving commands all of his life.
As Tai, Lin, and Zheng hurried off, Chiang Chan turned to his sole
remaining companion. "Let's go, my friend. My uncle has sent for Ming-tsu; we
must not disappoint him."
Chiang Chan and Dao strode up the walk and tapped at the door. When no one
answered, Chiang Chan circled around to peek through the slightly parted
curtains in the front window. He was taken aback by the sight of Ming-tsu, her
eyes ablaze with fury. Or was it passion? Or fear?
Chiang Chan signalled to Dao to join him at the window and the two men
looked in, watching Ming-tsu as she continued to scrub the already gleaming
floor in her low-cut chemise.
Dao cupped his hands in front of his chest, as if by some chance Chiang
Chan had somewhow been blind to the sight of Ming-tsu's delicious breasts which
danced playfully against the flimsly neckline of her silken shift as she
scrubbed the floor. One faint horizontal line across Ming-tsu's left breast was
the sole remaining evidence of the marks his father's straight-edge had left a
few days earlier.
Chiang winked at his gap-toothed crony, and returned to the door, knocking
much harder this time.
For this day promised to be one that he would not soon forget ...
Chapter 68 The Search
Ming-tsu was still on her knees, her eyes glazed, feverishly mopping at
the spotless floor, when Chiang Chan pounded on her door for the fourth time,
this time hard enough to rattle the wooden panel on its hinges.
Startled back to reality by the force of the knock, Ming-tsu looked around
blankly, wondering what had become of Luk Yee. What had happened? Where had
he gone? A few minutes earlier he had seemed on the verge of surrendering to
her seduction, but now there was nothing left of him except for the faint
masculine smell left by one who had spent the night sleeping in the street. Her
breathing still uneven from her exertions, Ming-tsu called out tremulously, "Who
is it?"
An unfamiliar but authoritative voice responded, "Ming-tsu! You have been
summoned to the Black Pagoda. Let us in. At once!"
Ming-tsu climbed unsteadily to her feet, still shaken by the vision of
Liu's sorrowful face floating on the surface of her tea. Could it be time
already? George Chan had promised her twelve hours. And she had been close, so
close to seducing Luk Yee, when she had seen the eerie vision in the teacup.
"Very well," she replied nervously. "One moment." She stepped into her
bed-chamber and sat for a moment before the mirror examining her features. It
was important that she look her best when she was called before Richard Chan.
She would need all of her feminine wiles to stave off calamity inasmuch as the
jewels were still no closer to being found.
"Open up, woman! Before I kick the door in!" It was a second voice,
deeper, louder, angrier."
"Yes, yes, I'm coming," Ming-tsu called as she brushed the wildness from
her glossy black hair. She reached for a dress that was hanging in a small
closet, but ...
"Now!" roared the deep voice again, causing her to jump. Throwing her
dress hastily over her arm, she hastened toward the door.
Ming-tsu opened the door to find two of the four Scorpions that she had
dispatched with the bodies a few nights earlier. The leader of the duo, though
she did not know it, was Chiang Chan. The younger, thinner man brushed past
her, followed quickly by his tall, ill-featured gaptoothed comrade.
There was something peculiar about the first man to enter her lodgings she
thought. It was odd for someone so young to be so inscrutable, so proficient at
masking his emotions behind a cool facade. She had seen him briefly at the Black
Pagoda on the memorable night on which Li Chang and the others had died, but he
seemed quite different from most of the Scorpions she had met. His demeanor was
free from the vulgarity, and his speech from the coarseness that seemed as
natural to the rest of the Scorpions as bodily functions. As she had been on
the Night of the Tiger, she was struck by his faint resemblance to someone.
But to whom?
Gaptooth, the second man through the door, was a more typical Scorpion,
powerfully built and possessed of an almost obscene uncouthness. Like his
leader, he was clothed in the ebony tunic and trousers emblematic of the Black
Scorpions. Ming-tsu well recalled how Gap-tooth had assisted her and the
barbaric Feng during the interrogation of Liu. A chill passed over her body as
she remembered how the crooked-toothed thug had ogled the slender but
well-formed body of Wen-chi's grand-daughter while he guarded the old man .
Later on it had been he who had prepared the hot irons and it was his lips that
had curled into a cruel smile, and his eyes that had lit up with blood-lust when
the brands had been applied to the unblemished skin of their comely prisoner.
But now it was her own lovely body that the brute's dark eyes were ravishing.
She shuddered again and though modesty had never ranked highly among her
virtues, pulled her dark green robe closer about her.
"Forgive me, I was just dressing," Ming-tsu stammered nervously, as she
indicated the dress. "I will rejoin you in a moment."
Dao's reached out with a long arm and tore the dress from her hands. "You
won't be needing that any time soon!"
Ming-tsu, furious at this affront, turned to the younger man who, for all
his youth, comported himself with a certain air of dignity and authority.
"Remind your ugly friend, sir, that I am under the protection of George Chan
himself!" She glared at Dao. "He will regret speaking to me in this way!"
Dao, his features contorted with rage at her insult, reached out angrily
as if to strike her and then thought better of it. "You fool! Don't you know
who you're ta ...."
"Enough, Dao!" Chiang Chan silenced his gap-toothed minion with a
peremptory glance. There was nothing to be gained by revealing his identity to
the stunningly beautiful concubine at this point. It would only serve to put
Ming-tsu on her guard. It was fortunate, he thought, that he had inherited his
facial traits and his physique from his late mother, who had been a striking
woman. He was taller than his father, and much thinner of frame. And his face,
like his mother's, was oval-shaped rather than cut in the roundish visage of his
father. But in mind, in spirit, and in soul, he was a worthy heir to his father
and his father's father before him. He was as cruel, as clever and as
calculating as the wily old Jiang Shao Chan himself.
He turned to his father's beautiful mistress. Her anger had given fresh
color to her cheeks, and her sudden retreat from Dao's upraised arm had caused
her to be careless with her robe. When she had stepped back he got a fresh
glimpse of the amber-gold thighs that had pointed so shamelessly toward the
ceiling when she had 'unfolded the lotus' for his father in his den.
"Miss," Chiang began with a feigned courtesy that was not matched by any
friendliness in his forbidding stare, "perhaps you can save my friend and I some
time -- and your pleasant home from being searched." Chiang Chan looked around
the room with an appreciative eye. A pleasant home it was, indeed, thanks both
to Ming-tsu's stylish taste in decor and his father's wealth. The furniture,
the carpets, the draperies were nearly as inviting to a guest as Ming-tsu's
lovely face and figure. The room itself was redolent with an exotic, tropical
scent. Ming-tsu had overlooked no detail in offering Li Chang a home worthy of
a courtier in the Forbidden City. It would be a shame to root through her
belongings like vandals, but .... Chiang Chan met Ming-tsu's angry gaze, with a
question. "Where are Mai-Lee's necklace and earrings?"
'It is I who should be asking you,' Ming-tsu thought contemptuously, as she
turned away from him for a moment and stooped to pick up the pieces of the
porcelain cup that Luk Yee had gathered into a small pile on the floor. During
her long, steamy bath {Chapter 63} she had come to the conclusion that this
young man whose dark eyes appraised her so candidly had probably been the
ringleader of a conspiracy hatched by the four Scorpions who had taken the
bodies to the harbor. For a long moment she considered whether she should
challenge him now, and then decided against it. Far better to spring her
suspicions about him suddenly, in the presence of Richard Chan, so that he
would have no time to prepare a defense.
Having regained her confidence and her color, Ming-tsu spun around on her
knees and addressed Chiang Chan as boldly as she would have a servant.
"I did not take them," she insisted with asperity. "Even if I had, would I
have kept them here? Do you think me a fool? Search for them yourself if you
wish!" she snapped haughtily.
Chiang Chan's eyes narrowed at her offensive tone. 'Enjoy your air of
superiority, Ming-tsu,' he thought to himself. 'But the time may well come when
you wish you had not spoken to me in such a fashion.'
When Ming-tsu had turned quickly toward him her robe had fallen open in
front and Chiang was treated to the pleasant vista of the eye-catchingly low-cut
black chemise that clung to her beautifully-shaped breasts like water-colors on
a canvas. Chiang Chan stared at her appraisingly for a long moment, envying his
father's familiarity with her luscious body. How many times, he wondered idly,
had his father touched those marvelous breasts? How many times had he kissed
them, nipped them, bitten them? How many times had he slapped those firm young
globes until they were rosy from his attentions? Judging from the crisp blows
he had seen his father deliver to Ming-tsu's breasts with his desk ruler -- not
to mention the intense flogging he had seen him administer to Erika Weiss -- he
knew that his father was capable of even sterner measures. On how many
occasions, Chiang wondered, had his father strapped or birched those luscious
hemispheres of dark-nippled flesh until his honey-skinned concubine had begged
for mercy? How many times had he eased his virile manhood back and forth in the
exquisite valley between her tempting lust globes before anointing them with
ropes and ropes of Chan-juice?
Ming-tsu looked quizzically at the enigmatic smile which crossed Chiang
Chan's face, as he entertained these pleasant notions. Despite the exciting and
exhausting debauchery with Ci-ci and Peony on the prior night, Chiang Chan felt
his manhood stiffen with renewed vigor.
But first things first. "Search the house!" he ordered Dao.
Chiang Chan watched as Dao, beginning in the far corner of the room,
commenced a thorough inspection of Ming-tsu's salon by tearing the cushions off
of the divan, and searching under them. Finding nothing in the divan, he
reached for the golden letter-opener, which was still lying where Ming-tsu had
left it, and stabbed into one of the cushions, spewing its feathery contents
around the room.
"W-what are you doing?" Ming-tsu implored, as Dao cut open a second
cushion.
"Jewelry is easy to hide miss; but we intend to search thoroughly."
"But you're ruining my things! George Chan himself bought those for me,"
Ming-tsu wailed as Dao cut into one of the plush harem pillows whose presence in
her parlor had caused Luk Yee to lapse into the erotic daydream in which he had
plunged his manhood repeatedly into the inviting crevice between Ming-tsu's
tantalizingly uptilted buttocks.
But her words went unheard and Dao set about dismantling her elegant living
room, while Chiang Chan busied himself tapping on walls and floorboards in
search of hollow places.
It took Dao about an hour to complete his methodical pillaging of the front
room. He was just preparing to continue his quest in Ming-tsu's bed-chamber
when the threesome heard loud footsteps advancing up the walk.
Chiang Chan opened the door to see the hulking body of Zheng the Ox
blocking out the sun. Behind him stood the slight figure of Lin the Drooler.
"Lu ..." Lin began, but was interrupted by a finger placed vertically
across Chiang Chan's lips.
"I mean, he," Lin continued, understanding Chiang's gesture, "managed to
lose himself in the textile district, boss. There must be a hundred narrow,
winding streets. We came across three other Scorpions while we pursued him, and
left them to help Tai Hwang continue the search. We thought it best to report
back to you."
The Ox concurred with a bovine nod of his head.
Chiang Chan slammed his fist against the wall in anger. Luk Yee seemed to
have escaped them by a matter of mere moments yet again! Chiang glanced at Lin
and the Ox; they were eyeing Ming-tsu the way a falcon eyes a plump fieldmouse.
He wondered how diligent their search had been; he suspected that they had
returned more to be sure not to miss out on whatever fate was to befall
Ming-tsu, than to convey the results of their search.
"Boss! Look at this!" Dao emerged from the bedchamber waving the thick
stack of currency that Ming-tsu had hidden away in her inlaid dresser -- the
money that had accompanied Sung Lo's offer to buy her club.
Lin whistled at the sight of so many bills -- more than he had ever seen at
one time in his life. Even Chiang Chan lifted an eyebrow.
"That is my money!" Ming-tsu stepped in Dao's path angrily.
Chiang Chan studied her closely. Perhaps the thieving whore has already
begun to convert the jewels into cash, thought Chiang Chan. He took the money
from Dao, and riffled through it, counting it rapidly. "How do you come to have
such a sum in the house, Miss?"
"It's - it's a good faith deposit; a gentleman has offered to buy my
business."
"He is showing remarkably good faith, indeed, with such a sum."
Ming-tsu ran toward the dresser, and extracted Sung Lo's letter. "Here,
here is the proof!" Chiang Chan ran his eyes quickly down the letter, pursing
his lips as he did so. When we was done he gave his father's mistress a stony
glance. "We shall see, miss, we shall see. In the meantime, Dao, keep looking!
Lin, Zheng, give him a hand. Overlook nothing!"
With three men rummaging through her bedchamber, the pace of the search
picked up speed. At one point, Dao bellowed, "Aha!" when he stumbled across
Ming-tsu's jewelry box. But it was quickly ascertained that, although some of
its contents were exquisite, Mai Lee's matchless diamond earrings and pearl
necklace were not among them.
A few minutes later Lin made another discovery, exclaiming jubilantly,
"Hey, look at what I've found."
His three comrades stepped closer, grinning and elbowing each other as Lin
held up the felt lined box that contained "Jumbo", Ming-tsu's ivory
pleasure-phallus. The silken-haired concubine flushed with embarrassment.
"Hmm, I wonder where that's been hiding," Dao chortled, as his comrades
erupted in coarse laughter.
Lin held the large ivory dildo up and imagined its mushroom-shaped tip
sliding in and out of Ming-tsu's wet, quivering pussy. "In a nice box, I'll
bet!" Lin rejoined.
"Hey, Ox, you're in luck! It looks like she likes them big," Dao grinned
as he slapped his huge comrade on the back.
The three lower-ranking Scorpions had been staring at her rudely ever since
they had entered her lodgings, mentally stripping the dark green robe from her
shoulders, but this latest discovery seemed to give them additional license.
Ming-tsu was appalled and horrified by the way the threesome no longer even
pretended to mask their lust-filled stares.
Dao continued exploring the drawer which held some of Ming-tsu's erotic
accoutrements. He rummaged through ben wa balls of various sizes, and a variety
of oddly-shaped articles, one pair of which was studded with brilliant blue
sapphires.
Lin whistled softly at the sight of the precious stones, and picked up the
tiny hinge-like devices to which they were attached and stared at them blankly
for a moment. "Nipple clamps, stupid," Dao explained scornfully to the naive
young Scorpion...
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...
Chapter 70 The Carriage Trade
Somehow she had contrived to retain the lovely smile on her face throughout
the long evening. When the party broke up and they climbed into a carriage to
return to George's country home, George, she was sure, had intentionally given
the cabman the wrong directions in order to prolong her suffering as much as
possible. Several times he ordered the driver to stop so that he could point
out some landmark that she had seen dozens of times before. Finally, when the
city was asleep at about two in the morning, George ordered the driver, a
spindly young man of nineteen or twenty, to park the carriage in a deserted
street. Then he had told the driver to join him and Ming-tsu in the back of the
carriage. The driver, puzzled by this strange invitation had demurred at first
but a couple of gold coins had soon convinced him to humor his well-dressed
client.
After the hesitant young driver had climbed into the carriage seat facing
George and Ming-tsu, he realized that George Chan had had him position the
carriage so that pale streams of moonlight shone in through the window on
Ming-tsu's side of the carriage, bathing her face and the bare skin above her
plunging neckline in a creamy glow.
The boy nervously glanced from side to side, trying not to look at the
enticing pair of half-revealed breasts that surged proudly out of Ming-tsu's
U-shaped neckline. But soon, at George's insistent urging, he confessed that
yes, the lady was beautiful, yes, the moonlight enhanced her beauty, and, after
a more stubborn resistance, no, he had never been with a woman before.
When George asked him if he'd like to be with one now, the young driver
looked at Ming-tsu's luscious hillocks of flesh, licked his lips and stammered
his assent.
"Well, why don't you begin by taking off her dress?" the insidious voice
whispered from the far corner of the carriage. "Ming-tsu is very proud of her
splendid body, aren't you my dear?"
The young cabman had difficulty in swallowing.
"Yes," she had breathed, knowing that contradiction could only lead to more
suffering.
The young man's hands had reached for the bodice of her dress and gave it a
gentle tug, but the fabric did not pull away from her chest.
Ming-tsu had looked at her lover imploringly; the fabric had not pulled
away because the scarlet silk had adhered to the drops of blood that had oozed
from her abused nipples. Tearing the fabric away suddenly would be like
stripping a bandage from an open wound.
"Please, George," she had whispered.
"Hush, darling. Not a sound."
A moment later George's husky voice had spoken to the young man again.
"Don't worry lad, it's just the nature of the fabric. Give it a good pull, boy,
if you want to see what she's got underneath that dress."
The driver inserted both of his pale hands in the neckline and pulled down
hard, tearing the blood-stained fabric away from Ming-tsu's breasts as she
gasped in pain.
As the fabric fell halfway to her waist, the boy recoiled in alarm when he
saw the tiny hinged clips that clung to Ming-tsu's pleasure buds; the sapphire
studs were coruscating in the moonglow, even though they were now flecked with
crimson around the edges.
"Don't be alarmed," crooned the diabolical voice. "It's only a few drops
of blood. If you're going to be a man in this world, you'll have to get used to
the sight of blood. Won't he, my dear? " There had been steel in George Chan's
voice when he whispered those words..
"Y-yes."
"Touch them, boy."
A pair of half-trembling, half-eager young hands reached out gingerly to
touch Ming-tsu's moon-lit love-mounds.
"Do you feel how soft her skin is?"
"Y-y-yes, sir." The driver's eyes were wide with awe. Who would have
thought that his last fare of the night would result in an adventure with what
he took to be an eccentric aristocrat -- and the most gorgeous woman he had ever
seen in his life.
"The skin of her breasts is as soft as a baby's bottom is it not?"
"Y-yes, sir."
"And yet her breasts are so firm. Don't you think so?"
"Mmmm, yes. Oh, yes."
Don't just poke at them, boy! You've got a woman's tits in your hands,
not spiderwebs! Slide your hands right under them."
"L-like this?"
"Good lad! Now you're catching on. Give them a squeeze."
"But won't they bl...?"
"She is a woman. You are a man. It is her duty to give you pleasure.
Take it!"
Ouuuuwwww!!
"Good! ... Again! ... Harder still! Excellent! See? Only a drop or
two."
The more the driver sunk his fingers into Ming-tsu's tender breast-flesh,
the louder her moans became.
"Ming-tsu -- Do you wish to please me, tonight?"
"Ooouuooww... Always, sir." What else was there to say?
"The boy ... he's not a bad-looking young man, is he, darling?"
"Aaaaagghhh! ... N-no...."
He learns quickly, does he not? Are his hands as strong as they look, my
love?"
"Eeaiaah!! ... Yes ...AGGH!! Yes..."
"Yeah!" The sinews in the driver's wrists tightened visibly in the
moonlight.
"Oooohhhh ..... Ohhhhhhhwww."
"Ming-tsu, this fine young man has been driving us all over the city for
two hours. Have you enjoyed your evening?"
"Unnngghhhmpphhhh!! The coachman's hands had tightened again. A long
pause, while Ming-tsu tried to regain her breath. "Y-yes, master."
"Good, good, that pleases me." Then, changing the subject, George's voice
whispered the last question that Ming-tsu would have ever expected him to ask.
" Have you ever heard of the principal of leverage, boy?"
The skinny coachman looked at George Chan as if he had asked him to recite
the Twelfth Analect of Confucius.
"N-no, sir."
"Well then, I shall have to explain it to you. Leverage, you see, results
from using an object to increase the power of an action ... Hmmm, I see you
don't quite understand."
The driver, still tightly cupping Ming-tsu's perfect breasts, looked at
George Chan uncomprehendingly.
'You know, lad, they say a picture is worth a thousand words. "Do you see
those pretty blue things hanging from her nipples?"
"Sure. They're really digging in to her, ain't they?"
"That they are, lad, that they are. And they shall teach you about
leverage. Just take one between thumb and forefinger. Hold it as lightly as you
like." George watched as the boys fingers closed gently on one of the
sapphire-tipped clamps. "Do you have it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent. Now give it a little twist."
"Aaauughhh!" Despite the coolness of the night air, Ming-tsu's face and
upper body was bathed in sweat.
"Very nice. Again."
"N-no ... plea.... Aaaaeeeiiaahh!!"
"Again..."
Eaaiaaaahh!!
"Ah, he's a quick-learner, darling. It takes some students hours to
understand the principles of leverage. He has mastered them in a moment."
George Chan smiled the smile of a pleased professor. " Now the other one."
"Aaarrrgghhh!!
"Hush, my dear; you'll wake half the city."
"But, master ... it hurts so ... you don't know ..."
"You're doing very well, boy. Now try both at once."
"AAIEEEAHHH!!
********
Five minutes later Ming-tsu was on her knees in the carriage, still nude to
the waist, her lovely mouth bobbing up and down on the coachman's throbbing
organ while the slender young man, his eyes rolling in ecstasy at the touch of
her lips, twisted the punishing hinge-clamps each time she tried to draw a
breath.
Mercifully the coachman, though blessed with the magnificent potency of
youth, lacked the stamina that comes with experience, and it was but a few
moments later that he felt his seed racing upwards through his randy cock.
"Uhhh.. Ooohhhh. Uuuuhhhhhh !!!"
Ming-tsu sensed the driver's coming orgasm and lifted her tear-streaked
face from his saliva-drenched phallus.
"In her face, boy. Shoot right in her face."
"Yeah, yeahh, YEAHH!!" The first jet of sperm landed just beneath
Ming-tsu's right eye.
"Now her tits, lad! All over her tits."
The coachman aimed at Ming-tsu crimson-tipped love-mounds and proceeded to
empty his fleshy weapon on her perfect breasts, firing salvo after salvo of
viscous man-juice onto the moonlit globes of George Chan's concubine.
********
Later, after they had arrived at his summer house, and sent a cheerful
coachman off into the night, the stocky ganglord had wiped the cream-colored
souvenirs of the cabman's lust from her face and breasts. Then he had undressed
her slowly, and lain her nude body down on the bed before at last removing the
dreadful blue-studded hinges from her brown and bloodied nipple-tips; the
restoration of circulation quickly sent fresh waves of excruciating pain
coursing through her ravaged pain-nuggets.
Ming-tsu had tried to comfort her breasts with her own hands, but George
had pulled them away and replaced them with his own mouth. The younger Chan had
lowered his lips to first one breast then the other, enjoying the crusty texture
of dried blood and the robust, gamy taste of fresh. As she felt his mouth pay
homage to her inflamed pleasure-globes, the beleaguered concubine was grateful
that some beneficent spirit had ordained that the touch of her master's mouth
would prove comforting to her tortured breasts -- and indeed it had.
By the time his mouth had polished every drop of blood from her uptilted
breasts, George Chan's aroused organ was a mighty pole of male flesh. He had
parted her thighs then, and then lowered his heavy upper body onto hers,
crushing her oh-so-tender breasts beneath him before giving his thrice-degraded
mistress as prolonged and violent a fucking as she had ever known.
But true to his word, before the week was out, he had presented his
raven-haired concubine with the keys to the night club -- the very same club
where, months later, on an ill-starred night, it had been Li Chang's bad joss
to stop for a drink.
Such was the strange history of the sapphire-studded nipple-clamps....
Chapter 71 The Humiliation of Ming-tsu
Lin the Drooler glanced from his mentor, Dao, over toward the
black-chemised concubine who watched appalled, as the four Scorpions rifled
through her most private possessions. "Nipple-clamps, eh? No kidding? Hey,
honey, how about a fashion show?" Lin cracked, as he took in the tumultuous rise
and fall of the angry concubine's splendid breasts beneath the green robe. Was
it his imagination or did the mere word 'nipple-clamp' cause her breasts to
swell under the skin-hugging silk?
A moment later, Zheng swept aside an armful of clothes in an upright
closet; behind the view-obstructing wall of garments was secreted a pegboard
from which were draped a variety of leather cuffs, silver chains, a slender cane
and other articles that she and Li had used to discipline Peony and Mila and all
of the other lovely girls that they had summoned from Madam Wong's for evenings
of erotic delight. Hanging from a hook, Dao noted, was the black, split-tailed
whip Ming-tsu had given to Feng to use on Liu. He little knew, of course, that
this was the very whip which Li Chang had used to punish Ming-tsu's shameless
flaunting on the Night of the Forty Lashes.
Chiang Chan studied Ming-tsu's collection of erotic paraphernalia with
interest; more gifts from his father, no doubt.
The four men stared hungrily at Ming-tsu, and she returned their gaze with
equal boldness. What business of theirs was it how she and her lovers sought
their pleasures?
At last, however, every corner of her bedchamber had been searched, each
article of clothing in her closets and dressers carefully examined. Perhaps an
hour later, the rest of the rooms in her home had also been ransacked from top
to bottom in a fruitless quest for the necklace and earrings.
"Now do you believe me?" Ming-tsu, having regained her self-possession,
asked scornfully of the Scorpions' leader. "Mai-Lee's precious jewels are not
here."
Angered by her tone, Dao walked across the room toward her, stopping within
arm's reach. A slow, evil, lecherous grin spread across his homely features as
he reached out and fingered the sleeve of Ming-tsu's dark green dressing gown.
"There's one place we haven't looked, boss!"
"W-what are you talking about?" The expression on Dao's face frightened
her. "You have looked everywhere!" Ming-tsu made a sweeping gesture with one
arm, indicating the total shambles the Scorpions had made of her living
quarters.
"Not quite, Miss." Chiang Chan's voice was icily formal. "Give Dao the
robe."
The silken-haired concubine's lovely brown eyes blazed with fury. Her lips
were trembling with rage as she responded, "Get out! All of you!" I am the
woman of George Chan. When I tell him what you done here, he will have you all
gelded for treating me like this!"
"My orders were to search your belongings thoroughly, Miss," Chiang Chan
countered mildly. "And search them we shall." Chiang Chan returned her angry
stare with a frosty one of his own. "Give - him - the - robe!" The four staccato
words resounded with the sharp impact of a butcher's cleaver smashing into a
heavy wooden block.
"N-no... you can't..." the bluster had all but left Ming-tsu's voice now,
as Dao moved toward her.
Ming-tzu turned around quickly only to find her body pressed against Lin
the Drooler who had been standing immediately behind her. A gleeful smile
crossed Lin's pock-marked face as he reached out and placed his hands on her
robe-covered breasts and pushed her back toward his gaptoothed comrade.
"The robe, Miss," Chiang Chan said sternly again. "Or shall I have my
friend Zheng wrestle it from your lovely body?"
The Ox stepped forward only too anxious to lay his hands on the sensuous
young concubine.
"The robe!"
"V-very well," Ming-tsu said nervously, as she fumbled with the sash of the
emerald robe. The dressing-gown parted in front of her and she heard the soft
intake of breath as the three Scorpions caught sight of her brief, clinging,
black chemise. Ming-tsu slipped the robe back over her shoulders, pausing out
of habit in a timeless feminine gesture, before letting the robe slide down her
slender arms. The curves of her proud young breasts and the chiseled tips of
her shame-stiffened nipples pressed boldly against the silken chemise as she
held the robe out to Dao, who seized it roughly from her, and then ran his hands
over it, feeling carefully for anything that might have been secreted in a
lining.
Just then the Ox seemed to lose his balance. He lurched sideways awkwardly
and his big arm sent Ming-tsu's jewelry box flying across the room, with rings,
pins, bracelets and necklaces flying in every direction.
"What are you doing, you clumsy fool?" Ming-tsu cried as she fell to her
knees to retrieve the glittering prizes which George Chan had bestowed upon her.
"Oh! Sorry, Miss," the Ox muttered in his cavernous voice.
Chiang Chan watched with a tight-lipped smile as Ming-tsu dropped to the
floor to pick up her trinkets. Perhaps the Ox wasn't quite as stupid or clumsy
an oaf as he had thought. As she crawled around her knees, the back of the
chemise crept high up on Ming-tsu's shapely thighs, her spankable, heart-shaped
buttocks took on a most appealing curvature, and the front of the French-cut
chemise fell away almost completely from her succulent breasts.
Zheng towered over her, his thick tongue lolling out of his mouth, staring
at her mouth-watering orbs, like a Bedouin who had just stumbled across the last
oasis between Algiers andTimbuktu. Lin meanwhile, ever the young gentleman,
dropped to his knees, pretending to assist her, but mostly in an effort to
maneuver his acne-riddled face even closer to the inviting cleavage displayed by
Ming-tsu's sexy black chemise.
Soon Ming-tsu's jewelry had all been restored to her lacquered jewelry box.
Are you finished, now?" she begged Chian Chan plaintively.
"There's still one more place, Boss!" Dao muttered gruffly. He had cast
the robe aside and his eyes were focussed on Ming-tsu's skin-hugging chemise.
"Don't be absurd," Ming-tsu said, as she backed away from the hulking
brute. But this time she backed into the massive body of the Ox.
"Search her!" ordered Chiang Chan.
"No!" Ming-tsu cried in a startled voice, as she quickly turned away from
the Ox, but she was powerless to resist the three Scorpions. Behind her, Dao
slid his rough, oversized hands under the chemise and then down into the
waistband of the wisp of black silk that encircled her hips. His thick heavy
fingers squeezed her springy buttock cheeks, testing their commendable firmness.
When her hands went down to swat his away, Dao seized them, and then, holding
both of her hands in one big paw, he proceeded to explore the smooth curves of
her rounded buttocks even more thoroughly with the other.
"You will pay for this, you swine!" Ming-tsu raged, but her words fell on
deaf ears.
Meanwhile one of Lin's hands had dived into the front of her panties,
groping in his artless way for the lips of her sex, while the Ox reached into
the decolletage of the low-cut chemise, and proceeded to grope Ming-tsu's nearly
nude love-mounds while she squirmed in revulsion.
Chiang Chan let the crude threesome have their fun for half a minute or so,
before observing, "I take it that she has not secreted the jewels in the
chemise, Dao?"
Paying Chiang Chan no attention, Zheng slid his other hand inside
Ming-tsu's silken neckline and encircled her other breast. Ming-tsu grimaced in
pain as she struggled to escape from his punishing grip.
Dao, meanwhile, merely grinned at Chiang Chan and groped her bottom
again; the very idea of embedding precious stones in the gossamer-thin chemise
had been but a ludicrous pretext; Chiang Chan had given the order merely to
humiliate their stunning prisoner.
And humiliate her, he had. Tears of shame streamed from her soft, brown
eyes as the three thugs fondled the curves of her body with obscene delight.
"Dao, I have heard that some women have been known to hide small objects on
their bodies; make certain that your search is thorough."
Dao laughed heartily and directed his comrades to "Bend her forward, lads,
and hold her arms." Once Zheng and Lin had Ming-tsu's scantily-clad body bent
foward at the waist, with a Scorpion firmly gripping each wrist and shoulder,
Dao bellowed a fresh command. "Spread your legs, woman!"
"You bastards!" Ming-tsu raged, but the superior strength of her captors
forced her to comply. As the Ox and the Drooler forced her head lower, thus
elevating her perfect rear end, Dao heard a gentle click.
Encouraged by that sound, Dao rolled Ming-tsu's silken top halfway up the
honey-gold flesh of her back, and slid her pantalettes down over her shapely
buttcheeks. His cock became as hard as a fence-post as he studied the delicious
rear view -- the prominent pale pink lips of Ming-tsu's inviting labia, the
stray tendrils of Asian-fine pubic hair, the stunningly delicious, deep-cleft
buttocks.
"Look at that sweet ass!" Lin enthused.
Dao reached forward and slid a meaty finger between Ming-tsu's labia.
"Aaaahhhhh!!" Ming-tsu squealed as she felt Dao's long, thick middle finger
delve into her vaginal passage. She squirmed her hips in protest against the
bestial intrusion, but that did nothing to thwart Dao's molesting search.
Chiang Chan noticed that a strange expression had stolen over the face of
his gaptoothed henchman.
"By the sword of Genghis Khan! I think I found them!" Dao observed with a
surprised glance at the others.
"What?" Chiang asked. He had ordered the search to mortify the arrogant
concubine, not in any real expectation of finding the jewels.
Dao slowly withdrew his finger and displayed a silver ben wa ball, sticky
with the juices of Ming-tsu's pleasure-garden. 'Wait, there's another!" The
thug inserted his damp finger again, located the other and removed it as well.
Lin and the Ox stared at the shiny orbs uncomprehendingly.
Chiang Chan had forgotten overhearing his father and Ming-tsu discussing
ben wa balls. {Chapter 24}. Then, mischieviously, he added, "She has yet
another hiding place, Dao -- search it thoroughly."
"N-no.... please." Dao's humiliating search had drained much of the
arrogance from Ming-tsu's voice.
But Dao merely kicked her bare feet even wider apart, spat on a bony
finger and jammed it three knuckles deep into the winking rosette of Ming-tsu's
anus. "Unnnghhh!!" she gasped at the uncomfortable intrusion. The golden anal
balls were not buried nearly as deep as the vaginal orbs, and the gaptoothed
thug quickly retrieved them, each of them making an odd puckering 'pop' as it
slid out of her tight-gripping rectal ring.
"What are they?" Lin asked. The day had proved to be quite a learning
experience for him.
"They are called ben wa balls," Chiang Chan replied. "Some women find them
pleasing -- when other means of pleasure are not available."
"Some whorish sluts, you mean," Dao countered.
"You swine! You will pay for this!"
"Dao, my friend, we must address Ming-tsu with respect," Chiang Chan
replied sardonically, having just given orders that had resulted in her being
treated with no more respect than the most degraded whore in a waterfront opium
den. "Has she not reminded us that she is under the protection of George Chan
himself? Release her!
Dao rather dejectedly gave Ming-tsu's nude bottom a final virile squeeze
before gesturing to his comrades to let go of her arms.
Chiang Chan glanced at a nearby clock. They had spent more time on their
search than he had expected, and had come up with nothing. As yet they had made
no concerted effort to loosen Ming-tsu's pretty pink tongue.
But the day was still young...
"All right, boys, I don't think that there's much more that we can do
here. It is not for us to judge if she is lying about the jewels."
Expecting what was to follow, Ming-tsu shook her head from side to side
beseechingly.
Chiang Chan pretended to consider her unspoken plea briefly before
continuing, in a voice as ominous as the low, dark clouds that precede a typhoon
in the China Sea. "It is for Richard Chan."
Ming-tsu's heart sank and her rounded shoulders sagged as Chiang went on.
"We shall see, my friends, if she persists in her denials at the Black Pagoda!"
Chapter 72 The Interrogation begins
An hour later, a visibly frightened Ming-tsu tried to summon her courage as
she stood before Richard and George Chan in the distinctly unfriendly confines
of the cellar of the Black Pagoda. She tried to steer her thoughts away from
the frightful devices she had seen while searching the dungeon -- the Tiger, the
Rack, and the dreadful Crusher that had haunted her dreams ever since her search
for the pearls. She glanced at the great wall-length mirror to see if her fear
was discernible in her face and was thankful that it was not. Defending herself
with bold confidence was her only chance, now.
Ming-tsu was still wearing the flimsy, revealing black chemise, the
sensuous curves of her honeyed thighs bare, the northern hemispheres of her
golden-hued breasts glimmering deliciously in the well-remembered torchlight of
the darkened dungeon. The four Scorpions had, for the moment at least, been
dismissed, but not before giving her luscious young body a final lascivious
glance that seemed to promise their quick return, upon which they would attend
to unfinished business...
She had never seen Richard Chan look so stern, so sinister. The scowling,
silver-robed Lord of the Black Pagoda was furious. "My patience with you is
exhausted, Ming-tsu. Where are the diamonds? The pearls? Mai-Lee lent them to
you several nights ago. This morning she reminded me again that you still have
not returned them."
"I-I don't know, sir," Ming-tsu pleaded in a submissive voice, her lovely
brown eyes downcast as she cursed Richard Chan's beautiful Eurasian concubine
under her breath -- the Lord of the Scorpions was wealthy enough to replace the
gems ten times over. After much consideration Ming-tsu had decided to keep her
suspicions about the Scorpions in reserve a little longer, with the idea that
her suppositions might seem more believable, less self-serving, if they were
only used as a last resort. "I have looked everywhere. As you can see they're
nowhere in sight here."
"Of course, I can see that, you stupid thieving bitch!" Richard Chan
stepped forward and Ming-tsu instinctively raised her hands to protect herself.
"You dare to lift your hand to me?"
"No, sire, I only ..." Ming-tsu began, as she lowered her hands hesitantly.
SMACCKK! The elder Chan backhanded her viciously across the inner curve of
her right breast; the gossamer silk of the chemise did nothing to soften the
intensity of his blow.
Grimacing with pain, but trying to maintain her poise, Ming-tsu said, "Sir,
you can't think that I would ever be so foolish as to steal from you?" "Sire,
you must believe me -- I would never ... I could never ... steal from you. Or
from you, Master, " she said turning to George Chan, her patron, her lover, with
soft imploring eyes. "You have both been most generous to your humble servant."
She finished this supplication only to be greeted by another swift-moving
hand that arced through the air, this time thudding into the softness of the
outer curve of her other breast, almost knocking her off her feet.
"I warned you not to toy with me, Ming-tsu," George snarled. His knuckles
tingled pleasantly in reaction to his concussive blow to the resilient fullness
of his concubine's breast.
"Where are the jewels, woman?" Richard Chan's voice was hard enough to cut
the diamonds for which he was searching.
"Per-perhaps the girl took them off, and dropped them so that they rolled
underneath something...?"
The familiar smile returned to George's face. He waited until Ming-tsu had
taken her eyes from him and glanced nervously in his brother's direction before
driving his fist heavily into the soft flesh of her unprotected stomach.
"Ummmmpppggghhh!!" Ming-tsu sank to her knees in pain, as George,
standing over her bellowed, "Do you think we're fools? What could they have
rolled under?"
Ming-tsu struggle to catch her breath, fighting off the blinding pain,
trying to gather her wits. "What else could have happened to them? I don't have
them. Unless..."
George grabbed her rich, dark, glossy mane of hair roughly and lifted her
painfully back to her feet. "Unless what?"
Ming-tsu decided that she could no longer delay the playing of her best
card. She took a deep breath that sent her full breasts surging against the
black silk and began. "You will remember that I directed three Scorpions to
dispose of the bodies that night. Then, when I could not find the necklace and
earrings here, I became convinced that the jewels had left with one of the four
bodies. I immediately sent another messenger -- the young one, with the bad
face -- after the first group to tell them to search the four bodies and their
belongings carefully."
"And did they search the bodies carefully, Ming-tsu?" George hissed.
Gaining confidence as she went, Ming-tsu continued, "I asked the leader of
the group when he returned. The same one who came for me today. He said that
they had searched." It was time to play her ace. "But scum like them can't be
trusted. You know that." She looked at Richard and George in turn, looking for
some sign of understanding or agreement. "They probably took the jewels and
agreed to lie upon their return. They're just street thugs, after all. Liars
and thieves. It's really the only possible expl..."
George Chan's knee slammed into Ming-tsu's vulnerable groin before she
could finish mouthing the word "explanation", sending to her knees in agony.
"No, you treacherous whore! There's another explanation. A far simpler
explanation. You took them from the girl's body and hid them before you called
for the Scorpions, you thieving cunt! That's what I think happened."
"George," Richard interrupted, with a peculiar smile, "I think it is only
fair that we let the victims of Ming-tsu's allegations confront their accuser.
What say you?"
George unclenched a powerful fist, and then smiled at his brother. "As
always, Richard, you are a man of high principle. Yes, let's call the Scorpions
in." And George stepped to the heavy door to the cellar, and called to someone
waiting outside, "Come. Now."
As the Scorpions filed into the cellar, Ming-tsu climbed unsteadily back to
her feet, a dull throbbing pain between her legs where George had kneed her.
The two vicious breast-slaps had endangered the chemise's already tenuous grip
on the ripe curves of her breasts; the three Scorpion minions edged nervously in
front of Richard Chan, but their hot, lustful gaze fell on Ming-tsu.
Ming-tsu noticed that George had whispered something into the squadron
leader's ear as they stood in the doorway. The slender young man nodded and
joined his comrades, facing the Brothers Chan who flanked the trembling
Ming-tsu.
"Well, Ming-tsu, would you care to repeat your accusations? Or would you
like to save us some time and admit that you stole the necklace?"
Ming-tsu decided to brazen it out. 'What other choice do I have?' she
thought to herself. "Sire, these are the four men who took the bodies to the
harbor that night."
"And why, Ming-tsu, have we called them before us?" Richard asked sternly.
There was no turning back now. "Because these four must have the diamonds
and pearls that Liu was wearing that night. I noticed that they were missing
after they had taken the bodies away. I sent this one" and she pointed to Lin,
who bristled in response, "after the others, to tell them to search the bodies
carefully. Clearly, they must have found the earrings and the necklace and
decided to divide them among themselves."
Ming-tsu had composed her little speech while she was crushed in between
Lin and Zheng in the back of the cart on the way to the Black Pagoda. Needless
to say it had not been easy to concentrate while the two men had pawed her
whenever Chiang's watchful glance was diverted.
"You lying slut!!!" Dao roared as he lunged toward her, his fist upraised,
before being restrained by Chiang Chan.
Ming-tsu held her breath as George Chan studied Dao's face and then her
own, as if he were trying to make up his mind about whom he believed. She
watched apprehensively as he turned toward the young squadron leader, "Chiang
Chan, my son, it might interest you to know that this woman called you and your
comrades 'scum' just moments ago. 'Street thugs'. 'Liars and thieves.' Tell me,
my son, is there any truth to her accusations?"
"My son?" gasped Ming-tsu in the faintest of voices. She felt as though
all of the blood had been drained from her face. She had dishonored George Chan
and his son. Chinese do not accept losing face lightly; Chinese crime lords
least of all.
Chiang's features had darkened into an angry scowl. "None whatever,
father. We searched the bodies very carefully, and found nothing of value. The
woman is lying. Look -- we even found a large sum of money at her house,"
Chiang Chan produced the thick wad of bills. "She took the pearls and sold
them, father; I am sure of it."
"It is not true, Master," Ming-tsu implored Richard Chan. She felt as if
her world were spinning hopelessly out of control. The macabre shadows of the
six men that the torchlight cast on the wall, seemed to hover about her like
dark birds of prey. "The money was sent to me by Sung Lo ... for the club."
She turned beseechingly toward her erstwhile lover. "George -- you know Sung
Lo... It was at his restaurant that I ... that you ..."
"Ah yes, the Night of the Bloody Sapphires," George recalled with a smile.
"You were magnificent that night, Ming-tsu. Only I knew that your radiant beauty
masked much suffering."
"Yes, George, yes," Ming-tsu panted. "And I did it for you!"
The second son of Jiang Shao Chan smiled darkly down at her. "Ming-tsu, I
regret to tell you that your suffering on that occasion will be as naught
compared to what befalls you on this one if you do not speak the truth. Where
and when did you get this money?"
"I have told you! Only last night -- not an hour before your visit. From
Sung Lo," Ming-tsu pleaded desperately, turning desperately from one Chan to the
next.
The triple pillars of the Scorpion Empire exchanged dubious glances. Then
Richard Chan interrupted his younger brother just as he was about to speak.
"Sung Lo embarked for Singapore four days ago; how could he have sent you the
money?"
"But - but," Ming-tsu's head was swimming. "The letter..."
"Anyone can forge a letter, whore," George Chan began.
"Like, Luk Yee, for instance," interjected Chiang Chan.
"Luk Yee? What has Luk Yee to do with this?" snapped Richard Chan angrily,
as his eyes narrowed into thin slits. "With Li Chang dead he is the greatest
threat to our enterprises."
"He was seen sneaking away from her house only this morning, uncle. We
pursued him, but he got away." Then Chiang remembered something else. "It was
not the first time he had been seen there either. Tai Hwang, our new man from
Szechuan, saw them conversing in her doorway once before."
"Why was I not told of this?" Richard Chan fumed, his face a mask of fury.
A scowling mask of fury, thought Ming-tsu, as she remembered the dreadful dreams
in which the Masks had tormented her.
"I just learned of it this morning, uncle."
The elder Chan nodded, appeased, and paced around thoughtfully. "I see, I
see. So first you betrayed Li Chang in order to win our confidence. When all
along you were plotting with Luk Yee..."
Ming-tsu's voice quavered with fear. "Sir, please. You must believe me. I
would never betray the Black Scorpions "No. No. It's a lie. I was only trying
to trap him, to turn him over to you. George, George! " Ming-tsu pleaded
frantically with the man for whom she had endured so much. "You've got to
believe me!"
George Chan ran his brown eyes up and down Ming-tsu's tempting body,
lingering on her semi-nude breasts, her tiny waist, and her sleek, sensuous
thighs. "You were trying to trap him? Dressed like that?"
The younger Chan paused for a moment and then continued, "Richard, I
suggest we let these young people thrash out their different stories; perhaps if
we leave the Scorpions alone with Ming-tsu for a few hours they can come to a
meeting of the minds. And tell us where we can recover the jewels. What do you
say, my brother?"
Ming-tsu, her heart pounding in her chest, felt the hot glare of the six
men on her scantily clad body. She had played every card in her hand, and each
had been trumped. And now the two kings of Shanghai were going to leave her in
the hands of the four knaves.
"No, George... please ... don't leave me .... not with them!"
Ming-tsu looked disbelievingly at each of the four Scorpions in turn; the
burly Ox, the perverted Drooler, Gaptooth, whose features were contorted with
both lust and wrath, and the enigmaticly sinister smile of their leader, Chiang
Chan. Whom she had called 'scum'.
"Very well, George," answered Richard. And then he turned toward Chiang and
whispered in a voice so low that Ming-tsu could not hear. "But I don't want your
"discussion" to leave any scars, nephew; this whore may have to fuck a dozen
men a night for ten years to repay me. Do not do anything that would reduce her
value to me. Do you understand?"
"Yes, uncle."
Richard Chan wrapped a slender, silver-covered arm around his nephew's
shoulder, and added softly, "There are some new implements in the cabinet over
there on the right, nephew, that you may find of interest; they will produce
great pain, but no lasting scars. I recommend them highly."
And with that Richard and George left the cellar, leaving the beautiful
Ming-tsu alone with the four Scorpions that she had just branded as thugs and
thieves. She looked around desperately as the four moved toward her, their eyes
on her scantily clad body, their jaws clenched in the way of men who were
preparing to exact a terrible revenge...
Chapter 73 Stalked by the Scorpions
As soon as the heavy door closed behind the Brothers Chan, the quartet of
furious Scorpions moved forward as one toward their shapely captive as if
directed by an unseen choreographer. Ming-tsu backed away from them, her alert
brown eyes desperately searching the murky dimness of the spacious, torch-lit
dungeon hoping to find a weapon, an exit, a miracle. As Chiang and his sinister
underlings moved closer she made eye contact with their young leader.
Deciding for the moment to rely on the feminine charms that she had so
often used to beguile his amorous father, Ming-tsu tried to put warmth into the
nervous smile that she offered Chiang Chan. "Please, sir, I'm sorry. I had no
idea who you were. And besides -- I-I didn't mean it. I didn't really think
you were the thieves. It's all a terrible misunderstanding -- a mistake."
"And you're going to pay for that mistake, cunt!" The Ox, so long laconic,
had been stirred to a righteous wrath by her false accusations. He inched
toward her from her left, his ungainly body as ugly as his speech had been
vulgar, his bovine face a nearly featureless slab of flesh. Ming-tsu shuddered
in trepidation as the Scorpions closed around her.
The Ox's outburst startled an iridescent-eyed black cat from a prolonged
slumber in a distant corner of the dungeon; Dao watched as the annoyed cat,
whose job it clearly was to keep the dungeon free of rodents, padded on silken
feet toward the retreating courtesan. The leggy feline was restrained by a
long, silent, leather leash which allowed her access to the dungeon which was
her hunting ground when the humans had retired; she slid silently up behind
Ming-tsu, as cats are wont to do, and when the concubine's bare leg brushed
against the cat's fur, Ming-tsu almost jumped out of her skin with fright. Her
cry of surprise sent the ominous feline trotting back toward the corner whence
she had come, where she proceeded to preside over events like a judge in the
underworld.
Unnerved by the appearance of the black cat, Ming-tsu did her best to
suppress her sickening sense that impending doom was no further away than the
animal whose sudden appearance seemed to augur the direst of calamities.
Ming-tsu's gaze followed the cat as the silent, sharp-eared creature curled up
alongside the ghastly wooden frame that had haunted her dreams for two nights.
The cat twitched its whiskers mysteriously while it peered through one of
the twin circles of the Burmese Crusher. Ming-tsu could only wonder what black
magic the creature had seemingly used to search the innermost recesses of her
consciousness, so that it might scratch at her deepest fears and claw at her
rawest nerves. Ming-tsu could almost feel the dreadful wooden bands of the
breast crusher tightening inexorably on her tender globes of girl-flesh...
Zheng, on the other hand, seemed to interpret the materialization of the
ebony feline as a good omen for he and his comrades. "Look at those jugs,
boys!" exulted the Ox, as he moved closer, stalking his human prey. "It won't be
long now! " he growled in a gruff voice. "Why don't you turn around for us,
whore, so we can see what you've got!"
Ming-tsu blushed, more conscious than ever of how the tops of her honeyed
mounds spilled out of her low-cut chemise, how the turgid darts of her nipples
prodded aggressively against the clinging silk.
Dao advanced on the Ox's left, his thick tongue protruding from one of the
larger gaps in his uneven rows of crooked teeth. "Yeah, let's have a look at
that sweet little ass! By the sword of Genghis Khan, I want some of that, Boss!"
The flickering torchlight gave Dao an even more grotesque aspect than usual.
The tall, gaptoothed Scorpion resembled a ghoulish, lust-crazed jack-o'-lantern,
as he drew nearer. "Yeah, show us what you got, girl," he lied, "and maybe
we'll go easy on you!"
On Ming-tsu's far right, Lin, the skinny young messenger whom she had sent
on that strange errand on the Night of the Tiger, was literally drooling as his
lustful eyes drank in the ripeness of Ming-tsu's thrusting breasts, the sleek
lines of her silk-covered torso, the slimness of her waist, and the bare, supple
thighs that were more revealed than concealed by her brief black chemise.
The innkeeper's son had coveted Ming-tsu's delicious body since the crisp,
sunlit mountain morning {Chapter 7} when he had first laid eyes on her. She
had been a vision of loveliness when he and his father had entrusted the
voluptuous blonde fraulein to her care, but now her skimpy attire, combined with
the ambience of male dominance that permeated the cellars of the Black Pagoda,
had fanned the flames of his desire to to a raging hunger. Lin's disfiguring
skin condition seemed to have worsened in the dank, humid atmosphere; the
blotches on his face were ruddy and pustulent. "Yeah, baby, let's see some
more," Lin parrotted Dao in his high-pitched voice.
To Lin's right was Chiang Chan, still in his very early twenties, well
built and not bad-looking. But as she had with his father and uncle, Ming-tsu
searched his dark, intense eyes in vain for the slightest trace of pity.
As his colleagues inched closer it occurred to Chiang Chan that his
father's gorgeous concubine had been right about one thing. His men were indeed
the scum of the earth. But they were loyal scum. And they were loyal to the
Chans because of the occasional fringe benefits that fate and the Chans bestowed
upon them. Fringe benefits like the tasty Ming-tsu.
"Please! I'll do anything ..." Ming-tsu purred enticingly as she gave
Chiang Chan her most lascivious smile, running her moist pink tongue slowly
across her sensuous lips, lingering to taste their sweetness. "I can show a
handsome man like you a very good time," she added breathily as her dark eyes
darted warily from side to side "You have no idea of how I could please you,
Chiang Chan. I could give you pleasures such as you have never known, pleasures
most men have never dreamed of." She struck a rather brazen pose for a moment,
standing obliquely to him, her lush breasts audaciously out-thrust, one hip
sensuously cocked in his direction.
Chiang Chan was only a few yards away now. His gaze, focused and
rapacious, swept across the succulent curves that Ming-tsu's silken chemise
hugged so tightly. "I have no doubt but that you can, Ming-tsu," he said with a
wry smile. But then his smile hardened into granite. "And that you will."
The squadron leader moved still closer, as Ming-stu continued retreating.
She could feel the youngest Chan's dark eyes caressing her tawny flesh,
seemingly intent on raking the brief chemise from her body telepathically.
"You will indeed show us a good time, in good time, you shameless slut. But
first," Chiang added as his lip curled upward sardonically, "we 'street thugs',
as you called us, are going to show you a bad time. A very bad time."
Ming-tsu took another step backward, her dark eyes darting feverishly, from
one hostile thug to the other. As she retreated she bumped into one of the
blood-stained pillars that supported the dungeon. Mounted in the pillar was one
of the flaming torches that served to give the depths of the Black Pagoda its
eerie glimmering glow.
Seized by an inspiration, Ming-tzu reached up swiftly and grasped the
flambeau, a yard-long wooden pole on which had been mounted a thick, fibrous
wick which had been dipped in a foul-smelling pitch before being set aflame.
Holding the torch tightly in her right hand she feinted toward Chiang Chan and
Lin on her right, and as she did so, the other two Scorpions surged forward.
"Get her!" Dao bellowed, but as the Ox charged toward the athletic young
woman she quickly swung the torch back in his direction, setting the left sleeve
of his black tunic alight.
"Arrggghh!!" A great, dark shadow on the opposing wall lurched violently
sideways as the Ox screamed in pain and danced in circles in an effort to put
out the fire, which only succeeded in making it worse. "You fucking cunt!!"
"Who else wants some of this?" the wild-eyed temptress dared the
approaching foursome, as she continued to back away from them. "Come closer,
gentlemen," she dared them. "So I can burn your balls off!"
Meanwhile Chiang Chan had quickly stepped over to the cabinet his uncle
had pointed out to him and removed a long, tapering whip of unusual smoothness
and flexibility. Uncoiling the blacksnake, he gave Ming-tsu a menacing glare
and once again joined his comrades in stalking the torch-wielding courtesan.
Ming-tsu, mindful of the whip, and still a bit rattled by the untimely
appearance of the black cat, continued retreating toward the subterranean
passageway through which the Scorpions had brought her to the Black Pagoda not
long before. The entrance to the underground passageway was at the far end of
the cellar from the doorway that led upward, via the circular stone staircase,
to the main levels of Richard Chan's mansion.
"When I get my hands on you! Aaaurrghhh!" the Ox raged as the bright
orange flames continued to dance on his dark sleeve.
"Stop waving your arms about," Dao instructed as he stripped off his own
shirt in an attempt to smother the flames that continued to creep up Zheng's
tunic.
CRACKKK!! Chiang lashed out with his whip. With Ming-tsu's torch-arm
extended, obstructing her upper body, Chiang Chan correctly judged that her
pretty legs were her most vulnerable point of attack, and indeed the black whip
curled around Ming-tsu's smooth, honey-gold thighs, wrapping them in its cruel
embrace.
"Aahh!" Ming-tsu yelped in pain, as the lash seared into her supple
thigh-flesh, but when Lin tried to take advantage of her moment of pain and
distraction by lunging forward to grab her, he was rewarded with a faceful of
flaming torch that Ming-tsu thrust toward him.
"Aaeeiiiii!!" the boy wailed as he fell back, his hands clutching his face.
Ming-tsu detected the nauseating smell of burning hair as the Drooler
doubled over in pain. When he pulled his hands from his face, Ming-tsu saw that
his eyebrows and the unruly hair that descended over his forehead had been badly
singed.
CRACCKK! Chiang swung the whip again, this time aiming at her torch hand.
"Ouwww!" Ming-tsu recoiled, and quickly tranferred the burning pole to her
other hand, so that she could shake the sting from her right wrist.
"Go for her legs, Dao!" Chiang Chan ordered his right-hand man, and the
hairy-chested thug made a wrestler's low diving lunge toward Ming-tsu's bare
left leg.
Ming-tsu lowered her torch defensively, and that gave Chiang Chan the
opening he had been looking for; he began to swing the whip just as Dao made his
feint, and his timing was exquisite. Just as the raven-haired concubine's guard
dropped down to defend against Dao, the black tail of the whip found the opening
in her defenses and slashed viciously into the lush upper curves of Ming-tsu's
semi-nude breasts.
"Aaaaiiieeee!!!" Ming-tsu wailed in agony, as a lightning bolt of pain
coursed through her unprotected lust-melons. She staggered backward, trying to
transfer the torch back to Chiang Chan's side, but as she lifted her arm
defensively, the black whip-lash dipped low, once again curling around her
shapely thighs, scalding her soft flesh.
Ming-tsu grimaced in pain again, but kept her presence of mind as she
reached the reinforced wooden door that opened into the underground passageway.
Doing her best to shake off the effects of the Chiang Chan's slashing whip, the
breathless courtesan used her left hand to grope for the door-latch while she
used the torch in her right to fend off the oncoming Scorpions.
The troublesome latch at last fell open and the almond-eyed temptress
breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped backward into the dark, dank passageway
through which she had been driven by blows like a pack animal not an hour
earlier. As they had paraded her through the narrow passageway the Scorpions
had undressed her with their lewd stares, insulted her with their licentious
tongues, and groped her as if she had been the commonest of street whores rather
than the mistress of George Chan.
The underground passageway, she recalled, emptied out near the front of
the Chan estate, not far from the main gate. If she could only hold off the
four vengeful Scorpions long enough to reach the end of the tunnel .... Once
out of the passageway and in the blessed open air, she thought that if she could
endure another lash or two of the whip she could negotiate the low wall that
adjoined the south side of the gate. If so, there was a real chance that she
could lose herself in the throngs of passersby who always filled the
labyrinthian streets of Shanghai. It would be a roll of the dice and the odds
were certainly not in her favor; but she had come to the conclusion that she
stood no chance at all by staying and submitting meekly to whatever cruel fate
the denizens of the House of Chan had condemned her.
The low-ceilinged corridor through which she retreated cautiously was only
about eight wide; its narrowness was an asset to Ming-tsu in that it narrowed
considerably the front that she had to defend. As she backed her way up the
slight grade of the crypt-like passageway, Ming-tsu's heart was pounding like
the pace-setting drummer on an ancient galley. Trying to ignore the effects of
the stinging lashes she had suffered, the shapely courtesan continued to wave
the torch back and front of her, occasionally feinting at a Scorpion who had
dared to approach nearer than the rest.
The Ox was still on her left; even in the Stygian light of the secret
passage, the light given off by her torch clearly showed the increasingly
inflamed redness of his badly burned left arm. As he lumbered forward, the big
man's jaw was firmly clenched, half in an attempt to forget what was surely a
painful burn, half in a rictus of rage and revenge. When his foot brushed
against something soft, he kicked at it wildly, crushing the skull of one of the
ugly long-tailed rats whose yellow eyes peeked out of the dark corners in the
feline-free passageway.
Dao was in the middle, a determined leer on his gaptoothed face,
approaching warily, properly respectful of the way Ming-tsu swept the flaming
pendulum from side to side before her.
Chiang Chan hung back a little on her right, still carrying the punishing
whip which, by a bit of good joss for Ming-tsu, was impossible to use in such
close quarters. A typical leader, Ming-tsu mused scornfully, as she noted how
he lagged a bit behind, letting his minions face the greatest danger.
The thick, noxious vapors of the burning pitch gave the unventilated
underground corridor a hellish cast as Ming-tsu retreated, making it
uncomfortable to breathe and difficult to see. Lin, whose face and hair she
had burned, was nowhere to be seen. Either the Drooler was following in the
murky dimness behind the big bodies of the Ox and Gaptooth, or his injuries had
caused him to abandon the chase altogether.
"Do you really think you can escape us?" the cool, rational voice of Chiang
Chan called out to Ming-tsu gratingly as the Scorpions inexorably followed the
scantily-clad beauty deeper and deeper into the dim recesses of the passage. "Do
you dare to think that there is a hiding place in Shanghai where you will be
safe from the sting of the Scorpions? Give me the torch, girl, and put an end
to this charade. Each second that you delay only worsens your inevitable fate.
Give me the torch!"
"Come and get it, Chiang Chan! You are welcome to this end of it!" the
scantily-clad concubine hissed as she thrust the flaming weapon toward him with
a swift movement that almost caused her whip-seared love-globes to leap out of
her decolletage.
When her lightning-quick thrust drove Chiang back, Ming-tsu used her left
hand to brush sticky of cobwebs away from the right side of her face as she
recommenced her slow, tactical retreat, holding the fiercely burning torch in
front of her defensively. She backed up the incline a few more feet, and began
to sense that she was approaching the outer terminus of the tunnel as, little by
little, daylight began to filter into the dark passageway.
Ming-tsu noticed too, as she had when she had passed through earlier,
that while the floor and lower walls of the underground corridor were damp and
clammy, the upper walls and the roof of the tunnel were as dry as an
aristocrat's attic, and festooned with myriads of cobwebs woven by the countless
arachnids who had inhabited the upper reaches of the forbidding passageway for
decades. She herself was too short to be much troubled by the overhanging webs,
but her four pursuers were continually ducking to avoid them.
Slowly a plan began to form in her mind; she remembered one point in the
tunnel where the webs had been particularly thick, especially along the wall to
her right ... and she was nearly certain that she was approaching that point
now...
Ming-tsu, her eye-catching, torch-lit breasts gleaming with perspiration
and heaving with excitement, backed up another few steps and then glanced
upward to make sure that her memory had not played tricks on her. Sure enough,
she had just retreated into a six-foot stretch of passageway where the webs that
lined the roof of the passageway grew as thick as a waterfront fog. Noticing
that Chiang Chan had finally drawn up even with his unsavory comrades, the
clever courtesan took two more steps backward, drawing him on, and then after
retreating under the worst of the webs, she suddenly swung the blazing torch
upward toward the great mass of spider-silk that lined the ceiling and the wall
to her right.
"Burn! Burn!!" she exhorted the miniature conflagration as the sea of dry,
overhanging cobwebs burst instantaneously into a myriad of tiny flames
slithering like a thousand fiery fuses in Chiang Chan's direction, with one web
igniting another, and then another and another and so on, until one entire side
of the passageway seemed ablaze with a thousand points of light.
"Eeaaahhhh!!!" Enmeshed in the sparkling gossamer maze, Chiang Chan cried
out and tried to step back but bumped into the bare-chested Dao who had come to
his assistance; in a moment the two Scorpions were engulfed in a flaming silken
labyrinth.
Ming-tsu was exultant with the success of her ploy, as she watched the two
Scorpions beat at their hair and clothing. Breathless with excitement, she
continued backward toward the light with only the Ox in hot pursuit. She was
only a few feet from safety now!
Chiang and Dao were still screaming in pain and cursing like marooned
sailors when suddenly the daylight behind Ming-tsu disappeared as if a Cyclops
had stepped in front of the the mouth of a cave. "Wha-a-a?" Ming-tsu cried out
wonderingly. Had the Scorpions contrived with some capricious god to move the
entrance to the tunnel? She took another step backward, and then glanced over
to shoulder to see what had become of the light.
But whatever light that had been there was almost completely obscured by a
dark shape. A dark shape which suddenly began to hurtle toward her. She
quickly began to turn so that she could aim the torch at the onrushing figure ,
but it was too late. A split-second later the shoulder of the mysterious phantom
slammed into her back violently, tackling her and sending her sprawling forward,
face-down in the murky passageway.
"The torch, Ox!" Lin yelled. "Get it!! Quickly!" For her attacker was none
other than the fleet-footed messenger who had taken the other exit from the
dungeon, and had raced up the staircase and dashed out to the front of the
palatial grounds of Richard Chan's magnificent estate, just in time to thwart
her attemped escape.
Despite the violence of their collision, Ming-tsu had just managed to hold
on to the torch, but with Lin's body lying on top of hers, pinning her
shoulders, she was powerless to do anything but wave it harmlessly across the
floor. The foul-smelling odor of Lin's singed hair represented only an
insignificant triumph; it did little to comfort the tears of frustration that
welled into her eyes, as she pounded her left fist into the ground. So close
... she had been so close... But now ... Dire images inspired by dreadful
dreams flashed quickly before her eyes. Blood-chilling visions of bondage and
torture and rape. Dark dreams of sinister men utilizing all of the hideous
devices of the Black Pagoda to take a cruel revenge upon the beautiful young
woman whose torch-wielding counter-attacks had added injury to insult.
The Ox's huge foot, encrimsoned with the blood of the rat he had slain,
came down on her torch-hand, pinning it to the coarse floor of the passageway.
"Drop the torch, cunt! Or I swear I'll put it out by shoving it up your pretty
ass!"
Meanwhile Lin's hands were sliding the flimsy black chemise up over
Ming-tsu's torso. Moments later, his eager fingers were clawing at her black
panties, pulling them down over the ripe curves of her buttocks.
As the pressure of Zheng's gigantic foot on her hand redoubled, Ming-tsu
was forced to release her grip on the flambeau, which the lumbering giant
stooped down to pick up with his unburned arm. Just then Ming-tsu felt
something soft and furry under her bare stomach and then she gasped softly as
she felt the creature wiggle under her hiked-up top. Within half a heartbeat
the soft and furry feelings had become ones of repulsion and disgust as what she
imagined to be the creature's tail slithered caressingly around her right
breast.
Meanwhile Chiang and Dao were approaching, their faces furious, having
fought off the flaming cocoon in which they had found themselves by beating the
flames out with Dao's shirt. Dao's bare belly and chest had been stripped of
their bristling hair by the web-flames; his face was a mask of rage.
Ming-tsu felt a hot, sticky tongue insinuating itself into her left ear as
Lin's body ground his young body sensually against hers, pressing her painfully
into the dank floor of the grim corridor. "You've had your fun, baby," his
voice whispered salaciously, "but it's our turn now." But as disgusting as
Lin's caresses were, they paled alongside of the horror she felt as the furry
thing nibbled at her left breast. She squirmed violently, hoping to repel the
little beast, and then a sharp pain reminded her of the most distinctive
characteristic of rodents. Like their less repellent cousins, squirrels and
beavers, a thousand generations of evolution have taught rats to gnaw hard
objects. And the creature who had gotten himself entrapped in her chemise had
begun to gnaw at the only hard object within reach -- her left nipple!
Prompted by the pain in her breast and a wave of stomach-churning
revulsion, Ming-tsu desperately threw her body forward, unmindful of Lin's
weight, half crushing the squealing long-tailed rodent beneath her. When, after
a second great effort, Ming-tsu was able to lift her torso off the floor again,
the dazed animal slipped out of her bodice and scurried toward the light of the
torch, until it was dispatched to parasite paradise by the Ox's massive boot.
But Ming-tsu's troubles were far from over. The Drooler had her panties
down over the summits of her buttocks now and his fingers played over her
rounded asscheeks like a potter at his wheel, stroking, molding, shaping her
perfect bottom-ovals.
"Look at this ass, boys!" Lin exulted, as he fumbled with his trousers.
"Ohh, are you gonna get it now, bitch!"
Ming-tsu clawed desperately at the wet dirt and gravel in which she lay;
she had endured hundreds of male embraces, and not a few of them unwillingly,
but never in her life had she felt so naked, so defenseless, so humiliated, as
she did at that moment. She felt Lin spread her buttcheeks apart and then she
felt his newly liberated cock pressing crowbar-like against the tight ring of
her tender anus. "Stop yer wiggling, cunt!"
"Pig!" Ming-tsu screamed as she squirmed beneath the sex-crazed youth.
"Enough!" Chiang Chan's stentorian voice echoed resoundingly off of the
walls of the tunnel. "There will be time for that later," the squadron leader
scolded a disappointed Lin who tucked his rigid manhood back in his trousers,
but not before slapping Ming-tsu crisply across each of her perfect buttocks.
Chiang Chan shook his head in disbelief; his men would have been perfectly
happy to rape this beautiful young woman in the mud ... in a gutter ... in a
sewer. They were animals. But their cruel embraces were no better than she
deserved for her treachery...
"I'm not done with you, baby," the teenager whispered softly to the
bare-bottomed concubine, before climbing to his feet. "Not by a long shot!"
Meanwhile Chiang Chan completed his thought by adding, "There will be all
the time in the world," as he smiled gloatingly down at his father's mistress as
he pondered the strange vicissitudes of fate. Forty-eight hours earlier this
lush, exotic creature had clawed her way to the top of one of the great cities
of the world; but now she was lying face-down in this vile, vermin-filled
passageway, her half-naked body little more than a plaything for his bestial
crew.
Chiang Chan gestured for Dao and Lin to help Ming-tsu up. "This time,
keep her well in check, Dao, if you want to enjoy her later. I have other plans
for Ming-tsu. Special plans."
The two Scorpion jerked their prisoner painfully to her feet, her sheer
panties a silken band around the base of her rounded buttocks. Shamed by the
way the four goons ogled the fine, wispy tendrils of woman-hair that adorned her
mound of Venus, Ming-tsu used her free hand to pull the panties back into place.
Meanwhile, though, strong hands behind her, Dao's, had slid boldly up under her
chemise to cup her pouting breasts. The thug's bare chest was hot against her
back as his callused hands roamed greedily over the soft skin of her
love-mounds, a pirate staking claim to his booty.
"And I've got plans for these, sweetie," Dao boasted with a sneer as his
comrades enjoyed his antics.
"Squeeze those fuckin' tits, Dao! Squeeze 'em hard!" The Drooler seemed to
be the most excited of the foursome. The Ox merely stood in front of her,
hungrily eyeing her shapely body, while he blew on the raw, hairless flesh of
his left forearm, which would be blistered by morning. Of the four his burns
were by far the worst. Ming-tsu shuddered in dread as she realized that since
he the Ox was by far the strongest of the four, his revenge would probably be
the most horrific.
"Bring her back inside," Chiang Chan ordered. "You will pay, whore,"
Chiang Chan snarled, as he touched his coiled-up whip to the red mark his lash
had left on the upslopes of her splendid breasts, "for defying the Black
Scorpions. Take her to the Whipping Pit!"
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.
Chapter 75 Stripped for Torture
"Hey, Boss! How about we get rid of this?" Dao fingered Ming-tsu's
delicate black chemise. "I don't think she'll be needing it anymore," the thug
chuckled as he slid his hand inside the waistband of his silken-haired
prisoner's panties and groped between her thighs, while Ming-tsu writhed n
revulsion and gave the gaptoothed thug a look of withering contempt. The front
of her wispy undergarment was threadbare indeed now, having been nearly shredded
when Lin had driven her painfully into the ground and during her ensuing
struggles to escape his rapacious grasp.
"No, let's clean our beautiful guest up, first. Lin! Ox ! fetch some
water."
As the Scorpions hurriedly scurried away, Dao stepped up behind Ming-tsu
and pressed his virile body against the taut, tremulous body of the beautiful,
bound concubine. Ming-tsu felt his massive cockstaff pressing firmly into the
silk-covered groove that separated her sumptuous buttocks. Gaptooth seemed to
enjoy this embrace de frottage immensely as he ground his body against hers.
But for Ming-tsu it was humiliating in the extreme.
********
George Chan, that fancier of French wine, French lingerie and French sexual
techniques, had explained to Ming-tsu once that the French had taken a term for
a minor art form -- frottage, the act of rubbing a crayon over a piece of paper
that had been placed over a highly textured object, like a leaf or a headstone
-- and applied it to a sexual practice: the act of clandestinely rubbing one's
sexual organs against another for the purposes of sexual gratification.
Dao, of course, knew nothing of frottage, nor of France, nor of art, but
the hulking thug knew that sliding even a cloth-covered aroused male organ
against a woman's tender love-slit, or into the inviting valley between her
deep-clefted buttocks was perhaps the most pleasurable thing a man could do with
his clothes on. He pressed his aroused body even more closely against
Ming-tsu's firm-fleshed derriere, as he slid his throbbing cock through her
butt-crack until he thought he was going to explode before pulling away, primed
and ready. What an afternoon this promised to be!
Ming-tsu grimaced in disgust, as she felt Dao's fleshy weapon press hard
against her secret places. Then she winced in pain as her tormentor's grasping
hands found their way under her chemise once again, lifting it upwards so that
he could paw her splendid breasts, kneading the warm, fleshy globes roughly
between his clutching fingers. "Mmm... Nice tits! Nice fucking tits!" the
homely thug muttered under his breath through clenched teeth. "You're gonna pay
for those stunts with the torch, girl," Dao growled sadistically as he clawed at
Ming-tsu's tender nipples. "And us Scorpions know just how to make you pay!" he
snarled, as he gave her opulent tits a final vicious wrench as Lin and Zheng
returned, each carrying a metal pail of water.
"Is it cold?" Chiang Chan asked, indicating the two containers.
When Lin nodded in the affirmative, Chiang smiled, "Good." Then the
dark-eyed squadron leader gestured with his hand. Lin nodded and struggled to
lift the heavy bucket up to chest height before righting himself and throwing
half of his four-gallon bucket of water into Ming-tsu's beautiful face.
Ming-tsu's body jerked in shock as the cold water struck her squarely in
the face and shoulders, but in a small way she was grateful that the forceful
shower had at least washed away the muck and the clinging cobwebs from her
features. On the other hand the coldness of the water was like an electric
shock to the tips of her breasts, which pressed against the flimsy silken top
with shameless audacity.
Ming-tsu shook her newly drenched face and hair from side to side. Far
below her she could hear the water running into the drain, and then dripping
down, down, down, before making a faraway sound not unlike raindrops falling on
a distant lake. Was there an underground cave beneath the Black Pagoda?
Chiang Chan turned and gestured to Dao, and the other three Scorpions
watched with undisguised lust as their gaptoothed comrade's horny hands slid up
Ming-tsu's arms and came to rest on the thin straps of her chemise. Dao decided
to torment his aroused comrades by drawing out the stripping of the lovely
concubine for as long as possible. Moving at a snail's pace, he proceeded to
inch the slender straps of the flimsy garment down over Ming-tsu's rounded
shoulders.
"Oh, yeah," The Drooler cheered the falling straps, as each pleasurable,
slowly-passing second brought more and more of Ming-tsu's delicious cleavage
into plain view. The livid red marks that Chiang Chan's whip had left on her
honeyed mounds seemed to glow in the flickering torchlight. "Let's see some
more! Look at those fucking tits, Ox!"
The deep, bestial sound that came from Zheng's mouth was more animal than
human; despite her best efforts not to display any signs of fear to her
verminous tormentors, Ming-tsu felt wave after wave of cold, unreasoning panic
sweep over her body, causing it to tremble uncontrollably.
"You pigs! One George Chan learns that I am innocent, you will rue this
day!"
"You haven't been innocent since you were twelve, whore!" Dao snarled.
Ming-tsu's ill-featured valet had an evil leer on his face as he slowly,
teasingly, eased the filmy bodice of the chemise down over Ming-tsu's luscious,
slightly damp, mahogany-tipped love-turrets. When her swollen nipples popped
into view, as dark and as rich as chips of chocolate, Lin elbowed the Ox, "Oh,
shit!! Look at those fucking nips, big guy." The Drooler wiped the back of his
hand across his foaming mouth before addressing the defiant concubine. "Oh,
baby! We're gonna have some fun with those!"
When Dao had lowered her top until the chemise was little more than a rope
around her waist, Chiang signaled to Lin. Dao was forced to step back quickly
as the excited teenager blasted Ming-tsu's nude, honey-gold, lust-melons with
the rest of the water in his pail.
There was something magical about a wet, naked woman, Chiang Chan thought
as he studied the way the droplets of water clung lovingly to Ming-tsu's curves.
By some optical illusion, the watery dousing seemed to have drawn her already
close-set breasts even more closely together, into two luscious, dripping
spheres of girl-flesh. The cold water gave her love-nipples a delicious pucker;
the well-chilled, reddish-brown nuggets seemed to surge provocatively toward her
tormentors in the glimmering torch-light.
The Ox elbowed his young sidekick delightedly; Lin merely stared at
Ming-tsu's stiff-nippled treasures in awe-struck silence, his prick an iron
girder pressing against his dark trousers. Ci-ci and Peony had surely been very
pretty girls with lovely figures, but Ming-tsu ... she was one in a million, a
goddess of carnal delight.
A dripping, golden-hued, dark-nippled, demi-goddess of desire who dangled
helplessly, all but naked, from a sinister hook in the dungeon of the Black
Pagoda. What could they not do to her luscious body? What perverse lusts, what
barbaric cruelties, what blasphemous outrages could he and his comrades not
perform on this divine princess who was totally at their mercy in Richard Chan's
underground Temple of Torture?
Chapter 76 Raw Materials, Raw Flesh, Raw Lust
Chiang nodded at Dao, and the tall thug stepped forward again, to slide the
chemise down over Ming-tsu's trim waist and rounded hips, letting it fall to the
floor in a whisper of black silk.
Ming-tsu was nude now, save for the skimpy black panties which Lin had
tried to tear from her body not so long ago during his abortive attempt to bury
his throbbing cock balls-deep in her buttock-crease.
"Give her another one, Ox!" Lin exhorted his partner. "Soak those juicy
tits!"
The man-mountain strode forward; Ming-tsu noted that his badly burned left
arm hung limp at his side. Then, displaying his great strength, the Ox hoisted
the heavy bucket upward with his meaty right hand. Holding the bucket firmly by
its rim, he emptied a third of of its contents over Ming-tsu's heaving breasts,
his oafish grin betraying his satisfaction at the way the dark-haired
concubine's quivering love-globes shivered and jiggled as the cold water
cascaded down her uptilted breasts.
The blunt-faced man-giant paused to allow Dao to slide Ming-tsu's sole
remaining garment, her gossamer-sheer panties, halfway down over her luscious
buttocks, and then splashed the rest of the water against her flat stomach, her
dark-bushed pelvis, and down her gleaming thighs, letting the cataract of water
rinse away the dirt that had collected on her legs during her moments on the
ground.
Ming-tsu's cleansing now complete, Chiang Chan strode over to the cabinet
his uncle had pointed out to him earlier and meticulously began filling a
wheeled cart with an assortment of many styles of punishing implements -- all
made from natural rubber in varying shades of gray and black and brown. Whips
of various lengths, weights and configurations. Straps, long and short, and
thick and thin. Eighteen-inch lengths of hard rubber hose. Foot-long
truncheons. And a number of paddles of various shapes, each indented with
pain-giving dimples.
As he transferred the instruments of punishment from the cabinet to the
cart, Chiang was careful to sort them so that the lighter whips were on top, as
if they were aperitifs for the more substantial courses to follow. When his
assortment was complete, Chiang Chan espied a small lacquered box standing on a
shelf in the rear of the cabinet. He opened the box, examined its contents,
smiled with grim satisfaction to himself, closed it again, and placed it on the
cart as well. Then he slowly becan to wheel the cart, stacked high with its
arsenal of pain, in the direction of his honey-skinned prisoner, remembering
the evening on which he had first seen these implements ...
********
A few weeks earlier Richard Chan had introduced his brother and nephew to
the first of his new toys. The rubber from which they had been fashioned had
been grown on great plantations in Ceylon. The rubber plantations of Ceylon in
turn, had themselves been planted by the British some years ago with seedlings
taken from the Amazon Basin. The rubber had felt strange and soft and pliable
to Chiang Chan and he had scoffed a bit at the peculiar and unfamiliar
substance.
His angry uncle had interrupted his sarcastic remarks and volunteered the
prediction that one day there would be millions of of human-powered,
rubber-wheeled cycles in the cities of China. Furthermore, Richard Chan had
added sternly, men would find ways to motorize transportation for small groups,
as they had conceived transport by rail and ship for large groups. Such a
concept would revolutionize the world. And this substance his nephew had
ridiculed, Richard Chan had assured him in no uncertain terms, would very
likely provide the wheelcoverings for those vehicles. It was, he said, perhaps
the most important natural resource discovered in the nineteenth century
"But for our present purposes," Richard Chan had continued, "its appeal
derives from the fact that rubber of a certain type is capable of inflicting
sharp, stinging pain but, unlike most varieties of leather and wood, leaves no
lasting marks."
Both father and son had raised their eyebrows at each part of that rather
unlikely statement, but a short time and a rather sizable wager with his brother
later, Richard Chan was determined to prove his point. The trio packed up a
few of the whips and straps and set off across the city to the House of Madame
Wong in order to test the theories of Richard Chan.
********
Upon their arrival there, Richard inquired whether 'Newgate', the
notorious punishment room of the brothel, was occupied. Newgate had been so
named some years since by a captain in the British merchant fleet who had taken
great pleasure in flogging Madame Wong's stable of beauties, and had likened
some of the accoutrements of her punishment room to those in the famous English
prison.
Madame Wong, a sly, slender, elegant matron, bedecked in a shimmering
sapphire-blue gown, explained to the elder Chan that a certain Herr Gutmayer was
presently 'entertaining' the petite Kyoto in that room.
In fact, at that very moment the fair-haired, Prussian-booted Gutmayer was
seated in a plush chair in the Newgate room while a beautiful young woman in a
kimono knelt slavishly before him, polishing his knee-length boots with her pink
tongue. The woman, who was clad in a striking gold and white kimono, was Kyoto,
a former geisha who had taken the name of Japan's most beautiful city.
The emperors of Japan had resided in Kyoto, the City of a Thousand Shrines,
for a millennium, until 1867. In that year the once-mighty Tokugawa Shogunate
had been overthrown and soon the new Meiji emperor had moved the capital to Edo,
renaming it Tokyo, "the eastern capital". But Kyoto had remained the spiritual
and cultural capital of Japan, and Kyoto the pleasure girl had grown up within a
few kilometers of the Kinkaku-ji, the breathtakingly beautiful Golden Pavilion,
which stood, equally resplendent in summer sunshine or winter snowfall, on the
banks of Kyokochi pond.
Kyoto was quite breathtaking in her own right. She was tiny, a foot
shorter than Gutmayer, a man of somewhat more than average height and build, and
weighed only half of his thirteen stone. But her lips, her eyes, her
cheekbones, her silken hair, and her perfectly proportioned body would have done
justice to a portrait by the greatest of Japanese masters.
Kyoto, too, was easily the most versatile of Madame Wong's pleasure-girls.
While all the young women of the House of Wong were talented in the erotic arts,
Kyoto had been trained in the ways of the geisha; she could play both the
samisen and the koto and she had a magical, musical voice capable of singing
nostalgic Japanese songs in a way that had occasionally brought some of her
far-from-home countrymen close to tears.
Kyoto's love-chamber was perhaps the most beautiful room in the sumptuous
brothel. Like herself, it was small, but exquisite. One of her clients in
Kyoto had been an aging master of the Ikenobo school of flower-arranging. In
gratitude for the sweetness of her caresses which had temporarily restored some
of his youthful ardor, the ancient sage had taught his cherry blossom -- as
pretty young girls are called in Japan -- the ancient art of Ikebana. Kyoto,
who was artistic by nature, soon became extremely proficient at ikebana - "the
way of the flower"- and all but the coarsest of her clients marveled at the
serene beauty of her floral creations.
But it was not the beauty of floral creations that had put a lecherous leer
on Gutmayer's face ...
It was Madame Wong's opinion that her pleasure girls could be subjected to
moderately severe corporal punishment once a fortnight without unduly
endangering their value or imperiling their careers. Only a small percentage of
her foreign clients chose that particular form of erotic foreplay, but those
that did were often disposed to pay very, very well. Of course, a pleasure girl
who had displeased any of the Dragon Lady's well-heeled customers in even the
most insignificant of details, could instantly be subjected to far sterner
corrections; such had been Peony's unlucky fate at the Black Pagoda.
But Kyoto had offended no one; it was only her ill fortune that her
bi-weekly session in Newgate had happened to fall due on a night during which
Baron Hans Gutmayer was in attendance.
Kyoto had just finished licking the last microscopic particle of dust from
the Baron's gleaming boots and was kneeling in front of him undoing the obi of
her kimono, preparatory to bending over the Silken Arch, when master and slave
both heard a sharp rap at the door. Gutmayer stalked angrily to the door,
doubling up his well-worn but sturdy brown punishment strap as he did so. "Can't
you see," he snapped in broken Chinese, when he opened the door to find Madame
Wong and the three Chans, "that I do not wish to be disturbed?"
"Baron," the silky, seductive voice of the Dragon Lady began, "these
gentlemen have something to show you. Something that I think you will find most
interesting."
When Richard Chan bowed and extended his silver-sleeved arm to offer the
arrogant German a black rubber whip. Gutmayer looked at is scornfully; its
business end appeared to be little more threatening than six strips of home-made
Chinese noodles. "Kinderspielen!" the Prussian snorted derisively. Children's
games.
"Mein herr," the Lord of the Black Pagoda had stiffened reflexively at the
Baron's tone, before collecting himself and exhorting the German calmly, bowing
again, and smiling a smile that sent shivers through Kyoto's slender frame.
"Try it. You will see."
"Ach! Very well! Just to get rid of you. I take it I will not be charged
for this half hour?" the Baron asked Madame Wong, raising a mercenary eyebrow.
The Dragon Lady glanced at Richard Chan, who inclined his head slightly,
signalling that he would pay for this part of the Baron's session with the
Japanese beauty. The cost, after all, would be only a fraction of his wager
with his brother.
As the newcomers entered Newgate, five pairs of intense, expectant eyes
turned toward the petite pleasure-girl. Kyoto, despite her years as a pleasure
girl, blushed with the appealing shyness which many Japanese women seem never to
lose, as she slipped the kimono gracefully off of her shoulders, revealing the
trim and lovely body beneath.
She was rewarded by the hushed intake of breath in five throats, for her
body, though diminutive, was unutterably exquisite, a perfect miniature, not
unlike the remarkable bonsai trees so cherished by the Japanese. On her
diminutive frame, her teacup-sized breasts were perfection itself, as were the
sensual curves of her belly. Between her pretty legs, her woman-hair had been
trimmed and combed with all the minute attention to detail that she lavished on
her flower arrangements.
Trembling, but brave, Kyoto had strode gracefully with kittenish footsteps
toward the Silken Arch, one of the most strikingly feminine instruments of
discipline that Chiang Chan had ever seen. It was a wooden arch, a little less
than five feet long and two feet wide, that rose twenty inches from the floor at
its apex. The arch was richly upholstered with the fleece of Tibetan mountain
goats, fleece which was as soft as goose down. Silken manacles at the head and
foot of the arch were in place to entrap the wrists and ankles of its nubile
occupant. The Silken Arch was a favorite with the occasional upper-class
European women who took pleasure in administering the arts of pain to Madame
Wong's tempting menage of young women.
Kyoto approached the arch and was just about to take her position across
the top of the fleecy dome when Gutmayer stopped her, and pointed toward an odd
cylindrical bundle that he had brought with him. Kyoto took the bundle and
removed the cord which held it together, unrolling a mat roughly the length and
breadth of the arch.
"A Prussian punishment mat," Gutmayer announced to his audience, as he bade
Kyoto stretch the mat across the Silken Arch. It was only when she unrolled its
length that Kyoto realized that the mat was studded with thousands of stiff,
irregular spines.
"Hog bristles," Gutmayer told the four voyeurs proudly, from the finest
Danish hogs. Stiff, sharp hog bristles.
He beckoned to Kyoto to take her position face down on the arch. Gingerly
the nude young woman climbed atop the dreadful mat, and positioned herself, as
she knew she must, so that her beautifully rounded buttock-globes were at the
very peak of the arch. Gutmayer refrained from entrapping her wrists and ankles
in the manacles, preferring to taunt his petite captive with a cruel and
illusory liberty. For they both knew that the penalty for trying to escape the
lash would make the flogging itself, in Gutmayer's word, a kinderspiel.
When Kyoto was in position, Gutmayer strode to the middle of the arch,
lifted a gleaming, tongue-polished boot and pressed it down into the small of
Kyoto's back, forcing her tender belly into the coarse embrace of the bristled
mat. He ground his foot around for a moment, while Kyoto fought to suppress the
cries of pain that clamored to escape her enticing lips. A moment later
Gutmayer retracted his boot and then re-positioned it between her shoulder
blades, letting it rest there gently for a moment. After a moment, though, he
put his weight on it, crushing Kyoto's delicate breasts against the
hedgehog-like punishment mat. The Japanese pleasure-girl could no longer hide
her suffering; shining tears formed in her almond eyes and swelled until gravity
drew them down her lovely cheekbones.
The prologue thus completed, Gutmayer raised the curtain on the first scene
of his sadistic scena by stepping back and snapping the stinging tails of the
whip sharply across the base of Kyoto's trembling bottomglobes, drawing a soft
moan from the petite beauty.
While the rubber whip may have been foreign to the German baron, flogging
most assuredly was not. With meticulous Prussian precision he spaced the lashes
evenly over the ripe curves of Kyoto's sweet bottom, each savage stroke drawing
a slightly louder moan than its predecessor.
"Schweigen!" the baron growled, after Kyoto's loudest groan, following his
sixth withering stroke. Though she spoke not a word of German, Kyoto instantly
recognized that the black-booted sadist had demanded silence of his captive, and
his tone of voice made it clear that any disobedience of his edict would be
dealt with most severely.
It had only taken a dozen burning strokes across Kyoto's rosy upthrust
derriere to convince both Gutmayer and Richard Chan's doubting relatives of the
effectiveness of the latex whip. The rounded tails sliced through the air most
efficiently, and their elasticity somehow imparted a dreadful momentmun to each
bottom-burning stroke. In fact, the final stroke of the twelve had been
applied with such ferocity to the springy summits of her shapely bottom-ovals
that even the brave Kyoto could not suppress a cry of anguish.
Outraged by this intolerable breach of discipline, Gutmayer deemed that the
punishment for her heinous offense would be a stroke between her legs, a stroke
that Kyoto would be compelled to endure in the Lowenbrucke. The Lowenbrucke, or
Lion's Bridge, was a position that the Baron had named for a landmark in the
Tiergarten in his native Berlin.
The Japanese pleasure-girl climbed off the punishment mat gingerly, her
breasts, belly, and thighs looking as if she had spent an hour lying on
sharpened stones.
Kyoto then was made to rest her encrimsoned buttocks on the floor,
alongside the Silken Arch, with her naked legs moderately, if immodestly, spread
and her hands extended backward over her head.
Once in this position she was directed to press her toes and her fingertips
against the floor and lift her sylph-like body upward, in a bridge-like arc,
until her slender arms and nicely-curved legs were fully extended, and her
body's shape paralleled, as closely as possible, the arch upon which she had
just been whipped, not to mention the arched bridge in the Tiergarten.
The Lowenbrucke was ingeniously conceived, all agreed. The bristles of the
punishment mat had stimulated the tips of Kyoto's love-plums into tiny brown
daggers that stabbed into space. The girlishly-soft skin of her breasts, her
midriff, her loins and her thighs, had been slightly scratched in a hundred
places by the rough bristles of Gutmayer's mat, and the obscenely displayed
petals of her dark-fringed femininity were in themselves a masterpiece of erotic
ikebana.
Gutmayer and his unexpected guests admired the artistic tension in Kyoto's
body and the taut, straining muscles in her calves, thighs and arms as she
fought to hold the exhausting position for a minute, then two, and then three.
Only Kyoto's excellent physical condition, and her gymnast's petite frame
allowed her to maintain her position for so long.
Tiny pearls of perspiration were oozing from every pore of Kyoto's
erotically-posed body by the three-minute mark, at which point the Baron
clicked his Prussian heels and took a position between her widespread thighs.
Then, after warning the lovely pleasure-girl that if she came out of her
arched position, she would receive two additional lashes between her pretty
legs, the sadistic German viciously sliced the tails of the rubber whip down
into Kyoto's delicate Asian love-slit.
Chiang Chan winced at the ferocity of the blow, even as he noticed that his
father and uncle were entirely unmoved by Kyoto's suffering; the younger Chan
reminded himself that as the heir to the Chan Dynasty it was incumbent upon him
to root out these moments of empathy that still plagued him from time to time.
(And indeed by the time Ci-Ci had been consigned to the Scorpions' tender
mercies, he had made great progress in this regard, as we have seen).
Kyoto moaned pitiably and her body vibrated in pain for long, agonizing
seconds as she fought to hold her difficult pose. When, after the prescribed
time had elaspsed - after what had seemed an interminable thirty seconds to the
young cherry blossom -- Gutmayer exclaimed, "Ja! Sehr gut!" and Kyoto's slender
body collapsed downward in agony like a house of cards.
At that juncture Richard Chan had turned to his kinsmen, and said, "We have
a meeting of the Council of Twelve, and must go. Madame Wong, thank you for
your courtesy. Herr Baron!" Richard Chan bowed stiffly to the arrogant German
who towered over the fallen Kyoto.
The Baron clicked his heels and inclined his head slightly in reply, and
extended the borrowed whip with one hand while he reached down for a handful of
Kyoto's intricately-arranged black hair with the other. It appeared, Chiang Chan
thought, as he accepted the whip from the German and turned for the door, that
the refined Japanese Geisha's night was far from over. And indeed by the time
Chiang had reached the door and looked back, Kyoto was being led toward the
south wall of the punishment room, a grim, gray wall lined with fetters and
manacles of every description ...
*******
Out of curiosity George Chan and his son had returned to the famed bordello
the next day and asked Madame Wong to produce the young woman who had endured
the severe beating they had witnessed the night before.
A few minutes later Kyoto stepped softly into the room in which father and
son waited, obviously still in some discomfort. But when George Chan ordered
her to remove her robe, both father and son were astonished to see that while
the backs of her smooth-skinned thighs had been well-marked by a flurry of
violent strokes that the Baron had given her with his strap after they had left,
Kyoto's gently-curved buttocks, though blushingly pink and still slightly warm
to the touch, bore almost no traces of the rubber whip.
Impressed by that fact, but not wanting to waste a second trip to Madame
Wong's, the Chans had taken Kyoto then, in the way the ancients called The
Amorous Wheelbarrow. George lay back on the floor pillows while his standing
son held the thighs of the petite Japanese woman off the ground, so that her
weight rested on her hands. In that position, the graceful arch of Kyoto's back
and the perfectly-proportioned curves of her girlishly heart-shaped ass were
displayed in a manner which could hardly have been improved upon.
The downward angle of her body allowed Kyoto to take the father's thick and
sturdy penis deep into her warm throat, even as the sinewy son thrust his manly
sword downward deep into the moist, clinging, sweet-scented feminine scabbard
that had felt the last stroke of the six-tailed whip the night before ...
It was only when he had spread Kyoto's pretty legs that Chiang Chan noticed
how red and inflamed the area around her miniscule anal rosette was. Clearly,
after they had left her alone with the Baron, Gutmayer had first administered a
vicious thigh-strapping to the fettered cherry blossom and then concluded the
evening by ramming his Prussian prick deep into Kyoto's under-sized rectum.
As he lunged in and out of Kyoto's warm love-slit, Chiang Chan visualized
Kyoto shackled face-first against the wall, her silky thighs ruddy and raw from
the strap, while the Baron spread her still-stinging buttcheeks only to be
confronted with her alluring but inhospitably small rosette.
But determination and persistence being good Teutonic virtues, Chiang was
confident that Gutmayer had overcome the difficulties presented by Kyoto's
narrow passageway with as much ease as the German divisions had crushed the
French in the Franco-Prussian War when he was a boy.
When Chiang Chan's cock had been suitably moistened by Kyoto's free-flowing
feminine juices, he pulled out of her for a moment, and altered his masterful
grip on her limbs slightly, taking a slim, elegant calf in each hand and then
spreading them at arm's length, but lowering the angle of her body slightly.
"Hold her, father," he bellowed gruffly and when his father's strong hands
had given a little more solidity to Kyoto's awkwardly inverted position, Chiang
Chan edged his body forward, sliding his grip up to Kyoto's mid thighs, until
his throbbing cunt-lotioned member was pressed against the Geisha's inflamed
rectum.
"Umggmmphh!"
The merest touch of his cock-tip to her Prussian-plundered bottomhole
caused Kyoto discomfort; his forceful and insistent lunges soon caused her
agony. Agony that she could not relieve by screaming, because her mouth was as
full with virile father-cock as her nether-passage was crammed with the son's.
Once he was inside her, Kyoto's anal channel clung to Chiang's thrusting
manhood like a sausage-casing clings to a sausage. A sausage, in this case,
that seemed to swell and harden with the younger Chan's every vigorous thrust.
Chiang Chan's only regret had been that Kyoto's constrictive rectal
muscles had squeezed and tugged and milked his swollen cock with such admirable,
albeit involuntary, effect that he had erupted quicker than he might have liked,
spurting endless jets of sperm deep into her butt-crevice.
Excited by his son's explosive climax, George Chan filled Kyoto's mouth
with a second anointing with Chan-juice less than half a minute later.
Such was the unforgettable adventure during which Chiang Chan had come to
know the punishing properties of the rubber implements with which he had laden
his cart of suffering.
Chapter 77 Torment and Terror in The Whipping Pit
As he pushed the cart over to where his three henchmen were ogling
Ming-tsu's suspended body, Chiang Chan once again silently congratulated his
father on his exquisite taste in sexual partners. Damp and dripping, Ming-tsu
glared at him like a wounded tigress, her dark eyes proud, her posture defiant,
as he walked around her, inspecting her superb figure while she wriggled
futilely in her bondage. The flickering torchlight caused the moisture on her
nude body to glimmer like the surface of a moonlit bay. Dao had left her
panties at half-staff, rolled a little more than halfway down the inviting
cleavage of her delicious buttocks; it was strange, Chiang Chan thought, as he
felt his manhood swell with a lust he was all too anxious to satisfy, how the
partial nudity of a beautiful woman was often more tantalizing than nakedness
itself.
As he displayed the arsenal of weaponry to his leering comrades, he told
them, "Boys, we are going play a little game with Ming-tsu. We're going to
teach this slut to keep her accusing mouth shut when she doesn't know what she's
talking about!"
"'Yeah! Now you're talking, boss!" Dao growled as he pictured himself
spreading Ming-tsu's semi-nude bottom-cheeks and thrusting his rock-hard cock
into her ass-crevice until she begged for mercy.
"Choose your weapons, my friends," Chiang Chan urged his three henchmen as
they gathered around the cart containing the various implements, each selecting
one of the light, flexible whips that Chiang had stacked on top.
"Now, this is how we are going to proceed. We are going to ..." and the
young squadron leader stopped abruptly in mid-sentence as he realized that his
father and uncle had slipped silently into the dungeon through the door at the
foot of the staircase.
Richard Chan folded his silver-robed arms across his chest and crossed the
room, staring admiringly at Ming-tsu's trembling body, his dark, brooding eyes
taking in the perfection of her nearly nude form. The graceful, well-toned legs
which rose from the floor of the whipping pit, the impeccably trimmed triangle
between her honeyed thighs, the gentle, feminine curves of her torso and
abdomen, and the almost arrogant thrust of her breasts. Drops of moisture
still clung lovingly to Ming-tsu's mahogany-tipped nipples. Bold, provocative
nipples which had been burnished a tempting bronze by the tantalizing
torchlight.
"She is indeed magnificent, my brother," Richard Chan intoned softly. "I
can see why you have prized her so highly." He slowly approached the nude body
hanging from the hook. "It is such a pity that she has tried to betray us."
George returned his brother's sardonic glance; the word 'pity' was as
foreign to the lips of Richard Chan as the word 'celibacy' would have been to
one of his Scorpion thugs.
The elder Chan extended a long fingernail and drew an inward-curving arc
around the lovely curve of Ming-tsu's moist and glistening left breast.
"Nephew," Richard Chan went on, "tell me. Has she disclosed what she has
done with the jewels? Or told us where we might lay our hands on Luk Yee, with
whom you found her consorting this morning?"
Ming-tsu hurriedly interjected, "But I wa..."
"SILENCE!! You dare to interrupt a conversation between two members of the
Chan family? George, I should have thought you had trained her better." A
sinister smile crept over Richard Chan's features. "You need humility, young
woman," Richard sneered. "And you shall have it."
Ming-tsu's heart sank as she studied his face; the cruelty in his features
seemed to have been carved in rock as hard as that of the great stone Buddha of
Leshan.
"What has she told you, nephew?" Richard Chan repeated.
"Actually nothing, so far, honored uncle. As you can see," Chiang Chan
gestured toward his whip-wielding minions, "we were just about to begin."
Richard Chan gave his young kinsman a critical, "What have you been doing
down here for the last hour," sort of glance, but said nothing, as he continued
to circumscribe the perfect roundness of Ming-tsu's breast with the nail of his
index finger.
Ming-tsu stared into the thin slits of Richard Chan's eyes, hoping to find
an opening with which she could make some kind of human or erotic connection.
"Sire -- I have told you again and again -- I know nothing of the jewels."
The Lord of the Black Pagoda nodded his head thoughtfully for a moment as
he pondered how he might extract the truth from his stubborn prisoner.
"George," Richard turned to his brother, "have you told your son all the
secrets of the Whipping Pit?"
"No, my brother -- in fact, I am not sure that I know them all myself."
"Ming-tsu," Richard's gaze was steely as he looked directly into her
flashing brown eyes. "You can save us much time, and I assure you that you will
be saving yourself a great deal of distress, if you abandon this strategy of
feigned ignorance." His voice lowered to no more than a whisper. "Where is
Mai-Lee's necklace? Her earrings?"
"Sire, I beg of ...."
Richard Chan slapped his brother's concubine sharply across the face.
"The time for discussion is over! Now it is time for action! It is too late now
for begging, woman. Much too late. Chiang Chan!"
"Yes, uncle?"
"Undo her hands!"
"But ... uncle?"
"Do as I say!" Richard Chan's voice was not loud, but his clipped words
were spoken with a stern intensity that sent chills through Ming-tsu's beautiful
body. "When your hands are untied, Ming-tsu, you are to grasp those leather
rings above your head. Do you see them?"
"Y-yes, sire."
"Dao! -- prepare the brazier!"
"Please ... I ....," Ming-tsu floundered, completely at a loss as to what
she might say to the Chans that might dissuade them from their fell purpose.
"Aye - right away, your excellency." The bare-chested thug hurried over to
the same brazier that he had lit on the Night of the Tiger, and used a torch and
the scraps of his partially incinerated shirt to ignite the coals.
Meanwhile Chiang Chan had undone the ropes around Ming-tsu's wrists. She
was free, momentarily, but, being surrounded by six men, her chances of escape
were infinitesimal. Conceding defeat, she reached up submissively and grasped
the heavy leather rings which, like the hook, were suspended at arm's length
above her head.
"Be sure to put the Scorpion iron on the hottest part of the fire, Dao --
and if our prisoner releases those rings before I give her leave to do so, you
are to leave our emblem on each of her splendid breasts. Do I make myself
clear, woman?"
Ming-tsu's body shuddered with fear at the thought of the red-hot irons
branding her love-globes with their scalding kiss. "No, sire ... please ... I
will not release them ... I swear to you."
"Do not forget your promise, Ming-tsu," Richard Chan whispered with a
sibilant hiss. The Lord of the Black Pagoda took a step back away from the nude
body of the lovely concubine, and gestured for the Scorpions to do likewise.
His manner reminded Chiang Chan of a diabolical tour guide conducting an
excursion through the depths of hell, as he admonished his thuggish underlings,
"Gentlemen, it is rude to crowd too closely upon a such a beautiful guest."
Dao and Zheng exchanged mystified glances. Ming-tsu had been compelled to
extend her arms fully to grasp the rings, and the taut lines of her body were as
graceful as those of a forest nymph. Dao's testicles were swollen with desire;
he ached to avenge the burns on his chest by slashing the knotted thongs of the
whip he had selected into the lovely curves of George Chan's concubine.
Chiang Chan, no less puzzled than his comrades, watched as his uncle
glanced downward to make sure that his feet were clear of the recessed metal
grating on which Ming-tsu was posed so gracefully.
"Ming-tsu, perhaps you have heard us refer to this corner of the dungeon as
the "Whipping Pit"?
"Y-yes, sire. A short time ago."
"The 'whipping' in that name is no doubt self-explanatory, is it not?"
Ming-tsu swallowed with difficulty, as her beautiful brown eyes glanced
from one Scorpion to the other, each of whom seemed to be caressing his whip
expectantly. Lin wiped a dab of lecherous spittle from his lip as his
eyebrow-less eyes fired a seried of staccato glances at her body. His restless
gaze lit briefly on her moist, opulent breasts, and then moved on to her belly,
to her damp, mossy triangle, to her supple thighs and then back to her tempting
love-globes as quickly as a hummingbird might move from one nectared blossom to
the next.
While the Drooler's glance was nervous and shifty-eyed, Zheng stared at her
love-gourds with firm, unwavering resolve. As the Ox ogled her splendidly
uptilted breasts, the giant stroked his fearful strap as he would have his huge
cock, his huge, ham-fisted hand sliding up and down its length lovingly;
Ming-tsu fearfully surmised that the giant was imagining, in his dim-witted way,
the the loud popping sound the punishing strap would make when it fell upon her
nude breasts. The thought of the behemoth using the strap on her tender flesh
gave Ming-tsu a tremor that shook the very ramparts of her courage.
Facing the long mirror, Ming-tsu could see that the reflected image of the
gaptoothed Scorpion behind her. Dao's malevolent eyes were feasting on the
lush curves of her buttocks which spilled over her pulled-down panties. The
ugly, bare-chested thug seemed to be trying to widen her bottom cleft with the
intensity of his stare. Her derriere twitched involuntarily, but sensuously, in
response to his rapacious gaze.
Ming-tzu's throat was parched, dry, almost voiceless with fear as she at
last answered Richard Chan's question. He had been exactly right. "Whipping"
surely needed no further explanation. "Y-y-yes, sire."
"But why do you think we call it a 'pit'?"
Ming-tsu looked around her wildly. What was the meaning of this strange
line of questioning? "I- I don't know -- the floor is lower here, but ..."
"It is time you found out, wench. Do you have a firm grasp on the rings?
I assure you that you will thank me for reminding you."
Utterly confused, Ming-tsu adjusted her grip on the twin rings high above
her head. "Y-yes."
"Nephew!"
"Yes, uncle?"
"Do you see the lever on the wall to your right?"
Chiang Chan glanced to his right. Almost hidden in the gloomy shadows was
a bar of iron that projected outward from the shackle-studded wall of the
dungeon. The lever was wedged into the uppermost of a series of gears in what
was clearly a complicated mechanism. A few feet from the lever, half-embedded
in the wall in the corner of the dungeon, was a device that resembled the
capstan of a sailing ship.
"Yes."
"Lower the lever one notch."
Chiang Chan pushed downward on the bar with one hand, but it refused to
budge.
"It will require quite a bit of force, Chiang Chan. It has been some time
since that lever has been used."
Changing his stance, Chiang Chan positioned both hands on the lever, and
glanced across at the delicious nudity of Ming-tsu before pressing firmly
downward. As he did so he was greeted by the loud grinding sound of metal
against rusty metal, and then ...
"Aaaahhhh!!" Ming-tsu's sudden cry of fear and surprise tore through the
dungeon like a lightning bolt through a summer sky. When Chiang Chan had
depressed the lever, the circular metal grating beneath her feet had given way
slightly, collapsing inward, funnel-like, from the now-visible hinges which
lined its circumference. The beautiful concubine's bare feet clawed for
purchase at the outer parts of the grating. There was now a narrow circular
opening in the grating directly beneath her which led downward into inky
blackness.
"W-w-what?? Help me!" Ming-tsu begged desperately.
"Now, are you not glad that I beseeched you to hold tightly to the rings,
wench?"
"Yes ... yes, but please ... help me!" Ming-tsu cried as her legs flailed
around trying to find a foothold on the inclined grating. The sudden jolt when
the grating had fallen away had put an immediate strain on her shoulders, one
which grew worse with each passing second.
Richard watched Ming-tsu's athletic contortions with an appreciative eye.
"George, would you say that our perfidious thief is in good physical condition?"
"She is indeed," said George, smiling, proud of his concubine despite her
predicament. "Her energy is magnificent and and her," he paused, searching for
the right word, "stamina is quite remarkable."
"It is well," the elder Chan replied with a sinister scowl. "She will need
every ounce of her stamina today."
********
Richard Chan watched Ming-tsu struggle for a moment before continuing. "My
brother has spoken of your excellent physical condition, Ming-tsu. Surely you
can maintain your grip on the rings while I tell you more about the Whipping
Pit?"
"Please ... please..." Ming-tsu's voice was frantic. And why not -- the
narrow opening beneath her seemed as bottomless as it was frightful.
The Scorpions looked on salaciously as Ming-tsu's shapely legs searched for
a stable resting place on the iron grating. Her efforts caused the silken
panties to slide another inch down her ripe-rounded buttocks in back and to
reveal the rest of her raven-thatched pubic hair.
"Now, perhaps you see why I call this area the Whipping Pit. It is quite a
long way down, Ming-tsu." Chan reached and removed a torch from a sconce in a
nearby pillar and held it above the opening. Ming-tsu, fighting to keep her
grip on the rings, glanced downward. Even with the the added light supplied by
the torch, all was blackness below.
"Boy, give me something I can drop to demonstrate the depth of the Pit to
our guest," Richard Chan barked in an imperious voice, as he returned the torch
to its place on the pillarr. "Quickly! Our guest can not wait all night."
Lin gave his squadron leader a questioning glance. Chiang Chan's mind raced
-- he didn't want to lose this beauty to the abyss. And then he had an
inspiration: "The rat, Lin -- bring one of the rats Zheng killed."
"Hurry ... hurry ... please" Ming-tsu begged, as she tried to re-grip the
rings. Her well-toned triceps muscles ached from supporting her weight.
While Lin raced off on his errand -- and raced he did, not wanting to miss
a moment of Ming-tsu's sensual gyrations, Dao and Zheng feasted on the delicious
banquet of girl-flesh who dangled so tantalizingly before their eyes. With her
arms out-stretched directly overhead, Ming-tsu's dark-nippled breasts rose high
on her chest, and her compact derriere twitched deliciously as she struggled to
maintain her grip.
The fleet-footed Lin the Drooler returned less than half a minute later,
holding a dead rat at arm's length. Richard Chan fastidiously took a silken
scarf from his robe, grasped the dead rodent gingerly and stepped to the edge of
the collapsed grating.
Out of the corner of her eye Ming-tsu saw him release the bloody carcass
downward through the gap in the grating, and then an endless second passed
before she heard the sound of a distant splash.
"Hold on tightly, Ming-tsu," Richard Chan whispered with an evil grin.
"It is a long way down."
Ming-tsu shuddered at the sound of the splash, as she struggled to maintain
her grip on the swaying rings. The splash reminded her of the distant dripping
sounds she had heard far below her after her brief shower. It was not so much
the fall or the splash she feared. It was the darkness, the unknown.
Within a second or two of the splash, the dark-haired courtesan heard an
odd fluttering noise rising up from the murky abyss below. It began not much
louder than a whisper, but it soon mushrooomed into a strangely chilling flurry
of sound far below her, sounds of brief surges of excited motion such as she had
never heard before. The noise was not unlike the sudden rush of sound given off
by a covey of quail taking to flight all at once, yet it was somehow different,
too.
"Nephew! Lower the lever another notch!"
Chiang Chan muscled the iron bar lower, and again Ming-tsu heard the
dreadful grinding noise as the grating opened wider still.
"Aaiiiiiiihhh!!" she cried out again as she clawed for a foothold on the
receding metal platform.
"Perhaps you'd like me to measure the depth again, wench? The cat, boy!
Bring me the cat."
Lin quickly dashed off in pursuit of the evil-eyed black cat who was still
reclining on the framework of the breast crusher, only a few yards away.
By now, Ming-tsu's arms and shoulders were burning from the strain, and she
could sense, even in the cool dungeon, ever-widening rivulets of perspiraton
trickling down the alluring curves of her body.
In her near hysteria, and in the macabre torchlight, Richard Chan seemed to
have taken on the visage of the Scowling Mask of her dream. "Did you hear that
splash far below, wench? My father, no doubt inspired by Kublai Khan's Xanadu,
built the Black Pagoda above an underground river, mindful of the sacred river
Alph of the Great Khan. Ah! Here is the ugly beast."
Richard Chan gently took the somnolent-looking black cat from the arms of
Lin the Drooler, and held it at arms length over the opening in the center of
the grating. The animal, as if sensing some unknown calamity, pricked up its
ears alertly for a moment and stared at Ming-tsu with iridescent eyes that
seemed to cast a malediction upon her, a moment before Richard Chan released the
unlucky feline into the dark emptiness.
As soon as it left the warm and comforting grasp of Richard Chan's hands
the cat began to wail, and its cries of feline distress mounted as it fell. But
no sooner had Ming-tsu heard the unmistakable splash of the cat hitting the
river far below, than she heard the fluttering sounds of motion again, but this
time much louder, and then the cat erupted in an ear-splitting cacophony of
dreadful sound, wailing, screaming, caterwauling, as the fluttering sounds she
had heard before turned into horrible thrashing sounds. The cat's ghastly cries
of agony continued for perhaps twenty seconds, and then the thrashing began to
subside and all was once again quiet below.
As she pondered the meaning of the cat's hideous wails, Ming-tsu's pretty
legs continued to kick out attractively, occasionally managing to find a
precarious foothold for a moment, just long enough to release some of the
dreadful pressure on her shoulders. But then the swaying of the rings would
cause her body to drift away from the foothold, thus sending her long, supple
legs into a frantic and erotic air-dance as she sought another stance.
"Another notch, nephew!" Richard Chan directed, and again Chiang Chan moved
the stubborn lever down a notch, opening the yawning maw of the grating a bit
more.
"Ohhh .... please ... agghhh ... I can't hang on...." Ming-tsu murmured.
She would not have believed it possible that her arms and shoulders could hurt
so badly.
"Ahhhh, but you will hang on, Ming-tsu. You will, that is, if you do not
wish to join the flesh-eating fish who made short work of that unfortunat beast.
I first heard of them during an excursion to a remote part of New Guinea; my
researches seem to indicate that they are distant cousins of the piranhas who
make certain stretches of the Amazon rather inhospitable to bathers."
Richard Chan paused a moment as if listening for the death-rattle of the
unfortunate feline, then nodded wisely. "Now that they have fed twice, they
will not be quite so hungry, if more food should come their way." Richard Chan
eyed Ming-tsu's body as if it were bait wriggling on a hook. "They will take
much, much longer on their next meal. The next creature to fall into the pit
would suffer a far more protacted and horrible death than that cat, I should
imagine," the Lord of the Pagoda whispered in a voice that seemed to Ming-tsu to
issue up from the depths of hell.
The mere thought of such a fate had Ming-tsu's nervous stomach doing
somersaults that the most proficient of Chinese acrobats would have envied.
"Please ..." Ming-tsu's arms and shoulders were bathed in an inferno of pain
from the strain of hanging on to the swaying leather rings.
"Chiang Chan -- give the capstan three full turns. Quickly!"
Puzzled, Chiang Chan moved down the wall toward the spool-shaped cylinder.
On shipboard, he knew, one used a capstan to raise and lower an anchor by
turning a wheel. But there was no anchor here, just masses of coiled nautical
rope which seemed to feed into the wall itself. But when he turned the capstan,
he felt considerable resistance, as if the cleverly contrived wheel was somehow
pulling some unseen weight. As he cranked the capstan's wheel Chiang Chan
thought he heard a faint noise far below, in the depths of the abyss, but he
could see nothing.
Richard Chan did not bother to explain the purpose of his order. When
Chiang Chan had completed the three turns, his uncle gave the dungeon clock an
inquiring glance and then said, "Nephew, your father and I are expecting a
guest, and must leave you." As his thin-slitted eyes inspected the whips each
man held, the Dark Lord of the Scorpions nodded with satisfaction. "I trust
that you will see to it that our guest's stay here is as unpleasant as possible.
May I?" he inquired, gesturing toward Chiang Chan's whip.
"Of course, uncle," Chiang replied, extending the long single-tail.
"Hold on tightly, Ming-tsu," the Lord of the Pagoda snarled softly. "We
should hate to lose you." Then his silver-robed arm drew the lash back before
launching it forward, where it detonated with a loud pop! high on Ming-tsu's
perfect buttocks, even as the tip of the whip curled around to sting her pubic
mound.
"Aaaaaghh!" the startled concubine groaned in pain, as she fought to hold
on to the rings which were all that kept her from the dreadful pit below.
"Richard, General Wang will be waiting ... we must go, " George Chan
muttered softly to his brother, as the latter returned the black single-tail to
Chiang Chan.
George Chan gave the wriggling, writhing body of the concubine who had
given him so many days and nights of sexual pleasure, with whom he had explored
countless caverns of forbidden sin, a final, somewhat rueful glance, and joined
his brother as they walked in silence toward the door that led to the circular
staircase.
Chapter 78 Whipped into Submission
As the two pillars of the Black Pagoda made their way up the staircase,
Chiang Chan reconsidered his original plan for Ming-tsu. As he watched her nude
body swaying gently back and forth above the abyss, every muscle in her arms
and shoulders strained to its fullest, her dark-nippled breasts lifted upwards
as if in offering, her gleaming, golden stomach as flat as if she'd spent an
hour on the rack, her legs clawing desperately in space, he wondered why his
uncle would have risked losing her beautiful body to the swarming carnivorous
fishes circling below.
"HELP ME!!!!!!!" the desperation in Ming-tsu's voice was palpable. The
fingers on her left hand were losing their grip.
Chiang Chan scratched his chin and moved slightly closer, careful not to
step too close to the downward-slanted grating, and gently curled the lash over
Ming-tsu's shoulder from behind. Then something caught his eye below his feet
and he grabbed the torch from the nearby wall sconce and peered downward into
the pit and saw that halfway into the abyss a sturdy, closely- woven net had
been strung across it. But how had the cat fallen through the net? Then he
remembered -- the capstan! The great wheel he had turned must have pulled the
protective net across the pit. His uncle had sensed that Ming-tsu was
approaching the end of her endurance and had directed him to use the modified
capstan, so that the Scorpions would not be cheated of their sweet revenge if
Ming-tsu were to lose her grip, or to decide to end her suffering.
Impressed, as always, by the brilliance and thoroughness of his uncle's
nefarious schemes, Chiang Chan considered how to adapt his own ideas for
punishing the proud and voluptuous concubine to Ming-tsu's precarious situation.
The idea he had formulated earlier seemed foolproof except for one
difficulty. But then, while his companions ogled Ming-tsu luscious body, the
sulphurous stench of the coals burning in the brazier on the other side of the
dungeon wafted toward him, and he saw how he might overcome the final roadblock
to his cruel design.
"PLEASE ... I CAN'T ... " Desperation had now given way to panic. Could
madness itself, be far behind?
"Ox, return the lever to the uppermost position, while I explain how we
shall proceed."
The lumbering giant dutifully lifted the lever back upward through the two
sets of gears, gradually returning the grating to its original supportive
position, allowing Ming-tsu, at last, a brief respite from her dreadful
suspension. Her splendid breasts rose and fell majestically as she took long,
deep breaths after her strenuous exertions. When she had somewhat recovered her
strength she emitted a long slow sigh of in relief that the grating was once
again securely in place beneath her bare feet.
"Thank you ... thank you," Ming-tsu said sincerely, grateful that the
unbearable strain on her shoulders had come to an end, at least for the moment.
Chan continued. "My friends and I enjoy a game of chance now and then,
Ming-tsu, and I have invented one which I am confident we shall find most
entertaining. We shall take turns, using these ingenious instruments which my
uncle has been gracious enough to provide," Chiang added, as he extended his
doubled up whip and slid the coils of the black lash in an irregular path down
her breastbone, introducing the inner contours of Ming-tsu's sumptuous breasts
to the cool smoothness of the whip.
"The whip feels cool on your flesh, does it not?"
Trembling, uncertain of the desired answer, Ming-tsu nodded her head,
'yes.'
"Do not be alarmed," he continued with a cruel smile. "The whip's kiss
will feel very warm indeed, all too soon. The heir to the Black Pagoda let the
whip trail gently down her torso, enjoying the pleasing contrast of black whip
against golden skin When he reached her navel, he paused there briefly, poking
and prodding the exquisite indentation, and was reminded of the story of the
Emperor's Nightingale.
Long ago in a faraway land there had been a great emperor who was blessed
with many lovely concubines and a single nightingale. The nightingale was a
rare and priceless bird with a song so hauntingly beautiful that when autumn
came, the leaves refused to fall from the trees, that they might hear it once
more. Needless to say, the royal songbird was the emperor's most prized
possession, and it was treated with such reverence that it became accustomed to
sipping water from the navel of the emperor's most beautiful concubine.
But one day that lovely concubine refused to come to the emperor's bed to
do his bidding. Outraged by her insolence the great ruler ordered her to be
beheaded. But the next morning the emperor learned that his beloved nightingale
was so crushed by grief at the loss of his beautiful human fountain, that he
refused to drink, and quickly pined away, his heart-breakingly beautiful song
never to be heard again.
It struck Chiang Chan that Ming-tsu's navel, an exquisite, deeply-noched
oval, was one from which even the proudest nightingale would have been pleased
to sip.
Chiang Chan, still holding the whip he had selected earlier, let the long
black tail slide around Ming-tsu's bare legs, and then he circled the suspended
girl, using the whip as a pointer to indicate to his comrades the concubine's
back, belly, buttocks, breasts, and thighs as other possible objects of
attention.
Ming-tsu's luscious body shivered at each gentle but ominous touch of
Chiang's whip, conscious of the fact that the other three Scorpions' were
visibly excited by the prospect of using their weapons on the concubine
responsible for their painful burns.
A trickle of saliva oozed from the corner of Lin's mouth as his eyes
darted over the lush curves and hollows of her body. Dao's fists clenched and
unclenched as he tightened his grip on his whipstock and speculated as to which
part of Ming-tsu's splendid body might be selected as the first course in the
banquet of torture. Even the normally phlegmatic Ox had fire in his eyes -- and
a huge bulge in his ill-fitting trousers.
"As your host, my friends" Chiang continued, "it will be my
responsibility to select our target. But each of us -- except Ming-tsu, of
course -- will have an equal chance at success."
He smiled grimly before continuing. "But our lovely guest will have a most
important role to play, as well. For it is she who will determine the winner of
each round."
Ming-tsu's breasts heaved with agitation and her dark eyes fumed with
contempt as the son of her lover stared at her scornfully.
"In a moment, Ming-tsu, if you are not forthcoming with the location of the
jewelry, Zheng will lower the grating once again, leaving you hanging above the
pit." Chiang Chan doubled up his whip and extended it, touching Ming-tsu at the
knee, and then slowly dragging the smooth black tail up along a long, lovely
thigh. A smooth whip caressing even smoother flesh, Chiang Chan mused,
marveling at the way her golden thigh trembled at his touch.
But Ming-tsu's shudder at the touch of the whip, was as nought compared to
the one which followed Chiang Chan's next sentence.
"And then, while your nude body dangles helplessly in the air, high above
my uncle's flesh-eating fishes, we shall flog you." Chiang's whip was stroking
her upper thighs now.
"We shall flog you, in fact, until you beg us to raise the grating."
Ming-tsu listened closely to the rules of the sadistic game that Chiang
Chan had invented on the spur of the moment. She had only to beg to stop the
flogging, to return the grating to its original position?
"Whichever one of us gives the stroke which causes you to beg us to replace
the grating will score the point." Chiang's whip snaked across Ming-tsu's
golden mid-section for a moment, before finding the underside of her girlishly
firm left breast. "At the end of the game the Scorpion with the most points
shall be the winner -- and will receive ten pieces of gold."
"All right!!" Dao clapped the Ox across a shoulder. The afternoon would
not only be enjoyable, but might well be profitable as well.
"Let us see ... where shall we begin?" Pleased by the Scorpions' response
to his incentive -- which would ensure that no one shirked his duty -- Chiang
Chan stepped around behind Ming-tsu, inspecting his helpless captive from the
rear. Ming-tzu's spankable asscheeks spilled shamelessly over the black band of
her panties, which now concealed only the lower third of her ripe, rounded
buttocks. He tucked the end of the black whipstock into her butt-cleavage,
using her panties to help hold it in place, while he scooped her love-buns in
his pillaging hands, fondling the delicious hemispheres thoroughly, while Dao
and the others looked on with envious eyes.
After enjoying the bottom that his men would soon set aflame with their
whips, he dropped down to stroke Ming-tsu's sensuous dancer's legs; the silky
softness of her skin quivered at his touch. As her reached around her he was
pleased to feel that the fronts of her thighs were still dewy-damp from her
'shower'. He made his decision. "Gentlemen. What do you say we begin with
these marvelous legs?"
"Yeah!!" came the cry of approbation from his three comrades.
"Zheng, lower the grating! Hold on to those rings for your life, wench --
unless you want to be food for the fishes!"
Ming-tsu tightened her grip on the rings again, and felt the iron bars of
the grating slip away from her slightly, as the Ox lowered the lever to the
accompaniment of the grinding metallic sound of the grating opening once again.
"Again!" Ming-tsu felt the momentarily-cooled embers in her shoulder
muscles flaring up anew, as the grating fell further inward, leaving her
beautiful legs clawing the air once again.
As she hung suspended in space, Ming-tsu considered whether she should just
let go of the rings and slide downward to a certain death. But somehow, she was
certain, the watery shades of the old man, the girl, and her lover had somehow
found their way to the depths below, where they -- and perhaps the barbaric
ghost of Feng the Butcher as well -- were waiting expectantly. Only too anxious
to watch Richard Chan's school of bloodthirsty fish tear every tender morsel of
flesh from her body. Despite the unknowable horrors which awaited her in the
dungeon, the certain prospect of the savage flesh-eating creatures below
attacking and devouring her breasts, her loins, her face, her eyes, was even
worse. She had no choice but to endure the Scorpions' worst and hope for
deliverance.
At a signal from Chiang Chan, Lin the Drooler stepped forward and gave
Ming-tsu a stinging slash a third of the way up her left thigh.
"Aaahhh!!" Lin had chosen a whip with six tails that looked no more
threatening than the long, flat home-made noodles she had helped her mother make
as a girl. But as Kyoto had learned to her dismay at the House of Madame Wong,
not so long before, the rubber tails spat sparks of pain.
Then Gaptooth, who had felt his cock surge with virile pleasure when
Ming-tsu's breasts had bounced as Lin had lashed her, stepped behind her.
Reaching out over the chasm Dao let the tails of his own whip play over
Ming-tsu's delicious buttocks for a few seconds, letting her feel the hard,
irregular-shaped rubber knots that would soon be used to try to flay the skin
from her honey-gold thighs. Then the tall thug drew his cat o' hard-rubber
ninetails back and slammed it squarely into the back of Ming-tsu's shapely
thighs with a thunderous CRACCKK!!
"Aaaiieahh!!" Ming-tsu cried out as the nerve-endings in her legs erupted
with pain. The force of the blow sent her naked body swaying slightly in the
air, while Zheng stepped forward.
"Give her a good one, Ox!" Lin chirped.
"Knock her off that fucking perch, Zheng!" Dao urged. He, too, had seen
the net stretched across the pit below the beautiful courtesan. As he watched
Zheng step foward, Dao took sadistic delight from the fact that even "suicide"
itself, would not end Ming-tsu's suffering. She would be made to endure both
the cruelty and the lust of the Scorpions until they had tired of her. As he
watched a streamlet of sweat make its way slowly down the small of her back,
seemingly in search of the dark, delicious canyon between the curves of her
buttock mounds, Dao felt his mighty organ pulse with heightened desire. By the
sword of Genghis Khan, it would be a long time before he would tire of abusing
this princess of lust.
The Ox, still favoring his injured left arm, hefted the punishing-looking
strap in his right. "Get ready to sing, bitch!" he growled as he launched a
fierce blow with the two-inch-wide black strap that bisected her tawny thighs.
WHACKK!!! "OOOUUUWWW!!!" Ming-tsu's scream bounced off the stone walls
of the dungeon, and reverberated downward into the cavernous pit below.
The blow was blistering, falling just below the other two. Easily the most
vicious blow of the three, it was all Ming-tsu could do to bite her lip to
stifle an outcry. Desperately she tried to tighten her grip on the rings, but
there was no time. Almost immediately Chiang Chan followed up with a precise,
scalding stroke with the single-tail that left a second burning kiss directly on
top of the rosy, rectangular mark that the Ox had left. And this time, she felt
her grip loosening.
"Please ... I can't hold on..."
"Should we close the grate?"
"Yes ... hurry ... please!" Ming-tsu begged as she felt her sweaty fingers
slipping from the rings.
"Zheng!" Chiang Chan ordered, and the giant returned the lever to the
uppermost notch, thereby returning the grating to its accustomed place.
Ming-tsu's breasts heaved with exertion and fear, as she tried to catch her
breath. Now she would learn the cost of asking them to raise the grating.
"Score one for Chiang Chan!" said The Drooler excitedly. "But I don't
understand ... How are we going to remember the score."
Chiang Chan walked around to face Ming-tsu, after testing to make sure that
the grating was solidly beneath his feat. "Did I forget to explain that," he
asked with a strange smile. " A thousand pardons, Lin."
"Ming-tsu will keep score for us, won't you, slut?" Chiang took the
roundness of her sensuously moist right breast in his left hand. The delicious
aroma of orange blossom with which she had anointed her treasures that morning
wafted upwards to his nostrils.
"I-if you say so, sir," Ming-tsu whispered, as she tried to put the
searing pain of the four thigh-lashes out of her mind.
"I do say so, wench! But, tell me. How will you keep score?" Chiang's
hand kneaded her damp breast-globe roughly.
Ming-tsu made as if to lower a hand from the rings to repulse him. But
Chiang Chan caught her wrist in his before it had moved more than an inch or
two. "Have you already forgotten my uncle's command? That if you release the
rings without permission, you are to be branded with the hot irons?" Chiang
Chan knew that his uncle had been bluffing -- but Ming-tsu didn't.
Ming-tsu blanched at the thought of the irons on her breasts; she had seen
Liu's tears and heard her screams, and remembered them only too well. She
gripped the rings submissively again, allowing Chiang Chan's questing hands free
access to her proud-nippled breasts.
"N-no, Sir. I have not forgotten."
The squadron leader of the Scorpions continued to fondle her breast with
his left hand, flicking a mahogany nipple with this thumbnail, as he repeated
his question. "How do you intend to keep score, slut?"
"However you say, sir."
"Do you have paper or pen, Ming-tsu?" The hand had tightened on her breast
now, squeezing it harder than before.
"N-no. Aaah!" Ming-tsu winced at the rough handling of her pleasure-mound.
"Then how will you keep score?" Chiang Chan's index finger and thumb
closed around the perky, brown-tipped bud.
"I-I ... don't know, sir." Ming-tsu's body gyrated sensuously from side to
side as she sought to escape the threatening fingers.
"Do you have any counters, wench?" The strong fingers closed tighter,
crushing the tender bud.
"No, sir. Ahhh!"
"Well, it so happens that I have some counters. Isn't that fortunate for
you?" Chiang Chan twisted her breast-nubbin savagely.
"Agh!! Aaaghhh!! Y- yes, sir." The gorgeous concubine bit her lip to
suppress a moan.
"Would you like to see them, Ming-tsu?" Chiang Chan's talons pulled the
erect breast tip away from her body, elongating the succulent globe.
"Aaiiaah! ... please ... as you wish, sir."
"I do wish it, slut!" Chiang Chan held her nipple captive with one hand
while he spanked her breast soundly with the other.
SMACKK!! "Ouuwwwww!"
Chiang Chan released her throbbing breast and stepped toward the cart he
had prepared earlier. "Here are the counters I have chosen, Ming-tsu. Do you
like them?" Chiang Chan displayed the small container, similar to a jewelry box,
that he had removed from the cabinet earlier.
"They are beautiful, are they not," Chiang asked her softly, as he opened
the box, to reveal twenty-four slender objects. The heads of the slender
objects were of four colors -- red, blue, green, and gold, in sets of six.
Ming-tsu felt a cold wave of fear ripple through her body.
"So what do you think of our needles, Ming-tsu? They will make excellent
counters, I should think Each of us will have his own color and each pin will
represent one point. We will be able to see the score at a glance, will we
not?"
"If you say so, sir," the dangling, dark-eyed temptress gulped in a voice
choked by a rising tide of panic. Surely, even the bestial Scorpions couldn' be
thinking of ...
"I do say so, Ming-tsu," Chiang Chan said with a sinister smile. But we
shall need a scoreboard, won't we?"
Ming-tsu felt as if the walls of the dungeon were closing in on her. As
Chiang Chan's three minions circled her, eyeing her graceful nudity, their dark
shadows seemed to dance a macabre dance on the far wall of the dungeon, as if
they were celebrating her downfall. The malevolence of the Scorpions seemed to
hang in the very air of the dungeon, as cold and damp as a morning fog.
When the silken-haired concubine hesitated before answering, Chiang Chan
clenched his jaw and slapped her sharply across the left breast, causing her
lovely orb to bobble briefly, but deliciously, on her chest. He had dreamed of
this supreme moment since that afternoon in his father's den when he had watched
from behind the gold curtain while his father had treated Ming-tsu's
mouthwatering love-melons to several sharp whacks with his sharp-edged ruler.
And the moment had not disappointed him. Ming-tsu had cried out softly in
pain. But her cry of pain was only the froth, the pleasing outward surface atop
his own cup of dark pleasures. The incomparable thrill of savage lust that
coursed through his veins was the well-aged lager that filled the cup which lay
hidden, rich and delicious, beneath the foam.
'Won't we, I said?" he growled.
"I s-suppose ... Y-y-yes, sir."
"What do you suppose we should use as a scoreboard, slut?"
"I-I-can't say, sir."
"Oh, you'll say, it, whore!" The younger Chan scowled and slapped her
breast again, even harder, leaving an angry mark on the warm outer curve of her
pleasure globe.
"Urnnnnghhh!!" she moaned, but she said no more.
"I'll make you say it, you stubborn bitch!" Chiang Chan roared as he
stepped backward and ordered, "Zheng! Open the grating! All the way!"
"Aye, boss!" The bovine-faced giant quickly dropped the iron bar through
each of the three gears in succession, as Ming-tsu felt a series of jarring
jolts as the floor beneath her dropped entirely away again.
"Flog her! All of you! Until she tells us what we shall use for a
scoreboard!"
CRACCKK!! Lin curled his six-tailed whip around her silken thighs.
WHACKKK!! Zheng slammed his thick black strap into her legs.
THWOCCKK!! Dao scorched her resilient buttocks with his knotted rubber
knout, only an inch or two above her lowered undergarment.
The three lightning-bolts of pain sizzled through her body as Ming-tsu
fought to keep her grip on the rings.
"The scoreboard, Ming-tsu! What shall we use? No ideas, yet? Again,
lads!"
The wild-eyed Drooler wiped his wet mouth and aimed a little higher this
time, catching Ming-tsu a mere eight inches below the silken rope that girdled
her mound of venus.
CRACKK!! "Aaahh!"
Ming-tsu barely had time to draw a breath before the Ox followed with
another brutal thigh-burning WHACCKK!!
"Aiiiiiiiieeaaahhhh!!
And that cry had barely died from her lips before Dao's knotted thongs
slammed into her tender buttocks yet again. THWUCKK!!
"Aarrrgghh!!"
CRACCKK!
WHACCKK!!
THWOCCKKK!!
"Aaghhhh! Eeaaaahhhhh!! Auuurrrrgghhhh!!"
Again the three whips fell almost as one, scalding Ming-tsu's tender thigh
flesh, front and back.
"The scoreboard! ... No? ... Give her three more, boys! And don't forget
how she called you "Scum"!"
"Fucking cunt!!"
CRACCKKK !!! WHACKKK!!! THWOCCCKKK!!!
"AAAAAAAAAGHHH!! I'm losing my grip ... pleaase..."
"Stubborn bitch! ... The scoreboard! What shall we use? Speak! ...
Apparently she needs more persuading, boys ... "
CRACCKK!!! "Aggghhhh!! ... close it ... I can't hol ..."
WHACKKK!!! "OUUWWW!! Please ..... stop ... all right! ... My br ...
" But she could not bring herself to voice the word.
THWOCKKK!!!! "Aaaahhh!!! ... Don't let me fall ... My breasts ...
Close it! ... you can use my breasts... but close it ... for the love of heaven
..."
"Zheng! Close the grating!"
In a moment Ming-tsu's bare feet were once more resting firmly on the heavy
iron bars of the improvised trap door. Tears of pain were streaming down her
cheeks and her raven hair, still damp from her 'shower' earlier, was wild around
her shoulders. The Scorpions once again looked on with delight as her
dark-nippled breasts rose and fell deliciously as she tried to catch her breath.
Her legs were ablaze with pain; but her eyes were ablaze with fury.
Chiang Chan bowed to her mockingly. "I am delighted that we have at last
come to an agreement on a method for keeping score."
Then, looking at his henchmen in turn and bowing ceremoniously, "I believe
that I have the honors for the first score?"
"Right, boss."
"Hey, sweetie! Startin' to regret pulling that torch on us, yet?" Lin's
voice taunted her.
"Look at those tits! They're shaking like fucking jelly! The bitch is
scared now, Ox. Ain't you, slut?"
Chiang picked up a blue-headed pin and scrutinized the inch-long length of
shiny silver, holding it up to the torchlight to examine it for sharpness, as
Ming-tsu felt wave after wave of cold, clammy fear course through her body.
Chiang Chan's voice was at once unctuous and menacing. "It will take some
self-control, Ming-tsu, to hold on to the rings while I tally my score on your
lovely scoreboard, wench. But the hot irons in the brazier are no doubt ready,
should you choose to let go."
Ming-tsu glanced across at the glowing coals -- the irons were indeed
red-hot. She had no idea how she would be able to endure the insertion of even
one needle without lowering her arms to protect herself; she only knew that she
must.
Chiang Chan slid his left hand under Ming-tsu's right breast, lifting it
slightly so that the lambent glow of the torchlight could embrace its entirety.
Almost dry now, her breast was soft and warm and trembling in his hand. He used
his thumbnail to tease her dark nipple, gently scraping the very tip of her
lust-nugget until it stood out yearningly from her crinkly areola.
Then, still holding her breast firmly in his left hand, Chiang Chan moved
his other hand, which held the blue-tipped needle, above the smooth upper
contour of her breast. Then he paused, rolling the gleaming head of the needle
back and forth between his thumb and index finger for a long moment, enjoying
the look of wide-eyed desperation in Ming-tsu's lovely almond eyes. Then he
positioned the needle, point downward, teasingly, just above the center of the
upslope of her breast.
"Oh, yeah! - jab it into the bitch!" A stream of saliva, oozed through
Lin's lips, as he leaned forward excitedly, anxious to witness the impending
torture.
The three Scorpions were gathered so closely around their leader that
Ming-tsu could feel their hot, foul breath on her body.
Chiang Chan feinted twice, letting the tip of the needle press sharply
against Ming-tsu's soft, moist flesh for just an instant. In response to this
stimulus, a pale blue vein, almost muted by Ming-tsu's marvelous honey-gold skin
tones, seemed to pulse in anticipation of the coming pain. Then, as the
full-breasted concubine watched in horror, Chiang Chan pressed the point of the
pin firmly against the upcurve of her breast.
"Now hold still, very, very still," the satanic voice whispered as its
owner slowly drove the demon-needle downward into her lush, quivering breast.
It took her last ounce of self-possession not to lower her arms and slap
the cruel needle away, but Ming-tsu choked back a sob, bit down on her lip and
tried to remain motionless, as Chiang Chan leisurely drove the sharp needle-tip
deeper and deeper into her breast, while a single drop of blood formed at the
entrance point.
When at last the needle was embedded up to its blue hilt, Chiang stepped
back to admire his handiwork. "My friends, that pin is in the twelve o'clock
position. We have twenty-four pins, and two tempting targets."
Chiang Chan turned to wink at his three thuggish henchmen. Did I not tell
you that we would have a fine "time" with this little wildcat?"
He caught the eye of each of his leering henchmen in turn. "Now that I have
shown you how we shall keep score, let's return to the contest."
Ming-tsu held her breath and then exhaled in despair as Chiang Chan gave
the order she feared most:
"Zheng, lower the grating!"
Chapter 79 The Scorpions' Plaything
A few moments and a series of discordant metallic sounds later, Ming-tsu
was once again dangling from the rings, her feet searching desperately for a
foothold on the inclined grating.
Chiang Chan strode around her slowly, scrutinizing her golden body,
admiring the strain that stretched every sinew and the tension that tightened
every tendon in her suspended body. Ming-tsu's tempest-tossed hair was an
ebony waterfall that rushed headlong down her uplifted shoulders, while her dark
eyes raged with incandescent defiance. Chiang's probing eyes took in every inch
and every curve of his father's concubine's delicious form before making his
decision. "For round two, my friends, we shall stay with the backs of these
pretty legs."
Ming-tsu glanced down at the sparkling, sapphire-blue needle-hilt that her
lover's son had driven agonizingly deep into the upslope of her right breast,
and wondered desperately how her soft breasts could possibly endure being
similarly pierced two dozen times, once with each pin in Chiang Chan's box of
horrors. One breast-needle had been painful enough; the thought of her
pleasure-mounds being subjected to such torture twenty-four times was
inconceivable.
The four sinister Scorpions edged closer to the center of the Whipping Pit,
each of them save for their leader standing obliquely behind Ming-tsu, within
flogging distance of the squirming dark-haired beauty, their well-chosen whips
at hand. Ming-tsu's mind raced as she tried to force herself to concentrate on
hope rather than fear, on survival rather than terror and agony.
How could she forestall her tormentors? Would they eventually grow weary?
Could she perhaps arouse them sexually, distract them from their foul purpose
with her enticing body? For rape, even cruel, vicious rape by this pack of
ravenous wolves, would probably be less dreadful than the torments to which she
would be subjected. Ming-tsu bit into the sensual curve of her bee-stung lower
lip, as she waited for the Scorpions to strike, wondering how she might
seduce, distract or dissuade them from the labors they so clearly enjoyed.
Lin the Drooler watched Ming-tsu's shapely legs sway beneath her for a
moment or two and then he struck, sweeping his six-thonged whip around her
lower thighs with a resounding Cracckk!! so that the stinging tails wrapped
Ming-tsu's pretty legs in flames.
Ming-tsu was still gasping in pain when Dao stepped forward, his
lust-crazed eyes never leaving Ming-tsu's tantalizing buttock cleavage. Perhaps
because of her suspension, Ming-tsu's silken panties had inched even further
southward, forming an inch-wide black silken band across the lower quarter of
her bottom ovals. Dao hefted the hard rubber whip-knots in his hand for a
moment while he enjoyed the vista of Ming-tzu's inviting ass-crease. The
hulking Scorpion remarked to himself that he would curse the Chans and all their
generations if his pulsing manhood did not find his way into Ming-tsu's
tightly-clenched nether entrance this day. Then the ill-featured enforcer
lifted his whip high and Thwockked!! the hard rubber knots into the meat of
Ming-tsu's athletic thighs.
"Aarrgghhh!" the dark-haired beauty cried out, as her legs danced
invitingly in the air, and her buttocks ground in sinuous, sensuous circles. In
the great mirror Ming-tsu watched her voyeurs watching her, as they delighted in
her gyrations, searching their eyes, their faces, their souls for a weakness
that she could probe.
"Look at that sweet ass wriggle, Zheng!" Gaptooth muttered in a voice
encrusted with lechery.
Ming-tsu's body gave an involuntary shudder as the giant stepped forward.
His long arm reached out over the edge of the opening in the dungeon floor and
he slid the tip of the doubled-up strap he carried down the enticing crevice
between her buttocks.
"You think it's wriggling now? Watch this!" the Ox replied. He walked
around in front of Ming-tsu and extended his left arm, so that Ming-tsu could
see that it was raw from the flames that had enveloped his shirt earlier. "You
burned my arm, cunt." the Ox growled in a voice filled with hatred. "Burned it
bad. But its my turn now." Then he returned do his position behind her.
The dim-witted man-child might be the most dangerous of the lot, Ming-tsu
thought, a moment before a shattering WHACKK!! devastated the backs of her
pretty thighs and reverberated through the dungeon. Ming-tsu could not see the
broad scarlet stripe the burly behemoth had painted across the tops of her
thighs, but she felt it in the innermost core of her body.
Dao noted that the Ox had been as good as his word -- Ming-tsu's pelvis
and legs seemed to be enveloped in a paroxysm of pain, as her rounded buttocks
twitched furiously, while her burning legs sawed the air as if she were swimming
in a sea of fire. Her frantic clawing with her hands indicated that Zheng's
ferocious blow had almost caused her to release her grip on the life-saving
rings.
"Ooouuuwwwww!!" she moaned
"That's it! Make the lying slut dance, Ox!" Lin exlaimed with enthusiasm.
The Drooler felt as if he were in a dream, a most unexpected and pleasant
dream. Who among his chums in the mountains would have believed a week ago that
a few days hence one of their number would be taking an eager and active hand in
the sexual torture of one of the most beautiful courtesans in China?
The flickering, shimmering light from the wall torches made the blue
needle-hilt in her breast glisten even as it enhanced the beauty of Ming-tsu's
writhing figure. Chiang Chan watched her perspiring body sway back and forth on
the rings, his eyes glued to the inviting thatch between her slim, sensuous
legs. He acknowledged to himself that his father, as usual, had been proved
right. His gorgeous concubine certainly did have both courage and stamina to
match her beauty.
But, he thought, as a cruel smile crossed his lips, the day was still
young. The dark-eyed beauty would need every ounce of her courage and stamina
in the hours to come.
"The jewels, whore! Where are they?" Chiang Chan asked.
"I have told you. I don'..."
CRACKKK!! The younger Chan wrapped his long, black singletail around
Ming-tsu's supple thighs.
"Aiiaghhh!!"
"The truth, woman!"
"I - I ..."
"Lin - continue."
"And put your back into it this time, boy," Dao taunted the youngster
good-naturedly. "Last time you swung like a girl!"
Goaded by this insult to his young manhood, the Drooler scowled and mopped
at the frothy corner of his mouth with a filthy sleeve. He eyed the
sweated-sheened golden thighs that danced so attractively in space for a long
moment and then Cracckked!!! the wicked thongs of his whip across the back of
Ming-tsu's tender legs again.
"Oooooooohhhh," Ming-tsu moaned. There had been nothing girlish about that
stroke of the whip, Ming-tsu thought, as the heat from his blow radiated up and
down her bare thighs.
One by one the violent lashes continued to fall on Ming-tsu's tawny thighs,
as with each succeeding blow her golden skin tones pinkened and then became rosy
under the Scorpions' withering assault.
"You've got to give her one thing. She's tough," Chiang Chan volunteered
with grudging admiration after Dao slashed her viciously with his knotted
scourge.
"P-please..." Ming-tsu gasped as she felt her grip weakening on the rings.
Luckily for her, her four tormentors had quickly fallen into a certain rhythm,
which made it a little easier to anticipate most of their blows. She had
learned that if she took a deep breath a certain length of time after each
withering stroke, she was more prepared for the next.
"I'll give her something all right, the lying bitch!" The gruff voice of
the Ox proclaimed. Much the largest of the four men, his blows were the most
punishing; Ming-tsu had really had to brace herself when it was his turn. Each
blow of his heavy strap felt as if it had stripped a layer of skin from her
body.
And this one was no exception. The dim-witted giant slammed his strap into
the tempting transitional zone where Ming-tsu's rounded, honey-hued buttocks
melted deliciously into supple golden thighs. Had she been standing on a solid
surface, Ming-tsu felt certain, the blow would have lifted her off the ground.
After a dozen blows, Ming-tsu was bathed in a fine film of perspiration and
she felt as if she were hanging onto the rings by her fingernails. Chiang Chan
stood in front of her staring at her lush nudity. It was remarkable, he thought
to himself, how the simple act of suspension enhanced the appeal of a woman's
torso. How it flattened an already flat stomach, and how it seemed to narrow an
already narrow waist. How her enforced elongation made the soft woman-flesh on
Ming-tsu's mid-section cling lovingly to the converging inward sweep of her
ribcage; and how those gently protruding bones in turn seemed to provide an
architectonic contrast to the soft roundness of her proudly uplifted
breast-domes, with their perfectly-centered spires.
Over Chiang's shoulder, in the mirror, Ming-tsu watched the three
Scorpions huddling together behind her whisper conspiratorially to each other.
Lin suddenly emerged from the parley and swept his six-fingered lash across her
legs with all the force at his disposal. CRACK!! Then, when she had only begun
to absorb the pain from that blow, Gaptooth echoed the Drooler's stroke with one
of his own half a second later. THWOCKK!! the horrible knots tortured her tender
flesh in precisely the same area the Drooler had softened up.
"Aaagghh! Help! I can't hold on!" Ming-tsu begged as her fingers
feverishly clawed at the rings.
Chiang Chan reacted quickly. "Close the grating, Ox." Than the young
leader of the Black Scorpions gave Ming-tsu a gloating smile which seemed to
portend unspeakable suffering. "So that Dao can tally his score."
Chapter 80 Tortured Breasts
Ming-tsu cursed herself for losing her grip as she heard the metal
framework of the pit clang together noisily beneath her. She was grateful to be
standing on terra firma once again, but she could not stop her body from
trembling uncontrollably as the homely, bare-chested thug who had struck the
decisive blow approached her.
"Yeah!!" Gaptooth exulted, as the torchlight flickered off of his uneven
teeth. "How about a green pin, boss? To match that jade pin she was wearing the
other night." Then Dao addressed Ming-tsu directly. "Three's my lucky number,
honey," Dao chuckled derisively, "but maybe you won't think it's quite so lucky.
Boss, I'm going to post my score at three o'clock."
"Take the green pin on the left, Dao," Chiang Chan instructed, as he
extended the box of needles to his exuberant companion. "Ming-tsu, perhaps I
forgot to mention that the pins get slightly longer, and very slightly thicker
in diameter, as they go from left to right in the box. The first pin of each
color is about an inch long; but the sixth is nearly two inches long and has
nearly twice the girth of the first. These first needles are but dim sum, my
dear, compared to the main course. We want to save the best for last for our
lovely guest, don't we, my friends?"
Dao grinned, and the semi-toothless Chinese thug took the slimmest of the
green headed pins between his callused fingers.
"Sweetheart, I've had my eye on your tits since that night you and Feng put
that pretty little virgin on the Tiger. What was her name again?"
"L-Liu," Ming-tsu murmured faintly, her voice tremulous as she watched
Gaptooth roll the emerald-tipped needle between his fingers.
"Yeah, Liu. Pretty little thing. But she sure didn't have tits like
these, did she, boys?"
"No way," Lin chimed in; he, too, remembered Liu well. She had surely been
beautiful in a petite, elegant way. But her figure was no match for the ripe
curves of this stunning creature whose palpitating breast was about to feel the
jabbing sting of a second needle.
"P-please..."
"Please, nothing, whore. You dished it out pretty good that night -- now
let's see if you can take it! And remember -- If you let go of those rings..."
and Dao glanced meaningfully at the seething brazier.
Ming-tsu tightened her grip on the rings. Even the silvery sharpness of
the needles was preferable to being branded for life with the glowing irons.
Meanwhile, the grinning, gaptoothed thug brought his lips down on
Ming-tsu's quivering right breast, mouthing it sloppily for a long moment before
turning his attention to the perfectly-centered little bud that seemed to peek
upward from the luscious flesh that encircled it . Tantalized by the fragrant
sweetness of her orange-blossom scent, Dao's saliva-wet tongue swept around the
outer edge of Ming-tsu's tempting areola twice and then his mouth closed over
her mahogany love-nubbin. He nursed it quickly to a moist, glistening erection
and then he skillfully managed to trap her taut, tasty nipple in the crevice
between his two front teeth, and then he slowly pulled away, his malformed teeth
serving as the claw of a claw hammer. His backward step tugged painfully at
Ming-tsu's distended nipple, for she was obliged to hold her ground, for fear of
letting go of the rings.
Chiang Chan watched with amused interest; Dao had obviously practiced this
crude technique on other unfortunate women.
Ming-tsu gasped with pain as she felt her breast being painfully stretched.
Then, just when it seemed that Dao might rip her puckering brown nipple from her
breast, the barechested Scorpion reached into his mouth and roughly extracted
Ming-tsu's moist, meaty nipple from between his incisors. He gave her
breast-nugget another quick nip before releasing it.
Then the grunting Scorpion formed his tongue into a stiff muscular finger
and began prodding at the head of the blue-tipped needle that Chiang Chan had
embedded deep in the upper contour of her shuddering breast.
Ming-tsu winced as Dao poked the needle with his tongue. "What do you say
we give Mr. Blue a little company, sweetheart?" Dow smirked as he cupped her
breast in his hand, savoring its fullness and warmth.
"Wait a second!" Lin burst out as he ran and retrieved a torch from a wall
sconce so that its light would give them all a better view.
And Lin proceeded to hold the torch aloft so that the three Scorpions could
watch with pounding hearts and rigid, throbbing cocks as Dao palmed the
green-tipped needle, slid his big hand into the soft valley between Ming-tsu's
close-set breasts, and then with a clever bit of legerdemain made the needle
reappear again, its silvery length gleaming brightly in the torchlight, its tip
poised against the inner curve of Ming-tsu's right breast.
Meanwhile Ming-tsu felt Zheng's big beefy hands behind her, clutching her
bottomcheeks, ostenstibly to hold her still. But the Ox's thick fingers weren't
content to merely hold her in place; they dug into her resilient buttocks with
almost painful force.
"Take a deep breath, baby," Dao grunted, "cause here it comes."
Ming-tsu's entire upper torso trembled as she inhaled. And then she felt
it -- the quick stabbing pain of the piercing as Dao pricked the sensitive skin
of her breast.
"Oh, yeah! ... Her skin is soooo soft ... Look at those tits shiver, boys!
She's as nervous as a virgin. Mmmm ... So nice....And look at those nipples!
Sticking out so nice and proud, like little brown soldiers.... We'll get to
them, later, girl, don't you worry. Bring the torch down lower, Lin, so
everyone can see.... Watch, now .... See how it slides right in, boys? But you
don't want to rush it. Feng taught me that. Just a little at a time.... Nice
and slow..."
"P-p-please ..."
"The pin's only in about a quarter of an inch now, right? But watch how
her nipple's going to twitch when I jiggle the needle."
"Aaaahhh!" Ming-tsu gasped in pain. It felt as if Dao had probed her
breast with a hot iron.
"See? Hey, that got her attention, didn't it? Let's try that again. A
little harder this time."
"N-n-n .... Aaiiiiihhhh!!!"
"Yeah, baby. I thought you'd like that one. Look how her tits are
sweating, boys. That's how you know you're on the right track. Ready for a
little more, Ming-tsu?"
'No... no... It hurts ... hurts so bad..." Ming-tsu's hair had whipped
back and forth so much in the last few seconds that her face was partly
obscured.
"You think it didn't hurt bad when you were shovin' that torch at us?
You've got this coming, baby. This and more. Lots more. And feel free to let
go of those rings, if you want. Me and the boy wouldn't mind giving these," Dao
released the green needle-hilt to cup Ming-tsu's full breasts in his hands, "a
taste of what's cooking on the fire over there, would we, Lin?"
"Oh, shit!" was the only response the pock-marked teenager could come up
with. The thought of holding a red-hot metal instrument against Ming-tsu's
delicious breasts while she bucked in agony, even if only for the briefest of
instants, sent waves of pleasure shooting through his genitals.
Dao leaned further forward over Ming-tsu's sumptuous pleasure mounds. "OK,
honey. I'm going to push it in a little deeper, now."
"Aaurrrghhh!!"
"Hee-hee," Lin laughed maniacally as a strand of his drool dripped down
onto the sweat-sheened upslope of Ming-tsu's love-globe. "Do it again, Dao. Do
it again."
"See? It's almost halfway in, now. Mmmm, I want to see those pretty brown
nips jump again. How about if I twist the needle like this ..."
"Oooww! Ouuhhhwww!! Aaaiiiiaahhhh!! Stop ... please ... For the love
of heaven."
"There's no love in heaven for the likes of you, you lying whore."
The Ox's brutal fingers dug deeper into her asscheeks while Dao's dark
eyes studied the fear and pain in her own, as he pressed the needle deeper and
deeper, taking his time, enjoying the banquet of breast-flesh he held in his
hands, just as he would have drawn out a leisurely meal. The two minutes that
it took him to bury the emerald green needle hilt-deep in her breast seemed as
long as any hour of Ming-tsu's life.
When the hilt at last was flush against the inside curve of Ming-tsu's
breast Lin pounded his comrade on the back excitedly. "She ain't calling
anybody 'scum' now, is she, Dao?" he taunted, to the raucous approval of his
comrades.
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!"
Chapter 82 Portents of Punishment
When Chiang Chan signaled to his men to seize her, Ming-tsu let go of the
rings and made another bolt for freedom, taking one or two quick strides toward
a column, hoping to lay her hands on one of the torches again. But, somewhat
encumbered by the panties around her upper thighs, she was not quick enough and
almost instantly she felt the crushing force of the Ox's mighty plet across her
back.
"Get her!"
The ravishing dark-haired concubine staggered under the blow, and then
tried to right herself, just in time to feel Lin's many-tongued whip searing her
right shoulderblade. Fighting off the pain, she staggered bravely forward only
to be confronted by an ominous gaptoothed figure who had stepped forward to
block her path . The gaptoothed Scorpion growled, "Not this time, whore!" and
swung his knotted scourge at her chest.
"Aaaiiiiaahh!" Ming-tsu cried out as she raised her arms defensively, just
managing to protect her breasts, but allowing the lower tails of the flogger to
rake across her arms and midriff, burning her amber-gold flesh from ribcage to
ribcage.
In the brief moment that she had hesitated, Lin dropped his whip and
grabbed her by the left arm. She turned toward the leering teenager and kicked
out at him wildly, only to feel the strands of Dao's whip wrap around her right
side, its punishing knots straining to reach the soft outer curve of her right
breast but falling just short. Then the Ox grabbed her by the other wrist and,
holding it at arm's length from her beautiful body, twisted it painfully while
Lin tightened his grip on her other arm.
Ming-tsu struggled desperately to extricate herself from the clutches of
the pair of Scorpions, but she was no match for their strength, and soon they
had jerked her around so that she faced the one whom she feared the most.
Dao, his lip curled back in a frightful sneer, drew back his punishing whip
again; with his comrades holding her wrists, Ming-tsu's beautifully-nippled
breasts were defenseless.
Correctly divining Dao's malevolent design, the raven-haired concubine
frantically threw her body forward and downward, falling to her knees and
lowering her head in an attempt to cheat Dao of his luscious targets.
"Hold still, whore!" the thuggish Scorpion cursed. Dao bent down and
seized a rich handful of Ming-tsu's ebony tresses, hoping to lift her head and
give her sweat-sheened love-globes, still untouched by the whip, their first
taste of the lash.
But at the last moment Chiang Chan put his hand on his arm. "Patience, my
friend. Does not the proverb teach us that with time and patience the mulberry
leaf becomes a silken gown?"
Dow, frustrated but obedient even in his surliness, reluctantly lowered his
whip while Chiang continued. "Patience is a bitter plant, but it bears sweet
fruit."
The heir to the House of Chan doubled up his coiled whip and slid it down
between the kneeling courtesan's shuddering breasts, gently tapping their inner
curves. "Sweet fruits indeed," he said in a voice that made Ming-tzu's blood
run cold. Chiang's amorous gaze drank in the nakedness of his kneeling
prisoner; he understood Dao's lust; his own manhood throbbed with dark desire.
"But the longer we defer our hunger, my friend, the sweeter the fruit shall
taste."
"I promise you," Chiang added as he glanced meaningfully toward Dao's Dao's
dreadful knotted whip and then at Ming-tsu's dark-nippled pleasure-globes, "that
you shall enjoy those fruits to your heart's content before the day is done."
A wolfish leer of exultation crossed Dao's face as he winked at the Ox,
whose massive erection seemed to swell at the thought, and then at the grinning
face of Lin the Drooler.
"Do you hear that, sweetie?" Lin taunted his helpless captive. "Honey, me
and the boys are going to have us a real party today!" He wiped hastily at the
corner of his mouth. "And you're going to be guest of honor!"
Ming-tsu's heart sank upon hearing Chiang Chan's portentous words.
Meanwhile, towering above her, Chiang returned his gaze to the beautiful,
fiery-eyed courtesan at his feet, coiling up his whip as he did so. "So you are
still intent on escaping your devoted admirers," he sneered mockingly. "You fell
to your knees in less time than it takes the emperor to clap his hands,
Ming-tsu; it must have taken much practice to master such a maneuver." Chiang
Chan smiled sardonically down at his father's lover. "How many times have you
fallen to your knees for my father, wench?"
Ming-tsu fired dark-eyed daggers of fury at her lover's son.
"On your feet, wench! There'll be plenty of time for you to be on your
knees later."
The Ox and the Drooler jerked Ming-tsu joltingly back to her feet as Chiang
Chan continued. "Lin, why don't you remove those ridiculous-looking panties?"
The black wisp of silk did indeed look ludicrous, Dao thought, bunched as
it was like a confused belt around Ming-tsu's satiny-soft upper thighs. Lin
fell to his knees in front of her, studying every detail of Ming-tsu's enticing
pussy, intoxicated by the scent of orange blossom that seemed to envelop her
femininity.
The captive courtesan felt the boy's adolescent hot and ragged breath
between her legs, as he slowly eased the garment down her smooth legs, his
slender fingers tracing sensuous outlines along her thighs. When he reached a
point just above her knees, the panties slipped through his hands and fell to
her ankles like a wounded bird.
Ming-tsu stepped out of the garment, her last link to normalcy, with the
defiant resignation of one who has taken the final step away from a civilized
world and has entered a barbaric realm, nude, helpless, and alone. A dark,
cruel world in which mercy is unknown and which knows no north, no south, no
east, no west. A world in which the directions at every crossroads point only to
slavery, bondage, torture, or rape.
"Ming-tsu, your foolish attempt to escape tells me that I have been far
too lenient with you, leaving you unbound as I have." Chiang Chan reached
forward, and using his sturdy whip-stock, placed it against the jade-colored
hilt of the needle that Dao had plunged into the inner curve of her breast.
Chiang Chan's brow furrowed for a moment and Ming-tsu detected a subtle
tightening in his jaw a split-second before he tapped the improvised mallet
against the needle-hilt, causing a fresh lancet of pain to shoot through her
tender breast.
"Aah! Aiiihh!" Ming-tsu moaned miserably as Chiang Chan struck the
sparkling green pinhead a second and then a third time.
"Since you clearly do not appreciate freedom, we shall see how you enjoy
restraint. Take her to the pedestal, Zheng," Chiang Chan said, indicating a
U-shaped pedestal situated midway between a pair of pillars on the other side of
the dungeon.
As the Ox muscled Ming-tsu around, Dao scolded her, "Be quick about it,
girl!" as he lashed the dark-eyed beauty across the backs of her legs, thus
driving her in the desired direction.
Chapter 83 The Nipple Bondage of Chah-lin
Within seconds, Ming-tsu had been positioned between the two pillars,
which, like the walls of Richard Chan's dungeon, were encrusted with bolts and
rings and manacles of every description. Centered between the pillars, whose
facing surfaces were perhaps five feet apart, was a raised pedestal formed in
the shape of a 'U' whose curved side faced the mirrored wall, while the two
straight arms of the 'U', also a-bristle with shackles, extended some two feet
behind the curved base of the 'U'.
The pedestal was some twenty inches high and Ming-tsu was quickly made to
kneel atop it, with her knees at the closed end, and her lower legs extending
backward along the top of the arms of the 'U'. She knelt there, her dark eyes
wild and wrathful, before the heir to the House of Chan, who stood in front of
her with his back to the great mirror.
Chiang Chan, amused by her ire, stroked his chin like a chessplayer
pondering his next move while he admired the sleek lines and contours of his
prisoner's nude body. "I think the Bondage of the Seven Cords might temper our
lovely prisoner's urge to flee, Dao. What say you? Do you know it?"
"Aye, I know it," Dao said gruffly. Feng had taught him well.
*******
Early in his tour of duty as a Scorpion, Dao had watched Feng administer
the daunting restraint of the Seven Cords to Chah-lin, a fresh-faced young girl
of fifteen. A thrice-familiar story -- Chah-lin's uncle, a prosperous textile
merchant, had tried to cheat the Scorpions of their extortion money. Dao and
Feng had lain in wait one night outside the uncle's house and abducted the girl
and brought her back to the Black Pagoda as a hostage until her greedy uncle
came to his senses. Feng, meanwhile, decided that it would be a shame to waste
the presence of such a young and limber captive and had made use of the
opportunity to instruct his apprentice in the rudiments of rope bondage.
By the time her uncle had raised the money to redeem the slim but lovely
creature some eighteen harrowing hours later -- by paying his entire arrears of
protection money, plus three months in advance -- one would have had difficulty
finding a hand's width of space anywhere on her shapely young body that remained
unmarked by Feng's sturdy cords.
Dao had had no idea there were so many kinds of rope, so many kinds of
knots, so many intricate positions. Feng had handled the lithe, limber body of
the innocent maiden with surpassing skill, as if he had been an artist or
sculptor and she had been his model, arranging her body effortlessly,
manipulating her young and flexible form into an infinitely diverting series of
configurations. Her mouth had been filled with one uncomfortable gag after
another; Her wrists, ankles, arms, and legs all came to bear the imprint of
Feng's bondage ropes. Nor did her torso escape -- her slim-waisted stomach, her
flat midsection, her sensitive, sparsely-fringed crotch and even the deep groove
between her girlish buttocks -- all had felt the tightness of Feng's cords.
Even Chah-lin's still-ripening breasts were raw from the coarse hemp by the
time of her rescue. Upon flicking them teasingly with a stiff rope-end, Feng
had noticed that the girl had been blessed with unusually responsive nipples.
Capitalizing on that serendipitous circumstance, Feng had used his ropes to
emphasize the natural beauty of her breast-tips, wrapping a long, thin cord
around the soft curves of her pleasure-cones twice, once just above and once
just below her distended nipples, imprisoning her aroused love-buds in a
moderately snug hempen vise that made them swell most pleasingly.
Then Richard Chan's dungeonmasterr had offered the breast cord to his
gaptoothed apprentice so that he might have the pleasure of tightening it. Dao
had taken the end of the slender rope with all of the gusto appropriate to such
a pleasurable task. He was just about to give the cord a mighty jerk to pull
both strands tight around Chah-lin's breasts when Feng had admonished him that
the effectiveness of bondage depended upon steady pressure, not sudden force.
Acting on that wise advice, Dao had taken the rope and tightened it slowly,
inexorably, around Chah-lin's virginal breast cones, until the tears of pain
streaming from her eyes joined the trickles of drool that escaped from the
rounded corners of her gagged mouth. The twin rivulets streamed down her face
before dripping down on to her breasts, and then continued in slow, silent
pilgrimage down the curves of her love-plums toward the dark, delicious stems
which protruded so brazenly from between the pair of ever-tightening
breast-cords...
Chapter 84 The Bondage of the Seven Cords
Ming-tsu watched nervously, as Dao strode toward the wall of implements and
removed a long coil of narrow-gauge rope. He studied it briefly, making sure
that it's length and thickness was suitable for his sinister purpose, and then
made his way back toward the girl on the pedestal.
Ming-tsu still wriggled around on the pedestal, frantically trying to pull
her slender arms free from the Scorpions' grasp. But against their superior
strength, her efforts were to of little avail. In fact, Chiang Chan found her
seductive gyrations stimulating in the extreme. So much so that for a moment he
almost decided to forgo the bondage altogether and bury his manly prick between
her velvety thighs. But, he reasoned, he had extolled patience to Dao only a
moment ago; he would look foolish if he were to be overhasty in prosecuting his
lust now. Time, surely, he consoled himself, was not on the side of the
luscious, dark-haired courtesan.
Dao began by cutting a short length of rope and then taking the left ankle
of the kneeling concubine, and wrapping it three times with the cord before
affixing the rope to a sturdy metal anchor that projected from the side of the
pedestal.
Ming-tsu grimaced in pain as Dao proceeded to repeat the process on her
right foot. Her knees and shins now bore her entire weight, with her feet
extended behind her, soles upturned.
"Lovely," Chiang Chan whispered as the shapely courtesan continued to try
to escape the grasp of Dao and Lin. But now that her ankles were firmly
secured, both she and they knew that her struggles were no more than an exercise
in futility.
Dao then cut a much longer length of the narrow gauge cord and looped it
around Ming-tsu's right upper thigh twice.
He was just about to tighten the cord when Chiang's voice stopped him.
"No, Dao; about half an inch higher. I think you will find that there is a
most sensitive cluster of nerves right there."
Ming-tsu held her breath as Dao adjusted the rope slightly.
"Close, but just a hair higher, I think, Dao," Chiang Chan instructed. "My
uncle Richard has studied the female body with great care for many years,
Ming-tsu. It would be a great shame to waste the product of his researches,
would it not?" Chiang Chan smiled with cruel amusement before addressing Dao
again. "Yes, right there, I should say. Now, pull the rope tight, and we shall
see if we have guessed correctly."
"Agghhh!" Ming-tsu gasped in pain as the crooked-toothed Scorpion pulled
half the slack out of the binding cord with one swift movement. She looked up
to see Dao staring fixedly at her while he continued to tighten the thigh-cord.
"Tighter, Dao, pull it tighter," Lin chirped.
As Dao tightened the rope he searched Ming-tsu's lovely face for signs of
anguish. She glared back at him, but there was no mistaking the sparkle of
half-formed tears in her eyes -- Chiang Chan had chosen the binding spot well.
The almond-eyed concubine winced in pain as she watched the flesh-gripping
black rope sink ever deeper into her honey-gold thigh-flesh.
Chiang Chan smiled at Ming-tsu's groan. "I see that my uncle's labors were
not in vain."
Ming-tsu continued to wrestle with the wrist-holders while Dao muscled her
thigh toward the edge of the U-arm by pulling on the thigh-rope. Once her leg
had been pulled wide, so that it rested against the outer edge of the pedestal,
Dao tied the taut cord off around a hook that extended outward from the front of
the pillar on Ming-tsu's right.
Then he repeated the process on her left leg, taking the fourth cord and
cinching Ming-tsu's other thigh in the same manner, encircling it, as he had
her other leg, some six or eight inches below the alluring juncture of her
parted legs, and then lashing that rope to the front of the pillar on her left.
The thigh-ropes, lashed to the front of the pillars as they were, pulled
Ming-tsu's lower body forward slightly. Ming-tsu heard Lin, who was standing
obliquely behind her holding her left wrist, whistle softly, obviously pleased
with the way the leg-ropes accentuated the curves of her delicious derriere.
When we was done with the thigh-ropes, Dao took the wrist that Lin had been
holding, and encircled it fourt times with the fifth cord, before stretching her
arm up and out as far as it could possibly go, and then lashing the wrist rope
to a ring on the back side of the pillar; he quickly took a sixth cord and did
the same to her other wrist, after Zheng had released it to his care, and in
moments Ming-tsu's upper body formed a graceful Y with her wrists securely bound
to the highest points on the pillars that she was capable of reaching.
"Yeah, that oughta hold the wench," Lin said with youthful enthusiasm.
"C'mon, boss. Let us at her! We'll make her talk!"
Having finished the sixth cord, Dao wiped his brow and stepped back to
admire his handiwork. The torches mounted high on the circular columns bathed
Ming-tsu's flesh in a warm sea of red-orange light. Dao stood behind her,
marveling at Feng's ingenious conception of binding a young woman's legs to the
front of the pillar, while binding her arms to the rear. That posture had given
Chah-lin's slender body an attractive double curve; in Ming-tsu's case the
effect was breathtaking. Every muscle and sinew in her arms was pulled taut;
the planes and hollows of her tapering back alternated gracefully, and the
sensuous arch of her spine above her slim waist accentuated the eye-catching
curves of her heart-shaped bottom.
Meanwhile the Ox had circled around the kneeling beauty to join Chiang Chan
in admiring the frontal view of the bound concubine. Ming-tsu's face was
flushed with humiliation; her tightly-cinched thighs were spread brazenly, and
the luscious petals of her sex were shamelessly displayed. And, just as the
ropes that held her pulled-back arms accentuated the shape of her bottom, the
position also served to forced Ming-tsu's delicious breasts both up and out.
Chiang Chan felt his heart race faster as he watched the gentle rise and
fall of her dark-nippled treasures, their three shiny needle-hilts sparkling in
the torchlight. Ming-tsu's marvelous breasts were tilted upwards, like
prayerful hands in supplication to a forgiving god. Chiang Chan smiled
enigmatically as he considered that imagery with a Professor Leung-like
thoroughness: there were no forgiving gods in the Black Pagoda. There were no
forgiving gods in Shanghai. The only gods in Shanghai, as he had often remarked
to himself, were those of cruelty, vengeance, and lust.
For a long moment Chiang Chan looked down at his father's voluptuous
concubine, picturing himself as an omnipotent deity to whom this exquisite
creature had offered up her magnificent young body in sacrifice. But soon the
mood passed and there were once again no symbols in the dungeon of the Black
Pagoda. He was just a man, with three lust-hardened henchmen, and Ming-tsu was
just a woman. She was not merely an image of woman, such as poets and painters
imagine. She was a woman of flesh and blood, this woman whose fate he held in
his hands. She was a courtesan who had tasted the sweetest pleasures a woman's
body could know, but whose turn it was now to experience the most dreadful
suffering....
Yin and yang.
Chiang Chan smiled grimly down at Ming-tsu's nude body and congratulated
himself on choosing the Pillars and the Pedestal as a most exciting sequel to
the Whipping Pit.
********
Dao had just finished cutting the lengthy seventh cord when Chiang Chan
stopped him with a raised hand. "Not yet; we shall continue without it for the
moment."
Taking advantage of this momentary hiatus, Ming-tsu once again tried her
wiles on the leader of the Scorpions. Moving her pelvis in a slow suggestive
circle, she whispered, "You don't have to hurt me, you know."
Chiang Chan licked his lips as he watched Ming-tsu's gentle undulations.
"You do us an injustice, my dear," he said with a thin smile. "We don't 'have'
to hurt you. We don't even 'need' to hurt you." The heir to the House of Chan
glanced quickly at his three minions in turn, as his lips widened into a vulpine
sneer. "We want to hurt you."
The Ox grunted loudly in approbation, while Lin snickered his assent.
Meanwhile Ming-tsu felt hands, big, powerful hands, on her bottom. Dao's hands.
Chiang Chan's stern gaze slid down the front of her body with the cold
implacability of a glacier. "And we shall hurt you very badly indeed unless you
tell us what we want to know."
Ming-tsu's eyes brown eyes welled with tears of frustration and despair.
"But I have told you everything."
"All you've told us, so far, whore," Dao growled, as he stood in the open
end of the U while his hands continued to fondle the warmth of Ming-tsu's
splendid asscheeks, "is that we're liars, thieves, and scum!"
As if by some mysterious hand, the torchlight seemed to have waned in the
last few minutes. Ming-tsu felt as if she were on a circular stage, her nude
body illuminated by chandeliers on either side of her, while around her an eager
audience watched from the darkness. She could make out Chiang Chan's figure in
front of her, but could hardly see his face; she felt Dao press his body -- and
his virile erection -- firmly against her hips and buttocks as he had earlier
in the day. The other two Scorpions seemed to have melted into the shadows.
Chiang Chan's voice cut through the murky dimness of the dungeon with the
sharp authority of a caliph's scimitar. "Where are the jewels, Ming-tsu? Where
can we find Luk-Yee? Speak and you may yet redeem yourself in the eyes of my
father. The path of silence is the path of suffering."
Ming-tsu took a deep breath, only too conscious of how that simplest of
actions must have drawn her captor's cruel eyes to her defenseless breasts.
"Please ... I have told you ... I don't know. I have only met Luk Yee a few
times..."
"And yet you admit him into your home in the raiment of a whore, and we
find you moments later kneeling on the floor?" Chiang snorted derisively. "You
may have deceived my father, woman; you shall not deceive me!"
Then he turned to his three henchmen. "Flog her! Flog her well, my friends
-- the first man to make her talk or make her scream shall have the pleasure of
the fourth needle!"
Chiang Chan met Ming-tsu's pitiful, protesting gaze with an imperious glare
that was as icily unfeeling as a Tibetan mountaintop. "It is only a matter of
time before we loosen your pretty tongue!"
Chapter 85 The Pedestal of Pain
Dreading the thought of more needles piercing her breasts, Ming-tsu
resolved to suffer her flogging in silence; from the way they had posed her she
was sure her shapely bottom would be their next target. She had felt the sting
of George Chan's lash on her nether-ovals many times -- and Li Chang's as well.
She would endure; she had no choice.
A few moments earlier, Ming-tsu had seen the wraith-like figures of the Ox
and the Drooler moving toward Chiang's cart of instruments in the mirror, but in
the dim light behind her she could not make out what they were doing.
Suddenly she saw a huge, shadowy figure step forward behind her. She felt
Dao step back from her derriere only a second or two before she heard and felt
an explosion of pain tear through her bottom.
SMACCK!!! "Nnnnghhh!" Ming-tsu grunted as the oblong paddle the Ox had
chosen ripped into the base of her buttocks. She realized instantly that
stifling her screams would prove harder than she thought;
She had only a moment to recover before the Ox melted back into the
darkness only to be replaced by the slender, youthful figure of Lin the Drooler.
"Baby, we're gonna set your ass on fire!" the teenager, his pock-riddled
face looking frenzied in the torchlight, muttered. Then Ming-tsu heard a faint
whoosh, and then she felt the whistling strips of rubber scorching her
bottom-flesh.
CRACCKK!! "Ngggghh!" Ming-tsu's body stiffened in pain.
Behind her, Dao had retrieved his whip, and he toyed with her for a moment,
sliding the knotted tails across the lush curves of her buttocks and then
dragging them up through her delicious rear cleavage. He was pleased with the
bondage he had created; the thigh ropes pulled Ming-tsu's lower body forward
ever-so-slightly, accentuating the roundness of her buttcheeks. He stepped
closer, touching her hip with his hand, and then caressing her, moving his hand
down to the base of her bottom, where Zheng's mighty whack had left her warm to
the touch.
"Yeah, baby, it's time," he uttered softly. "Time for some payback for
that torch!"
Dao retreated a step or two, until he stood slightly behind her and to her
left. Then, his eyes never leaving the roundness of his sumptuous target, he
tightened his grip on the whipstock and delivered a ferocious stroke across the
upper curves of Ming-tsu's golden buttocks.
CRACKK!!! "Uugghhhhhh!"
Ming-tsu's body surged forward the few inches her bondage would permit, as
Chiang Chan's steely gaze peered out of the shadows. His concentration was
intense as he took in her fury-filled brown eyes, her sculpted cheekbones, her
enchanting lips and her detemined chin. Then his scrutiny drifted southward,
lighting on the beautiful breasts that were set a-quiver with each stroke, doing
a subtle but provocative dance as they oscillated in and out of the
ever-changing torchlight.
SMACCKK!! The Ox struck again, his hulking figure having materialized out
of the darkness like a bear emerging from the mouth of a cave. The Ox's first
blow had spanned her deep, inviting bottom-cleft, punishing both of her
nether-globes almost equally. But the full force of the second blow fell on
Ming-tzu's left buttock, setting it ablaze with pain. The tightly-bound
concubine gasped in pain as fresh flickers of fire raced through her bottom.
The pain of the paddle was not as focused, laser-like, as the pain of the strap
or whip, but it did more widespread damage, spreading its scalding kiss over a
large rectangular area.
Zheng grunted with bestial satisfaction as Ming-tsu's lower body surged
forward in response to his vicious blow for a fraction of a second, only to be
restrained by her exhausting arm bondage.
Lin stepped forward again, moving as if he were in a dream, hardly
believing his good fortune. He had heard that the Europeans had strange
machines that could preserve the visual image of a person more authentically
than the finest artist. He wished he had one at that moment, to capture forever
the gloriously erotic image of a subjugated female who knelt before him and his
comrades, her body taut, trembling, tantalizing.
To think that a country boy from the land of the mountain lakes, should be
standing, his cock throbbing with youthful ardor, with such a ravishing beauty
utterly at his mercy! And armed with a whip, the symbol of dominance, thereby
putting to shame even the most outlandish fantasies of his adolescence.
********
During the crisp starlit nights of the hill country, Lin had long dreamed
of ravishing one or two of the slim mountain maidens. He had pleasured himself
nightly at their unwitting expense. Had some of the village girls not made fun
of his accursed skin condition? Had he not seen them try to stifle their
derisive laughter when he approached them?
He had dreamt nightly of avenging their ridicule by dragging one or the
other of those slim, mocking maidens off to a place deep in the forbidding
forest that blanketed the rugged countryside of his birth. He dreamt of tying
his young victim to a suitable tree limb, of slowly stripping her simple rustic
garments from her developing body and then then flogging her to the blood with
rods carved from stalks of mountain bamboo. In his dreams the flogging would
always continue until the girl had begged him to stop, promising the most
debased, the most shameful of caresses, if only he would lay aside his bloody
cane....
********
But those local girls had been plain, drab creatures compared to the vision
of loveliness on the pedestal. Ming-tsu's pain-tossed hair decorated the soft
roundness of her shoulders like a dark and silky storm. Her back was still
blushingly pink from her flogging in the Whipping Pit, and the black thigh-cords
bit tantalizingly deep into her marvelous woman-flesh. Between her back and her
upper thighs, Ming-tsu's lush, nude buttocks were the stuff erotic dreams were
made of -- mouth-watering demi-ovals of desire, paddled to a sexy pinkness.
Shivering, quivering -- waiting for the next Scorpion to strike.
The Drooler wiped at the moist corner of his mouth with the charred sleeve
of his Scorpion tunic as his lust-crazed eyes explored Ming-tsu's hips and
dark-clefted buttocks. The outer aspect of her bottom-cheeks was as yet
unmarked, and the wiry teenager stepped slightly to Ming-tsu's left and then
whipped the tails of his whip downward so that they curled around her right hip,
the tips of the whip torturing the pleasing area where thigh and hip become one.
"Mmnghhh!" Ming-tsu groaned as the blow set her rear end alight once again.
"Not bad, lad," Dao muttered grudgingly, as Ming-tsu's lower body
shimmied with involuntary seductiveness in response to the boy's blow. "But
watch this!" The bare-chested Scorpion eased Lin out of his way impatiently.
"Sing for me, bitch!" he cursed as he swept the cruel knotted strips
downward toward Ming-tsu's burning buttocks. "I want the next needle!" he
snarled as the rubber cords landed with a resounding Craacckk!!"
"Nnnnngghhhh!!" Ming-tsu managed to swallow the pain without crying out,
but the marvelous way every muscle in her back and buttocks tightened in
response to Dao's blow betrayed the fact that each blow not only brought fresh
pain, but took away with it a measure of her strength.
And so it continued, the punishing strokes of paddle, the agonizing kiss of
Lin's doubled-up whip-cord, and the dreadful sting of Dao's knotted whip each
taking its toll in its own way.
After a third set of three strokes, the Ox decided to precede his fourth
blow, by stepping forward into the hollow of the U and exploring Ming-tsu's
pussy, rubbing his thick, ape-like fingers back and forth in her slit, fingering
her roughly while she writhed in shame. But after Zheng had blistered her ass
for the fourth time and Lin had curled his whip-thongs around Ming-tsu's other
hip yet, Dao decided to take her humiliation a step further.
The gaptoothed Scorpion stepped right up to her and spread her buttcheeks
wide, exposing the delicate dimple of her anus to the lustful gaze of his
criminal companions. "Remember, baby, your asshole is mine," he whispered,
before sliding his index finger into her resisting bottom-crevice.
Chiang Chan watched with amusement as Dao violated Ming-tsu's rosette with
his thick finger. The almond-eyed concubine's body writhed in revulsion as Dao
maneuvered his digit around inside her for a long moment, and then removed it.
Dao reached under her upstretched arm and touched his finger to her lips, making
it clear that the humiliated concubine was to lick his finger clean. When
Ming-tsu shook her head, 'no' in disgust, it was child's play for him to grasp a
shiny needle-hilt and give it a vicious twist. And he continued to twist the
needle until Ming-tsu's pink tongue had laved each joint of his index finger
with painstaking care.
Then he picked up his ghastly knotted whip and sent it whizzing into
Ming-tsu's naked buttocks yet again with a CRACCCKKK!! that resonated through
the dungeon like a thunderclap, while Ming-tsu once again choked back her
agony....
Chapter 86 The Seventh Cord
The flogging of Ming-tsu's heart-shaped bottom continued apace under
Chiang Chan's watchful eye, as each of her captors tried to force the deciding
scream from her lips, so as to win the honor of the next needle. After each of
the sweating threesome had given her another five butt-scorching strokes, the
dark-eyed temptress saw Chiang Chan raise his right hand while his voice floated
to her from out of the shadows.
"The diamonds, Ming-tsu? The pearls? Speak and perhaps my uncle may yet
be merciful." There was a deathly still five-second pause before Ming-tsu heard
him speak the following words, in a voice utterly devoid of compassion. "Or
remain silent and continue to suffer!"
Mercifully the sharp, stabbing pain that Ming-tsu had felt as the
Scorpions had plunged the needles into her breast had dissipated somewhat, to be
replaced by a lingering, throbbing soreness. But even so her dark eyes were
bright with tears of pain as she looked up pleadingly into the darkness. "I
cannot tell you what I do not know!"
"As you wish," the disembodied voice said dryly. "The seventh cord, Dao!"
Dao grunted his assent and Ming-tsu watched apprehensively in the mirrored
reflection while the leering thug retrieved the long length of cord that he had
cut earlier. Then he approached from behind and stepped into the opening of the
U-shaped pedestal once again.
"This'll give you something else to think about, wench!' Dao growled as he
bunched her silky, sweat-soaked dark hair in his powerful hands and shaped her
raven tresses into an ebony ponytail. Ming-tsu felt him wrap the slender cord
around her gathered hair three or four times, and then she felt a sudden jolt as
Dao jerked at the cord, pulling her neck back sharply.
Dao had done much the same with Cherry Wu during her ordeal on the Nanking
Kneeler. But the bondage of Ming-tsu was to be far worse. Richard Chan's
aspiring dungeonmaster took the other end of the lengthy seventh cord and slid
it into the inviting crevice between the cheeks of Ming-tsu's derriere, and then
he passed the cord between her legs to Chiang Chan's impatient, outstretched
hand.
No sooner had the youngest Chan taken hold of the cord then Ming-tsu felt
the thin rope pressing abrasively against the sensitive skin at the base of the
deep-cleft canyon between her buttocks. A split second later she felt the cord
aligning itself insidiously in and against the soft folds of her vulva.
"Ooooowhhh," she moaned softly as the heir to the House of Chan Chan wound
the end of the rope around his wrist a few times so that the slightest movement
of his wrist would cause the rope to saw against her tenderest flesh.
"So, is my father's concubine enjoying the Seventh Cord?" Chiang Chan
taunted her mockingly a moment later.
"N-noaaiiaahh," Ming-tsu's denial recast itself into a lament as Chiang
Chan pulled sharply on the cord, causing her neck to be pulled further back even
as the biting rope between her legs threatened to cut her in two. The
dark-haired courtesan tried to adjust her kneeling position on the pedestal to
relieve the corrosive friction of the cord, but Dow had tied her ankle and thigh
ropes well: there was no escaping the crotch-splitting rope. In the long
mirror she saw a grinning Lin nudge Zheng with his elbow, drawing the big man's
attention to her futile but sensual gyrations to escape the Seventh Cord.
"You may continue, gentlemen," Chiang Chan announced in a menacing voice.
"Do not forget -- should you wish to earn the pleasure of inserting the next
needle -- that there are two paths to victory : make her talk or make her
scream!"
Ming-tsu's felt the concussive power of the Ox's punishing paddle WHACKKK!!
across her springy buttocks with blistering force a few seconds later. A moment
later Lin's slashing whipcord CRACCKKed!! her behind, as a rapier's cut might
follow in the wake of a broadsword. Ming-tzu had to bite her lip to keep from
crying out.
Dao, shirtless and sweating, brushed the Drooler aside, his cock a raging,
pulsing piston in his trousers. He eyeballed the mouthwatering roundness of
Ming-tsu's buttocks, made even more enticing by the dark-contrasting cord that
separated her amber-gold demi-globes.
"Where can we find that running dog, Luk Yee, wench?"
"I ...I ... cannot tell you ... He said that he was looking for his w..."
WHACKK!!! "Nggggghhhh!" Ming-tsu's body shuddered in an agonizing
paroxysm of pain. But at least she had managed to stifle her incipient scream.
Her tender breasts would be safe from the needles for at least a little longer.
Dao had lifted his whip high overhead and then, when Ming-tsu's answer had
been less than forthcoming, he had winked meaningfully at Chiang Chan, who gave
the crotch-rope a violent jerk just as Dao swept his thongs across the kneeling
concubine's partitioned ass-ovals.
"I'm tired of your lies, whore!"
"Ohhhh ... please ... it hurts..." Ming-tsu moaned miserably, as she
wriggled on the pedestal in a vain attempt to soothe her burning backside.
In his excitement, the skinny, spotted teenager had become more and more
vocal in spurring his comrades on. "Man, look at her wiggle! Give it to her
again, Ox! Make that sweet ass dance, big fella!"
The golden-skinned courtesan succeeded in remaining stoic for two more
rounds of punishment, but each resounding blow of paddle, strap and whip that
crashed into her rounded buttocks, coupled with the nagging torment of the
Seventh Cord, added to her misery and brought her closer to the precipice of
calamity.
Finally, on the twenty-second blow Zheng, the Ox, took a huge wind-up and
ripped into her whip-tender derriere with a Herculean paddle-smash that at last
extracted a dismal despairing cry from her lungs.
"Aaaaaaaiiahhhh!! No more ... I can't ... no .... more." Ming-tsu's voice
tailed away piteously.
"Yeah!!" The Ox exulted. Zheng celebrated his victory by stalking around to
face the tearful courtesan. Chiang Chan emerged from the shadows holding the
deceptively innocent-looking jewelry box that contained the dreadful needles, at
last relaxing the terrible tension on the crotch-burning Seventh Cord.
"No ... please ... not another needle ... please..."
"None of that, slut!" Zheng growled as he showed her the gleaming length
of a crimson-tipped needle. "I won this fair and square." The Ox pricked her
gently on the lowest part of her left areola as Ming-tsu winced in discomfort.
"And it's going in, wench. All the way in. Right up to the hilt!"
Ming-tsu could not stop her upper body from trembling as the ape-like
behemoth twirled the pin around in the beefy fingers of his right hand while he
gripped her right nipple tightly in his left. Ming-tsu could see how the
flaming sleeve had stripped the outer layer of skin from his left arm earlier,
leaving it gruesomely red and raw. The hideous injury caused her to tremble
uncontrollably -- of the four, the Ox had by far the greatest cause to hate her,
the greatest reason to harm her.
The ungainly thug lifted her breast up by its turgid mahogany nipple,
exposing her inexpressibly sensitive under-breast, while Dao and Lin formed a
rapt audience. Dao stepped into the horseshoe to molest Ming-tsu's whip-warmed
buttcheeks with his pillaging paws, while he peered enviously over her shoulder
as Zheng turned the gleaming needle over in his hands. Lin, meanwhile, stepped
around to the front and took up a position alonside the Ox, and lowered his
tongue to Ming-tsu's other breast, prodding its tumescent nipple even as he got
a bird's-eye-view of Zheng's needle-play.
The Ox turned the needle downward momentarily, and slid his fingers along
the undercurve of Ming-tsu's plump, honey-gold breast.
"Soft. Soft like a bird," he whispered in the voice of a child-man, before
he re-gripped the scarlet needle-hilt between thumb and forefinger and turned it
so that the needle tip was positioned just beneath the quivering underside of
Ming-tsu's firm young lust-mound. A more discerning man than Zheng might have
marveled at the exquisite contrast between the softness of her skin and the
firmness of her thrice-needled pleasure-globe.
"C'mon, Ox! Do it!" the Drooler urged, his high-pitched voice seeming an
octave higher in his excitement.
"N-n-no..." But Ming-tsu's plea was unavailing.
"In she goes," the giant giggled oafishly, as Ming-tsu felt the needle
prick her breast-flesh. "Can you feel it, slut?" Zheng asked, as he screwed the
inch-long needle upward into Ming-tsu's tender tit-flesh from beneath.
Ming-tsu groaned, "Yes ...aghhh!!! ... yes..." as she felt the needle-tip
boring its way ruthlessly, millimeter by agonizing millimeter, into her tortured
breast.
The Ox, tight-lipped in concentration, seemingly employing all of his dim
wits to accomplish his simple task, took his time, working the needle slowly
upward, heedless of Ming-tsu's suffering, deaf to her muted cries. When the
muscular giant had finished, Ming-tsu's right breast was pierced from North,
South, East and West, in a multi-colored symmetry of pain.
CHAPTER 87 The Cutting Crotch-rope
Chiang Chan gave his father's stunningly beautiful mistress a moment to
recover from the pain of the fourth needle and to reconsider her plight. But
when it was clear that she was not yet ready to reveal the secret of the missing
jewels, he signaled to his henchmen to begin again.
The nude courtesan was soon treated to a second cycle of blows to her
burning bottom as the Ox's dreadful paddle, Lin's slashing strap, and Dao's
thonged whip fell again and again on her inflamed nether-globes. Her strength,
her ability to endure, was waning now, and it took only another dozen strokes
before a wicked whack from Dao's whip drew yet another scream from the tortured
girl.
Having won the honors, Dao was the first to be able to use the longer,
heavier pins that were slated for the second round, and he decided to attack
Ming's-tsu left breast, which had so far escaped the flesh-piercing needles.
As Dao's powerful hands moved closer to her ripe-nippled breast, Ming-tsu
trembled perceptibly. Chiang Chan had spoken the truth earlier - the second
needle of each color was indeed noticeably longer. She shrank back from Dao's
hostile hands to the slight extent that the Bondage of the Seven Cords would
permit.
"No, you don't!" Dao snarled. "Stick those tits out for me, wench, or by
the sword of Genghis Khan, they'll be wearing more needles than a mountain
evergreen!"
Ming-tsu took her eyes off the approaching needle and glanced up to see
Dao's homely face leaning over her, his tongue protruding with loathsome lechery
through one of the gaps in his discolored teeth.
" 'STICK 'EM OUT!' I said," Dao roared. Then he snapped backward over his
shoulder, "Boy, maybe you'd better stir that fire. This wench needs to learn
how to follow orders!"
Ming-tsu had nearly forgotten the smoldering brazier on the other side of
the dungeon and its dreadful tools -- slender instruments that could torture
with a surgeon's precision, and cruder, heavier tools that seemed more
appropriate to the trade of a butcher or a carpenter. There had been thin,
dirk-like daggers, an instrument with an inch-wide blade that seemed no more
threatening than a kitchen spatula -- save for the fact that it was sizzling
hot. There were bladed knives, and chisel-like tools, fiendish pincers and
flesh-gripping tongs -- each capable of being used with indescribable cruelty on
soft female flesh.
Ming-tsu listened to the stirring of the hot coals and the forbidding clang
of metal against metal while Lin turned the implements on the smoky grill. "No!
...No! ... Stop ... I'll do it! ...I'll do it!"
Petrified beyond reason by the fear of being branded, Ming-tsu, tried to
look over Dao's shoulder, anywhere but at the dreadful needle or at his ugly
face. She pulled at her wrist ropes hoping that that increased tension would
help her to stay in position, that it would prevent her from giving in to her
natural, but punishable, impulse to pull away from the torturer's needle.
"There.... That's better, sweetie. Now take a nice deep breath for uncle
Dao. I wanna see those juicy tits riding nice and high on your chest, baby!'
The sulfurous smell of branding irons in her nostrils, Ming-tsu closed her
eyes and took a deep breath. She heard Lin whistle softly, and then his
high-pitched babbling voice. "Oh, fuck! Look at those tits! Give it to her,
Dao! Jab her good!"
Dao's eyes were glued to the rounded splendor of Ming-tsu's nude
lust-mounds and their dark-burnished breast-tips. The thug licked his dry lips
as a barely perceptible vein pulsed nervously in her left breast, as if that
lovely globe had some mystical foreknowledge that its perfection would soon fall
victim to the inescapable needle. "I bet they didn't have any wenches like this
out in those god-forsaken mountains of yours, did they, boy? This is some
choice Shanghai girl-meat, this is. Fit for the emperor himself."
It was true, Chiang Chan thought to himself as he admired the golden,
sweat-drenched body of their prisoner, her slender arms extended to the fullest,
her shamelessly spread legs naked save for the hempen bands that bit deeply into
her well-curved thighs. Ming-tsu was indeed a beauty worthy of the ruler of the
Manchu Dynasty.
Chiang Chan watched Ming-tsu's upper body jerk suddenly as Dao gripped the
silken-haired concubine's breast in his left hand as he positioned the needle,
tip downward, directly above the middle of the upslope of her left breast, not
far from her chest wall. He slowly lowered the needle until it pressed against
Ming-tsu's defenseless pleasure turret. He held it there for a long moment
before piercing her flesh with a quick downward move of his hand. When he did,
Ming-tsu's bronze-tipped nipple-buds seemed to vibrate with pain in the hellish
glow given off by the torchlight.
"Nnnnnnghhhghhhhh," Ming-tsu gritted her teeth, knowing that there was
worse to come.
Dao took his time inserting the green-headed pin into Ming-tsu's proud
left breast, protracting as long as possible the enviable pleasure of sliding
its daggered point downward into his luscious target. Ming-tsu would not have
thought that anything could hurt more than the four needles the Scorpions had
used during the first round, but she was badly mistaken. By the very fact of its
being slightly larger in circumference, the tip of the new needle was not as
keen as those of the first set. It took more pressure to insert it. Pressure
which Dao was only too pleased to apply.
When at last the needle was buried hilt-deep in her breast, the four
Scorpions paused for a moment to regroup and enjoy the spectacle of the
beautiful concubine struggling futilely against the bondage that held her fast,
the needle hilts in her right breast twinkling faintly in the torchlight like
dying skyrockets. Her entire body was bathed in a most alluring glow of
perspiration, as if some demi-god of lechery hand had taken a damp, dripping
sponge and passed if lovingly, luxuriously, over her nudity, lingering longest
on her moisture-kissed breasts, buttocks, and loins.
Ming-tsu could make out Dao only faintly in the great mirror. He was
standing behind her, his eyes riveted on the buttock-splitting seventh cord in a
way that sent shudders through her tormented body. In front of her, the
dull-witted Ox was staring at her breasts the way a half-starved Chinese beggar
might stare at a plump, juicy duck roasting on a spit. Lin the Drooler stood
along side him, nudging the burly giant with his elbow and chattering excitedly.
"She's not calling anybody 'scum' now, is she boys?" the teenager taunted
her. "You're going to learn some manners today, slut!"
"Yeah," Dao joined in with a lecherous grin, "A little Scorpion etiquette."
When Ming-tsu shot the wild-eyed young man an angry glance, Lin flushed.
"Did you see that face she gave me, boss? Let me have that rope. I'll teach
her to look at a Scorpion like that!"
Chiang Chan glanced at his hot-headed henchman and gestured for the
youngster to take his place, a few feet in front of the kneeling nude. "Here you
go, lad," he said to Lin as he handed him the end of the Seventh Cord; but hold
it steady until I give you the signal."
Lin tried without much success to hide his displeasure with that turn of
events, but dutifully took the end of the cord, and wrapped it securely around
his wrist as he had seen Chiang Chan do, holding it steady, but not putting
undue pressure on it. But even without any added tension on it, the coarse black
cord had found its way between the soft folds of girl-flesh that had given the
sensuous concubine's paramours such indescribable pleasure.
"Let us see if that moment of rest has caused our lovely friend to come to
her senses," Chiang Chan said as he retreated into the shadows once again.
Ming-tsu kept a wary, almond-shaped eye on Lin, the lust-crazed teenager
who held the Seventh Cord, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Chiang's
Chan's extended hand move slightly, but meaningfully, in the shadows. Almost
instantanteously, Lin responded to the hand signal by yanking on the hempen
cord, causing it to bite even more deeply into the soft, sensitive flesh of her
labia.
"Aaaahhh!" she groaned softly, as Lin's grin broadened as he tugged at the
crotch-rope, which seemed embedded in the pinkness of her raven- fringed
love-nook
"My uncle is fond of saying that there are no secrets at the Black Pagoda,
Ming-tsu. That a few hours in the convivial company of the Scorpions would
induce a woman to betray her lover, her husband, her father. I trust that you
are feeling more talkative now that you have had an hour or so on our pedestal
to think things over?"
The hand in the shadows moved lower again.
"Aaaaaugghh!!" The rope was rubbing directly against her tender anal nook.
"Please ... don't .. so sore ...."
"Where are the jewels, Ming-tsu?"
" I ... I ... Aaaaghhh!!" The rope sawed through her tenderest flesh like
a hot knife, punishing her vagina and bottomhole at once.
"...don't know ..." she gasped miserably.
While Ming-tsu was still gasping from the pain caused by Lin's vicious tug
on her crotch-rope, Chiang Chan noticed that the complexion of her thighs, which
Dao had tourniquetted with the thigh ropes, had gradually evolved from a
gleaming honey-gold to the throbbing color of a glorious sunset to a blue-tinged
red. Realizing that any further constriction might be dangerous and knowing that
his uncle would hold him responsible if Ming-tsu were permanently injured, he
concluded that the Bondage of the Seven Cords would need to be brought to an end
soon.
On a happier note, Chiang Chan smiled to himself, the indescribably
beautiful front of Ming-tsu's body had yet to feel the sting of the lash ...
********
But there was time surely, for one more pull at the crotch-rope, and one
more cry of anguish.
Through her blinding tears of pain, Ming-tsu watched Chiang Chan step out
of the shadows, his hand still slightly elevated.
"Please ... not again ... it's cutting me in two."
"Where are the jewels, Ming-tsu?" Chiang Chan whispered softly, extending
his hand so that the tortured courtesan would know the price of silence.
Lin wiped a stream of spittle from his lips with his left hand as he
tightened his grip in anticipation of the coming signal.
"I - I don't ... I can't ...."
The hand fell.
"Aaahh!! ... Aaaagghh!!! Stop ... for the love of heaven ... AAIAGHHH!!"
In the midst of her scream, Ming-tsu heard the ghastly creaking sound that
indicated that someone had opened the door that led to the circular staircase.
"There'll be no heaven for you, stubborn slut! And you have not yet seen
the worst of hell!" The distant voice was as bitingly cold as a west wind in
February. A moment later Ming-tsu saw the tall, slender figure of Richard Chan,
draped in his silver mandarin robe, gliding silently toward her across the
dungeon floor.
The Lord of the Scorpions took one look at the darkening coloration of
Ming-tsu's constricted thighs and snapped out an order. "Dao, take her down
from the Pedestal. We shall see how our lovely guest likes the Korean Cross!"
Chapter 88 The Korean Cross
The bare-chested Scorpion's eyes lit up with virile pleasure. The
ripe-breasted, back-stabbing courtesan was definitely going to get the full
treatment. He flattered himself that Feng's absence had not even been commented
upon. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to restrain himself from
assaulting their sweet-assed prisoner and burying his rock-hard cockstaff right
where that crotch-rope fit the tightest.
His reply, of course, did not mention such insubordinate possibilities.
"Aye, sire -- that'll loosen her tongue!"
Noticing Chiang Chan's inquiring glance, Richard Chan turned in his
direction, clearly in a bad temper. "General Wang left to confer with his
staff, when we reached a sticking point in our negotiations. Your father,"
Richard Chan snapped irritably, as he strolled slowly around Ming-tsu's naked
body, while Dao and Lin labored to free her from the ankle cords, "meanwhile,
has gone to Madame Wong's in search of a new concubine."
Ming-tsu remembered General Wang from George Chan's account of the banquet
during which her erstwhile oar-slave, Erika Weiss, had been coerced into playing
the role of an odalisque, or harem slave, to Wang and his cruel and licentious
colleagues. Clearly the Chans' parley with the domineering General had not gone
well; Richard Chan seemed to be upset with both Wang and his brother. But they
were no longer here to endure his wrath. Ming-tsu's heart began pounding even
harder in her chest as she realized that in all likelihood it would be her body
that would bear the brunt of Richard Chan's ire and frustration.
The Master of the Black Pagoda went on, his eyes drinking in Ming-tsu's
voluptuous form. "Very tempting," he mused as he reached toward the needle
hilts that protruded from both sides of the kneeling beauty's right breast. "I
congratulate you on the cleverness of your game, nephew. But I take it the
whore has not yet told us what we need to know?"
Chiang Chan rather shamefacedly shook his head, 'no.' Like nearly everyone
else, Chiang was frequently intimidated by his uncle's domineering manner. Never
more so than now, when his uncle seemed to be upset with his father.
"Well, then, we must rectify that state of affairs, musn't we?" snapped the
Lord of the Scorpions as he gave the pair of breast-impaling needle-hilts a
vicious quarter turn.
"Nnnnnggghhhh!!" Ming-tsu tossed her ebony hair from side-to-side in agony.
"Bah! You try my patience, wench! Why do you continue this ridiculous
charade? These four and yourself are the only survivors of the Night of the
Tiger. We know they didn't take the jewels. Obviously you must have. There is
no point in protecting Luk Yee at this point. His precious wife will probably
lead us to him. But even if she does not, the long tail of the Scorpions shall
find him, I assure you, no matter where he flees, where he hides. Now, I ask
you again. WHERE ARE THE CURSED JEWELS?"
When Ming-tsu merely shrugged her shoulders helplessly, Richard Chan gave
the breast-hilts another vicious wrench.
"AAAAEAAHHHHHH!!" Ming-tsu's forlorn cry echoed off the cold stone walls of
the dungeon.
Richard Chan continued to glower down at his bound prisoner in obvious
frustration. Talking as much to himself as the others, he went on. "Even the
wisdom of the Master himself could not fathom the foolish stubborness of this
woman. She seemed enterprising, clever and beautiful. And yet, this girl of
humble birth, after having had the good joss of catching the eye of my brother,
one of the Lords of Shanghai, cast her fate to the winds and gambled all."
His reference to Confucius having surprised himself as much as his
audience, Rchard Chan turned to face the squadron of Scorpions. "And look what
she has won." The tyrant of Shanghai waved a silken sleeve expansively in a
broad arc which seemed to take in the four dark and dreadful corners of the
dungeon, which harbored cruelties as yet undreamt.
Dao and Lin had freed Ming-tzu's ankles first, and then her wrists. Her
outstretched arms at last released from their long confinenent, fell, bereft of
strength, to her sides. When at last, the knots that choked her supple thighs
came undone, the fresh flow of blood surging through the bruised area caused
Ming-tsu to moan softly in pain.
But Ming-tsu's reprieve was to be one of very short duration.
"Uncle, perhaps we might use the tit-straps?" Chiang Chan suggested rather
nervously, a little displeased with himself for sounding so tentative in front
of his squadron of Scorpions. "I think that they would look most becoming on a
girl mounted on the Cross."
Richard Chan thought for a moment and then nodded his head grimly. "I am
pleased to see you displaying some imagination, nephew. Yes, yes. A fine idea,
particularly on such a shapely young nymph. They will complement the needles
nicely, very nicely indeed. It shall be as you suggest," he said, as he nodded
his approval to Dao.
"Make yourselves useful, you two, while I lower the bar," Dao exclaimed a
few moments later. He tossed his comrades a pair of black leather straps chosen
from among those that had been hanging on the wall of implements. By now the Ox
had lifted Ming-tsu bodily off the pedestal and had pinned her arms behind her
while Lin attempted to hook the two ends of the upper breast-strap together.
Lin tried time and again to clasp the ends of the first tit-strap together,
while Zheng held the struggling Ming-tsu, but Dao's well-trained eye had
intentionally chosen a set of straps that was a size too small and Lin was
unable to join the two metal clasps.
"Let a man do it!" the Ox said with exasperation after a few minutes.
"Hold her, boy! I'll show you how it's done." He pushed Ming-tsu forward at
Lin who, who quickly seized her wrists, pressed them together, and lifted them
up over her head.
"No ... can't you see ... it's too tight" Ming-tsu pleaded with her
over-sized captor.
"I'll make it fit, wench. You'll see!" From behind her, even the mighty
Ox had to use every bit of his prodigious strength to unite the two ends of the
too-small breast strap. Holding an end of the strap in each paw, he reached
around and enveloped her in a painful bear hug until the two ends of the upper
strap finally clicked into place high on his prisoner's breastbone. Ming-tsu
felt as if a metal band had been drawn crushingly tight across her chest.
"Now for the other one, sweetie. Take a deep breath!"
Ming-tsu took a painful breath while the Ox wrapped his beefy arms around
her chest, just under her proud breasts. Then, using the backs of his hands to
lift Ming-tsu's love-globes a little, he pulled the stubborn ends of the lower
strap together. It took a few biceps-bulging moments, but soon the ends of the
under-breast strap were joined, fitting snugly against Ming-tsu's chest,
partially obscured by the undercurves of Ming-tsu's sweat-slick man-pleasers.
"See how it's done, boy?" Zheng said, with a childlike pride in his
accomplisment.
The tit-straps were typically more ornamental than punitive, in that they
were designed to encircle a woman's chest just above and below her breasts. But
most women, even women ensnared in the toils of the Black Pagoda, don't have
needles embedded in their breasts, and the lower edge of the inch-wide upper
strap pressed painfully against the hilts of the twelve o'clock needles.
Meanwhile the upper edge of the lower breast strap not only gave Ming-tsu's
splendid pleasure-melons an eye-pleasing bit of added lift, it pressed firmly
and painfully against the hilt of the six o'clock needle that was embedded in
her right breast.
While Zheng and Lin had been wrestling with the breast straps, Dao had been
lowering a yard-wide cylindrical wooden bar from its location high above them.
Despite its innocuous appearance, Chiang Chan knew the Korean Cross to be a
daunting device. As his uncle had reminded him on many occasions, it was
imagination, not complexity, which determined the effectiveness of a torture
device. And the Cross had proven itself time and again....
********
Dao had heard Feng boast often of how the Cross had broken even the bravest
of young women, forcing the most virtuous of virgins to promise him the most
shameful of embraces to escape its terrors.
Pledges which Feng had collected without fail. As he had told Dao over
drinks at one of the Chans' gambling dens one night, there was nothing like the
thrill of offering one's hairy, lust-swollen cock to a pretty, girlish face that
had hardly ever felt the touch of a man's lips, much less endured a steady
battering by a pair of heavy, sperm-laden testicles... And if the girl's lips
and tongue were less than enthusiastic, if her soft warm throat was less than
welcoming, a second painful stint on the Cross usually served to elicit
enthusiasm from reluctance.
********
At first Ming-tsu was not unduly alarmed when Zheng pushed her toward the
bar. For the Korean Cross seemed to be nothing more than a horizontal wooden
bar suspended by heavy ropes ropes from the stout rafters of the dungeon
ceiling. Dao had adjusted the height of the suspended bar so that it fit
squarely against her back just under her shoulderblades. It was only when Dao
lifted her arms and pulled them back over the two-inch-thick cylindrical bar
and then pulled her arms down painfully so that her wrists crossed at about the
midpoint of her buttocks, that she began to realize the nature of the Korean
Cross.
For despite its name, the Korean Cross was nothing more than the crossbar
under her arms; her own body would form the upright.
Using rope of a virginal white, Dao quickly lashed the grimacing girl's
wrists together and then took another rope and encircled each forearm several
times before cinching her elbows tightly together behind her. Then he coiled a
third cord around each of Ming-tsu's upper arms, and carefully constructed a
labryinth of rope which secured her arms to the Crossbar and to each other.
Within moments the tender skin under her arms felt the pressure of the bar. A
fourth rope was quickly pulled tight around her narrow waist. Dao then
interlaced a fifth rope between her wrist-ropes and then pulled it down between
her legs, and then back up again, making sure that it rubbed against her
clitoris, before looping the rope twice around her waist-rope and tying it off.
Finally, Feng's successor reached down and seized Ming-tsu's pretty feet
and jerked them cruelly upward behind her, bending them as far as they would go
before entwining her ankles with one white cord that he secured to the crossbar.
He then took two lengths of twine-sized cord, looped them securely around
Ming-tsu's big toes and then tied them, too, to the cylindrical crossbar.
Dao stepped back to admire his handiwork. Hanging from the bar in a
faux-kneeling position as she was, the muscles in Ming-tsu's thighs were taut
from the strain; the tension on her pulled-back shoulders and arms gave a
beautiful definition to the delicate double curvature of her rib cage.
But it was the curvature of breasts, not rib-bones, that this bondage was
designed to emphasize and it did so to cock-throbbing satisfaction. Ming-tsu's
wrist and arm bondage thrust her lust-melons forward deliciously, and the
fiendishly tight black leather tit-straps drew her voyeurs' rapacious eyes to
her ripe-nippled breasts like iron shavings to a powerful magnet. Just as the
Bondage of the Seven Cords had posed her tempting buttocks in the most delicious
manner imaginable, the Korean Cross, coupled with the artistic touch of the
tight-fitting tit-straps) presented Ming-tsu's sumptuously dark-nippled breasts
to her captors in all of their breathtaking splendor.
Ming-tsu, supremely conscious of the provocative jut of her breasts,
expected the Scorpions to attack them immediately.
But after a subtle gesture from the silver-robed figure who continued to
watch silently, her tormentors attacked her supple, slightly-spread thighs, with
an extended series of stinging lashes. Chiang and Dao stood on her right and
dealt the gasping concubine one withering forehand after another, while the Ox
and Lin on her left administered backhand after wicked backhand to her velvety
thigh-flesh.
Richard Chan nodded his approval as the foursome started at her knees,
beginning with strokes of only moderate force and slowly worked their way up
Ming-tsu's gleaming, golden thighs, swinging their stinging whips harder and
harder as they inched their way upward with every fierce stroke. After a dozen
punishing blows they had reached the mid-point of her thighs and then, as if
they had taken a secret ballot, they all seemed to re-double their efforts,
lashing at the well-toned contours of her amber thighs like madmen, the blows
falling faster and faster. At last, Lin the Drooler scored the point when his
flail bit into the tender groove where her leg and groin became one, and
Ming-tsu let out the anguished cry of a wounded animal.
"Ready for another one of my pretty golden needles, bitch? This one's
bigger and longer than the last one. I had to press hard to make the last one
go in. How about if I make it easier on you this time?"
"Please, yes, anything," the despairing beauty replied, not understanding
his meaning.
"It should go in much easier if I just heat it up a little - like a hot
knife through butter, as they say. Watch this, honey!" And with a sadistic
smirk, Lin removed one of the torches from its holder and held it sideways so
that he could heat the gold-studded needle. After the pin's entire length had
basked in the candle's flame for nearly a minute, Lin gleefully touched the long
edge of the heated needle to the underside of a crinkly brown nipple. When
Ming-tsu reacted satisfactorily to the searing pain by shuddering in agony, the
gangly, slobbering teenager wiped at his mouth and admonished her to watch him
as he brutally forced the heated needle into the yielding undercurve of her left
breast. When Ming-tsu involuntarily closed her lovely brown eyes in response to
the shock of the piercing pain, Lin bristled. "I warned you, slut! I told you to
watch!"
As her punishment for not following instructions, Lin then pulled the
needle back out roughly, re-heated it and then reinserted its sizzling length
back into Ming-tsu's agonized breastflesh only a millimeter or so away from its
first entry point. The Oriental temptress watched dutifully this time, her
unblinking, almond-shaped eyes following the terrible piercing of her breast
most carefully indeed. It felt as if her poor love-globe was being cooked on a
tiny spit.
Once more, Ming-tsu resolved not to cry out again - the first round of
needles had been bad enough; now things were going from bad to worse. But would
she be able to keep her vow?
Chiang Chan then wheeled his ominous cart over to the Cross and offered his
men a new selection of weapons. Among them were nightstick-long lengths of
hard but hollow rubber hose -- perfect instruments for inflicting pain on
stomach, ribcage, and pouting breasts from close quarters. Dao and Zheng opted
for the lengths of hose, while Lin took a yard-long length of flexible,
latex-covered cord, and Chiang himself selected a nasty looking inch-wide strap.
Ming-tsu's dark eyes looked at her re-armed tormentors imploringly.
The gaptoothed dungeonmaster turned her tear-streaked face toward his and
stared meaningfully into her beautiful brown eyes. "Think you've had a rough
time, so far, girl? Baby, we're just getting started. Last chance. Where are
the pearls?"
"Don't you think I'd tell you if I knew? Please, no more, please!" Her
plaintive voice trailed away into a soft sob.
"Sorry, honey, we're just street thugs, remember? You wouldn't expect
street thugs to go easy on you now, would you?"
"Please ... I'm sorry ... I'm so sorry."
"Yes you are, bitch. But not as sorry as you're going to be. C'mon boys, I
don't think she's learned her lesson in manners yet!"
After yet another subtle gesture from the silent figure in silver, the
foursome began anew with a barrage to Ming-tsu's stomach, subjecting her trim,
swimmer's midsection to a punishing assault. Dao and the Ox slammed their
hollow hose lengths into her vulnerable solar plexus, while the other two men
coiled their longer, more flexible weapons around her slender waist and torso
with unfailing accuracy. The area around her navel was ruddy from the four-way
flogging before her tormentors moved on, with Dao limiting his attack on her
vulnerable kidneys to a single painful stroke each while he and the Ox worked
their pain-dealing hose-lengths slowly up the torso and ribcage of their
helpless victim, painting her flesh crimson as they did so.
It was only when every inch of her abdomen from her pubic triangle to the
lower tit-strap was a glowing, blushing reddish-gold that Richard Chan held up
his hand to stop the beating and stepped forward once again.
Now, only Ming-tsu's heaving breasts remained unscathed, save for the
brightly-colored pinheads that accentuated their pristine, unblemished curves.
But the pain-wracked concubine was stricken by a sense of foreboding that her
tender treasures would not remain unmarked for long.
Ming-tsu's head hung down, her chest rising and falling rapidly from her
exertions. Her beautiful hair, her beautiful face, her beautiful body, all were
bathed in a sea of perspiration. Her thoughts returned to her dreadful dream of
a few nights ago, a dream so horrifying that she had found comfort afterwards
only by assuring herself that 'it was only a dream'.
But the reality of her stay in the Black Pagoda had proved little better
than the dream. Most alarming of all, each quarter-hour in the Scorpions' lair
seemed worse than the one before. And the next, almost surely, would be worse
than the last, which had been all but unendurable. But, she reasoned, as long
as she had her wits and her looks there was hope.
Even in her beleaguered state Ming-tsu had noted that while the Scorpions
had threatened her with the hot irons they had refrained from using them --
presumably because her body had value to them. So she did not think that they
would mutilate her or kill her. But it was certainly within their power to make
her wish for death ...
Ming-tsu glanced up as a slender shadow darkened her field of vision.
Richard Chan approached her, having picked up the twenty-seven-tailed triple
hydra along the way. Like Chiang Chan, she too had sensed that there was
friction today between the twin pillars of the Black Scorpion. And that there
was an uneasiness as well between Richard Chan and his nephew.
Trying to put her pain aside for a moment, Ming-tsu searched Richard
Chan's forbidding demeanor thoughtfully for a long moment looking for a clue to
his nature. Was his autocratic nature, his wickedness, due in part to his lack
of a son? To the Chinese, a man without a son is, in some sense, only half a
man. Was their jealousy or latent bitterness between the brothers on this
account -- that it would be George's son who would one day succeed to the
lordship of Shanghai?
Richard Chan was standing directly in front of her now. He draped the
attenuated thongs over Ming-tsu's golden pleasure-mounds, smiling as she
recoiled with a brief shiver.
How, she wondered, could she turn the friction among the Chans against
them? She had always prided herself on her resourcefulness, but today her life
depended on it. There would be more suffering, she knew, as she glanced in
turn at the five malevolent faces which surrounded here, perhaps a great deal
more. But if she could keep her head clear while her body suffered, there
remained a scintilla of hope.
Ming-tsu tried to twist away from Richard Chan's whip, but the Lord of the
Scorpions persisted, letting the numerous tails of the whip tease the soft
rounded curves of her breasts. She was a magnificent young animal, he thought,
a match for his own Mai-Lee. Her firm, uptilted breasts seemed to spring upward
and outward from the tit-straps which framed them with all of the voluptuous
vigor of young womanhood. For a moment the evil mandarin played the whip over
Ming-tsu's reddish-brown nipples, watching with a thin smile as Ming-tsu's
pebbly pellets of pleasure stiffened proudly at his touch.
"My brother has told me, Ming-tsu," Richard intoned in his familiar stately
cadence, as he continued to tease her bronzed love-buds with the strands of hs
whip, "how sensitive your lovely breasts are. How quickly they respond to the
pleasure of a kiss, a caress."
Ming-tsu tried to suppress a violent shudder that swept through her entire
body and threatened to turn her churning stomach inside out; she had little
doubt where this train of thought was headed.
" Unfortunately, my dear, you leave me no choice but to explore how they
will respond to the whip..."
Chapter 89 The Art and Science of Pain
Richard Chan's threat to unleash the whips of the Scorpions on her tender
breasts sent a wintry chill racing through Ming-tsu's nude and helpless body.
Her shudder of apprehension caused the Korean Cross to sway back and forth
gently in the eerie torchlight.
Dao strolled around to stand behind her so that he might enjoy the rear
view of Ming-tsu's naked body kneeling in the air, her arms forced painfully
backward over the crossbar and cinched together at elbows and wrists. The two
black tit-scraps that fit snugly across her back contrasted nicely with her
golden flesh-tones and the chaste white cords that bound her to the cross. Her
legs were doubled up behind her, with sturdy ropes forcing her ankles to stretch
upward toward the bar to which they were bound. A final indignity was the pair
of white toe-cords that looped her big toes securely to the crossbar, thus
giving her toes the point of a ballerina's. The severe tension on her legs gave
her rosy, well-flogged buttocks, partially obscured by her bare feet, a most
enticing curvature, even as it had given the fronts of her supple thighs a
magnificent tautness.
Torchlight and shadows played over Richard Chan's countenance giving it a
satanic cast as he addressed his helpless captive. "So, tell me, my covetous
courtesan, what do you think of the newest additions to my collection?" Richard
Chan asked his brother's concubine, gesturing toward the extensive array of
evil-looking rubber whips, straps, and paddles.
The soft skin of Ming-tsu's back, her svelte legs and her shapely buttocks
had already felt the stinging kiss of many of Chan's instruments of
flagellation. "They ... they are most effective, sire." Ming-tsu responded in a
ragged voice, silently praying that a feigned docility might help to minimize
her suffering. And indeed the various instruments had set much of her flesh
aflame. But it was her tortured bottom that had taken the worst beating; though
she could not see it, she felt sure that her derriere was scarlet from the many
withering strokes she had endured on the Pedestal of Pain. The Scorpions had
whipped her with such severity that she had had to grit her teeth to keep from
crying out when Dao's rough hands had fondled the curves of her buttocks a few
minutes earlier.
"And yet, you should be grateful that my instruments of discipline have
left your flesh almost free of marks," Richard Chan continued, as he draped the
attenuated thongs of the Triple Hydra over Ming-tsu's outthrust breasts. "You
ARE grateful, are you not?"
"Yes," Ming-tsu whispered in a trembling voice.
" 'Yes', what, wench?" Chan snarled as he slashed the many-tailed flogger
sharply across Ming-tsu's jutting, naked breasts.
"Aaaghhh!" Ming-tsu gasped, taken off guard by the swift, sudden lash that
seemed to splash thin streams of scalding lava onto her jutting love-turrets.
"Yes, sire," Ming-tsu corrected herself, as she tried to maintain eye contact
with her imperious captor, even as she tried to keep her voice as meekly
submissive as she could make it.
"You are most welcome," Chan replied, bowing with mock courtesy. Then he
glanced at Chiang Chan. "Nephew. I must compliment you on your choice of the
straps," Richard Chan volunteered as he continued to slide the Triple Hydra back
and forth over Ming-tsu's smarting breasts. "A marvelous conception, truly."
"Thank you, uncle," Chiang Chan murmured gratefully as he bowed in return.
The erotic effect of the tight-fitting tit-straps just above and below
Ming-tsu's succulent breasts had surpassed his wildest expectations. The
constricting horizontal straps, cut from jet-black leather, compressed his
father's lover's breasts slightly. The gentle inward pressure did not flatten
her close-set breasts; rather it accentuated their plumpness, making her
ever-inviting love-melons even more desirable. The flickering flambeaux mounted
in the nearby pillars bathed the sumptuous curves of her breasts in a warm glow,
and caused the five sparkling needle-hilts that the Scorpions had plunged into
her breasts to twinkle seductively.
But it was not the glimmering needles that transfixed Ming-tsu's
voyeuristic captors -- it was her bold-thrusting treasures themselves. They
were the breasts of a goddess of desire, rich and full, lacquered with the
pleasing varnish of female perspiration. The raven-haired concubine's gorgeous
pleasure-mounds were capped by two delicious concentric circles; Ming-tsu's
semi-stiff nipples seemed to have been dipped in rich, dark cinnamon and then
mounted on areolae that were dimpled like midsummer raspberries.
Chiang Chan's cock throbbed with lustful pleasure at the realization that
Ming-tsu's mouthwatering love-melons were utterly at the mercy of he and his
malicious comrades. It had been one thing for he and his men to put their
Pit-slave, Ci-ci, a pretty adolescent, through her paces; quite another to
practice their sadistic arts on the magnificent body of his father's mistress.
Richard Chan was speaking once again. "Just as I am grateful to Chiang Chan
for thinking of the tit-straps, I am in your debt, as well, Ming-tsu. Can you
guess why?" the tyrant of the Black Pagoda asked her in the rough, raspy voice
of a man consumed with sadistic lust.
"N-no, sire. I cannot say."
CRACCKKK!! The silver-robed right arm of Richard Chan swept the
multi-tailed Hydra into the delicious curves of Ming-tsu's breasts again. As
the whip landed Chan marveled at how the courtesan's lust-goblets could be both
deliciously firm and yet delightfully yielding all at once.
"Mmmmmnngggg!" Ming-tsu murmured as she recoiled in pain, while she
continued to meet Richard Chan's icy gaze. She could not bring herself to look
down at her breasts to assess the damage done by the Hydra. It felt as if Chan
had taken a leaf-rake and scraped it across her sensitive love-globes.
She realized now, as had a thousand young women before her, that the
slenderness of the Lord of the Scorpions masked a wiry strength. She gritted
her teeth as flames of pain licked at the contours of her breasts, ever-mindful
that the cruel tyranny of the needles was still very much in force. A cry of
anguish would only lead to more suffering.
"The reason I ask, you see, is that while my brother and I have tested one
or two of these instruments of torment," Chan gestured at the dark pile of whips
and straps, "on an enchanting Japanese pillow-girl only a few nights ago, we
were remiss in not using them on her breasts."
Chiang Chan's thoughts harkened back to Kyoto, the exquisite courtesan that
the German baron had flogged with Richard Chan's new invention.
Richard Chan's eyes were dark and sinister, his voice a harsh whisper.
"And thus I am grateful to you, Ming-tsu, for helping us to rectify that
oversight now. We shall learn together, whether they can be used without
causing lasting scars."
Ming-tsu swallowed with difficulty. Each moment seemed to bring her nearer
to disaster.
The Lord of the Scorpions leaned closer studying the marks the Triple Hydra
had left on Ming-tsu's dark-tipped pleasure-mounds with microscopic care.
"You will be pleased to learn that so far all looks well -- there is a
redness, quite an attractive redness, in fact, as is only to be expected, and
some faint striations, but that is all."
When Ming-tsu finally summoned up the courage to glance downward she was
astonished to discover that the lashes of the Hydra, which felt as if they had
shredded her breast-flesh with lacerating force, had not even broken the skin.
As Richard Chan had suggested, his unholy inventions were productive of pain,
agonizing pain, but not of blood.
"Very appealing striations, I might add. Don't you agree, Dao?" Richard
Chan added with a sardonic sneer.
Chiang Chan watched Dao's discomfiture with a wry smile. The bare-chested
Scorpion clearly was no more concerned with the nuances of 'striations' than he
would have been with the scrolls of Mencius.
"Aye, sire. If you say so," Dao grunted, uncaring about such details. Why
should he trouble himself with such things? As Dungeon-master of the Black
Pagoda, was his not the most enjoyable and enviable job in Shanghai? The way he
saw it, it was his job to administer pain to the bodies of prisoners and it was
his pleasure to administer pain to the bodies of young, attractive female
prisoners. He was content to leave the finer points to those who concerned
themselves with such things.
"As I started to stay, Ming-tsu," Richard Chan continued in his most
professorial voice, "I am grateful that you have volunteered to assist me in my
... pursuit of knowledge." The brilliant lord of the Shanghai underworld smiled
as he slowly slithered the voluminous tails of the Triple Hydra upward, first
grazing the puffy lips of her vulva, and then sweeping gently across her golden
midriff and over the lower tit-strap before sliding the flogger upward through
the luscious canyon between Ming-tsu's close-set pleasure-mounds. "But there is
much more research to be done..."
"Tell me, wench," Chan asked, his voice as hard and polished as the rounded
stones in the Yang-tze river bed, "have your breasts felt the sting of the lash
before?"
Her throat too dry to speak, her body trembling uncontrollably, Ming-tsu
nodded, 'yes'. As Richard Chan well knew, no mistress of George Chan, however
pleasing to him, could long escape his cruel nature, and no part of a
concubine's body could long escape his twisted desires.
"Speak up, wench, when I address you -- unless you want me to beat an
answer out of you!"
"Y-yes, sire," the voluptuous concubine stammered.
"At the hands of a gentleman, no doubt?"
A furious impulse almost drove Ming-tsu to scream out, "No, at the hands of
your pig of a brother who has abandoned me to you and these filthy jackals!" but
she swallowed her pride and whispered, "Yes, sire ... your brother."
"You will understand, I'm sure, that his were gentle lashes of love
compared to what you can expect at the hands of" Richard Chan paused, and
gestured toward the semi-circle of leering men that hovered around her like
vultures, " 'scum' like this, as you so delicately put it?"
"I told you ... I'm sorry that I ev ..."
Once again the silver-clad arm rose and fell, bringing the cruel flogger
down in a slanting, slicing arc across the ripe upper curves of Ming-tsu's
breasts.
"Nnrrrgghhhh!" Ming-tsu grimaced, clenching her teeth in pain.
"Those were but the first of many, whore, if you do not come to your
senses!" The Tyrant of Shanghai glanced up at the large clock that Ming-tsu had
used to entrap Liu on the The Night of the Tiger. "Nephew, General Wang is due
back shortly. I must leave you for the moment." Then the sinister mandarin
glared down first at Ming-tsu's whip-stung breasts and then at the array of
implements of punishment. His lip curled into a sadistic leer as he muttered,
"Be sure that your research is thorough!" before turning sharply on his heel and
striding toward the door to the staircase.
Chapter 90 Breast-whipped by the Scorpions Part I
The measured tones and the note of finality in the words of the Lord of the
Black Pagoda were followed incongruously by the reedy voice of Lin the Drooler.
"Come on, Ox! You're up. You've been waiting for a crack at those juicy
tits all day! Now's your chance, big guy!"
The hulking giant stepped forward, his huge frame throwing most of
Ming-tsu's nude upper body into shadow, his greedy, piggish eyes devouring her
infinitely vulnerable treasures.
Ming-tsu, long since freed of the constraining Seventh Cord, tossed her
silken tresses from side to side in fearful disbelief as the bovine-faced brute
approached her, an eighteen-inch length of one-inch diameter hose in his
ham-fisted right hand. The thought of his Herculean strength being visited upon
her invitingly out-thrust breasts sent ghastly chills through her nude body and
almost made her forget the burning in her well-flogged thighs and buttocks.
"N-no," she croaked, in a strangled half-whisper. "You can't ..."
The Ox held his left arm out so that Ming-tsu could see once again the raw,
blistered flesh of his burned limb, an arm that would no doubt wear the scars
from her torch forever.
"Zheng's turn, now!" the ape-like figure growled, as he gripped the
hose-length tighter and then slapped it sharply across the outer curve of
Ming-tsu's left breast, smashing one naked breast into the other with a
frightful SMACKK!!
"Unngghh!!" Ming-tsu groaned, as she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
The Ox ogled the reddening mark he had left on her dark-nippled breast for
a moment and then stepped forward. "Keep for me," he mumbled and then he
pressed the end of the hard-rubber tube against the lips of Ming-tsu's
wispy-fringed love-nook and forced it slowly inside.
"Yeah! Ram it in there, big fella! How d'ya like that, wench?" Through
her tears Ming-tsu could see that Lin's eyes were bright with a frenzied lust.
"N-no ... aaaaghhh!!" Ming-tsu moaned as the muscular brute continued to
screw the cylindrical truncheon deep into her helpless body. When it was a
third of its length was inside her, Zheng backed away, mumbling in his cavernous
bass voice, "Don't let it drop!"
"Attaway, big guy! C'mon, Dao! Warm her tits up a little!"
Dao, bare-chested, his thick tongue protruding obscenely between his
yellowing fangs, moved closer, ominously slapping his own nightstick-long strip
of black hose against his left palm. Her breast still throbbing from the Ox's
blow, Ming-tsu glanced nervously at the huge erection that pressed against Dao's
dark trousers, silent testimony to the effect that her bound nudity had on her
captors.
Following her darting eyes, Dao gripped his bulging crotch lewdly with his
left hand. "That's right, slut. It's as hard as the tiles on the emperor's
roof. And it's all for you. But we're going to soften you up a little more
first, ain't we boys?"
"Yeah, soften those tits up, buddy! Work 'em over good!" The Drooler
wiped furiously at his frothing mouth.
Ming-tsu could feel four pairs of mocking eyes raping her nakedness.
"C'mon girlie! Stick those tits out for me!" The sinister dungeonmaster
towered over her menacingly, his arms crossed over his once-hairy chest, while
he casually tapped the smooth, black truncheon against his left shoulder. When
Ming-tsu was slow to comply, Dao reached down and gave the Ox's crude dildo a
vicious upward wrench.
Even though Dao had used but a fraction of his strength, Ming-tsu almost
fainted from the pain. The Ox might be the physically stronger of the two, but
Dao was the true heir of Feng the Butcher -- a latter-day barbarian who had
risen to the surface of the sewer that was the underworld of Shanghai.
"I said, 'Stick 'em out', slut!"
Swaying gently on the hanging Cross, Ming-tsu struggled bravely to pull
herself up tall on the crossbar. Her rounded shoulders ached from the cruel
series of demands that had been placed on them -- the desperate gripping of the
rings above the Whipping Pit, her spread-eagled bondage to the pillars, and now
this, her painful predicament on the Korean Cross.
Ming-tsu could not have been more aware that her more erect position thrust
her luscious breasts out provocatively. Her glorious pleasure-orbs quivered in
fearful anticipation, her brown, semi-rigid nipples stabbing the dank, murky air
of the dungeon.
"Yeah!" Dao growled. "That's better. Much better." Dao continued tapping
the hose-length against his shoulder, while the gnarled fingers of his left hand
reached out and fondled Ming-tsu's palpitating melons of desire, cupping and
squeezing each succulent papaya in turn, enjoying the slickness of the
fear-sweat that made them gleam in the torchlight. "Nice tits, wench. Real
nice. Smooth and firm and strapped up nice and tight. Just the way I like 'em."
The gaptoothed thug continued to grope Ming-tsu's shamelessly-thrusting
breast-cones for another half a minute or so, to the delight of his ogling
companions, and the humiliated, helpless despair of the nude concubine.
Then his mocking leer hardened into a malevolent sneer. "Honey, I've been
waiting to lay into these babies since the first moment I set eyes on you!" he
snarled, and then Dao's right hand lashed out, sweeping the punishing
hose-length diagonally downward across the upper and outer curves of Ming-tsu's
right breast with a thunderous THWOCCKKK!!!
"Mmmmnnnngg,"Ming-tsu moaned piteously; it felt as if someone had taken a
hatchet to her tender love-gourd.
Chiang Chan eyed the reddening marks his comrades had left, excited by the
apprehensive oscillation of Ming-tsu's dark, enticing nipple-tips. He took his
flat, rectangular strap down low and then swung it swiftly upward, letting it
collide with the soft undercurves of Ming-tsu lust-mounds with a cock-pleasing
SMACCKK!! that caused her quivering globes to bobble deliciously before coming
to rest on her chest.
"Nnnnggghhh!"
"Oooohh, good one, Boss! Look at those boobies jiggle, Ox!"
As she choked down the urge to scream in pain, Ming-tsu couldn't decide
which was worse -- the dull, grinding pain of the infernal needles, the
atrocious agony of the breast-whipping, or the The Drooler's maddening
cheerleading.
"All right, lad it's your turn. Put your shoulder into it." Dao barked
encouragingly.
For now it was time for the cheerleader, the young apprentice, to come off
the sidelines and compete with his fellows in this most primeval, most masculine
of sports. The gangly teenager eyeballed the sensual lines of the raven-haired
courtesan's body for a moment as she swung gently back and forth on the
crossbar. Lin felt as if he had transported to a strange dream-world -- a world
of dark and dangerous pleasures, a world from which he had no wish to return.
How else but in a dream could Lin Hong, the homely son of a humble
innkeeper, be holding a doubled-up whipcord in his hand, with one of the most
exquisite beauties of Shanghai utterly at his mercy?
Seized by a sudden impulse, Lin stepped forward and pressed his
saliva-moist lips clumsily against Ming-tsu's even as his free hand worked the
Ox's hose-dildo, desecrating the velvety grotto between her thighs. When
Ming-tsu, sickened by the intimacy of his touch, turned her face from his
pimpled visage in revulsion, Lin scowled angrily. "Too high and mighty to give
a Scorpion a friendly little kiss, eh?" he muttered. "That's OK, wench. By the
time we get done with you, you'll be beggin' me to give you a little kiss." Lin
released his grip on the Ox's whip-dildo and took a step backward. 'Yeah,
honey, me and the boys is going to wear your pretty little pussy out later on.
Ain't we?"
"That's right, kid, and not just her pussy, either," Dao beamed as he
elbowed Zheng, and made a crude motion with his curved fingers. The gesture of
a man grabbing a pair of well-rounded buttocks with his powerful hands and then
slowly spreading them to reveal the tiny fleshy ring between them.
Ming-tsu's stomach twisted up in knots at the thought of these savages
raping her rectum. The imposing size of Dao's manhood and the prodigious size of
Zheng's monster-cock were clearly outlined against their black trousers. She
was no stranger to anal sex; in fact she had introduced Li Chang to that
pleasant pastime. But for all of his virility Li had been, for the most part,
a considerate lover. And even George Chan, who brooked no sexual denials, while
masterfully assertive when making love a la Grecque, had sought primarily his
own pleasure, not her pain. But she had little doubt but that these animals,
Dao and Zheng, would try to split her in two if given the chance.
While these fears raced through the mind of his beautiful prisoner, Lin's
heart was pounding as he thought back on all of the slender village girls that
had ignored his attentions, all of the pert-breasted mountain maidens that had
mocked his homely features, and his lower lip curled into a sneer of rage. All
of the old scores with the female sex would be settled this day, he thought;
all of the past slights would be avenged.
The acne-riddled teenager reached out and pressed a trembling hand against
Ming-tsu's breastbone just above the upper tit-strap. Then he gave her a push,
so that the Korean Cross swung away from him.
As it did, he stepped nimbly to his right, and took up a stance slightly to
the left of Ming-tsu's original position and at right angles to it. Then, when
the nude-breasted nymph on the pendulum swung back toward him, the wild-eyed
teenager backhanded her viciously across both breasts with a resounding
CRACCCKKK!!
"Nnhhgghh! Mpffgghhh!" The pain was blinding, notwithstanding the fact
that the twin tails of Lin's doubled-up flail, had, by some miracle, missed her
dark and tender nipple-tips by the narrowest of margins, scalding instead the
lovely brown halos in which they were centered. How, how, Ming-tsu asked
herself mournfully, could she ever endure many more such blows?
The boy had hit her with such force that the suspended crossbar began to
twirl violently in the air; for a moment she lost her bearings. As her
dizzying spiral slowed Lin stepped forward and spun her around so that she was
once again facing Zheng.
The Ox's huge size and his dim-witted stare reminded Ming-tzu of the
strange tales she had heard of the yeti, the mysterious man-beast of the
Himalayan snowcaps. Such a beast could not have been less civilized than the
hairy, gargantuan creature who had taken up a position facing her right
shoulder.
The slab-faced giant ripped his forearm-long weapon from between her thighs
and placed it against the lips that had refused to kiss Lin the Drooler. "Lick
it clean, wench!" he growled as he forced it into her mouth.
Having little choice, Ming-tsu tongued the stiff black tubing, tasting her
own musk. When the Ox was satisfied with her labors he pulled the
saliva-covered hose-whip down and held it out so that its length touched the
reddish-brown tips of of Ming-tsu's trembling, half-erect lust-nipples.
"Nooo ... not there ... please ... I ..."
"Zheng's turn, now!" the simple-minded brute interrupted her with the same
words he had used before. Then the ungainly giant drew the ebony hose-strip
back about a foot before gritting his teeth, growling audibly and slamming the
black rubber truncheon squarely into the dark-eyed concubine's glorious breasts.
THWOCKKK!!! "NNNGH!! NNGGGGHHH!!!!!!!" It was all Ming-tsu could do to
suppress the scream of agony that rose up from the pit of her being. The Ox's
mighty blow sent the Cross swinging wildly again.
"Bull's-eye!" Lin exclaimed boisterously, as he watched the crimson blush
that coated Ming-tsu's honey-gold breasts deepen and darken. Then as if upon
further consideration, he corrected himself. "Hell, that was a double
bull's-eye!"
By the time the swinging of the bar had subsided somewhat, twin tears were
half way down Ming-tsu's prominent cheekbones and her body had collapsed limply
on the Cross. Then she realized that her gaptoothed nemesis had taken a stance
at one end of the swinging bar's graceful pendulum.
Dao watched the lush-breasted concubine sway back and forth twice more
before observing, "You know, you don't listen too well, slut! I told you to
stick those jugs out for me! I don't want to have to tell you again!"
Ming-tsu had forgotten his cruel directive, but struggled to adopt the
desired position, once again pulling her body higher on the crossbar, so that
her amber-gold lust-gourds were once again presented to her tormentor as if they
were sacrificial offerings to some demi-god of savagery.
"That's better. You're learning," Dao sneered. "Great tits, honey, but we
got to toughen those nipples up some. Let's see what we can do about that."
Ming-tsu's dark-tipped love-nuggets had been in a state of semi-arousal
since the dreadful breast-flogging had begun; even the Ox's nipple-crushing blow
had not entirely crushed their spirit.
But Dao was in no mood for semi-arousal. "Open up!"
Ming-tsu, startled, didn't understand his meaning at first.
"Your mouth, wench!" snarled the gaptoothed Scorpion.
Ming-tsu opened her mouth and Dao quickly jammed the cock-thick strip of
hose into her mouth horizontally, pressing it between the perfect white teeth of
which he was so envious. "Don't let it drop, girl," he hissed menacingly.
With both of his powerful hands now free, the dungeonmaster in training
stepped forward and seized a whip-warmed breast in each hand. He inhaled
deeply, enjoying the tart scent of orange blossom which still clung to
Ming-tsu's breast-fruits from her after-bath ablutions. "Mmmm, she smells like
fresh oranges, boys. And her pips aren't bad either!" he joked bawdily, as his
thick fingers reach for Ming-tsu's semi-tumescent nipples.
Dao began by placing the nails of his index fingers against each of
Ming-tsu's crinkly roseates. Then he traced slow, sensuous circles around her
burgeoning lust-buds, each revolution causing the responsive nuggets to swell
further under his masterly touch.
"Slut-nipples," Dao muttered hoarsely, a broad grin on his ugly face. Feng
had used that term one night over drinks as they discussed the way some women's
bodies betrayed them, even under the most extreme duress. Some became wet
between the legs; others, like Ming-tsu, had breasts which responded with a
shameless sexual will of their own, even while their bodies were wracked with
pain.
Ming-tsu, meanwhile, while grateful for this brief intermezzo of sensual
pleasure in the midst of this seemingly endless drama of depravity, was
humiliated by the knowing, licentious smirks on the faces of the Scorpions. She
cursed her body for responding to Dao's masterful touch,
Dao seized her yearning brown lust-pellets between his thumbs and
forefingers. He rubbed them, gently at first, and then more forcefully,
methodically grinding her sweet, delectable nubbins between his fingers as if he
were pulverizing congealed lumps of brown sugar. Then he bent down and tasted
their sweat-salty sweetness, taking her right nipple between his rough lips,
sucking and nibbling at the swelling bud, and then releasing it, while he turned
his attentions to her other cocoa-dark pleasure-crest.
When he pulled his ugly face away from Ming-tsu's breasts, her nipples were
stiff and straining, damp and glistening. The torchlight waned suddenly, in
response to an inexplicable draft, and as it did Ming-tsu noticed that the
broken-toothed, lecherous smile on Dao's face had been eclipsed by dark shadows.
His mood seemed to have darkened along with his features, as if he had decided
that the time for playfulness had passed.
"The fun's over, slut! Time to get back to business!"
The raven-haired concubine winced as her glowering captor dug the tips of
his long thumbnails against the base of her perky brown breast tips until she
cried out softly in pain. Then, seizing her nipples in his relentless talons, he
pulled them away from her body with such force that he pulled the suspended
cross along with them.
"Aaaagggmphh!" Ming-tsu moaned softly through her gag as the excruciating
pressure on her swollen buds mounted, dimly cognizant of the fact that copious
amounts of spit-drool were spilling out of the corners of her whip-gagged mouth
and dripping down to dampen her luscious breasts.
The gaptoothed gangster released her mahogany breast-tips, letting
Ming-tsu swing away from him, but when she swung back toward him a moment later,
he seized her dark, distended nipples in a crushingly cruel grip once again,
this time twisting them viciously to and fro, sending stabbing flashes of pain
through Ming-tsu's tender pleasure-mounds.
When he finally relented and released them, the tips of Ming-tsu's firm,
young breasts had blossomed into magnificent crests of girl-flesh. Dao calmly
removed the hose-whip from her mouth, making a face when he realized that it was
soaked with her saliva. Then, as his victim closed her tear-filled brown eyes,
he took aim at Ming-tsu's lust-stiffened love-nuggets, and lashed out with a
vicious horizontal stroke, intent on punishing the delicious morsels of flesh
that he had taken such pains to arouse.
But his pains were nothing compared to hers.
The almond-eyed courtesan heard Dao's bestial grunt a split-second before
the resultant THWOCKKK!!! caused her breasts to explode in agony and her
sensitive nipples to erupt into flames.
"NGNH!! NNGNHH!! NGHHHNGH!!" she moaned three times, each more piteously
than the last, as she swung crazily through the air.
"Oh, man! You drilled 'em good that time!" Lin enthused.
Ming-tsu finally summoned up the courage to look down at her inflamed
pleasure-globes, and was half-surprised to find that her burning nipples were
still intact.
The watching Scorpions were amazed -- and excited -- by the sight of
Ming-tsu's bronzed love-buds fighting off the crushing blow and re-asserting
themselves defiantly, dark and thrusting in their uptilted splendor.
Chiang Chan stepped forward, still troubled by the notion that Richard
Chan's ill-temper had been caused, in part, by his failure to extract the truth
from the beautiful tigress who hung naked from the Korean Cross.
More determined than ever to prove his worth as a Scorpion squadron-leader
and recover the missing jewels, he eyed the opulence of Ming-tsu's
fast-reddening breast-globes, while he doubled up the wicked whip-strap in his
hands. A little dazed by erotic excitement, his two fixations -- locating the
missing pearls, and the ripe-bursting fullness of Ming-tsu's whip-tender
breasts -- had swirled around in his mind until they had become intertwined in a
strange erotic fancy.
Chiang Chan recalled having once read about pinatas, the stuffed images of
animals that adults in far off Mexico hang from ropes at children's parties. The
small children attack these colorful paper effigies with wooden sticks,
gradually ripping open the underside of the doll-beasts and then delightedly
recovering the fallen sweets which their parents had secreted in the belly of
the beast.
His mind half-immersed in this strange fantasy, the heir to the House of
Chan edged sideways so that he stood at right angles to the nubile nude on the
Cross. Then he took the punishing whip-strap high overhead and brought it
whistling down with every ounce of his strength, as if Ming-tsu might somehow
have hidden the priceless pearls in her full, succulent breasts such that the
force of his blow might cause the missing gemstones to spill from her ripe
pinatas.
The strap landed across the mouth-watering tops of Ming-tsu's breasts, with
a satisfying, flesh-burning SMAACCKK!! eliciting a long, agonized gasp of pain
from the tortured courtesan, but alas, no pearls.
Ming-tsu was still recovering from Chiang-Chan's tit-shattering blow when
she realized that the Drooler had taken up a position on her other side. The
wild-eyed youth snarled softly and then lashed out with his whip-cord with a
ferocious CRACCKKK!!! catching her flush on the dark-tipped nipples that Dao
had gone to such lengths to excite.
"Ooouwwww," Ming-tsu keened softly. " P-please ... no more ..."
"Where are the diamonds?" Chiang Chan demanded in an implacable tone.
When Ming-tsu merely hung her raven-tressed head despairingly, Chiang Chan
motioned for the Ox to continue.
"C'mon Ox!" Lin goaded him. "Those needles are getting rusty. Let her
have it!
The Ox, meanwhile, had renounced his hose-strip for the atrocious oblong
paddle which he had used to punish her buttocks while she was on the Pedestal of
Pain. "My turn," the behemoth muttered again in his guttural voice as he
positioned himself a little to her right and tapped her right breast softly with
the flat edge of the paddle, as if he were grooving the plane of his stroke.
Then, using a short, compact swing that traveled little more than a foot, the
powerfully built gangster slammed the flat-edged paddle into Ming-tsu's
forward-thrusting right breast with a horrendous SMAACKK!!! that lacquered its
honey-gold roundness with an even coating of pain.
The agonizing, breast-crushing blow sent Ming-tsu's body spinning wildly on
the Cross once again. As she spun around, trapped on her nightmarish carousel of
pain, she was struck by the sinister intensity etched into the faces of her four
tormentors. It was perhaps better that she could not divine from their faces
the degradations that each had in mind in for her in the hours to come.
As the arc of her deranged pendulum slowed she saw that the gaptoothed
dungeonmaster had positioned himself in her path, hose-truncheon in hand.
"C'mon, wench! Scream for us! You know you want to!" Dao jeered. He let
her swing back and forth once more, gauging her speed, then as she swung back
toward him, he swung the length of black rubber across his body, smacking the
side-slope of Ming-tsu's left breast with punishing effect.
THWOCCK!!
"Unnnnnnnnnnnngghhh" Ming-tsu's moaned miserably as Dao's barbaric blow
sent the naked Chinese beauty spinning crazily again, only to be greeted by a
whizzing strap from Chiang Chan that found the upper half of her pain-globes,
missing her cinnamon-brown breast-tips by the narrowest of margins.
But Lin the Drooler didn't miss. When the Ox pushed the trussed-up
courtesan toward the lust-crazed youth, Lin mentally drew a surveyor's line
between the glimmering green and gold needle-hilts that he and Dao had driven
into the opposite sides of Ming'tsu's sweat-sheened right breast. Then he swung
the doubled-up length of black whipcord on that plane, crying out in exultation
when his stroke scored a direct hit, blistering her tasty brown lust-nubbin.
CRACKKK!! "Yeahhh!!! Take that, you lying slut!"
"Stop ... P-please ... y- you're ... you're killing me..." Ming-tsu
whimpered.
"Don't worry wench. No way we're going to kill you; we're havin' too much
fun, ain't we boys?" Dao grinned sadistically. "It's just your hard luck that
your tits were built for pain, baby. And pain is just what they're going to get.
Ain't that right, Ox?"
"Uh-huh. My turn," the dimwitted giant grunted, before spanking the
yielding roundness of Ming-tsu's left breast with another nipple-crushing swat
with his paddle.
SMAACKKK!!
Her breasts aflame in a scarlet sea of pain, Ming-tsu slumped forward again
in her bonds.
"No you don't, wench! Shoulders back! Stick those tits out, honey! Oh,
yeah!! They're getting all nice and red now, ain't they boys? C'mon, baby.
Point those big brown nipples at me!"
Ming-tsu, her waning strength almost depleted, glared at Dao, her
tear-filled brown eyes flashing daggers of hatred.
"I said, 'Stick 'em out there', wench," Dao growled, his ugly face
contorted into a barbaric leer. Then he added in a wolfish growl, "Boy, maybe
you'd better bring me those pliers...."
Chapter 91 Breast-whipped by the Scorpions Part II
Hearing Lin's insane cackle of glee, Ming-tsu beseeched her pain-wracked
shoulders to pull herself up high on the Korean Cross once again, until Dao
acknowledged with a predatory leer that her luscious, pain-wracked
pleasure-gourds were presented to his satisfaction.
Dao had armed himself with a new weapon, a heavy, studded strap, similar to
the one Chiang Chan had used earlier, but heavier and lined with small,
evil-looking rectangular studs. He ran a big hand over the hard rubber studs
lovingly. "Don't know how I overlooked this one when I was whipping your ass,
wench. But that's OK. It'll work even better on your juicy tits."
Dao studied the amber-hued, sweat-dripping perfection of Ming-tsu's
shuddering breasts for a long moment, waiting until a trickle of moisture had
congealed into a tiny bubble that clung lovingly to her right nipple. Then he
grunted with pleasure as he unleashed a murderous backhand that sent the studded
strap ripping into the soft outer curve of Ming-tsu's breast, vaporizing the
delicate droplet into oblivion.
THWOCKK!! "NNnnnnnnnnggggghhh! Please ..."
Dao felt a virile current of electricity pump through his rape-ready
genitals the moment his blow made contact with Ming-tsu's yielding breast.
Chiang Chan let the tortured Asian beauty sway gently back and forth on the
cross or a few moments. There was something soul-satisfying, something that
fulfilled a man's deepest, darkest longings, about dominating one's father's
mistress. Especially a mistress so young, so wanton, so starkly sensual. He
remembered the seductive naughtiness of Ming-tsu's expression when he had
covertly watched her pose astride his father's desk, leaning back on her elbows,
her silken hair spilling enticingly over her shoulders, her naked legs pointing
toward the corners of the ceiling with shameless abandon. The Unfolding Lotus,
his father had called it.
She was a taunting, teasing slut then, and she's a slut now, Chiang Chan
concluded, as he stepped forward and whipped his strap across the pouting
nipples of his father's whore.
CRACCCKK!!
Ming-tsu's body thrashed violently on the bar as the strap bit deep into
her sensitive pain-melons. "Oooh ... ooooohhhhhh,"
Still wielding the familiar breast-stinging whipcord, Lin the Drooler wiped
at his mouth and lashed at the side-slope of her left breast with a ferocious
roundhouse swing.
CRACCKK!! "Nnngggghhhhh... please ... help me ..."
"Boss, you got those needles ready? We got her on the run. She ain't going
to hold out much longer!" Lin the Drooler chirped gleefully.
The Ox, forsaking his punishing paddle, took up one of the black
hose-strips again, and dealt Ming-tsu a vicious chopping stroke that seemed to
cleave her left breast in half.
THWOCKK!! "Uuunnngggghhhhhhh!"
Dao stepped in front of her again, brandishing his black-studded strap.
The demonic dungeonmaster gave her a satanic jack-o'- lantern leer, and motioned
for her to present her breasts for the whip yet again. "There ain't nothing like
working over a nice pair of knobs, is there, boys! And baby, they don't come
much nicer than yours."
When the ebony-haired enchantress didn't respond to his unspoken command,
Dao stepped forward and grabbed a handful of her fine pubic hair and gave it a
violent wrench.
"You know the drill, slut. Stick those tits out!" When Ming-tsu had
tremblingly complied, Dao shoved his strap in her mouth and ran his big hands
over her rosy-gold man-pleasers again, enjoying the feel of the deep
indentations the whip-studs had left on the inward slope of her right breast.
He glanced backward over his shoulder at his colleagues. "They're warmin' up
real nice, boys!"
Then he turned back to his softly moaning prisoner. "Talk, slut! Or
you're going to get the next one's right across the nips!"
When his directive was met by silence, the ill-favored thug ripped the
strap out of her mouth with a violent wrench. "Stubborn whore!" he roared, and
then he attacked Ming-tsu with a slicing, downward-angled stroke that landed on
the crisp brown tips of her sweat-gleaming tit-globes with a horrendous
CRACCKK!!
"UNNGHHHHHHH!! Please... no more ..."
The blow from the studded strap spun the Chinese beauty around so violently
that she lost her bearings. It was Chiang Chan's turn, surely, but he was
nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly her eye was drawn to a movement in the mirror and she saw the
grim-faced Scorpion leader, standing about a dozen feet obliquely behind her,
holding the longest, blackest whip she had ever seen.
When Dao looked at him questioningly, Chiang Chan snaked the fearful whip
across the blood-encrusted floor of the dungeon as he explained. "This is a
slightly smaller replica of the bullwhip used by American herdsmen. A handful
of strokes with a leather bullwhip would cut through her breasts as surely as
shrapnel, but my uncle's latex version supposedly carries nearly the same sting,
but, used properly, should not break her skin. We shall see."
Ming-tsu watched in disbelief as Chiang Chan took several practice strokes,
judging the height of the room, the distance from the nearest pillar and so
forth. Each time the slender tip of the whip flew through the air faster than
the eye could see, before exploding like a rifle-shot just before it wrapped
around the column he was aiming at.
When he was satisfied that he was capable of making a good stroke with the
unwieldy whip, Chiang Chan took a few steps to his left so that he stood almost
directly behind his nude prisoner. Then the squadron-leader drew the elongated
snake-whip back behind him dexterously and then with a smooth motion of his
shoulder sent it rocketing forward. A split second later Ming-tsu felt the tail
of the fiery lash curl painfully around her soft shoulder before detonating on
the upper slope of her right breast with a thunderous CRACCKKK!!
It was as if the typhoon god had shot one of his bolts of lightning through
her tender breast. Ming-tsu rocked forward gently on the cross, to the extent
that her bondage would permit, hoping against hope that that timeless maternal
motion might somehow quiet the scalding pain in her burning love-mound.
"Not bad for a first try, boss!" Lin applauded in his maddening
high-pitched voice. "Hey, wench! You're not concentrating." Ming-tsu noted
with alarm that now Lin the Drooler was slapping one of the fearful strips of
black rubber hose against his skinny thigh. "Your nips are starting to soften
up again, honey. We're gonna have to fix that, aren't we?"
Then, while thrusting one hand between her legs, and fingering her cunt,
the leering, saliva-flecked Lin took her tasty right breast in his mouth, and
nibbled and sucked and bit and chewed, and gnawed at her nipple until he was
satisfied that the sensitive bud was once again as hard as a cherry pit. When
it was, he took a step back and then slammed the hollow baton directly into her
tender brown bud.
The slim-waisted concubine exhaled another tortured groan.
Zheng the giant, meanwhile, had armed himself with a four-thonged whip and
he swept it down violently in a great arc, tomahawking the lushness of her right
breast, his blow descending from on high like a lightning bolt, and landing with
a resounding THWACKK!! on Ming-tsu's soft flesh.
Dao, once-again wielding the familiar knotted whip, continued the fusillade
by crouching down and delivering a slicing, slashing uppercut into the tender
undersides of Ming-tsu's breasts.
When she finished spinning around, Ming-tsu saw that Chiang Chan was
standing at a forty-five degree angle to her, with his feet firmly planted, at a
distance of about a dozen feet from her, the horrendous bullwhip trailing from
his right hand.
"N-no ... please ... not with that ... not from the front ... you'll kill
me."
"You heard my uncle, Ming-tsu," Chiang Chan said with a sardonic smile in
his iciest tones. "Our research is not yet complete." He uncoiled the whip and
drew it back behind him. "The diamonds, woman! The pearls! Where have you
hidden them?"
"N-nowhere ... I-I swear it ..."
Chiang Chan cursed and tightened his grip on the black whipstock. His
dark eyes ravished Ming-tsu's frontal nudity, the lushness of her whip-reddened
breasts, the gentle pressure of her ribcage against the flesh of her torso, the
inviting hollow of her stomach, and the seductive narrowness of her tiny waist.
Her supple, golden thighs, her womanly hips and the dark-fringed grotto of love
that he and his men would plunder in short order.
"Lying whore!" Chiang Chan lifted the bullwhip and then flung it forward,
his eyes glowing with sadistic resolve as the blacksnake cut through the murky
dimness of the dungeon like an evil knife, its cruel trajectory aimed directly
at Ming-tsu's encrimsoned breasts.
CRACCCKK!!! the whip sliced into Ming-tsu's defenseless, dark-tipped
love-apples with shattering force, etching a corrosive path of pain that ran
from the top of her left breast to the undercurve of its rounded twin.
"Eeaaggggghhhhhhhhhhh!" Needles or no needles, Ming-tsu could suppress her
pent-up agony no longer. The four Scorpions watched excitedly as her upper body
shuddered in a violent paroxysm of anguish.
"Aaaaghhh! Aauughhhhh!!" she coughed, spluttering up the terrible pain
that her small frame had absorbed and absorbed until it had reached its limit
and she could bear no more.
"Your needle, boss!" Lin cackled cheerfully.
Chiang Chan selected the next blue pin from the box and fingered it
briefly, letting the torchlight reflect off its gleaming point while he stared
deep into Ming-tsu's luminous, tear-filled brown eyes. "I think I'll keep this
one in reserve for the moment, Lin. Carry on."
"Whatever you say, boss," Lin grinned as he eyed the lurid mark the
bullwhip had left on the concubine's sweat-sheened breasts.
"N-no more ... please ... I can't ...'
CRACCKKK!! Lin's backhanded slash with the doubled-up whipcord creased her
tender breast-flesh yet again and sent the cross careening erratically through
the foul air of the dungeon.
As her swinging slowed, Ming-tsu saw that the Ox had armed himself with the
plet, much the heaviest of all the whips. The czar's executioners had used the
original leather version of this dreadful weapon on the bare backs of sturdy
Russian convicts. Surely its thick and punishing thongs had never been used on
the bare breasts of a woman ...
Zheng slapped the five broad thongs, gently against his leg as he moved
closer. He stood above her like a towering troglodyte, his face primitive and
impassive, but his eyes vengeful. His left arm, like Ming-tsu's breasts, had
grown redder with each passing minute and small patches of skin had begun to
fester.
"Zheng's turn, now," he mumbled in his deep voice as his powerful right arm
swung the plet forward, lettings its five fearful thongs splash against
Ming-tsu's jutting breasts with a frightful CRACCKKK!! inundating her
pleasure-globes in a scalding wave of fire that stretched from tit-strap to
tit-strap.
"Aaaiiiiiaaahhh!!"
"That's it, honey! Scream your guts out! You've won the next needle, Ox!"
A soft, pitiful moan escaped the lips of the captured concubine. Then,
knowing that she had lost again, her courage gave out completely, and her body
shook with uncontrollable sobs. And the once-proud vixen was reduced to abjectly
imploring her captors for mercy.
"No more, please. Please, I can't take any more. No more needles. Please,
if you have ever loved a girl ... a woman ..."
"We've loved many a girl, haven't we boys?" Dao guffawed as he grabbed his
crotch crudely. "And we're gonna give you some lovin' too, in a bit, don't you
worry."
Meanwhile Zheng, pleased with his triumph, and deaf to Ming-tsu's
plaintive pleas for mercy, calmly took another scarlet-tipped needle from Chiang
Chan's little box of horrors.
The Drooler, was not shy in offering his advice - "Hey, Big Fella --Why
don't you take that needle and hold the torch to it. Get it good and hot. If
you ask me, it'll serve the slut right for waving that torch around!"
Chiang Chan held up his hand to silence his excited comrades. "The reason I
set my needle aside a moment ago is because I thought it might prove
entertaining to perforate her lovely breast from both sides at once. What say
you all?"
Lin's rejoinder was hardly in doubt "Two needles at once! Yeah!"
The lecherous glint in Dao's eyes was proof of his assent and, the Ox was
staring at Ming-tsu's tempting papayas with a rapacious glare.
"N-no..."
"You seem to be outvoted, Ming-tsu," Chiang Chan sneered. "Shall we
proceed, gentlemen?"
"But be sure to bake those needles first, boss," the Drooler offered, "I
want to see her tits sizzle!"
Ming-tsu looked on in utter horror, as Lin hurried to remove a torch from
one of the sconces. Chiang Chan and Zheng the Ox each held a needle to the
outer edges of the ardently burning flame, being careful to hold it by its
over-sized pinhead. The tips of the needles were glowing by the time they
removed them from the hand-held torch.
Dao, slightly disappointed that it was not he who was wielding the red-hot
needles, made himself useful, by gripping the stiff mahogany crest of Ming-tsu's
left breast. With Dao holding her breast stationary, Ming-tsu was helpless as
the needle-bearers approached. Chiang's left hand found its way deep into her
cleavage, his needle poised to stab the inner curve of her breast; Zheng had
positioned his smoking pin opposite Chiang's.
"On three, " Dao instructed his two comrades.
"One!" Ming-tsu struggled desperately to pull away, but Dao's grip on her
dark nipple-crest was inescapable.
"Two!"
"C'mon! Do it! Do it!" Ming-tsu felt Lin's breath's hot on her neck as
he peered over her shoulder.
"Three!" In that very instant Ming-tsu felt the sizzling needles bore into
the rounded curves of her naked breast from either side, Chiang pressing his
inward from the midpoint of the inner slope, and Zheng from the center of the
outerslope.
"Aaaaaarrgggghhhhhhhh!!"
It was only a moment or two before she felt the hilt of Zheng's needle
pressing against the side of her breast, signaling that the needle was fully
embedded in her flesh. Chiang took much longer, whether by design or whether it
was because he was using his left hand. His flesh-scalding nine o'clock needle
seemed to take an eternity to bury itself deep in her breast-flesh. Although the
fine needle-points cooled very quickly after being removed from the fire,
Ming-tsu felt as if her breast was impaled upon some infernal spit, for the
pleasure of her hellish tormentors.
After releasing his blue needle-hilt, Chiang Chan noticed that Zheng's
normally impassive countenance seemed a little downcast. It took him a moment
to understand that the behemoth was disappointed that the two pins had not quite
met in mid-breast, notwithstanding the fact that Ming-tsu's gyrations clearly
indicated that, to her at least, the appalling tandem tit-piercing had been most
effective indeed.
"Don't worry, Ox," Chiang patted the man with the brain of a child on the
back consolingly, "we've got some longer pins in the box."
At those words, Ming-tsu's insides twisted themselves into dry ropes; she
hung on the bar desperate and despairing. Why, why had she not let herself fall
into the Whipping Pit to be devoured by the flesh-eating fish below? Her death
would have been horrible, but quick. She could not have imagined that the
Scorpions would have put her - the favorite concubine of George Chan - through
such a harrowing and nightmarish ordeal. Suddenly the room seemed to begin
spinning and she closed her eyes in order to alleviate her dizziness.
Chiang Chan stood over his glassy-eyed prisoner; for the first time almost
convinced that the tortured beauty did, in fact, know nothing of the jewels.
But how could that be? There were no other survivors of the Night of the Tiger.
Perhaps, he thought to himself, degradation and rape would succeed where torture
had failed. But first, they would have to restore her to her failing senses.
But that was easily done.
"Lin!"
"Yes, boss?"
"Our guest seems to be quite exhausted; perhaps a quick shower would
re-invigorate her."
"Should I fill the bucket, then?"
"Aye, fill it good and full."
As Lin hurried out to fill the bucket they had dumped on Ming-tsu earlier
after knocking her face-down in the damp passageway, Chiang noticed that Dao and
Zheng were whispering to each other. He didn't know what they were but there
was little doubt but that their conversation boded ill for their naked captive.
Ming-tsu hung from the Korean Cross as if she were in a trance, her breasts
rising and falling gently, the flesh tones of her upper body resembling the
intermingled reds and golds of autumnal foliage, her cheekbones wet with tears,
her body bathed in a glistening dew of perspiration.
"She's a tough one, ain't she boss?" Dao exclaimed.
"She is indeed, Dao."
"She must have taken couple of dozen across the tits before she broke. I
never thought she'd last that long," the homely Scorpion said grudgingly.
"Don't forget, Dao -- she still has told us nothing that we want to know."
Just then Lin came staggering back down the passageway that led to the well
outside, struggling with the heavy pail of water. When he reached them, he set
the bucket down for a moment and rubbed his aching back.
"We didn't send you for water to set it on the floor, boy! Wake the slut
up!"
Lin made a face and hoisted the bucket to shoulder height. He was just
bout to up-end it when they heard the door that led to the staircase creak open
noisily.
"Chiang Chan!" The familiar silver-robed figure stood in the doorway.
"Yes, uncle?" Out of the corner of his eye, Chiang noticed that Lin had
set the bucket down.
"Your father insists that it is time that you met General Wang; Hsien will
be serving tea in my study in five minutes."
"I will be right there, uncle."
Chiang Chan waited until his uncle had begun making his way back up the
stone staircase before turning to his three henchmen. "Boys, I'm not sure how
long I will be; she's all yours. Have fun." Chiang Chan reached down to touch
Ming-tsu on the side of the face.
Feeling his hand on her face, alertness and life began to return to
Ming-tsu's dark brown eyes. "W-what are they going to do to me?" she stammered
nervously.
"Whatever they like, Ming-tsu, whatever they like. For as long as they
like. Until we have the truth."
"Lin!"
The skinny, pock-marked youth struggled to lift the bucket to shoulder
height, lurched, recovered his balance, and then emptied its contents over
Ming-tsu's head, inundating her with water.
"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" she cried out in shock as the cold water cascaded
down over her head and shoulders, drenching her body. Strangely though, the
coldness felt good on her inflamed breasts.
Chiang Chan's eyes took in her dripping nudity for a long moment before
sighing. "I must ago. Have fun, gentlemen," before stalking off in the
direction his uncle had taken. "I will try to return shortly."
When the door to the staircase closed behind him, Dao's fingers began
racing over the complicated network of knots that bound the beautiful concubine
to the Korean Cross.
"Cheer up, honey. We're letting you loose," the gaptoothed thug
announced with gusto as he undid the final knot, letting Ming-tsu's perfect
body, its youth and strength sapped by hours of abuse, slump to the floor at his
feet. Ming-tsu lay there on her side for a long moment before attempting to
right herself, gingerly raising herself to her haunches.
Then Dao seized a handful of her sopping hair. "Boys," he exclaimed
loudly as he pressed Ming-tsu's lovely face against the black fabric that
encased his lust-swollen genitals. "It's party time!"
Chapter 92 The Ox's Revenge
While his right hand cruelly twisted a handful of Ming-tsu's damp, silky
hair, Dao fiddled with his fly, anxious to liberate the swollen one-eyed monster
that sought release. But just as he was about to do so a brawny right arm
knocked him aside.
"Me first!" growled the Ox.
Effortlessly, using only his one good arm, Zheng lifted the cowering
concubine to her feet.
"Please ...no ... let me rest ... just for a minute ..." Ming-tsu murmured
a split-second before the Ox slammed her damp and dripping body roughly against
the central pillar of the dungeon, and pinned her against it with his massive
bulk.
Somehow the violent collision with the stone column seemed to imbue
Ming-tsu with new life. Her glossy hair whipped from side to side as the nude
courtesan tried to fight off her ponderous assailant. But even though her will
and fighting spirit had revived after the savage breast-flogging on the Korean
Cross, she stood little chance against the lust-crazed giant.
Even though there was little doubt regarding the final outcome of the
uneven contest, Dao and Lin watched with mounting excitement as the brave
courtesan kicked and scratched and clawed at her attacker. But the bovine
behemoth brushed aside her flailing arms and used his good arm to hold her
against the pillar by the throat, while his badly burned left arm freed his
monstrous organ from his trousers.
Ming-tsu gasped in dismay and disbelief when the mighty weapon came free.
The size of his phallus was such that he might well have been likened to an ox,
even if he had been a man of only average size. Long and thick and ruddy, his
menacing maleness rose upward from the thick undergrowth of his pubic hair like
a great oak.
The naked concubine tried to use her knee to ward off her ferocious
assailant with a bare leg, but he was already too close, and the mass of his
huge body against her middle made any such leverage impossible. That resource
gone, Ming-tsu flailed away at the hand that gripped her firmly, but not
dangerously, by the throat, while the nails of her right hand tore at his
burn-ravaged left arm.
The Ox grunted like a wounded bear as Ming-tsu raked at the raw, skinless
flesh on his arm, releasing a punishing grip on her needle-studded right breast
in order to seize her wrist and press it against the pillar above her head in
hopes of quashing her resistance. At the same time he used his immense strength
to lift her wet, naked body upward against the rough-surfaced pillar until
Ming-tsu's dark-fringed pleasure-spot was at the desired elevation and then he
stabbed his mighty cock-staff into her woman-cleft with a quick, brutal lunge of
his hips.
"Unnghh!" Ming-tsu groaned as she felt the prodigious organ plunge inside
her, lifting her and slamming her back against the column yet again. "Unghh!
Unngghhhh!! UNNGGGHHH!" she moaned as the Ox's warlike bludgeon assaulted her
femininity. Her ordeal on the Korean Cross had almost driven from her memory
the agonizing bondage of the Seven Cords, but the instant the Ox's manhood
plowed into her sex she felt his manhood scrape painfully against the raw band
that the seventh cord had left on her most intimate flesh. Now, as his hips
pistoned against her with machine-like relentlessness, Zheng's every thrust
brought fresh suffering to the delicate tissues between her legs.
The Ox's breath came in loud, explosive gasps as he raped her with
ever-increasing ardor. Now that he had his lovely prey firmly impaled on his
bull-cock, he released her throat and used his right hand to pin her other
flailing arm high above her head. He was easily able to control both of her
hands with one of his own, thus freeing his injured arm and hand to roam up and
down Ming-tsu's nude flank with impunity, delighting in the feel of her satiny
thigh-flesh, the soft swell of her hip, and the warm curves of her breast.
"NNNNGRRR!!!" Zheng's growls became louder, deeper, more primeval as lunge
by powerful lunge, the latter-day troglodyte drove his prodigious weapon deeper
into Ming-tsu's body, slamming her whip-tender buttocks against the rough stone
column with bone-jarring force and rapidity. "Take it, cunt! Take it all!!" he
muttered in a voice choked with obscene lust.
"Ahhh! Aannghh!!" Ming-tsu cried out as the punishing rape continued. She
had been with many men, many virile men, but never one equipped with such a
vagina-stretching cudgel of flesh as this bovine giant. George Chan had taken
her more or less forcibly on countless occasions, but never had their violent
couplings been as horrific, as utterly bereft of pleasure, as was her assault by
Zheng. The giant's dark shirt had come open during their struggle and the wiry
hair on his massive chest abraded her well-flogged breasts even as his weight
seemed destined to crush the breath from her body. Inside her, the Ox's mammoth
organ stretched her love channel to the breaking point as his powerful hips
thrust again and again and again, with each lunge bringing fresh tears of pain
to her eyes.
"That'll teach her to fuck with the Scorpions!" Lin chortled. "Give it to
her good, Ox - but save a little for us!"
Dao tore his eyes from the spellbinding sight of his mountainous partner
crushing the naked courtesan against the pillar to glance at Lin whose left
hand had slid inside his pants. Dao snorted softly to himself as he watched the
boy stroking himself feverishly. But the lad had done well to keep Ming-tsu
from escaping through the tunnel earlier; perhaps he would let him have his turn
with the dark-eyed concubine when the Ox was done. Judging by the state of the
lad's arousal, his own pleasure would probably not be deferred for long...
"Yeah! Yeahh!! YEAHHH!!!" Zheng moaned in brutish ecstasy as his huge
body shuddered violently as he exploded in a long and powerful orgasm. He
pulled his dripping weapon out of Ming-tsu's body as he released her wrists,
allowing his beautiful victim to slowly crumple to the floor.
Ming-tsu lay there on her side for a moment, her lovely legs curled up
under her in a most alluring curve, before Lin the Drooler stepped forward, his
right arm hidden behind his back.
"On your knees, wench! You can get your beauty rest later. We ain't done
with you yet - not by a long shot."
When Ming-tsu was slow to rise, Lin planted his foot against her ribs and
kicked her over onto her back. The beautiful, almond-eyed concubine rolled over
onto her other side while she tried to summon the strength to rise. "'Get up',
I said," the Drooler barked in his high-pitched voice before he slashed Ming-tsu
viciously across her bare thighs with the thonged whip he produced from behind
his back - the very one he had used to such good effect when she had hung above
the Whipping Pit.
"Aaiiah!" Ming-tsu cried out in pain as she rolled away from him across the
rough stone floor of the dungeon, but the hissing strips of leather found the
softness of her naked back again before she had quite completed her
half-revolution. Grimacing in pain, she turned back toward the whip-wielding
young man on her hands and knees. Her body was coiled into a sensuous feline
crouch, and her white teeth gleamed behind soft lips that were contorted into
an expression of contempt and hatred.
"Coward!" Ming-tsu seethed. "Two days ago, boy, you would have kissed the
bottom of my feet, if George Chan had wished it. And even now, if these two
weren't here," her eyes darted fearfully toward Dao and Zheng who were slowly
encircling her, "you would not dare to treat me this way!"
Lin glowered at the defiant concubine as he slapped the black thongs
crisply against his thigh. "But I do dare, woman. Grab her wrists!"
Dao and Zheng moved forward swiftly and each of them seized one of
Ming-tsu's slender wrists, pulling them out and back until she was kneeling
erect before the smirking, damp-mouthed teenager.
Lin's pink tongue curled salaciously over his lips as he stared at the
stunning body of this woman who, as she had correctly stated, he would have
considered utterly unapproachable two days earlier. But now this succulent,
honey-gold beauty knelt abjectly before him, her mouth-watering breasts
decorated with bright-colored needles and dull-colored lash-marks. Pearlescent
droplets of the Ox's viscous semen dripped from her damp vagina, while she
waited for him to produce the male organ that she would be made to worship until
she had sucked every last drop of man-juice from his swollen testicles. Lin
struck what he imagined to be the pose of a victorious warrior as a sudden surge
of lust and power unlike any he had ever known coursed through his body.
"Undue my trousers, slut!"
The Ox began to release her left wrist, but Lin stopped him. "No, wench.
I'm going to teach you to use that mouth for something other than insulting your
betters. Undo the drawstring with your teeth."
Ming-tsu glanced up at him, startled by the newfound steel in the reedy
adolescent voice.
CRACCKK!! A swift, side-armed sweep of the black thongs sent flames of
agony raging through her brown-nippled breasts once again.
"Aaiiieee!!"
"Now, slut! And be quick about it. I've been waiting all day for this."
Fighting back tears of pain, Ming-tsu leaned forward, and caught one end of
the loose bow-knot that held his pants together between her teeth and worried
it like a puppy until it came undone.
"Very nice, very nice. Now use that pretty mouth to pull my pants down.
That's it.... Take the waistband between your teeth and pull downward.
Ming-tsu felt degraded beyond belief as Dao and Zheng increased the
pressure on her drawn-back wrists, forcing her to press her pretty face against
the homely, pock-marked boy's black-clad crotch as she attempted to grasp the
waistband securely between her teeth. Finally she managed to catch the fabric
between her teeth and pull it downward. Lin cooperated by pushing the sides of
his trousers down while Ming-tsu tugged at the front, and soon, the black fabric
slid down to reveal the slender but rigid penis that hungered for the warmth of
her breath, her lips.
"Hey, boy," Dao barked - "How about we hook her up to the Rock Garden for
you? Remember the time Feng put that pretty shoemaker's daughter in the
Sandbox, Ox? If that wasn't the best head I ever got in my life, boy, Genghis
Khan died a virgin. Take my word for it."
Lin's green eyes glowed with a maniacal glint. "Let's do it!"
Chapter 93 Raped in the Rock Garden
A few minutes later Ming-tsu found herself being shackled to as unusual a
device as the cellars of the Black Pagoda possessed.
She bent forward in pain as Dao grabbed her roughly and used a hempen cord
to lash her arms behind her back in a painful wrist-to-elbow bondage.
Meanwhile Zheng had dragged an iron T-post with a sturdy base noisily across
the floor and parked it behind her. The beautiful concubine stared blankly at
the strange device, trying to divine the purpose of the shackles which hung from
the ends of the heavy, yard-wide crosspiece which stood about waist-high to the
Ox.
Once the post was in place behind her, Dao forced his naked captive to lie
face down on the bare dungeon floor in front of the T-post, but facing away from
it. That task accomplished, each of the thugs seized a silken thigh, spreading
them wide, and then pulled her body backward across the floor until the cold
metal of the upright pressed against her semen-sticky woman-slit. Then Dao and
Zheng each took one of her dainty ankles and lifted it high in the air and
cuffed it to the rusty metal rings that hung from the ends of the horizontal
member of the T.
Ming-tsu, felt the coldness of the stone floor against her cheek, and
squirmed uncomfortably in her prone suspension. Her legs were spread-eagled and
stretched upward so that her pretty feet pointed toward the massive beams that
lined the dungeon's ceiling. Her nude body was inclined so that her belly was
lifted a few inches off the ground, leaving much of the weight of her inverted
body resting on the plump, dark-tipped breasts which were crushed against the
blood-spattered floor.
Just as the almond-eyed courtesan was wondering why Dao had referred to the
iron T-post as the Rock Garden, the bare-chested Scorpion answered her unspoken
question. She peered over her shoulder at him as he strode over to the center of
the wall of implements. Ming-tsu watched apprehensively as the tall figure
reached high up toward what appeared to be a place of honor on the wall, stuck
his hands into a recess and carefully withdrew a rectangular tray-like object.
Then, grinning a ghastly smile, the gaptoothed Scorpion strode back in her
direction, being careful to hold the tray level. When he drew close, he
gestured to Zheng by tilting his thumb in an upward direction.
The Ox obligingly grabbed a thick handful of Ming-tsu's ebony hair and
jerked her head and upper torso off the floor, allowing Dao to slide the shallow
tray under her naked breasts....
********
The Rock Garden, as Richard Chan called it, had been inspired by one of
the visits of his father, the criminal patriarch Jiang Shao Chan, to Japan
during the last years of the Tokugawas.
While passing through Kyoto the elder Chan happened to visit an elderly
art collector named Yamazaki, who, like many Japanese, was an adherent of Zen
Buddhism. During Jiang's stay in Kyoto, his host had taken him to visit the
Ryoan-ji, one of the many Zen temples whose rock gardens attracted pilgrims from
throughout the country. Yamazaki and Jiang Shao had sat for more than an hour
contemplating the austere simplicity of the gravel-strewn gardens on which
peculiarly-shaped rocks had been placed in patterns of strange and indefinable
beauty. While no Buddhist and no philosopher himself, Jiang Shao Chan was
quite impressed with the visit and he often found himself pondering the hypnotic
attraction of the Japanese rock gardens during the rest of his stay in Japan.
Later in that extended sojourn in Japan, Jiang was struck by the Japanese
interest in and flair for miniaturization. Japan was a smallish island,
compared to the vastness of China, and one largely covered with mountains. But,
as Jiang Chao was to learn, a great people had accomplished marvelous things on
the limited amount of arable land along the coasts and in the inland valleys.
Miniscule plots of land had been turned into successful farms, beautiful
gardens, and aesthetically pleasing shrines. Chan was particularly captivated by
the art of bonsai, the growing of dwarf trees, trees so tiny that there was room
for them almost anywhere, but so perfectly nurtured and tended that they were
perfect replicas of their far larger brethren.
Late one night, on the long sea voyage home, a squall flared up on the
East China Sea, and while Jiang Shao Chan stood on the deck of the
storm-drenched ship staring out at the raging winds and the white-capped waves,
he suddenly had the inspiration to combine his two best-remembered memories of
the land of the Chrysanthemum Throne into one aesthetic experience. And to add
to those images, a third, the most exquisite image of all, feminine beauty.
********
With the Ox holding her head and neck bent back, Ming-tsu was able to see
the macabre images in the great wall-mirror that faced her -- the rows of
flaring torches, the grim figures of the three dark-clad Scorpions, and the
sinister device from which her nude body hung so helplessly. She could make out
the shapely lines of her legs leading upward to the crossbar, the shameless
upthrust of her buttocks, the gentle slope of her spine, and the pendent curves
of her breasts. And in the dim background behind her she saw the figure of
Chiang Chan, who had returned to the cellar unnoticed, and stood in the shadows,
watching, with an intense but somehow worried expression on his face. When he
saw her look up, Chiang ducked back into the shadows.
But Ming-tsu had no time to ponder this mysterious behavior, because the
leering gaptoothed dungeon-master had finished adjusting the position of the
Rock Garden. He nodded to the Ox who released his death-grip on her ebony
tresses, letting her upper body plummet downward breasts-first, into the device
the Scorpions seemed to call the Sandbox.
"Aaaaggh!" Ming-tsu gasped in pain. With her wide-spread ankles shackled
high on the T-post and her arms bound behind her back she was helpless. She
tried frantically but futilely to lift her tender mounds from the Garden. For
even in the macabre torchlight she could make out the contents of Jiang Shao
Chan's miniature rock garden. The grisly tray contained sharp-edged pieces of
various minerals, that were somehow firmly affixed to the base of the tray. The
jagged bits of stone resembled rocky isles rising from a silent sea of
rough-edged, gray-white gravel that seemed to be liberally dusted with
torchlight, reflecting shimmering shards of what could only be powdered crystal,
porcelain, and glass.
"The boss always has the maids save the remnants if they break a tea-cup or
a vase," Dao explained helpfully to no one in particular. "He used to give them
to Feng to pulverize for his little sandbox. Clever, eh? Who would have thought
Richard Chan to be such a frugal man?"
Ming-tsu cared nothing for the thrift of the tyrant of the Black Pagoda,
except insofar as it had caused him to pursue Mai-Lee's missing jewels as if he
were an avenging nemesis. The tortured concubine lay motionless, knowing that
the least movement of her upper body would cause her soft, lush girl-globes to
wade through the abrasive contents of the tray. If she could only remain
motionless, she thought, she might still avoid the worst of the jagged edges.
Lin had been stroking his pulsing cock idly while he watched these
mysterious but entertaining preparations unfold. When Dao barked out an
enigmatic command, he dutifully unrolled a well-worn mat that had been propped
upright against a dark corner of the dungeon. He carefully positioned one end
of the mat so that it faced the iron post and then, still following Dao's curt
instructions, he reclined on it, face up, with his knees upraised, facing the
iron post, so that the edge of the mat and his naked crotch were just out of
reach of Ming-tsu's mouth. Lin grinned. He was beginning to catch on to the
purpose of the Sandbox. He spread his legs wide to give the beautiful concubine
plenty of access to his swollen genitals.
While Lin positioned himself to his satisfaction, Dao took a moment to
savor the ingenious mechanism of enslavement that he had contrived before
proceeding to the second act of his erotic scenario. The soles of Ming-tsu's
bare feet were deliciously displayed for flogging, and accordingly Dao armed
himself with a bastinado, the thin rod that was said to have been favored by one
of the first caliphs of Baghdad - and by the forty generations of Arab rulers
that succeeded him.
But it was not only Ming-tsu's feet that the Post and the Sandbox displayed
to advantage. The muscles in her calves and the backs of her wide-spread thighs
formed a sensuous parabola as she hung in her tight suspension. Her buttocks,
which had been lifted about a foot off the ground by the height of her
ankle-shackles, were taut ovals of curved flesh that would have seduced a saint
to sadism. And the Ox, who was leisurely caressing a doubled-up strap in his
huge paw, was far from a saint. Meanwhile the moist pink lips of Ming-tsu's
love-nook were splayed by the cold, remorseless metal of the post.
With her arms pinioned and her ankles fettered, Ming-tsu's bondage was
complete or nearly so. Aside from wiggling her fingers and her toes, she could
only move her neck and head. And there was precious little doubt about what the
Scorpions expected her to do with her head.
"C'mon, honey," Lin smirked, "why don't you start by giving my balls a good
licking."
Ming-tsu eyed Lin's crotch warily. The boy's scrawny testicles were little
more than a hand's breadth away, but her tender, dark-nippled breasts would have
to traverse a craggy plateau of pain in the Rock Garden to satisfy his perverse
pleasures. The sharp edges of the stones in the garden stood as sturdy
sentinels determined to repel the soft, curved flesh of their eye-pleasing
invader.
The impatient young man nodded to his mentors.
THWICCKK!! Ming-tsu felt the cruel bastinado sear a thin line of pain
across the sole of her left foot.
"Ahh!"
"What are you waiting for, slut?!"
CRACKK!! The Ox did his part to spur her into action, slashing his narrow
strap sharply across the tempting curves of her buttocks.
"Aaiiiaahh!" Ming-tsu cried out in pain again as she tried to inch forward
the short distance to Lin's waiting, hairy testicles, scraping her pin-laden
breasts painfully through the jagged contents of the Sandbox while Dao and Zheng
gleefully watched her laborious progress. Tears filled her almond eyes as the
dreadful friction tore at her breast-flesh. After an exhausting and agonizing
effort she covered the desired distance and extended her tongue. But Lin
giggled sadistically and scooted backward another inch or two out of reach.
When Ming-tsu glared at him angrily rather than drag her abused breasts any
further through the abrasive rock garden, Lin grew furious.
"It looks like you boys better give her a little more encouragement," Lin
said with an evil leer, and a moment later Ming-tsu felt the sharp sting of the
bastinado across the tender sole of her right foot as it landed with a solid
THWICKK!!
"Aaahhh!"
"C'mon baby, stick that pretty pink tongue out and give those balls a nice
lick!"
"Bastard!" she breathed through her tears.
Sitting up on his elbows slightly, Lin glared at her coldly and nodded to
Zheng. The slab-faced giant crouched low to give Ming-tsu's taut-muscled
buttocks a second wicked CRACKKK!! with his strap.
"Aarrgghh!!" Ming-tsu cried out and tried again to inch forward and this
time Lin did not retreat and she tentatively extended her moist pink tongue
toward the boy's sparsely-haired scrotum.
"Hurry up, girl!" Lin snarled and he nodded to Dao again.
THWICCKK!!! The bastinado fell again, this time on her left foot.
"Ayee-yah!' Ming-tsu cried out. She could not believe that a blow to her
feet could be so painful. She stretched her neck painfully toward Lin, and was
just able to nudge the base of his sperm-laden cock with her nose, and to suckle
one of Lin's balls into her mouth. This time Lin the Drooler could not resist
the delicious sensation of tongue on testicles and he leaned back to bathe in
sexual delight.
Lin lay back on the foul mat with his eyes closed and his cock, a lonely
column of throbbing flesh in the flickering torchlight, fully erect. Goaded on
by occasional and unpredictable slashes of Dao's bastinado to her bare feet and
the Ox's strap to the curves of her bottomcheeks, Ming-tsu applied herself to
the slavish task of licking the balls of the crude, sex-crazed adolescent.
"Ooooh, baby. The boss taught you good. Now my cock - lick it. Start
at the base. Yeah.... Right there ... Nice long strokes. All the way up, honey.
All the way up. Mmmm."
After another minute or two of this tantalizing cock-tongueing, Lin
ordered her to take his organ into her mouth. Needing to inch closer, Ming-tsu
once again was compelled to slide her pain-wracked breasts through the
bristling landscape of the Rock Garden of Jiang Shao Chan.
Chapter 94 Cruel Betrayal
"Hurry up, whore!' Lin snapped, and THWICCKK!! The bastinado ripped into
her tender feet a moment before Zheng's lash laid yet another stripe of pain
across the ripest curves of her buttocks.
Straining desperately, Ming-tsu's warm, wet mouth found Lin's swollen
member. "Ohhh ... yeahh... that's good. That's real good, " the Drooler
moaned ecstatically as he wiped the froth of sexual excitement from the corner
of his mouth. "Go down on it, girl. Deeper! Deeper, damn it!!"
Ming-tsu felt the Ox's scalding thongs rake her bottom again in response to
a gesture from Lin. She tried her best to take the Drooler's entire phallus
into her mouth, but the iron T-post only permitted her to stretch so far.
Lin the Drooler reached forward and grabbed her by the hair forcefully and
jerked her closer, pulling Ming-tsu and the heavy torture post an inch or two
closer. His sudden yank dragged her tortured breasts a little further along
their terrible journey through the rough stones and broken fragments in the
Sandbox.
Just as Ming-tsu took the excited boy's rigid member deep into her mouth,
she heard someone wrestling with the shackle that held her right ankle high on
the T-post. The shackle fell to the cellar floor noisily, but her leg continued
to be held in an iron grip high above her head.
"Ooouuuuuuh, yeah ... Suck it, baby ... suck it good," Lin moaned with
pleasure as Ming-tsu bobbed her head up and down on his saliva-slick shaft.
Moments later she felt the other ankle shackle fall away and felt big powerful
hands underneath her mid-thighs holding them up and apart.
Dao squeezed her thighs tightly as he eyeballed the glistening pink slit
between her legs. It was still damp and sticky from Zheng's gushing orgasm.
Grunting with pleasure, Dao positioned his throbbing cock at the entrance to her
pleasure nook, admiring from his close-up perspective how Ming-tsu's curly
tendrils of pubic hair had been elegantly plucked from the edges of her labia,
leaving a narrow but eye-catching channel of starkly pink girl-flesh on either
side of her lovely pleasure-lotus. He noticed, too, the deep, raw indentation
the fierce-biting Seventh Cord had left on her moist pink flesh. He stared at
Ming-tsu's tasty-looking love-cleft for a long moment as if mesmerized. How, he
wondered briefly, had the Ox ever managed to wedge his huge bludgeon of man-meat
into such a dainty and exquisite orifice?
Easily hefting her thighs in his brawny arms, so that Ming-tsu's nude body
remained on the same breast-crushing inclined plane that she had been since she
had been chained to the T-post, Dao slid his thick-veined cock gently downward
into Ming-tsu's semen-drenched pussy. He groaned with pleasure as he felt her
pelvic muscles flutter sensually in response to his touch.
The dungeon-master pushed forward and down again, feeling the walls of her
silken channel closing on his cockshaft. Dao emitted a gasp of pleasure that
seemed to rise from the depths of his sperm-choked testicles.
The Drooler was pleased, too. "Oooh, suck me, honey!" he exclaimed
rapturously. "Wrap that sweet mouth around it and suck, baby! Just like you did
for uncle George!"
As Ming-tsu's teasing mouth lavished oral caresses on Lin's manhood, she
felt Dao's cock slowly sliding in and out of her sensitive pleasure-nook. Had
it not been for the damage left by the cord, his lust-rhythm would have been
almost pleasurable. Was it possible that Richard Chan's dungeon-master, one of
the arch-rapists of Shanghai, would prove to be a skillful lover?
But just as that comforting thought flashed through her mind, Ming-tsu's
legs bounced as Dao re-positioned her body slightly so as to get better
leverage. Then he thrust again, but this time with such force that her breasts
were crushed painfully into the Rock Garden.
"Ugmph!" Ming-tsu gasped in a voice stifled by the boyish cock that filled
her pretty mouth. ''Umfphhfh! Ungmfffhh!!" she grunted again as Dao eased up
and then thrust again and yet again, driving her face down deeper onto Lin's
cockshaft even as the detritus in the sandbox tore at her dark-nippled breasts.
Dao's once-gentle thrusts were now punishing lunges, and just when Ming-tsu
thought that things could get no worse she heard the gaptoothed Scorpion growl,
"Use the bastinado on her ass, big fella, and warm it up for me. Warm it up
good. But watch where you swing that thing! I only got one cock, you know!"
Ming-tsu heard a menacing swoosh a moment later, as the thin rod knifed
through the air before burying itself in the resilient flesh of her bottom-
cheeks.
Thwickkk!!! "Aughmf!" Ming-tsu cried out in anguish, but a quick thrust
from Lin stifled her exclamation before it left her mouth.
"Mmmmm! Mmmm! Mmmm!! Dao grunted as his hips slammed into Ming-tsu's
upraised pelvis with savage abandon.
Thwicckk!! The bamboo rod sliced across her buttock cleft again.
"That's it, big guy!" Dao exulted as Ming-tsu's golden bottom began to take
on fresh and inviting tones of crimson. He tightened his grip on Ming-tsu's
thighs and knifed his long, thick cock even deeper into her.
"MPHGFF!!" Ming-tsu scream-choked as Dao's thrust scraped her sensitive
breasts against the archipelago of miniature Gibraltars in the Rock Garden and
forced her to swallow another inch of Lin's pulsing cock.
THWICCKK!!! Another searing slash of the bastinado seared the ripe, rounded
summits of her cane-reddened buttocks.
Dao was so excited he was ready to explode. But with a heroic display of
self-control he restrained the urge to spend his seed. Because there was one
final degradation, one supreme humiliation he wanted to inflict on this
once-proud beauty who had imagined herself to be a princess and his companions
to be thieves and scum.
"Deep, baby, take it deep," Lin groaned with pleasure as Ming-tsu's
raven tresses swirled around his groin as he rocked her head up and down on his
throbbing organ.
Ming-tsu was an accomplished fellatrix, but never had she been forced to
satisfy a man from such a difficult, degrading, and painful position. But
pleasing her captors seemed to be her only escape route from torture and death.
In trying to liberate her mind from her predicament she used her mouth as she
never had before, using her tongue, her lips and the sides and roof of her mouth
to surround Lin's cock in a moist cocoon of pleasure.
But as she continued to worship the groaning boy's pillar of passion she
came to the realization that the cane had stopped falling on her tender bottom.
And that Dao was withdrawing his man-pole from the depths of her love canal.
But she had not felt his climax ...
She redoubled her efforts on Lin, who had fallen back on the blanket
enraptured by her oral attentions. His moans of pleasure grew louder and louder
as the sweet suction of Ming-tsu's lips and mouth transported him to an erotic
paradise.
"Ohh! ...Ohhh, shit!! .... Yessss.... Suck it wench ...That's good ... so
...good.... Ooooh, yeah, use that nice warm tongue, girl... Suck it!! ...
Harder !"
Sensing his approaching climax, Ming-tsu pulled her head away just in time
to watch as Lin's pale, saliva-slick phallus oscillated in the torchlight for a
final second before pumping a first jet of man-juice into her face.
"Auh! Auhh!! AHHH! Lin groaned in ecstasy, as he grabbed Ming-tsu's hair
so that she could not escape the gushing geysers of sperm that his cock spat at
her, striking her above one brown eye, and bombarding her soft cheek and moist
lips, with sticky ropes of semen.
Meanwhile, Dao was breathing heavily as he pulled his cock-staff, dripping
with Ox-sperm, from the honeyed velvet of Ming-tsu's pussy. He grunted noisily
as he adjusted his grip on her long, lithe, legs, widening the gap between them
and slightly changing the angle of declivity of her body. He slid his
thigh-grip further up her legs, until the longish thumbs of his large hands
rested against the sensuous curves at the base of her buttocks. Then, growling
with animalistic pleasure, he dug his thumbnails into the soft, sweet meat of
her derriere and then slowly pulled her cheeks apart. As he did so, Dao felt
his horse-cock tighten with lust, as if it had a mind of its own, as if its one
dew-dripping eye had spied the puckering pink rosette that was to be its next
target.
Ming-tsu turned her face quickly from side to side, trying to shake the
Drooler's dripping spunk from her face. She froze in panic when she felt her
buttock ovals being spread, and she pulled her face away from the Drooler's
drooling dick, just as Dao placed the tip of his swollen cock against her nether
orifice.
"N-no! Please!! It's too big ... Please ..."
"Sorry, sweetie," Dao snarled as he screwed his hips forward trying to
wedge his rigid cock-shaft into the fleshy portal of her rectum. "I told you
hours ago you were gonna get it in the ass today. And you're gonna get it good!
I wouldn't want the boys to think I'd let a lady down, now would I?"
Lin giggled obscenely at Dao's ribald jest. "Yeah, girlie - we saw the size
of that dildo you had stashed away. Don't make like you ain't never soaped
that baby up and stuck it in so deep you couldn't hardly get it out!"
Ming-tsu groaned, not because of Lin's remark, but because Dao's vigorous
movements were crushing her soft, pendulous breasts into the lacerating rocks
and the abrasive gravel. She remembered how Dao had pressed his body against
her behind at every opportunity since the Scorpions had brought her to the Black
Pagoda. "Please ... I beg of you ... I'll suck you ... I'll suck you all. I'll
please you... I promise."
Dao was having trouble getting the proper leverage. "Grab her left leg,
Ox... now pull it toward you. That's it!" With Zheng taking one of Ming-tsu's
legs, the dungeonmaster's left hand was now free and he slipped his thick index
finger, into Ming-tsu's puckered pink rosette and worked it around for a few
seconds, before pulling it out and uniting it with his middle finger and
screwing the conjoined digits into her bottomhole once again. Ming-tsu squealed
in discomfort as the intrusive fingers probed her anal canal.
And then, suddenly, the flesh-plundering fingers were gone.
But a moment later she felt something thicker, longer, harder pressing
intently against her sensitive sphincter, teasing the crinkly ring. Dao had
wrapped his left hand around his huge erection and guided his mighty phallus
into position at the entrance to Ming-tsu's delicate anal opening..
"Please ... I'll suck your balls ... I'll suck your cocks ... You have no
idea how good I can make it for y... " Suddenly Ming-tsu stopped as if she'd
had a sudden inspiration. Her beautiful almond-shaped eyes were bright but damp
with tears when she looked at Lin imploringly. The scrawny teenager, still
somewhat dazed by the vividness and potency of his overpowering orgasm, had just
climbed unsteadily to his feet.
Putting her misery and terror to one side Ming-tsu gave him a warm smile.
Her eyes were bright and glistening with hope. "Please ... Tell them how good
it was ... how good it could be for them ... please ... tell them."
Lin's visage was as hard and expressionless as a headless statue.
"Please ..." Ming's voice was more insistent now as she felt Dao's huge,
rock-hard stallion-cock pressing against her anal opening, beginning to stretch
it painfully.
Icy fingers of panic began to claw at her. "You know I made it good for
you ... please ... tell them ...TELL THEM!" she begged frantically as her waning
confidence began to melt away into desperation. "Please ... Is it Lin? ...
Please, Lin ... if you ever cared for a woman ... tell them ... tell them the
truth." Ming-tsu's pitiable prayer for mercy trailed away like the last line
of a litany.
Lin glanced at his flinty-eyed comrades uneasily, trying to gauge what they
wanted him to say, while he shuffled his feet nervously. In the end, the look
of ruthless depravity in their eyes made his decision easy. He leaned down and
wiped his still-dripping cock clean on Ming-tsu's ebony hair. "She was all
right," he shrugged. "Nothing special."
"N-no ... you can't ... NO! ....It's not fair... I gave you the bes ..."
Ming-tsu was unable to finish her thought because just then Dao stabbed his
slippery, rock-hard cudgel into her quivering anus with all the force he could
muster.
"AAUGHH!!" Ming-tsu cried out in pain and terror, as Dao's swollen knob
forced itself inside her and the soft fullness of her breasts was crushed
against the jagged stones in the Rock Garden once again.
"Give it to her good, Dao!" Lin sneered, enjoying the approving winks from
his cronies, feeling fully one of them for the first time. "Teach the whore a
lesson. Maybe the next time she gives a Scorpion some head, she'll put a little
effort into it!"
Chapter 95 Degradation and Despair
"That lad's gonna make a good Scorpion, Ox," Dao grunted as he slammed his
meaty flesh-piston into Ming-tsu again.
"Aughhh!! Help me...someone...nnnnngghh!"
"Make yourself useful," Dao yelled at Lin, as he lunged into the
dark-haired courtesan a second time. "Take her other leg, boy!"
Lin swiftly moved around and seized Ming-tsu's right leg, allowing Dao the
free use of both hands which he used to squeeze the springy flesh of Ming-tsu's
dark-striped buttocks. His hips surged forward again, drawing another squeal of
pain from the dark-haired courtesan, and then he reached forward and began
undoing the ropes that bound her wrists to her elbows.
"W-what are you doing?" Lin the Drooler asked in a puzzled voice.
"When I fuck 'em in the ass, I like 'em to wiggle a little," Dao replied
with a throaty chuckle. "Hey,Ox! Kick that damn thing out of the way!"
Zheng stuck out a huge foot and pushed the Sandbox off to one side, just as
Dao finished undoing the ropes, freeing Ming-tsu's arms. Ming-tsu's wrists and
arms sported painful-looking impressions of coarse hemp, but their soreness did
not prevent her from swinging at her captors wildly. Zheng and Lin and were
standing slightly behind her, though, propping up her smooth, supple thighs,
and her blows glanced off them ineffectually.
'OK, down you go, slut!" Dao growled and the three gangsters pushed
Ming-tsu so that she pitched forward onto the nearer edge of the mat on which
Lin had so recently reclined. Ming-tsu gamely tried to climb to her feet, but
Dao tackled her from behind, sending her sprawling face down onto the mat.
"Aiiihh!" Ming-tsu yelped in pain as her needle-studded breasts smashed
into the floor, but she quickly struggled to her hands and knees, trying to pull
her hips away from Dao's iron grip. This time the gaptoothed bear of a man
didn't spread her legs as he had before. Rather, he planted his own thick,
hairy thighs on either side of Ming-tsu's shapely legs, jamming them quite
closely together. And then his hands were on her peach-shaped bottom again,
fondling and squeezing her resilient nether-globes. The tall Scorpion was
utterly heedless of the fiery marks the Scorpions' lashes had left on her
spankable girl-cheeks, as he spread her springy orbs to reveal the squinting
jewel inside.
"This time it's for keeps, honey!" Dao snarled, as he moved his hips
closer to the tiny bulls-eye.
"Let me go, pig!" Ming-tsu raged at him furiously as she turned to rake at
his eyes with her fingernails. She managed to claw three red lines down the
side of Dao's face before the Ox and the Drooler joined the fray, each of them
seizing one of her wrists and forcing a shoulder down, so that her tempting,
deep-cleft buttocks were thrust high in the air, forming an inviting curve which
flowed into the sensual downward arc of her spine.
"I'll make you pay for that, whore!" Dao snarled. He dug his own ragged
nails deep into Ming-tsu's bottomglobes as he slowly spread the inviting groove
between her amber-gold buttcheeks wider and wider apart. Then he pulled her
wriggling derriere back toward him until the big knob of his dripping penis was
wedged against the twitching dimple of her bumhole again. As he had foreseen,
in her position on her hands and knees, Ming-tsu was able to wiggle her
whip-sore buttocks wildly, squirming in sensuous concentric circles, but her
futile attempt to escape the coming rape was nothing more than a lascivious
diversion to Dao. He indicated to Zheng and Lin that they were each to plant a
knee against the outside of Ming-tsu's knees, so as to keep her knees and thighs
pressed close together and then he pounded the first, thickest, inch of his
cockshaft into the writhing concubine once again.
"Auurrgghh! You bastard!" Ming-tsu cursed vehemently, as waves of pressure
and pain tore through her sensitive sphincter. Her pelvis jerked forward
violently, as if Dao had held a match to it. But there was no escape.
Exultant in his mastery, Dao grabbed Ming-tsu where her rounded hips
tapered into her slender waist. Then he lunged again, enjoying the delicious
sensation of pillaging the tiny anal ring, working his cock forcefully into the
narrow orifice even as Ming-tsu's rectal muscles clutched spasmodically in a
futile attempt to repel the thick, fleshy intruder.
But Dao was relentless, inexorable.
"Aaaugh! ... Oh! ... you're killing me!" Ming gasped as the terrible
pressure increased. She wrestled furiously with the men holding her, flailing
her arms, trying to rise, but always restrained by Dao's powerful hands, which
roamed from the top of her hips to the small of her back, enjoying the softness
of her skin while keeping her body well under control. The Ox had played this
exciting game of big cats and little mouse with Dao more than once. Even with
the use of only one arm, he could easily have subdued the wriggling concubine
completely, but he exerted just enough force to allow his partner the dark,
primordial pleasure of conquering the sweet young buttocks of a frantically
struggling woman. His good right arm kept Ming-tsu's flailing left arm from
doing any damage, while his raw and hairless left arm was under her belly,
groping at her silken pussy with beefy, prying fingers.
The Drooler, meanwhile, taking his cue from Zheng, held Ming-tsu's right
wrist lightly in his left, leaving his right hand free to fondle her sweat-slick
breasts, which he caressed and squeezed to his heart's content. Living up to his
nickname, he wiped furiously at his frothing mouth and then leaned forward and
down and buried his long, wet tongue deep inside Ming-tsu's earlobe. The
beautiful concubine twisted her head in revulsion, as if somehow this
sickeningly moist intrusion was the final indecency. Her black hair swirled
around her shoulders as she tried to escape the clammy stalker, but the obscene
intruder was inescapable, burrowing wet and deep into her ear, twist and turn
though she might.
"Stop it...let ... me ... go, damn you!!!"
Lin laughed at the raging beauty's discomfiture and continued squeezing her
succulent breasts as casually and crudely as a fishwife squeezes oranges in a
grocer's stall. Even though it had only been a short time since his adolescent
prick had spat the copious contents of his balls into Ming-tsu's lovely face,
his exploration of the velvety smoothness and the still warm weals on Ming-tsu's
breasts, soon had him hard and aching with desire again. The drooling teenager
plucked at the tempting crests of her breasts until they stiffened into tight
little nuggets of girl-flesh. He nudged and prodded the brightly-colored
needle-hilts embedded in her pleasure-gourds until fresh streams of tears began
to seep from Ming-tsu's soft brown eyes.
Sensing a stickiness on his hand, Lin pulled it away and saw smears of red.
The craggy peaks of the Rock Garden had evidently torn the skin on Ming-tsu's
luscious right breast. Grinning, Lin cupped the soft mound even more firmly,
wrenching it to and fro until the tracks of the thin red tears on her breast
began to spread over the entire surface of that succulent globe.
"NNGRRR!!" Dao growled as his fleshy club worked its way deeper and deeper
into the bucking concubine's man-hugging rectal canal. The waves of pleasure, of
sexual sensation, were almost indescribable. Dao was in his element, practicing
the barbaric techniques of domination that he had learned from the master, Feng
the Butcher.
********
One night, while the two of them were disciplining a petite, pig-tailed
scullery maid who had neglected to remove the shadow of a tea-stain from Richard
Chan's favorite cup, Feng the Butcher had coached him in the fine points of
forced sodomy. One of the more memorable insights of Feng's assiduous analytical
researches had been that the sadistic pleasure of anal rape is heightened by
jamming the bare legs of one's victim tightly together before entering her. To
illustrate, Feng had bent the saucy-buttocked kitchen girl over a thick bolster
and then strapped her pretty legs tightly together just above the knees. As
they admired the shadowy groove between her quivering half-moons, Feng
explained that in such a position the structures and muscles of a woman's pelvis
was pressed inward so that her rectum could not help but constrict around a
forceful intruder -- with almost unbearably pleasurable results. It had been an
unforgettable lesson and Dao had been a most diligent student - happily
practicing the cock-pleasing exercise over and over, (in between administering
four sets of half-a-dozen withering cane-strokes each), until he had mastered
it, despite the tears and pleas of the wretched, round-bottomed maid.
********
But there were no waves of pleasure for Ming-tsu, any more than there had
been for that careless and luckless scullery maid. The almond-eyed concubine
felt as if she had been impaled on a fence-post. She wriggled, she fought, she
squirmed, she cursed - but Dao's engine of lust was pitiless and implacable.
"What an ass, she's got boys! What a sweet, fucking ass!" Dao exclaimed
ecstatically as he seized Ming-tsu firmly by the hips and jerked her
heart-shaped derriere back toward him, allowing his throbbing cock-muscle to
delve still deeper into her vitals. "NGGH!!!! Dao punctuated his comments with
powerful stabbing thrusts of his hips. "I knew she was the perfect ass-fuck
the minute I saw her. NGGGHH!! Those cheeks were so fucking round and tight.
NNGHH!!" Dao thrust his bulbous dickhead still deeper into the tight fleshy
tube. "How often did uncle George give it to you up the ass, honey? NGGGHH!!
If you were my whore ... NGHHH!! ... This firm young behind 'd be up in the air
every night 'til my dick broke off!"
In the mirror noticed Ming-tsu that Dao's lips were pulled back from his
irregular yellow teeth like those of a mad dog. "NGHHHH!!" He grunted loudly
again as he drove his pile-driving prick further into her squirming body.
"Aaaaughhhh" Ming-tsu cried out as Dao's cock punched into her, each
stroke causing her body to vibrate with shock. His rampaging organ seemed to
grow and swell and harden within her with every bone-jarring thrust. Each time
he lunged she felt certain that he'd plumbed the very depths of her body. Only
to ...
"NGGHHHH!!"
"Aaurrrrghhhh!" ... learn that worse was yet to come.
The veins in Dao's neck were bulging with excitement as he extended a long
arm forward and grabbed a handful of Ming-tsu's silky tresses and pulled her
head back hard, so that her spine formed a beautiful concave arc.
"NGHH!!" His granite-hard column of lust slammed forward into the delicious
butt-cleavage once again.
"Yeah, baby, take it!! By the sword of Genghis Khan, boys, she fits
around my cock as tight as the skin of a plum. NGHHH! And you're just as sweet
and juicy inside, aren't you, girl? Nghhh!! ... Fuck!! ... Oh, yeah, ohhh,
yeahhh ... NGHH!!... Shit!! ... NGHH!!! Mmmm, that's good, baby! ... NGHH!!
"AAIIEAAA!!"
Dao finally slammed into her so hard that Ming-tsu's hands went out from
under her and she was crushed flat against the filthy mat, re-awakening the
flames the Scorpions' lash-marks and the sharp-edged rocks had left on her
perfect breasts. Her prostrate position forced Dao to amend his angle of thrust
slightly but his stallion-cock was so completely inside her now, so buried to
its thick, hairy hilt, that she could feel his lust-swollen balls slapping
against the whip-wealed roundness of her derriere with every pounding plunge.
Sweat from Dao's brow dripped down onto Ming-tsu's squirming shoulderblades
as he continued to punish the once-proud concubine with his cannon-like cock.
Crushed to the floor as she was, her lascivious butt-wriggling attempts to
escape his plundering pillar of flesh were reduced to sudden, brief, almost
involuntary muscular spasms. But each one sent fresh waves of pleasure through
his manhood. The gaptoothed Scorpion exulted in the pleasurable paradox of
sadistic sodomy: that Ming-tsu's every effort to resist, from the slightest
twitch to the most prolonged and violent struggle, only served to enhance his
feelings of mastery and to maximize the delicious cock-clutching contractions
that had taken him to the topmost peaks of ecstasy.
.
The waves of pleasure were almost more than he could bear. As he continued
to stab his swollen cock-shaft into the cruelly-stretched aperture between
Ming-tsu's soft, sweat-sheened buttock ovals, he could feel the pressure in his
balls build. "NGHH!"
And build. "NGHHH!!
And build. "NGGHHHH!!!"
He thrust still harder, drawing another tortured wail from the beleaguered
concubine. He was close now ... so close. "NGHH!!
The skin of her bottom was so soft against his groin and his
filled-to-bursting balls at the end of each plunge. "NGHH!!"
So warm, so sweaty. "NGGHH!!"
So helpless. "NNGGGHHHH!!" Dao grunted, as he drove his scabbard of flesh
into Ming-tsu's prostrate body yet again. And then he felt the dam break and the
swift, irreversible river of lust flowed into his rampaging erection. His hairy
upper legs were flat against her silky thighs now and he used every bit of
strength and leverage at his disposal to pump into her cock-clutching rectal
tube one final time before the first gush of semen shot from the tingling tip of
his manhood. "Yeeaahh!!" he growled as the first wave of the orgasm overpowered
him. "Yeaaahhh ...so good, baby." A second wave hit him, and then a third as
his throbbing organ fired round after round of slimy man-juice deep into
Ming-tsu's quivering body.
The Ox and Lin watched with something approaching awe as their red-faced
comrade's climax continued for long seconds, as Dao's entire body seemed to
pulsate with lust as he spewed jet after jet of hot man-lava into Ming-tsu's
defenseless bowels until at last the titanic volcanic eruption subsided and he
fell forward across her nude body, utterly spent.
"Oh, shit," Lin enthused. "Did you see that, big fella?" he asked the Ox
breathlessly. "I've gotta have me some of that of ass."
But just as the Drooler slid around behind Ming-tsu, ready to take his
comrade's place whenever he were to dismount the sweet-bottomed concubine, he
glanced up and saw that an angry-looking Chiang Chan was moving in their
direction.
Chapter 96 The Fourth Scorpion
As he crossed the dark dungeon toward the scene of the savage rape that had
just been inflicted on Ming-tsu, Chiang Chan noticed the Rock Garden lying on
the ground. Shaking his head disgustedly at his men's disrespect for things of
beauty, Chiang Chan bent and picked up the objet d'art, noting a fresh drop of
breast-blood on the most jagged of the tiny Gibraltars. He cast his eye slowly
over the dreadful instruments of torture that lined the wall of weapons, looking
for the shrine-like niche of honor that housed the Rock Garden, and then
returned the ingenious device to its proper place
The meeting with General Wang had not gone well, once the obligatory polite
introductions had been completed. The stern-looking general, his father, and his
uncle had all seemed to be in a foul temper, but the three men had done little
to bring him up to speed as to the reason for their mutual hostility. They
seemed to have been discussing the future course of the House of Chan, but in
such an enigmatic way that Chiang Chan, who had yet to purge his thoughts of the
thrilling sights and sounds of whips and straps falling on the intoxicatingly
beautiful breasts of the concubine on the Korean Cross, had been unable to
understand fully the points in contention.
Most surprising of all, Richard Chan had curtly cut his father short on two
or three occasions when George had made an abortive attempt to outline the
nature of the dispute to his son. So frosty had the discussion been that his
father's familiar insincere smile had almost entirely vanished from his face by
the time General Wang had left the Black Pagoda half an hour earlier.
Even after the angry-looking general had departed, the tension between his
father and uncle had remained palpable, with George insisting to his elder
brother that Richard's autocratic manner had caused him to lose face before his
son and the general. When they continued to exchange heated words on this
subject, Chiang Chan had excused himself and had gone for a walk to give them
time to sort out their differences in private.
The walk had cleared his head somewhat, but when he had returned to the
Pagoda he noticed that his father's rickshaw was still in its customary place
outside. But his kinsmen were no longer to be found in Richard's den, so he
came to the conclusion that they had patched things up to some extent, perhaps
by deciding to vent their frustrations on the comely captive he had left to the
tender mercies of his three brutish companions.
After speaking briefly with a messenger who had brought word of a possible
sighting of Luk Yee, Chiang descended to the dungeon, half expecting to find his
father and uncle there, and fully expecting that continuing the stimulating
interrogation of Ming-tsu would drive from his mind the unfortunate friction
between the two lords of the Black Pagoda.
But, to his surprise, neither father nor uncle had been in sight when he
had quietly entered the dungeon while Dao was subjecting the dark-eyed beauty to
the rigors of the T-post and the Rock Garden. It was unlike his kinsmen, he
thought, to deprive themselves of such an alluring spectacle. He had waited
silently for them near the doorway for a few minutes before stepping forward to
take part in the continuing torment of the delicious Ming-tsu.
*********
"Hey, boss! Dao greeted him roughly. As the ill-featured Scorpion pulled
his thick, scarlet-stained, semen-smeared organ out of Ming-tsu's heart-shaped
bottom it made a peculiar little sucking sound. "Did ya hear that? Sounds like
she misses me already!" Dao joked crudely to his pals as he tucked his empty
cannon of flesh back into his trousers. "Her asshole's tighter than the ring on
a tax-collector's finger, boss!"
Chiang Chan felt the first stirrings of returning excitement as Dao's big
hand gave Ming-tsu's resilient honey-gold buttocks a resounding smack as he
bellowed gruffly through his yellow teeth, "Isn't that right, wench?"
Ming-tsu's soft moan of pain reminded Chiang of the strange paradox that
had befallen him in the last hour. While he had been with his father and uncle
he had been unable to give their discussion his full concentration because his
thoughts had been on the delicious creature he had left in the dungeon. But
when he had first made his way back to the torture-cellar, he had been unable to
shed the memory of the dispute upstairs and had, at first, remained content to
lurk in the shadows.
Ming-tsu, still facing away from him, had struggled back up to her hands
and knees now. Even in her suffering, Chiang observed, there was a feline grace
to her every movement that gave her soft, succulent body the flowing lines of
the bayaderes, the slim, sensuous south-Asian temple dancers whose erotic
portraits graced the walls of his father's private den.
Lin had fallen into place behind her now, his lust re-kindled, while his
eager fingers fondled Ming-tsu's rounded bottom-globes. Chiang Chan felt his
own erection pulse with vicarious lust as he watched the eager apprentice dig
his nails into her demi-ovals and spread them wide, baring her sweet,
semen-seeping rosebud.
But first, business.
"Did she talk? Has she said anything about the jewels? Or Luk Yee?"
The stern sound of Chiang Chan's voice deflated Lin's ardor somewhat, but
he didn't relinquish his grip on Ming-tsu's buttocks. The three Scorpions looked
somewhat shamefacedly at each other, each waiting for the other to speak.
"Did you even ask, you fools?" Chiang snapped angrily. "It's one thing to
have a little fun with a wench; it's another to forget why you're here! Zheng!
Lin!
Lin, frowning, slapped Ming-tsu sharply across her bare, well-whipped
buttocks as if it had been her fault that he had been derelict in his duty, and
rose to his feet. The two Scorpions, one broad enough to fill a doorway, the
other reed-thin, straightened their clothing as Chiang Chan barked at them.
"Tai Hwang {Chapter 67} sent word a few minutes ago that he thought that he had
spotted Luk Yee on Half-Moon Street, near the docks. Get over to the Pit and
find out how many men are available and report back. I don't want that bastard
to slip through our fingers again!"
As the oddly-paired Scorpions hurried toward the underground passage,
Chiang Chan called after them. "And be quick about it!"
Meanwhile Dao had seized a handful of Ming-tsu's lustrous ebony hair and
pulled her around so that she faced Chiang Chan. The heir to the Black Pagoda
let his eyes wander freely over the luscious body of the golden skinned
concubine who knelt on her hands and knees. In her crouching, kittenish
position, Ming-tsu's breasts resembled a pair of lush tropical fruits at the
peak of ripeness, sweet, rich, juicy, each tipped with a dark, edible stem that
beckoned to a man's lips and teeth. Richard Chan's almost magical rubber
straps and lashes had left their ruddy imprint on her girl-globes, giving
Ming-tsu's golden skin-tones the reddish cast of a late-summer sunset. There
was a drop of crimson nipple-high on the outer curve of her right breast, the
source, no doubt, of the scarlet smear he had seen on the bloody tor in the Rock
Garden.
Ming-tsu had been studying the stern visage of the squadron leader, since
Dao had turned her toward him. She noticed that his eyes, while sparkling with
unmistakable lust were somehow distant, remote, pre-occupied. He was pale,
almost trembling. Something most unusual had happened to him while he had been
away.
As she tried to unravel that mystery, Chiang Chan gestured to his
gaptoothed henchman, and Dao grabbed the dark-eyed concubine by her lustrous
mane and pulled her up and back so that she knelt upright, and then stepped in
front of her and placed a big foot between her knees and administered a series
of swift lateral kicks that spread her knees apart. When he had forced her
knees nearly as far apart as her shoulders, Dao came around behind Ming-tsu
again, seizing her arms and pulling her back onto her wide-spread haunches.
When her tender buttocks were resting on her heels, he planted a bony knee in
the small of her back, and jerked her arms to full extension behind her, giving
her upper body a wonderful concave arch.
Chiang Chan moved closer, his attention drawn to the male nectar oozing
from Ming-tsu's dark-fringed love-cleft, whose lips were still red and inflamed
from the Ox's bestial rape. Chiang's manhood was as hard as a mainmast now, but
he decided that it would not be seemly for him, the son of George Chan, to
follow his minions into either of the lust channels they had plundered so
thoroughly.
His gaze drifted upward to the pair of full, firm, perfectly-shaped breasts
which Dao's knee had forced out and up for his delectation. The shimmering
torchlight of the dungeon caused the brightly-colored hilts of the needles he
and his men had driven into the base of her bold-thrusting lust-globes to
sparkle invitingly. Yes, Chiang Chan decided, as he nodded to himself, it would
be on these sweet, ripe-nippled treasures that he would slake his virile lust.
"I want her on the bench, Dao. On her back!"
Chapter 97 Martyred Breasts
The two men jerked the beautiful, beleaguered concubine to her feet and
pulled her across the cavernous room toward a narrow but sturdy, waist-high
table, which Ming-tsu remembered from her fruitless search of the dungeon. Atop
it coils of various types of rope and lengths of all manner of chains had been
neatly stacked alongside straps and fetters and manacles of every description.
Smiling enigmatically, Chiang ordered Ming-tsu to remove the various
articles from the table and set them neatly on the floor. She glared at him
with angry eyes, but Dao repaid her for her insolence by forcing her body
against the edge of the table. Then the dungeon-master seized a broad strap
from among those lying on the table and gave her three swift, sharp blows across
her rosy-gold bottom-cheeks. The sharp sting of the strap soon convinced
Ming-tsu that there was little point in defying such an innocuous order and she
began clearing the wooden table.
As Chiang Chan watched her graceful movements it struck him that there
was something very appealing about watching his father's concubine prepare the
stage for her next round of suffering. As the naked courtesan leaned forward to
retrieve an armful of rope from the table, before gracefully dipping down to
place it neatly on the dungeon floor, it occurred to Chiang that his father had
trained her well. Despite her fierce and indomitable pride and the fury in her
dark eyes, there was a beguiling submissiveness and humility in the way she way
she moved to performed this simple task. Whether standing, bending or kneeling,
the lines of her body seemed to form themselves into gentle curves that would
have pleased the eye of the most jaded sexual epicure.
But by the time the lithe beauty had finished done clearing the table,
Chiang Chan was no longer the aesthete, but once again a ruthless man, bent on
asserting his will.
"On the table!"
Ming-tsu saw the menace in his dark eyes and hesitated - for the sides
of the table were lined with evil-looking straps and shackles. But only
briefly, because at a signal from Chiang, Dao collared her from behind, picked
her up bodily and slammed her down on her back onto the sturdy table.
The table was only slightly longer than Ming-tsu was tall, and was made
more uncomfortable by the fact that, despite her frantic struggles, Dao was able
to pull her body toward one end of the table so that her neck and head hung down
over the edge.
Meanwhile Chiang Chan had slipped out of his clothing, climbed onto the
table and slid his body onto hers. Ming-tsu fought with amazing strength,
considering all she had been through, but Chiang slowly wrestled his way to
mastery of her slim body, reveling in the feel of her sweaty, satiny thighs
against his. After a brief but violent struggle, Ming-tsu's resistance waned,
and she lay still beneath him, her nipples taut darts pressing against his manly
chest.
Just as Chiang Chan was congratulating himself on overpowering the
furious vixen, he relaxed slightly and Ming-tsu freed a wrist and raked her
nails down the left side of his face, drawing blood.
" Argghhhh!! You insolent slut!" Chiang roared as he wiped at the gash
on his face before wrestling his naked captive into submission again. "So it's
games you want to play, is it, slut? Well, I know a few games, too, wench! Put
the collar and wristlets on her!" Chiang barked as he pinned Ming-tsu's wrists
to the table. "Hurry!"
Dao bent down and retrieved a black leather collar from among the items
that Ming-tsu had removed from the stable. He stepped forward and slipped the
collar, from which hung a pair of hasp-like devices, around Ming-tsu's pretty
neck and jerked the ends of the collar until they were chokingly tight before
buckling them together in the hollow of her throat.
Then Dao took their horizontal captive's offending right wrist from
Chiang Chan, and enclosed it in a collar-matching wristlet with a chain no
longer than a knuckle and pulled the prone girl's elbow straight back until it
pointed directly upward, before fastening the chain to the hasp on the right
side of her collar. Next to her ear, Ming-tsu heard the ominous, faintly
audible click of a lock falling into place. Manacles such as these would not be
easily removed.
It took no more than a moment for the bare-chested thug to repeat the
process on her other arm, so that both of Ming-tsu's wrists were shackled to the
collar around her neck, which hung downward off the edge of the table. The
choke-strap would have been child's play to remove had it been buckled in back
within reach of her fingers; but with her wrists tightly fettered to the sides
of the collar, the constricting buckle at her throat was as impregnable as the
Great Wall.
Ming-tsu continued to thrash about, kicking frantically with her legs,
but now that she had been deprived of the use of her hands, Chiang Chan was able
to slide his body up hers without much difficulty, until he was straddling her
midsection.
"We're going to play my game now, wench. It's called 'Tame the
Wildcat!"
"Ay, she is that, boss," Dao grunted goodnaturedly. "But I like a wench
with spirit."
"There's a difference between a wench with spirit and a spitfire like
this one, Dao. But I'll teach the Tigress to claw her betters!"
Chiang had inched his way up Ming-tsu's flat stomach until he was sitting
astride her rib cage. The tight wrists-to-collar bondage gave Ming-tsu's
love-mounds a pleasing upward lift, and Chiang slid forward until his ruddy,
dark-veined penis lay atop her breastbone, bisecting her whip-streaked breasts.
The dark-haired concubine winced the moment Chiang's hands lightly brushed
against her breasts, which were still painfully sore from the dreadful flogging
she had endured prior to their lacerating journey through the Rock Garden. A
thin red rivulet flowed from a gash on the outer slope of her right breast,
which had tried to scrape past a particularly jagged stalagmite, but had paid a
dear price to do so.
Meanwhile Chiang Chan's hands toyed with the bright-colored pinheads that
quartered Ming-tsu's breasts. "The jewels, slut! Where are they?" Chiang
Chan's eyes were intense as he poked at the pins with one hand, while with the
other he slapped her unbloodied left breast with a series of crisp blows --
forehand, backhand; forehand, backhand.
"Yeah, that's it!" Dao exhorted him, as he watched Ming-tsu's splendid
breasts redden under the barrage of blows. " Smack 'em, boss!! Make those
babies bounce!!"
Ming-tsu tried to protect her treasures by making quick movements with her
shoulders and trying to block the punishing slaps with her pinioned elbows, but
to little avail. Despite her frantic gyrations, she was unable to protect both
of her breasts at the same time, and Chiang Chan responded to Dao's urging by
spanking Ming-tsu's upthrust tits several more times. In his excitement he
hardly noticed that the tiny cut on her right breast had widened slightly and
that traces of liquid scarlet had spread to his hands and from there to her
other breast.
Ming-tsu groaned with pain at this rough treatment, but her discomfort was
of no concern to the heir to the House of Chan. When he had slapped both of
Ming-tsu's lust-turrets to a blushing, blood-streaked crimson, he slid his hands
into position around both delicious globes, and placed his thumbs so that they
just touched the brightly colored hilts of the six-o'clock needles that he and
his men had plunged into the undercurves of her breasts.
"Alright, you thieving feline," he snarled, "Where are the jewels, woman!!
Speak!!"
Ming-tsu could feel his thumbs poised against the needle-hilts. But there
was no escape. "I - I don't ..."
"Bah!!" Chiang snarled. And then he pressed inward with his thumbs, even
as his nimble fingers caressed the ripeness of her breasts.
Ming-tsu's body tensed with pain as the needles dug deeper, but it was not
until Chiang's fingers fell away to the outer contours of her breasts and
exerted pressure against the pinheads there, even as he redoubled the force that
he was applying with his thumbs that she screamed.
Aaiiiaghhhh!!" Ming-tsu's body surged upward in agony, but she was unable
to throw off her tormentor.
"How about I shut her up, boss?" Dao growled.
With his cock pulsing wildly on Ming-tsu's writhing chest, Chiang Chan
glanced at the gaptoothed villain at the end of the table. Dao had pulled his
trousers partways down and his plum-sized testicles hung down from his crotch in
front of Ming-tsu's inverted mouth like a pair of hairy fruits.
The heir to the Black Pagoda was longing to feel his father's concubine's
palm-warmed breasts around his swollen cock, but the two needles that he and his
cronies had jammed into the inner curves of Ming-tsu's breasts remained a
hindrance.
"Go ahead, my friend," Chiang grunted as his fingers closed on one of the
troublesome pinheads.
Dao inched closer, pressing his hairy ball-sac against Ming-tsu's mouth and
then fed her his repulsive scrotum-eggs, as if he were asking her to breathe new
life into his lust-drained testicles. "Suck those big, hairy balls, slut! Get
me nice and hard! Do a good job, and maybe I'll go easy on that tight little ass
of yours next time!"
Ming-tsu shuddered at that threat and devoted herself to the degrading
chore of polishing Dao's furry gonads even as she felt Chiang Chan sliding the
two needle hilts out of the inner curves of her breasts. Then Chiang eased his
body backward slightly and bent his head down to Ming-tsu's right breast. He
licked lasciviously at the slender stream of blood that curled out of the cut
caused by the rock garden, and then slid his eager mouth slowly toward the
center of the breast that he had just finished pummeling so roughly. He swirled
his tongue around her delicious, pebbly-fleshed aureole for a moment and then
took its brown peak into his mouth, nibbling and sucking it to bring it to full
erection. After a minute or two, to Ming-tsu's dismay, her moist, brown nipple
was pointing stiffly up, aroused against her will.
Chiang's mouth descended again, but this time it was not his lips and
tongue that embraced her love-bud; now it was his incisors and canines that
entrapped the rigid morsel of flesh. At first his teeth just nipped, but then
the nips turned into bites. Ming-tsu would have screamed but for the fact that
her mouth was stretched to its limit to accommodate Dao's ape-like scrotum.
But her reflexive jerk of pain had the unfortunate effect of causing her
teeth to scrape against one of Dao's gorilla-like testicles...
The gaptoothed thug grunted in pain and pulled his hairy genitals out of
her mouth. "Cunt!!" He raged. "The cunt tried to bite me!"
"N-no ... I didn't mean ...Aaaaggghhh!!!"
Chiang Chan's fingers had closed on her breasts with terrible force,
crushing the beautiful globes together. Then the heir to the Black Pagoda spied
the needles he had removed from the inner curves of her breasts lying on the
table.
"We'll make her pay for that, my friend! Get her tits!"
Chiang Chan reached forward to pick up one of the pins he had carefully
set aside, while Dao's powerful hands reached forward to encircle the breasts
the squadron leader had released.
"It is very rude to bite the one that feeds you," Chiang Chan smirked to
Ming-tsu, referring to the hairy lust-plums with which Dao had filled her pretty
mouth. "It is only right that the penalty for such ill-mannered conduct should
be swift and severe."
The beautiful bound concubine trembled with fear as the son of her lover
held the needle-tip up to the torchlight, checking it for keenness before
lowering it toward her breasts. Ming-tsu tried to use her up-pointing elbows
to ward off the evil twosome but Dao forced his way between them with little
difficulty and his huge hands closed around the bases of her breasts, causing
the soft globes to mushroom upward into perfect targets for his master's wrath.
Ming-tsu tried to retain her composure as she watched Chiang twirl the
needle in the light. She had endured the pain of the needles stabbing into the
flesh of her breasts before; she could do so again, she told herself. It was
only when Chiang Chan's mouth descended to the tip of her left breast that a new
wave of fear coursed through her.
Not my nipples, she panicked, as the youngest of the Chans nursed her bud
into a swollen, cocoa-colored nugget. Not the sensitive cinnamon buds that were
still burning from the sting of the Scorpions' whips!
"Hold still, wench. Hold very, very still."
Chiang Chan had sat up again, his weight heavy on her stomach. He grasped
one of the newly-freed needles securely between the thumb and forefinger of his
right hand. And then slowly, slowly, he lowered the gleaming point toward
Ming-tsu's trembling breast-bud.
Ming-tsu watched breathlessly, trying to still her trembling as the tip of
the needle came to rest against the tip of her breast. Metal against flesh.
Stronger man against weaker woman. This time the target was not to be the
fleshy base of her breasts, but the excruciatingly sensitive tip of her
defiantly out-thrust nipple. If his hand held steady Chiang Chan clearly
intended to drive the dreadful needle directly into the tip of her breast and
then through it toward the very center of her trembling breast-globe. If his
hand were not steady ...
Above her the gap-toothed dungeon-master was as excited as she was
terrified. His heavy, hairy genitals, still redolent with the scent and
secretions of her own body, pressed against her face, smothering her.
Beads of sweat covered Chiang Chan's forehead as tried to steady his own
faintly trembling hand as he pressed the needle against Ming-tsu's tasty
nipple-bud with the implacability of a deranged surgeon. He knew that this was
dangerous, perhaps even foolhardy, but he felt as if fate had ordained this
moment. Since the first time he had seen his father abuse a woman, this fantasy
had kept him awake in bed, sweating and excited.
"She's shaking too much. Squeeze it tighter!" Chiang Chan ordered.
Dao obliged, using both hands now to present Ming-tsu's swollen breast for
the lancing pain of the needle.
"Tighter! Yes ... that's it." Dao's powerful hands had squeezed Ming-tsu's
breast into a bulging globe of flesh capped with a thick, tempting nipple-crest.
"Don't move..." whispered Chiang Chan as he positioned the shiny inch-long
needle directly above the mahogany nubbin once again. Don't ... even ...
breathe ...."
Ming-tsu closed her eyes and then she felt it. Despite Chiang Chan's
admonitions to remain motionless, her body arched in irrepressible agony in a
hopeless attempt to escape from the cruel and inexorable needle.
"AAIIIIAHHH!!" The golden-skinned concubine's lovely features were
contorted by the quick, stabbing flash of pain that began with a burning
sensation at the very tip of her tortured nipple and then flared up like a
wildfire as the needle blazed a trail of agony that led to the very center of
her breast.
Grunting with satisfaction, Chiang Chan swabbed the resulting drop of
scarlet with his thumb. "Now the other one," he muttered as he reached for the
second needle while Dao's hairy hands encircled the youthful firmness of
Ming-tsu's other breast in an iron grip, even as his newly invigorated maleness
pressed against her lips.
Chiang Chan was surer, swifter, more confident the second time, pressing
the gleaming needle against his father's lover's other nipple for only a moment
before driving it agonizingly deep into the swollen mahogany bud with merciless
precision.
Once the pinheads were out of the way, Dao released his crushing grip on
Ming-tsu's her breasts and let his hairy-knuckled hands drop to her dark hair.
He held Ming-tsu's lustrous mane of hair tightly as he slid his towering organ
between her lips, silencing her moans of pain.
Meanwhile Chiang Chan's hands had replaced his, grasping the outer curves
of Ming-tsu's pliable melons, and crushing them inward into a tight embrace of
his throbbing manhood, as it began its slow, sweet, pendulum-like progress
through the cock-pleasing breast-vise.
But Ming-tsu was almost oblivious to Chiang's exertions. Between the
choke-collar and Dao's hard-thrusting manhood, Ming-tsu was reduced to fighting
for oxygen in between his mouth-filling lunges. She could taste the
recently-spilled seed on his cock and was grateful that she had been, as always,
fastidious in her toilette that morning; otherwise the somewhat salty flavor of
Dao's vile spunk might have been overpowered by the mephitic taste of her own
nether passageway.
"Oh, yeah, baby. I could tell by that look in the kid's eyes that you were
going to be good. You should have seen Lin's face, boss, when this slut was
going down on him. I thought his fuckin' head was going to explode." Dao
continued force-feeding the helpless concubine his lengthy penis. "Take it,
wench! Take it all!" Dao grunted. "How's it feel to have a man's cock in your
mouth, wench?" he chortled.
Ming-tsu could not have answered if she had wanted to. She could barely
breathe as Dao jammed his thick-veined member deeper into her velvety mouth with
every stroke, choking her with its length and girth. There was no question of
giving him pleasure, as she had given it to Lin; he was taking his pleasure,
ruggedly and ruthlessly, with every punishing thrust, until at last he exploded
into the back of her throat with a long shuddering sigh.
Ming-tsu was amazed by the violence of his orgasm, and the quantity of his
spend, considering his prolonged climax not too many minutes earlier. As the
homely gaptoothed Scorpion squeezed and shook the last few drops of manly
nectar from his cockshaft into Ming-tsu's open mouth, he glanced at the wall
clock that had been Liu's undoing on the Night of the Tiger. "I guess I'd
better go track down the other two," he said, referring to Lin and the Ox. He
shook his head in disgust. "Those guys are dumb enough to get lost between here
and the Pit - and it's only two minutes away," he added scornfully. "C'mon
baby. Finish your meal. Lick it off nice and clean."
When Ming-tsu had finished removing the last traces of man-juice from his
veiny flesh-weapon, Dao adjusted his clothing. "I should be back in a few
minutes, boss. And boss - save some of those needles for the rest of us, OK?"
Dao added with a raffish wink before heading toward the door to the cobwebbed
passageway.
With Dao off in pursuit of his thuggish cohorts, Ming-tsu returned her
attention to Chiang who had nodded at Dao absent-mindedly as he left. The
Scorpion squadron leader was deep in the throes of lust as he continued to
ramrod his throbbing manhood back and forth in the soft, sweaty sheath formed by
Ming-tsu's red-streaked girl-globes.
"Oooohhh, yesss!" Chiang Chan gasped in ecstasy. "I'll bet my father has
given these beauties a few work-outs, eh, wench? Mmmmm, so soft ... and yet
... MMNGGG! MNGGG!! MMNGGG!!" The heir to the Black Pagoda grunted with obscene
lust as he slid his rod slowly through the cock-clinging valley of flesh, "and
firm as September peaches."
Chiang Chan's furious exertions soon had the writhing couple on the table
bathed in perspiration. Every half minute or so he would take his hands and
slide them along Ming-tsu's thighs and flanks to collect her body moisture,
which he then slathered on the inward slopes of her silky breasts. That
perspiration, coupled with his own and the tiny trickle of blood that seeped
from the gash on her right breast, constituted the only lubrication for his
vigorous thrusts through Ming-tsu's velvety canyon of flesh.
The sensation was indescribable. Chiang kept his thumbs and forefingers
pressed against the hilts of the embedded nipple-needles, while the rest of his
hands crushed the sculpted globes inward. The warm, velvety, softness of
Ming-tsu's luscious breasts pressed deliciously against the length of his
phallus. He scooted her body backward slightly so that her once-dangling head
was now supported by the end of the table. And then he ordered her to kiss and
lick the tip of his throbbingly ardent cock each time it made the slow sensual
pilgrimage between her perspiring pillows of desire.
When she at first refused, he gave the needles in her tortured nipples a
quick little flick that ended all resistance. From that moment forward,
Ming-tsu's moist pink tongue stabbed at the tip of his erection at the
conclusion of each long smooth stroke. Even the wiry hair on his testicles
reveled in the sensuous friction caused by his long deep plunges into the ever
shrinking valley between Ming-tsu's close-set breasts.
Chapter 98 A Roll of the Dice
For Ming-tsu this was the first relative breather she'd had in over two
hours of torture and rape. There was only one assailant left now, and her
continuing breast-rape, while violent and uncomfortable was unquestionably her
least painful ordeal since Lin had tackled her during her abortive escape.
As a young girl her grandfather had told her stories of fakirs, dervishes,
monks and other holy men of the east who were able to achieve a mental state
outside of their bodies, allowing them to walk on hot coals, to fall into
coma-like trances that resembled death, or to fast for days, as well as other
strange and impossible feats. She had experimented with meditation, and
mystical concentration as a girl, but without much success.
But the very notion that mind and body were separate had helped to preserve
her strength and sanity during her atrocious ordeal at the Black Pagoda. Even
as Chiang Chan continued to abuse her whip-ravaged breasts, she tried to free
her mind, to take it outside of her body to consider her situation, to try to
find some way to extricate herself from her dire predicament. The other three
would be back soon, anxious to initiate yet another ghastly cycle of torture and
rape. Ming-tsu no longer had any illusions that she had the strength to refrain
from screaming, that she could prevent the rest of those fiendish pins from
being plunged into her tender breasts.
'There must be a way out; there has to be!' She thought back over the
events of the memorable night on which the Scorpions had abducted Liu and her
white-bearded grandfather, Wen-chi: the interrogation of the slender beauty;
the ruse that she had used to trick Liu into disclosing Li Chang's plans; Li
Chang's capture; the appearance of the brothers Chan, and their degrading
subjugation of the virginal maiden. There must be a clue somewhere - either to
the whereabouts of the missing jewels or to something, anything, that would
enable her to escape the dreadful torch-lit dungeons of Richard Chan.
Ming-tsu leaned forward dutifully to kiss the head of Chiang Chan's
moist-tipped cock once again as it made its way through the sensuous canyon of
breastflesh, as his vigorous onslaught against her pierced love globes
quickened. Then by a stroke of luck, Chiang Chan thrust with such ferocity that
her head slipped back off of the edge of the table again.
From her inverted position Ming-tsu could see their two sweating bodies in
the great wall mirror, just as she was retracing the events of the past few days
for what seemed like the twentieth time. Just then Chiang's powerful fingers
pressed the sharpness of a needle even deeper into one of the sore nipples,
reminding her that at least she had been spared, so far, the terrible heated
pincers that lay smoking in the brazier, the same pincers that had tortured Liu
into unconsciousness and thus had led, eventually led to the capture of Li
Chang.
And then with a blinding flash of insight, she saw the truth - or part of
it. The mirror, yes, and the pincers. Why had she not thought of it before?
The memory came flooding back - how, when Richard Chan had first seen the naked
body of Liu {Chapter 34 }, he had complimented Ming-tsu on the results she had
achieved with the pincers. But Richard Chan had not been in the room when she
had used the pincers. How could Richard have known from a glance at Liu's
injuries that they had been inflicted by the pincers rather than any of the
other numerous implements in the dungeon?
Chiang Chan's breathing was harder now, more ragged as he pumped his
cock-weapon between her breasts. "Mmmmm, so soft. Soon you shall wear the
seed of a second Chan on your breasts, wench, even as you have worn my
father's!"
But Ming-tsu's thoughts were no longer on Chiang Chan. While her wrists
struggled to free themselves from the collar-shackles, her mind raced swiftly
through the events of the past hours, searching for confirmation of her
hypothesis. Suddenly, a sense of elation soared through her pain-wracked body
as she remembered how Richard Chan had said:
"I congratulate you on the cleverness of your game, nephew. But I take it
the whore has not yet told us what we need to know?"
upon returning to the dungeon after the Scorpions had begun their cruel
game with the needles. {Chapter 88}
But Richard Chan could not have known that the Scorpions had been playing a
game with the needles. He could not have known, that is, unless he had been
watching them and listening to them.
The mirror!
The huge, wall-length mirror that was the most striking feature of the
dungeon of the Black Pagoda. The mirror whose cost could have fed a Chinese
family for a year. Couple the size of that immense mirror with the
all-too-obvious sadistic voyeurism of the Chan Brothers. Why had it taken her
so long to divine its purpose? The mirror was likely only a mirror on one side.
The obverse side of the "mirror" was probably nothing more than ordinary glass,
probably in a well-appointed room, or possibly a suite of rooms. From that
comfortable vantage point, Richard Chan (and possibly certain selected guests)
could observe the fiendish cruelties that Feng and Dao perpetrated on their
young victims, while he (or they) enjoyed the erotic attentions of Mai-Lee or
one of the girls from Madame Wong's. To know about the pincers, Richard Chan
must have watched at least part of the interrogation of Liu, just as he must
have watched part of her own ordeal to know about the 'game' the Scorpions had
been playing.
As Chiang Chan continued to pillage her tender breasts, Ming-tsu berated
herself for not having solved the mystery far sooner. Why had the possibility
of the two-way glass never occurred to her? Richard Chan was sadist, scientist
and voyeur all at once, and possessed of incalculable wealth. Who better than
he to conceive and build such a monument to his own dark pleasures?
She even remembered George Chan telling her rather enigmatically, many
months ago, of a secret "love chamber" at the Black Pagoda, in which he had
promised to entertain her one day. But then her assignment with Li Chang had
come up, and the opportunity to visit the "love chamber" had never come to pass.
Ming-tsu winced in pain as Chiang Chan's strokes picked up speed and power,
but she gave a soft moan of feigned pleasure. "Yessss," she moaned breathily,
writhing beneath him as if Chiang Chan's punishing breast-rape had touched the
very seat of her passion. She had to win his trust. Was anyone watching now,
behind the great mirror? She could only pray that they were; it was her only
hope. She had no chance at all if Chiang Chan's henchmen returned for another
few rounds of sport.
As she continued to try to free her wrists, a critical question occurred to
her: assuming that Richard or George - or both - were watching, could they
hear what she said? She couldn't be certain, but there appeared to be
well-disguised louvers around the upper and lower margins of the mirror. It
made sense - if one couldn't hear the moans of suffering, the anguished cries
for mercy by the victim, half the excitement of the erotic tableaux in the
dungeon would be lost.
Just then, Chiang Chan's body shuddered violently and he threw back his
head in ecstasy as his pulsing manhood erupted, firing several arching ropes of
semen onto Ming-tsu's lovely face and then shooting a series of weaker gushers
that decorated her needle-pierced breasts with swirls of pale fluid. His lust
sated, Chiang slumped forward across Ming-tsu's left breast, unconcerned that
the weight of his chest turned the slender needle he had buried in her
brown-tipped nipple-crest into a fiery lancet of pain.
Gritting her teeth to fight back the agony, Ming-tsu knew that she must
move quickly. This would be her one and only chance to concoct a story to
extricate herself from the toils of the Black Pagoda.
"Chiang", she began slowly, as she put her lips to his cheek and kissed it
with soft lips while she moved her body sensuously beneath him. "Your father
told me your boys were going to rough me up a little, as part of the plan; but
you didn't need to take it this far, you know, to be convincing to Richard."
"The plan? What are you talking about, woman? My father? - I don't
understand." Chiang was still somewhat dazed from his overpowering orgasm, but
there was no mistaking the slow, seductive circles Ming-tsu was making with her
hips.
Please let them be watching, Ming-tsu prayed. She let her tongue slide
inside Chiang's ear and probed it until he shuddered with pleasure. "You mean
you didn't know? He didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?" Chiang Chan pulled his face away from the questing tongue.
"What are you talking about?"
There was puzzlement and disbelief in Chiang's voice - but interest too.
She had made a good beginning.
"About the jewels. About everything."
Chiang Chan shook his head in exasperation. "Stop speaking in riddles,
woman!"
But despite his irritation, she could see the urgency in his eyes and sense
it in the tautness of his body. Mentioning the pearls and diamonds had caught
his attention, but she would have to be very clever to sustain his interest
without revealing her ignorance of the whereabouts of the jewelry. Chiang Chad
had nibbled at the tasty bait, but now she would have to change her lure to keep
him on the hook. She knew that she didn't have much time, and that there
weren't going to be any second chances. Her survival depended upon the
off-chance that at least one of the Brothers Chan were watching, and her ability
to fashion a story that would that would cause a distraction serious enough to
give her a chance to escape.
Luckily she had been George's mistress for some time, and had gleaned
enough details about the Scorpions from his pillow talk to flesh out her story.
And General Wang's apparently unexpected appearance at the Black Pagoda earlier
in the day, might work to her advantage. Chiang had returned from his meeting
with the general with a disturbed expression. Yes, it might work ...
Ming-tsu took a deep breath and, weighing her words carefully, embarked
upon the risky course on which her life depended ...
Chapter 99 The Fall of the House of Chan
Ming-tsu adopted a conspiratorial stage whisper, one whose tone suggested
intrigue, but whose volume would almost surely be audible behind the mysterious
mirror. "Chiang Chan, I'm surprised that you don't know this. Your father has
always been the real brains behind the Black Scorpion, but since Richard is the
elder brother, George has always had to defer to him." Ming-tsu bit firmly down
on her quivering lower lip to suppress the lightning bolts of pain that
continued to ravage her tender breasts. "For years your father has been
pleading with Richard to expand the family enterprises beyond Shanghai. To
Peking, Nanking, Tsingtao."
Chiang Chan gave Ming-tsu a sharp glance, surprised that she knew so much
of the inner workings of the Black Scorpions. His eyes strayed expectantly
toward the subterranean passage. "Where are those fools?" he wondered aloud
nervously, speaking of his three comrades. "They should have returned by now."
Ming-tsu knew that there was little time to waste. "For several months your
father has been making overtures to the tong lords of those cities -- and to
General Wang, under whose protection some of them operate. And all agreed that
there were millions to be made if they united their forces. But your uncle
refused to go along. And that is why George was obliged to ally himself with
the Wang syndicate of Tsingtao. The General was here earlier, was he not?"
Chiang Chan, stunned by her words, could do nothing more than nod blankly.
My father, his stupefied expression seemed to ask, has taken sides against my
uncle?
Ming-tsu tried to take a deep breath, but her nervousness prevented it -
everything would depend on her next question.
"Today was Richard's last chance. Did he throw in his lot with the
syndicate?"
"No... I mean I don't think so." A troubled-looking Chiang Chan slid off
of her, and began pulling on his clothes, leaving Ming-tsu lying on her back on
the table. "I think that my uncle feels that he would soon be pushed to one
side if he joined them. I have never seen him so angry at my father - because
he -- my father -- seemed to favor this scheme..."
"Seemed to?" Ming-tsu's sardonic smile seemed to press home the magnitude
of his understatement. "You should be proud and pleased, Chiang Chan. In a
day, perhaps two, the obstruction to this venture - your uncle - will be
removed. And then it will be your father who will rule in Shang ... "
Ming-tsu was never to finish her sentence. As Chiang Chan stared at his
father's mistress in bewilderment, they heard the sound of a door being kicked
in violently, then a woman's screams, a scuffle, and then two shots rang out in
quick succession from behind the wall of glass. Ming-tsu pulled herself alertly
up to a sitting position on the table and watched as Chiang raced for the
massive door, pausing only to seize a blood-stained club that he had noticed
earlier when he had replaced the Rock Garden in the wall of weaponry.
Ming-tsu's heart was pounding as she sized up the two possible exits. She
looked anxiously toward the underground passageway to make sure that Dao and the
others were not coming. Then she heard the sound of a door opening, behind the
great mirror, and Chiang's voice shouting, "Where's my father?"
Then Richard Chan's stern, commanding voice, "Stay back! Put the club
down, nephew and ... and don't go in there. There's been ... an accident."
Then another scream from a female voice.
"Out of my way, damn you! Father! You've shot him!
Ming-tsu swung her nude body off the table, struggling desperately to free
her wrists from the collar-shackles. She fell to her knees, looking frantically
for a key to the fetters of the choke-collar among the ropes and chains and
shackles she had removed from the table earlier.
She heard Richard's voice again, tense, nervous. "Stay back, Chiang! And
put the club down. You don't understand. I was only looking to see if he was
still here. He was the one that went for the gun. We wrestled for it and it went
off. Isn't that right Mai-Lee?"
Ming-tsu heard the familiar silvery voice of Richard Chan's favorite
concubine, who had apparently been entertaining the Lord of the Black Pagoda,
issue a blood-curdling scream, "Look out, Richard!" and then heard the dull
sound of the club falling and a deep-voiced cry of pain, followed by the
unmistakable sound of something metallic spinning across the stone floor of the
adjoining room.
"No, Chiang Chan." Another woman's voice. A voice from the past. A voice
she knew. But whose? Whose?
"That is not how it was," the trembling female voice continued. "Richard
had drawn his gun before he came into our box."
"Be still, Peony, unless you fancy an evening in the Whipping Pit!" Richard
Chan snapped venomously.
Peony! Of course! The limber, sad-eyed young beauty from Madame Wong's
whom she and Li Chang had teased and tormented on several occasions. Ming-tsu
had learned of the slender beauty's capacity for pain during a memorable
threesome with George Chan himself. George had no doubt taken pleasure in
forcing himself upon Peony while watching her own torture and degradation.
Peony's voice was raw with emotion. "You gave my sister to your filthy
animals and you expect me to be silent! I'd rather spend a week in your Whipping
Pit than do your bidding. "Look out!! He's reaching for the gun!"
Peony's cry was cut short by the gruesome sound of the club descending once
more, a loud groan of pain from Richard Chan, and another piercing scream from
his Eurasian concubine. Then Ming-tsu heard the sound of the brutal club
falling again. But this time there were no more groans....
A minute or two later a pale, blood-spattered Chiang Chan staggered back
through the heavy door, followed by a hysterical, half-dressed Mai-Lee. The
panic-stricken Eurasian beauty was supported by the smaller, slighter Peony, who
wore only a pair of sharp-toothed nipple clamps, connected by a golden chain.
Chiang Chan stared at the bits of blood and tissue on the bludgeon in his hand
in stunned disbelief, muttering, "Dead, both dead."
It was a moment before Ming-tsu noted with ironic satisfaction that the
club that had crushed the skull of the scheming tyrant of the Black Pagoda was
the very same leather-handled truncheon that Feng the Butcher had used to crush
the legs of Li Chang on the Night of the Tiger. The daring and amorous lover
she had betrayed and the brilliant mandarin to whom she had betrayed him - both
dispatched to their doom by the crudest implement in the dungeon of the Black
Pagoda. The wheel of fate had come full circle.
Dear Readers - This does not end our story, but it does bring to an end
the nightmarish era during which the brothers Chan held sway as the undisputed
Lords of Shanghai.
In the ensuing chapters I will relate the strange events that mark the final
stages of the Rise of Li Chang. The opening chapter of this final section,
some may be pleased to know, will feature the long-awaited return of that
bewitching blonde goddess, Erika Weiss. The remaining chapters of Book II of
The Jade Pavilion will also take up anew the ongoing struggle between Li Chang
and the surviving Scorpions and the sinister General Wang. It will also bring
us the continuing adventures of Ming-tsu, Mai-Lee, Peony, Ci-ci and Qieu, the
brave and beautiful wife of Li Chang's friend, Luk Yee.
I am confident you that you will enjoy the exciting chapters to come
more than most of those lovely ladies will.
I apologize for the slower pace of the installments of JP II of late,
but when I tell you why, I hope you will forgive me. In recent weeks I've had
the good fortune of providing some editorial assistance to a friend, Polybios,
who not long ago submitted the fifth installment (Chapters IX and X) of
"Morituri", a story about Taleena, a ravishingly beautiful young woman in Roman
times, who, through a series of unfortunate circumstances finds herself a galley
slave struggling under the tasker's lash, and later, one of the few female
recruits in a school for gladiators. The physical training at the gladiator's
school is arduous in the extreme. And, what is worse, one of the trainers,
Byrria, the Thracian Tigress, takes a disliking to her, and she, along with
lecherous guards and envious recruits, proceeds to make Taleena's life something
of a living hell, which seems to worsen with each succeeding chapter.
The opening chapters are rather sedate by BDSMLIB standards, but with Chapters
IX and X (just out a few days ago) the action picks up quite and bit and remains
intense throughout the rest of the many chapters in this story.
Here's a sample from Chapter X:
" Breathing heavily from their brief scuffle, Balbinus ordered the two ruffians
to seize his prey. Eager to oblige, the pair of sailors pulled the blue-eyed
beauty roughly to her feet as her long, blonde hair swirled around her shoulders
in splendid disarray. Taleena could feel their foul breath on her neck as the
muscular guards pinioned her arms securely. The fuming merchant wiped at his
mouth, waiting for his henchmen to render the blonde helpless. Then he stepped
forward and grasped the azure-trimmed neckline of her beautiful white tunic
firmly in his fleshy hands. Then, with an almost bestial growl, he gave the rich
material a violent downward wrench.
Taleena's full, pale breasts bounced free as her bloated tormentor
pushed the torn fabric back over her soft, rounded shoulders, baring her to the
waist. Balbinus, his face flushed with desire, exertion, and the thrill of
conquest, took a moment to catch his breath while he admired his captive's
pink-tipped breasts as they bobbled enticingly as she twisted from side to side,
trying to escape the sailors' grip. A wicked smile formed on his lips as he put
his hands on Taleena's rounded hips and pulled the pale garment down until its
tattered remnants lay festooned at her feet. "
I've read hundreds of erotic stories over the years, and it is my honest
belief that the characterization, setting, and story line of "Morituri" ranks
with the best of them - all three of those qualities are Polybios' doing, by
the way, not mine - otherwise I would not have offered my assistance with the
grammar and phrasing and such matters. Give it a try. I think you will find it
an exciting odyssey, as I have.
Chapter 100 Sleeping Beauty
Three mornings after the death of Professor Leung some weeks earlier,
{Chapter 14} Erika Weiss turned over in bed only to feel something stiff and
cold pressing against a tender spot on the inner curve of her left breast.
Opening one eye groggily she made out the figure of a man leaning over her, a
man with something hanging from his neck, a man with a dark, pointed goatee, and
eyes darker than his beard. Intense, brooding, intelligent eyes that seemed to
be studying her with an air of great concentration.
"She seems to be coming to, Herr Doktor. She's an exquisite creature is she
not?"
The man in the goatee glanced up at the well-dressed man in gray who stood
on the other side of the bead. "Indeed, Mr. Secretary." And then he resumed his
air of concentration and leaned closer over the body of his patient and adjusted
the position of the medallion-like object hanging from his neck.
"Useful device, that," replied Klaus Schumacher, the tall, dignified, but
rather obtuse Assistant Secretary of the German Foreign Office in Shanghai, as
he let his eyes wander over the beautiful features of the reclining woman. The
doctor had undone the top few buttons of her nightgown for his examination and
the diplomat's eyes lingered on the creamy flesh of her half-revealed breasts.
"You say you can hear her heart and lungs with it? What do you call it again?"
The doctor frowned at the continued interruptions, removed the instrument
from around his neck and laid it down on the bed. "It's a stethoscope -
invented by a Frenchman, one Laennec, some years ago. He was treating a very
heavy woman and was unable to hear her heart through all of the tissue with his
unaided ear. He got the idea of rolling up several sheets of paper to
'telescope' the sound to his ears and 'Voila!- the first stethoscope.'"
"Indeed?" Schumacher said rather disparagingly. The assistant secretary
was one of that large class of men who regarded the possession of any knowledge
which did nothing to enhance his prestige, titillate his senses or enrich his
bank account with some suspicion. "Well I suppose we should be thankful that
the French gave the world something in this century besides that
devil of a Corsican and his arrogant nephew!"
"Well, the Napoleons are long dead now, Mr. Secretary." The doctor paused
to glance up at the two forbidding portraits that represented the blood and iron
of Germany that hung on the wall opposite his patient's bed. "It has taken a
generation but the Kaiser and Bismarck have unified Germany. It is unfortunate
that our Emperor is in his late eighties. It will be up to his son to solidify
our place as the leading power on the continent. In the long run, Herr
Schumacher, I suspect that it is with the sea power of the English and their
colonial expansionism, that we will one day contend."
Schumacher nodded. "Possibly so. The last cable from Berlin suggested
that we are on the verge of annexing Tanganyika and Zanzibar. And only last
year we brought Southwest Africa into the Empire. Between us and the Boers that
will put some pressure on Gladstone and Salisbury no matter which party holds
power. And on Rhodes, too, the greedy bastard. He carries on as if Africa were
his private plaything." He glanced at the young woman on the bed, as she turned
her head tossing her long blonde hair from side to side. "She seems to be
coming around."
Erika Weiss, who had heard the preceding conversation through the foggy
veil of semi-consciousness, had opened her blue eyes. A soft moan escaped her
lips; her body was sore in a hundred places.
"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" asked the doctor.
"W-wo bin ich?" she whispered in a weak voice to the man leaning over her.
"Why, you are here with us!" said the doctor with a friendly smile. "And
you are safe. So you do speak German. Sehr gut! Then the note we found with
you was accurate, at least in that respect. Excellent! Welcome back to the
world of the living," the man with the goatee said. "You have been asleep for
several days, Miss ....?" the doctor paused expectantly.
"I-I am ...." A troubled look crept across Erika Weiss' face, and her blue
eyes seemed to tighten at the corners.
"Yes?" the doctor's voice was soft, encouraging.
"I ...I ...don't ... know...." Erika looked up at the two men with
frightened eyes. "I ... I can't remember." Trying to suppress the rising tide
of panic that was welling up within her, she sat up a little and put her hands
to her temples as if that movement might somehow prevent the rest of her
faculties from joining her fugitive memory.
"Miss ... is it 'Miss'?" The doctor was scrutinizing her very strangely.
"I think so. I...I can not remember ... " She looked around the room,
which had been tastefully decorated as a feminine bedroom, a little wildly.
"Where am I? Who are you? Why ... why am I in pain?" she cradled her her arms
protectively against her chest, smothering her breasts which billowed outward
provocatively against the lacy bodice of her nightgown.
The man standing at the side of the bed took the lead. "May I present to
you Dr. Daniel Kauffmann." Then, clicking his heels together slightly, he
continued, "I am Klaus Schumacher, the Assistant Secretary of the German
consulate in Shanghai. You are in the west wing of the building, which houses
the living quarters of most of the official German staff here. The interim
vice-consul has arranged for you to stay in these pleasant accommodations until
you recover. You were left, unconscious, with no identification papers, at the
entryway of the Embassy a few days ago. With only a note saying that you were a
German citizen who had escaped some abductors."
"Escaped? Abductors? I - I can't remember." Erika made an attempt to sit
up and cried out softly in pain. Her elegant fingers reached toward her left
breast to soothe the soreness. She opened another button of her bedclothes and
peeked at the faded marks on her breast in consternation. "My God! What has
happened to me?"
"Please, Miss, do not alarm yourself," Dr. Kauffmann's voice was soothing.
"Your abductors, whoever they were, seem to have given you a severe beating just
before you escaped; we found blood that was barely dry. But I have treated all
of your visible injuries and with God's help you will be as good as new in a few
days. Luckily you are young and have a strong constitution. But do you remember
nothing of how you came by such a beating?
Erika looked around the room uncertainly, before once again meeting the
earnest gaze of the doctor. While the diplomat was a tall, bulky,
perfectly-groomed Teutonic type in his early forties, the doctor was smaller,
slender, almost frail-looking and perhaps a dozen years younger, with a rather
olive complexion and somewhat unruly black hair. "No, I'm sorry. I remember
... nothing.
"Parents? Children? Family of any kind? How do you come to be in China?"
Erika pressed her hands to her golden hair, which Doctor Kauffmann had
asked Ju, the pretty young Chinese housemaid, to brush that very morning, and Ju
had brushed it as carefully as she would have done her own. Erika sat for a
moment anxiously, trying to restore her memory, but shook her head despairingly
a few moments later. "I - I came by ship, I think"
"We hardly thought you had flown here on angel's wings, Miss," the doctor
said with an amused grin.
"Do not upset yourself, fraulein," Schumacher interjected. "Perhaps
everything will come back to you with a few days' rest. In the meantime, what
shall we call you? What do you think, Herr Doktor?"
Kauffmann's dark eyes stared piercingly into the blue eyes of the troubled
young woman. He took her wrist in his hand and felt her pulse for perhaps a
few seconds longer than absolutely necessary. "Our young friend seems to be
both strong and enchanting." He smiled at her warmly and then spoke in a low
voice
Die schonste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar,
Ihr goldenes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie kammt ihr goldnes Haar. **
"For the time being, may we call you, 'Lorelei'? You seem to have the
strength of that fabled cliff along the Rhine and yet the beauty of the fair
maiden who Heine tells us dwells nearby?"
Erika assented with a smile, touched by the doctor's words, even though she
had only the faintest recollection of either the poet or his subject.
"Very well, then, Lorelei, try to get some rest. When you recover a bit
more of your strength, we shall see what we can do to find out who you are."
Dr. Kauffmann leaned forward and patted Erika on the cheek and a moment later
she closed her eyes and drifted back off into a peaceful slumber.
** The fairest of maidens reposing
So wondrously up there.
Her golden treasure disclosing;
She's combing her golden hair.
Chapter 101 Memories of Suffering
'Lorelei' woke a few hours later to the soft strains of a piano being
played softly in her room, and the sound of the knob on the door to her room
turning. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a slender young Chinese maid give
the room a final approving glance, before slipping almost soundlessly out of the
room. Erika lay in bed humming under her breath for a minute or two until the
player had finished the short piece.
"That was lovely," Erika complimented the dark-suited player hunched over a
piano on the far side of the room, beneath the portraits of the bushy-whiskered
Emperor and his stern Reichschancellor, Otto von Bismarck. "Schubert, was it
not?"
Daniel Kauffmann lifted his slender fingers from the keyboard and spun
around, smiling. "Yes! 'Gretchen at the Spinning Wheel'. You remind me of her
somehow. It is charming, isn't it? To think that a boy of seventeen could
compose with such sensitivity!" Kauffmann rose from the piano and came toward
the bed. His patient had propped herself up among a sea of peach-colored
pillows and, as he had since the first moment he had set eyes on her, he was
struck by the flawless beauty of Lorelei's complexion, and the golden storm of
blonde hair that cascaded over her rounded shoulders. She seemed unconscious of
the fact that her nightgown had slipped off of her left shoulder, revealing the
upper slope of a creamy breast that still bore the crease of a livid weal.
Struggling manfully to retain his professional decorum and to meet her
troubled gaze, the doctor smiled and said, "I did not mean to wake you, but I
studied in Vienna for a time with a man who has given much thought to the
workings of the mind. It was from him that I got the idea that listening to
familiar music might unlock the key to your memory."
'Lorelei' looked at him sadly. "It is strange that I should remember
Schubert, when I can not remember who I am."
"Your condition is called 'amnesia' - it's a Greek word for loss of
memory."
When Erika gave him a mystified glance, Daniel Kauffmann continued,
warming to his subject as he did so. " They understood the importance of
memory, the ancient Greeks. They believed that there was a river in the
underworld, Lethe, whose waters could induce forgetfulness. They imagined that
among the female Titans, the great beings who had ruled the world before the
dawn of Olympus, was Mnemosyne, or Memory. So magnificent and revered was she
that Zeus himself could not refrain from coupling with her, and together they
fathered the Muses, the sacred offspring who inspired tragedy and comedy, poetry
and dance."
Kauffmann paused, his dark eyes bright with the excitement of a man
speaking on a topic close to his heart. But then, noting the somewhat
bewildered expression on Erika's face, he continued. "Forgive me; we doctors
have been treating the body for two thousand years. We are only just beginning
to treat the mind and my enthusiasm for these new researches sometimes gets the
better of me. My friend in Vienna ... " Then he stopped himself again. "You
see? There I go again. But you don't care about trends in modern medicine, I'm
sure," he said as he took her hand in a friendly way. "You are interested in
your own condition. Actually amnesia is not uncommon among soldiers and others
who have suffered shocking and painful experiences. There were a number of cases
after the war with France in 1870-71. But tell me - Has anything begun to come
back? Have you no recollection of all of how you came to sustain your injuries?
I'm not sure that we have the means to apprehend the guilty, but we could
certainly take our case to such authorities as there are here in Shanghai."
Lorelei leaned back and stared intently at the ceiling for quite a long
time before shaking her head slowly from side to side. "I know it must sound
foolish, but everything is topsy-turvy, chaotic." Her eyes narrowed as she
continued, "I seem to remember a lake, a beautiful lake in the mountains. The
sun was hot, terribly hot. And I was tired... and afraid." Her voice was
little more than a hoarse whisper. "And I seem to remember a house, a small
house - a house of evil. There was ..." and she stopped. "I'm sorry," she said
apologetically. "It's gone. I'm not even sure that it was not a dream." Erika
looked at the doctor sadly, fearful that these fleeting, troubling images would
prove to be of no help in establishing her identity.
Dr Kauffmann had been listening intently, trying to decide whether his
striking young patient's fragmentary recollections were real or fanciful. In
some ways, he thought, it did not matter to her present state of mind. When he
saw that she had finished unburdening herself, he nodded thoughtfully. "Do not
underestimate the meaning of dreams, Lorelei. I truly believe that they hold
great secrets."
Erika Weiss saw that Daniel Kauffmann's dark eyes once again contained the
bright embers of a man discussing a favorite subject.
"When I arrived in Shanghai," he went on, "I attended a lecture given by a
brilliant man, a professor at their university here."
Erika's brow wrinkled as if those words had stirred some deep-seated
memory. She pursed her lips thoughtfully and slowly repeated, "A professor
..."
"Yes," Kauffmann hurried on, "but you could hardly have known of him. He
was a classical scholar, but something of a recluse, aside from his duties at
the university. But, as I was saying, during his lecture Professor Leung
recounted how Confucius had taught that men could master their emotions by
exercising the full powers of their minds. He spoke of many things that night,
but I was intrigued by the story he told of a man named Chuang Tsu, who, upon
waking from a dream, said, "I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I
was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man."
"Think of it!" the young doctor rattled on excitedly. "Two millennia ago
this Chuang Tsu had inserted a key into the lock of our cabinet of dreams. And
still no one has turned that key. But soon we will. My friend in Vienna thinks
..."
Dr. Kauffmann, seeing that his patient had drifted off into her own
thoughts, and was paying little heed to his academic ramblings, stopped himself.
"Forgive me, I must be boring you."
"A professor..." Erika repeated, knitting her brow in concentration. Then
she shook her head sadly. "No, doctor, not at all. It is not you who are
boring me. It is my inability to remember that must be tedious for you."
Erika's sky-blue eyes were despondent. "I fear that I am too tired at the
moment to fully understand such things. Tell me," she asked, brightening, "Why
are "you" in China?" She smiled forlornly. "I might as well ask since neither
of us has any idea why "I'm" in China."
"As far as yourself, fraulein, do not fear. It may take some time, but I
think your memory will return." He frowned. " I only hope that when it does,
the memories will not prove to be too painful. You must have had a dreadful
experience to cause you to repress your memory so completely."
"As for me," Kauffmann continued, as he strode toward a window and threw
the curtains back, allowing bright sunlight to stream into the bedroom, "I
studied both linguistics and medicine back in Vienna. I have a bit of a gift
for languages, and I wanted to see something of the world before settling into
a medical practice. So I induced a well-connected friend to mention my name to a
colleague in the German foreign office there as someone who might be useful as a
translator. My Chinese is hardly perfect, but few in Germany speak it at all.
And Britain, France, Spain, Portugal, and Russia all have interests in China, so
the vice consul keeps me quite busy. In fact, I have hardly had an occasion
to open my medical bag until you showed up on our doorstep a few days ago."
"I am grateful that you were here," Erika said with a warm smile. "You
have been very kind." Then she lay back down, wincing. "I just wish that
everything didn't hurt."
"The sedative I gave you last night is probably wearing off. I'll give you
another injection later on. But first, I have arranged for you to have a bath.
In fact, the maid had just finished drawing it a moment before you woke."
Kauffmann reached into a pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew a vial containing
a greenish powder. "Here," he said, offering her the little bottle. "Sprinkle
this in the bath water. An elderly Chinese woman who helps with the laundry
here, pressed it upon me after I sprained my ankle a few months ago, and it
seemed to reduce the swelling overnight. Then, while I was still limping around,
I slashed my hand open trying to slice a roll. Oy! There was blood from here
to the Forbidden City it seemed, and my hand hurt like blazes. But I couldn't
use an opiate (they're easy enough to find here, of course) because I had to
translate later that afternoon. But once I had stopped the bleeding, I soaked
my hand in water to which I had added this powder - it may be essence of
Himalayan yak dung for all I know - and the pain subsided quite quickly and the
wound healed faster than I could have imagined. I tell you, the Chinese have
secrets that the leading doctors in Berlin, Vienna, and Paris would trade their
best scalpels for. Or would, if they had a proper respect for the wisdom of the
east."
Daniel Kauffmann saw that Lorelei was trying desperately to keep herself
from laughing, amused by his story, but not wishing to offend his amour propre.
"So you think that my tragedies are amusing, do you?" he added with a twinkle
in his eye. "Well, I shall forgive you this once." Kauffmann extracted a
gold-rimmed pocket watch from his vest and checked the time. "Ach Herrje! I
must be off. The tub is in the corner over there," he added. The water should
still be quite warm. I will send one of the maids up to assist you."
"Vielen Dank, Herr Doktor," Erika added, as Kauffmann closed the door
behind him. The blonde in the pale, lacy nightgown turned to sit sideways on
the edge of the bed before trying to stand, and then stood up, only to be
overcome by a wave of dizziness. She sat back on the bed again and stared at
the surface of the bath water glistening in the sunlight. And once again the
image of a long-ago lake flashed in front of her eyes. A lake, beautiful and
still, like the bathwater, but one in which evil spirits seemed to dwell.
Flashes of remembered pain jarred her fragmented memory, the dull ache of
exhaustion and the burning, stinging of torment, as she tried in vain to piece
together the feelings and images that had unhinged her memory.
The fearful thoughts passed after a minute or two, and Erika, trying to
summon her strength, took a deep breath and rose again, this time more
steadily. She walked gingerly toward the open second story window, enjoying the
warmth of the sun, and looked down into the teeming labyrinth of streets in that
quarter of the city. In the distance she could see steamers, tall-masted
sailing ships, and colorful junks and sampans in the harbor. She stared out at
the vast panorama of Shanghai that lay below her for a minute or two before
fixing her gaze once again on the largest vessel for a moment. On one such
ship, she reasoned, she herself must have come to China. But when? Why? How?
Turning away from the window, she stepped back toward the steaming tub,
opened the vial the enthusiastic young doctor had given her, and sniffed at it
doubtfully. Then she shrugged her shoulders and emptied a third of its contents
into the bathwater, and swirled the pale green powder around until it dissolved.
As she did so, she noticed a full-length mirror which hung from the wall
opposite the wall with the portraits, as if to give the emperor and his
chancellor an opportunity to straighten any microscopic crease that might have
disturbed the be-medalled splendor of their attire.
Stepping in front of the mirror, she began to undo the buttons of her lacy
nightgown, half-anxious, half-dreading to see the full extent of her injuries.
She gasped as the gown fell open to her waist, revealing the faded vestiges of
an assortment of once-livid marks on her breasts and belly. She pressed her
slender fingers gingerly against one or two of the darkest marks as she studied
her upper body in the mirror, and then was overcome by a strange sensation that
someone was watching her. Pulling the bodice of the nightgown tightly against
her chest she spun around quickly, but there was no one behind her, save for the
stern-looking visages of the two men who ruled her homeland.
Exhaling a sigh of relief, Erika turned back toward the mirror and let the
nightgown fall to the floor in a pale puddle of fabric around her feet.
Chapter 102 The Eyes of the Kaiser
But the eyes that Erika Weiss had felt on her young body were real, if not
visible. In the adjoining room, a man stood on a low footstool peering
excitedly through two small circular openings that he had cut in the wall and
through hollow eye-slots he had painstakingly carved in the stiff-backed canvas
of the portrait of the German Emperor.
"Grosser Gott!" he had whispered to himself, when the gorgeous young woman
had let the peignoir fall to her waist. In the time he had spent with her, he
had been struck by the blonde's beauty, but it would have been unseemly for a
man in his position to stare too obviously. But now, now, he was free to enjoy
her splendid young body to his heart's content.
She was facing away from him, nude to the waist, with the wide shoulders of
a female athlete tapering to a waist that would have suited a ballerina, her
nightgown bunched around her womanly hips. A lattice-like array of half-faded
horizontal and diagonal streaks added piquant highlights to the otherwise
flawless flesh of her back. Looking past her, into the mirror she faced, the
Watcher felt his manhood stiffen in his tight-fitting dress trousers, as his
eyes explored Erika's very unballerina-like breasts with the guilty but
electrically-charged excitement that only an unseen voyeur can ever know.
Though criss-crossed with half a dozen dark striations, Erika's opulent
breasts were magnificent in a way that her reclining posture on the bed had only
hinted. They were breasts such as he imagined when he heard the voices of
Wagner's idealized Rhine-maidens in his mind's ear, young, pleasingly ripe and
temptingly succulent, with no more hint of sag than an Alpine fir wearing a
light dusting of snow.
The Watcher took in an excited breath almost soundlessly, but as he did so
the blonde goddess covered herself and turned in his direction. But he had
prepared the eye-slits in the painting with great care, and she saw nothing.
The young valkyrie had a haunted look in her eyes as she looked anxiously
around the room for a moment, but then she relaxed and turned to face the mirror
once again, and slid the nightgown over her shapely hips. The gathered
waistband was a little snug, and the peignoir slid only halfway down the
tempting crease of her buttocks before catching a bit, and the tall blonde had
to insert her fingers into the edges of the rolled-up garment in order to wiggle
it slowly down her rounded buttocks, which, like her back and breasts, bore the
thin, dark, traces of a savage beating some days earlier.
He watched, his heart pounding with excitement, as Erika stepped out of the
garment, her long, golden hair spilling over her bare shoulders like
Botticelli's Venus. Then she turned toward the sunlight streaming through the
open second-story window letting the warmth caress the front of her body. Her
body having grown stiff from several days in bed, she lifted herself up onto her
toes and extended her arms high over her head, and clasped her wrists together,
before twisting her upper body slowly from side to side in an attempt to loosen
her sore muscles.
The Watcher was mesmerized by the sight of the light from the afternoon sun
bathing her swaying breasts in its warm glow. The naked blonde basked
languorously in the warmth like a tigress having awoken from a deep sleep. Her
unseen admirer felt a vein pulsing in his forehead as he watched the pink,
pointed tips of her breasts, kissed by the warmth and light of the sun, blossom
and grow like Dutch tulips responding to the first warm days of spring. The
Watcher licked at his dry lips nervously, imagining how those firm, thrusting
nuggets of flesh would feel between his fingers, how they would react to the
touch of his lips and teeth.
His maleness was hard and throbbing now as he studied the voluptuous body
of young Erika Weiss in profile. He had not been shy about taking his pleasures
as he has found them in Asia; the petite, dark-eyed, golden-skinned beauties of
the Orient had thrilled him on numerous occasions, both those who had
entertained him willingly, and those whom he had paid for darker delights. But
he had not seen a body like hers in China and only rarely in Europe, a body with
the long, clean lines of one of Ingres' odalisques, coupled with the voluptuous
curves of a beauty by Rubens.
The Watcher felt his hands beginning to perspire as he imagined himself
standing behind her, pressing her forward until her magnificent body was pressed
flat against the window, while he ran his eager hands freely over her nude,
ripe-nippled breasts, fondling them, stroking them, squeezing them, while
rickshaw porters and shopgirls, beggars and pickpockets gawked up at them from
below. His passion mounted as he pictured himself thrusting into her from
behind, propelling her into an erotic frenzy while passers-by in the crowded
streets pointed upward excitedly toward the spectacle taking pace in the
second-story window.
Erika backed away from the window at an angle, giving the Watcher a better
vantage point from which to view the dark streaks that one or more unknown
assailants can carved into her breast-flesh, and imagined himself in that role.
What a thrill of mastery her cruel flogger must have had as he lashed this
magnificent creature! What primeval pulsings of lust must have coursed through
his veins as he painted stripe after agonizing stripe across the creamy flesh of
her noble back, on the alluring curves of her buttocks, the silky skin of her
well-toned thighs, and the sumptuous slopes of her breasts.
Erika turned to face him then, giving him a tantalizing view of her
golden-fringed mons and her enticingly prominent labia, as she knelt down and
opened several glass containers that were arranged on a table alongside the tub,
opening each to examine its contents. She up-ended the third jar, pouring a
portion of it into the water and then balanced herself against the edge of the
tub before stepping into the tub of warm water. She made a circular stirring
motion with her right foot, and within seconds the bathwater erupted into a
froth of delicate bubbles. The water was still quite hot and Erika lowered
herself gingerly, issuing a long, sensuous sigh when she at last stretched out
in the porcelain enclosure, grateful for the fact that some long-ago consul or
companion had been on the tall side and had commissioned a tub of a size
commensurate with his stature.
The Watcher watched, a bit disappointed as the golden girl's body
disappeared into the sea of bubbles, but brightened as she lifted a well-curved
leg and extended it in his direction, pointing her foot as artfully as if she
had been conscious of having an audience. Then she used an amber-colored sea
sponge to soap the pink skin of her thigh until it gleamed. Erika winced
slightly as she bent her knee double and reached toward her foot. The Watcher
guessed that the lashes across her back made reaching and stretching moments
painful. But as she drew her knee slowly back, so that she could wash her lower
leg and foot, she gave the Watcher an opportunity to peer intently beneath the
surface of the sudsy water in search of her golden gateway.
Just then the Watcher heard the sound of a door opening followed by a
high-pitched voice crying "He-yah! What are you doing there?" The Watcher's
heart stopped for a moment, thinking he had been discovered, until he realized
that the voice had come from the adjoining room.
"Doctor say that you still weak. He tell me to help you with your bath."
The speaker was a petite, vivacious young Chinese woman in her early twenties,
who had come bustling into Erika's room, somewhat incongruously dressed in the
costume of a European maid. The armload of bleached white towels she carried
contrasted starkly with the masses of lustrous black hair that she had woven
into a stylish dark cocoon on her head. "But you not wait for me," she added
with a hint of a pout in her voice.
"I - I'm sorry," stammered Erika in her rudimentary Chinese as she crossed
her arms over her breasts modestly. "I suppose I should have waited, but the
water looked so nice and warm ...."
"No, miss. You no have to speak Chinese. I learn plenty German around
here. Pretty soon I speaking German better than him," the maid confided with a
smile, nodding in the direction of the portrait of a distinctly unsmiling
Bismarck.
"You speak German ... charmingly," Erika replied with a smile.
The maid set the towels down on the bed. "Here, let me take that," she
said, pointing to the sponge. "You been sleeping three days, Miss. The Doctor
- he says you are to relax, and not to trouble yourself. Please ... let me."
"D-danke," mumbled Erika shyly, as she slid down in the tub so that only
her head and shoulders were above the water line, still keeping her arms crossed
over her breasts.
The maid knelt down alongside the tub. "Ah, you like bubbles, too, Miss.
Make girl feel pretty, yes?"
"Yes," Erika, blushed as the maid dipped the sponge into the warm soapy
water, squeezed most of the water out, and then touched the sponge to Erika's
forehead softly, and then down first one cheek and then the other.
Erika closed her eyes and relaxed. The girl's hands were light as a
feather, as she sponged Erika's face and shoulders.
"Now sit up, Miss, and lean forward and let me wash your ... Ayee-yah!
What happened to you? Nasty boyfriend?"
When Erika had leaned forward the maid had seen the striations across her
back. "N-no ... I don't think so. I can't remember. I don't even know how I
came to be here. Or who I am. The doctor decided to call me Lorelei," she
concluded with a sad smile.
"I am called Ju Hua. Doctor laugh when he hear my name. Say he "Ju" also,
but I no understand the joke." Ju continued to let the sponge slide across
Erika's silken shoulders, being very careful not to exacerbate the welts. "My
father name me Ju Hua because it is type of flower ... pretty flower."
"Yes, Ju -- we call it a chrysanthemum."
"Can you turn over, miss? So I can finish your back?"
Erika turned over in the tub, but her soreness caused her movements to be a
bit herky-jerky and the movement of her long body caused the water to splash
upward, splashing Ju's starched white blouse. "Oh, I'm sorry."
"Don't mind, Miss. I no like these tight clothes anyway." And Ju stood up
and unbuttoned her blouse and threw it across the bed, kicked off her shoes, and
then stepped out of her prim black housemaid's skirt.
As Ju Hua knelt back down beside the tub, Erika could not help noticing
that the Chinese housemaid's sylph-like figure was exquisite beneath a brief
camisole and a damp, clinging half-slip. She wondered idly how a Chinese maid
had come by such elegant underthings, and then sighed softly as she felt the
soft sponge curling over her buttocks and then sliding between them.
From his secret vantage point, the Watcher redoubled his concentration as
Ju gently sponged the German girl's whip-streaked bottom, being careful to touch
the dark marks with only the most feather-like of caresses. As the maid
extended her arms, the camisole rose up slightly, giving the man with the
Kaiser's eyes a glimpse of an inch or two of her honey-gold belly.
Meanwhile, Erika had turned over in the bath again, once again crossing her
arms over her breasts as the Watcher fumed in frustration. Ju Hua began sliding
the well-lathered sponge up and down Erika's long sensuous legs with artful
grace.
"Bath not too hot, miss? Your skin turning pink. Pretty pink, though."
"No, Ju, it feels wonderful. The powder the doctor gave me -- it is ...
very soothing."
"Yes miss, I know."
Ju's hands slid the sponge between Erika's legs and the European beauty
blushed shyly at the intimate touch. "You very pretty, Miss. Chinese men
would go crazy to see golden-haired girl like you."
"I - I couldn't say, Ju. But what about you? You are lovely." It was true
-- Ju Hua reminded her of an exquisite miniature. During the course of the bath
Ju had splashed a fair amount of water on herself and her wet undergarment
clung to the shapely cones of her breasts the way dew clings to rose-petals.
But despite her light, carefree manner there was a sadness in Ju's almond-shaped
eyes.
"Have you a husband, Ju, or a young man that you care about?"
Ju frowned as she sponged Erika's belly with soft, circular, strokes.
"Yes, I have husband - but he not young -- and I no love him. My father
arranged marriage with his father." She smiled sadly, "Life of women is hard,
don't you think, Miss?"
"Y-yes. I suppose so."
"Lift legs up, Miss, please."
Erika drew her legs toward her until her knees were pointing at the ceiling
with a movement that allowed Ju to see the lash-marks across the fronts of her
thighs.
The dark-eyed house-maid shook her head sadly. "Why men like to do this, miss?
Hurt women?"
Erika winced as the sponge slid lightly across the most sensitive of the
weals. "I don't know, Ju."
Ju leaned forward confidentially. "Can you keep secret, Miss? I have
lover - right here in this building. And he same way. Like to hit me. Not as
bad as this," she said as she swirled the sponge around the a patchwork of dark
lines high on Erika's left thigh. "But hard; plenty hard."
The Watcher's jaw tightened behind the Kaiser's portrait. But he had
warned the maid well, and she gave no further hints as to the identity of her
"lover". But even this slight breach of confidence warranted a severe rebuke,
and his thoughts turned to the appropriate form of discipline he would
administer for this violation of his trust.
Erika felt a subtle pressure against her forearms, indicating that Ju
wanted her to move them out of her way and she slowly, shyly, retracted her
forearms from their protective crossed position in front of her opulent breasts,
and placed her arms along the upper rim of the tub.
"Ayee-yah, Miss!" Ju exclaimed in wonder at the lushness of Erika's frothy
mounds. "You make me feel like little girl," she added, as she slid the sponge
slowly up across the gentle swelling of Erika's ribcage before diffidently
touching the underside of her left breast.
"Don't be silly, Ju. Most girls in my country, in any country, would love
to have a figure like yours."
Ju Hua continued to soap Erika's breasts with almost worshipful admiration,
moving the soft sponge in seductive spirals as Erika closed her blue eyes and
threw her golden-coiffed head back against the edge of the tub. Somewhat
shamelessly Erika thrust her breasts out, abandoning herself to the wanton
pleasures of warm water, gentle hands, and soft sponge.
The Watcher felt his earlier lust, which had receded slightly when Ju had
barged into the room in such surprising fashion, returning with a vengeance.
There was something incredibly stimulating about seeing the Chinese girl's
slender, golden fingers playing lightly over those big, creamy, pink-nippled
breasts.
Ju seemed mesmerized by Erika's provocatively out-thrust breasts,
saturating the sponge with soapy water time and again so that she might watch
fresh rivulets of frothy bathwater trickle around the contours of the young
German woman's gorgeous globes, before smoothing away the suds with a series of
circular, nipple-teasing caresses.
After another minute or two of this dreamy sensual rapture, Erika's upper
body shuddered uncontrollably and she opened her eyes, smiled warmly at Ju and
removed the tiny hand from her breast. "Thank you, Ju, for the ... bath. But
the doctor told me to get plenty of rest -- and you must have other duties."
Ju's brown eyes were glazed over. "Y-yes, of course, Miss. Let me help
you up."
The beautiful little maid offered her shoulder to the tall blonde, as she
stood up in the tub, and as she stepped out of the porcelain oval, Erika felt
another wave of dizziness come over her and she lost her balance slightly, and
fell into the arms of the much shorter woman. But Ju caught her and, showing
surprising strength for a girl so tiny, propped her upright against a bedpost
which Erika could lean on while she dried her off.
The Watcher observed the scene with interest. The two women were standing
in profile to him now, and in catching her dripping patient against her body,
Ju's camisole had become well and truly soaked. She took one fluffy white bath
towel from the stack she had brought into the room and knelt before the tall
blonde, drying her feet, her ankles and her lower legs with assiduous
concentration. Then she encased Erika's left thigh, the one nearest to the
Watcher, in the towel and, starting at her knee, slowly slid the towel up, up,
up Erika's long, sleek, thigh until the backs of her fingers, pressed gently
against the German girl's blonde-fringed love-nook.
Ju repeated the process on Erika's other leg with loving thoroughness,
being careful not to irritate the horizontal striations, before inching forward
so close that Erika could feel the hot breath of the kneeling girl on her pubic
mound, as Ju dried the damp curves of her hips and derriere, not forgetting to
guide a portion of the soft fabric through the moist crease between Erika's
sculpted buttocks. Then the Chinese girl rose to her feet and turned Erika
around so that she could dry her back and shoulders, which she proceeded to do,
carefully but thoroughly.
Then, evidently feeling that the towel she had been using was now too damp
to dry properly, Ju threw it on the bed and took a second, smaller towel and
reached around to dry Erika's mossy mound of Venus, before sliding the towel up
over her belly, around and around her umbilical nook, and then across the swell
of her ribcage.
As she did so, Erika realized that the Chinese girl had pressed her slender
body so closely against her own that Ju's nipples were sharp little silk-covered
bullets of flesh pressing into her lower back. Meanwhile Ju's towel-encased
hands were busy at her own breasts, drying, squeezing, and caressing all at the
same time.
********
It was at this point that the Watcher glanced at the clock on the wall of
his room and cursed under his breath. The lovely tete-a-tete he had been
watching seemed like it had only begun a minute ago, but in fact the bath and
its aftermath had taken nearly thirty minutes, and if he did not tear himself
away from the erotic tableau in the next room, he would be late for an important
appointment.
He carefully filled the eye-holes in his own wall with tight-fitting plugs
that fit into the plaster so well that they were almost imperceptible to the
naked eye, and then re-hung a framed photographic rendering of an Oktoberfest
celebration over the plugs.
It would be several long hours before the assignation he had scheduled for
nine o'clock that night, but the wait would make his conquest all the sweeter
...
Chapter 103 Das Eiserne Kreuz {The Iron Cross}
Later that evening the Watcher was seated at an ornately-carved teak desk
in his office, poring listlessly over some papers that he had removed from a
black valise, but finding himself unable to concentrate on them. He had had a
singularly unproductive afternoon and evening, paying the merest lip service to
his professional obligations. And all because he had been unable to purge from
his memory the image of the blonde Rhine-nymph's nude body bathed in the rays of
afternoon sunlight that had streamed through her window. Or the vision of Ju's
feathery hands floating over Erika's voluptuous, white-frothed curves as she lay
in the hot bath.
Not only had be been distracted by those alluring visual images, but the
sensual music of Tannhauser's erotic bacchanal in the Venusberg had haunted him
all afternoon as well. The swelling, swift-rising rhythms of Wagner's hymn to
the pagan goddess, which seemed to him the musical embodiment of male arousal,
had echoed soundlessly in his ear over and over again and he had found himself
humming along. In his own life, the ancient conflict between sacred and
profane love had long since been fought and won by the darker impulses of his
soul. He glanced up at the cynical, smiling figure of Mephistopheles in the
painting on the wall at the opposite end of the room. He, too, had made a
Faustian bargain, he knew. It remained only to extract the last ounce of carnal
pleasure from life, because there was no turning back from the abyss.
Fuming with the impatience of lust denied, he glanced angrily at the
magnificent Neuchatel clock that hung on the wall on his left between two long
rows of bookcases. Its grande sonnerie had struck the hour twelve minutes
earlier, meaning that the pretty young maid was late, insolently late, for their
appointment. He clenched his fist and struck his desk sharply, vowing to make
her rue her impertinent conduct.
The Watcher's rising ire was suddenly interrupted by a furtive tapping at
the door. He straightened his collar and barked, "Come in. Schnell! And lock
the door behind you."
Ju Hua entered, once again wearing her staid black and white maid's
costume which she had brightened by tying a bright red scarf around her slender
neck. She carried a small tray in the middle of which stood a tiny crystal
container. She flipped the latch on the door, shivering slightly at the
sinister finality of its click, before moving shyly toward the center of the
room, where she paused and bowed meekly to the man behind the massive desk. Her
brown eyes darted nervously around the richly appointed room she had cleaned and
dusted just hours earlier. She knew its contents well.
The walls of the Watcher's office were papered with vertical stripes of
black, red and gold, which gave the room an unmistakably masculine flavor. Long
shelves of leather-bound tomes filled the two sections of tall bookcases on her
right. In the gap between them was the most beautiful clock she had ever seen
or heard; she dusted it with great care every day. Brass trim glittered around
the brightly burning fireplace on the wall to her left, and several comfortable
drawing room chairs, a broad, brocaded divan with beautifully scrolled woodwork,
and a low table were arranged near the center of the room. A landscape of the
Rhine valley signed by Caspar David Friedrich hung on the wall behind the desk.
Facing it, on the wall behind her, was an expressive painting depicting a
newly-young Faust admiring a blonde Margarethe while a smirking Mephistopheles
watched from the background with an approving leer. Large maps of Europe and
China were mounted on the wall opposite the bookcase, at a safe distance from
the fireplace.
"Did you bring it?" the Watcher demanded in a gruff voice.
"Yes, sir. I have it here, " Ju whispered almost inaudibly as she set the
tray containing the bottle down on the low table.
"A teaspoonful? No more, no less?"
"Yes, sir. A teaspoonful exactly."
"Good." The Watcher tapped his pocket watch ominously. "You are nearly a
quarter of an hour late, Ju," he snapped irritably. Have I not told you to come
precisely at nine or not at all?"
"Yes, sir. Very sorry, sir. I ..." The man behind the desk was unusually
intimidating tonight, and Ju, who was normally rather self-assured, was
distinctly ill at ease this evening. She felt uncertain of herself, in part
because she had had an unusually fatiguing day and in part because of the
strange feelings she had experienced while bathing the European woman. Her
hands were still tingling hours later, as if the nerve endings in her fingers
had found it impossible to forget the softness of the lush body she had bathed
with such attentiveness. She could not recall ever having felt such a tactile
electricity -- surely never as a result of her oafish husband's clumsy
caresses.
The Watcher interrupted her. "I take it that you are in need of money
again?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Even in her prim chambermaid's
costume, this young Chinese woman was a beguiling creature, a petite China doll
with features that would have done justice to the most elegant Meissen
miniature. Her fine-spun hair, black enough to put midnight to shame, was piled
high atop a lovely oval-shaped face which featured sparkling brown almond-shaped
eyes, marvelous cheekbones, a delightful nose, and a spunky chin, all of which
were made more striking by her flawless ivory complexion. Her chaste attire
offered only hints of her graceful figure, but the Watcher would have remembered
it well, even had he not seen her in deshabille when she had bathed the
statuesque blonde that afternoon. Who could forget such an enticing body, the
slender but shapely legs, the deliciously spankable bottom, the wasp-thin waist
and the small but perfectly proportioned breasts? A beauty such as hers would
have caused even the great meister Friedrich to put aside his misty landscapes
for a time in order to capture her likeness with his brush.
Hesitantly, Ju approached the man seated behind the desk. As she did so,
the fire in the fireplace flared up, crackling loudly as if it somehow sensed a
rise in the temperature and the tension in the room. Eyeing him apprehensively,
Ju sensed that her host was in a foul mood, although he had been much as usual
when she had seen him earlier in the day. She had been coming to this office on
Wednesday evenings, after the rest of the domestic staff had gone home, for
several weeks. She found her clandestine visits to the Watcher's office
shameful and degrading, but what was she to do?
Within a few months of her arranged marriage two years ago, her husband had
squandered her meager dowry during the initial stages of an ever-worsening
addiction to opium. Compounding her misery was the fact that she had foolishly
told him the precise amount of her earnings as a maid, and for the last year or
so he had bullied her into turning over the full sum to him each week. The
amount he returned to her grudgingly was insufficient even to pay their
landlord in full, much less enough to provide food for their newly-weaned child
and tea for herself. And when her parents had died of the winter fever last
year, it had left her utterly under her husband's tyrannical thumb. It was only
by virtue of her illicit but remunerative trips to the Watcher's office that she
had been able to keep her child from being thrown into the streets.
"Yes, sir. The money ... it does not seem to go far nowadays," she
stammered nervously, trying her best to smile.
"You're a greedy little whore, that's what you are! Would you rather sew
for sixteen hours a day than work as a maid here? Where could a girl like you
earn what we pay you here?"
"Nowhere, sir" said Ju, bowing submissively. "I am very grateful for your
generosity. Everyone here is most kind."
The Watcher opened a drawer of his desk and removed a small metallic box.
Ju watched anxiously as he overturned the box, spilling a number of bevel-edged
silver coins onto the dark, glossy finish of the desk. Painstakingly, the
Watcher arranged the coins into two stacks of ten coins each and pushed them
toward the center of the desk.
"How much do you wish to earn tonight, whore?"
Ju flinched at the foul name, but looked at the coins yearningly - she
guessed that there were enough there to buy food for a week - with perhaps a few
left over that she could put in safekeeping, so that one day she might be able
to flee Shanghai, and the husband who had threatened to kill her if she were
ever to leave him.
"As many as I can, sir. But I fear that I ... that I am still sore from
last time."
The Watcher leaned closer to her and then glanced sideways at the gold and
black brocade on the divan on which he had pillaged the petite Chinese beauty a
week earlier. Ju's subtle shiver as she followed his eyes toward the divan
caused the corners of his mouth to curl upward in a wicked smile. He reached in
a pocket and withdrew a small, silver key and flipped it to the sloe-eyed
beauty. "Bring me what you find in the cabinet, girl. And then we shall see
whether your courage is a match for your avarice!"
Ju bowed and turned the key over in the palm of her tiny hand. Why were
some men like this, she wondered. Why did they take pleasure from dominating
women, from causing them pain? Even a man like this, whose outward semblance
gave the appearance of respectability and influence.
Coming up with no satisfactory explanation, she inhaled resignedly, and
took a step toward the smallest of the bookcases on her right, one whose front
had been done in opaque glass. But as she turned away, the Watcher stopped her
cold in her tracks.
"On your knees, Sklavin!"
Ju had heard him use the word for 'slave' often enough before, but she had
never accustomed herself to the menace and the misery of that ugly word. She
turned back to him, bowed submissively and fell to her knees and kneel-walked
the short distance to the cabinet. When she reached it, she inserted the key
she had been given into the lock and turned it.
The door of the "bookcase" swung open and Ju looked inside and swallowed
hard.
"Stop your gawking, girl! I haven't got all night, you know! Bring them
here! One at a time. And be quick about it!"
Ju reached inside the case. On each of her visits to the Watcher's office
he had pre-positioned different items in the case, although each had shared a
common purpose. Tonight there were three objects, each hanging by its handle
from a hook . She unhooked the nearest of the three instruments and, knowing
her master's fondness for the strict observance of disciplinary ritual, laid it
across her upturned palms as if she were performing the holiest of sacraments.
She could not keep her hands from shaking as she turned back toward the man who
stood behind the desk, scowling, with his arms folded sternly across his chest.
"Treat it with care, madchen. It bears the emblem of our great Reich! One
day the world will tremble before it as you do now."
Ju's face grew pale as she bowed and placed her burden face down on the
rich, varnished surface of the desk. It was an ebony paddle, as thick as one of
her slender fingers, with an oval striking area the size of a man's hand.
"Now, turn toward me and remove your blouse!"
"Yes, sir." Ju slowly undid the knot of her crimson scarf and then
fumbled at the buttons on her blouse with fingers grown clumsy from fear.
Beneath the blouse she wore only the flimsy camisole he had seen earlier in the
day. It was cut rather low in the front, in the style he favored, so as to
reveal more than a hint of cleavage. He scrutinized the curves of her breasts
with a connoisseur's eye; while they were no longer the excitingly
filled-to-bursting breasts of a nursing mother, as they had been a few weeks
earlier, they were still exquisitely shaped. She carried her treasures
proudly, as well she might.
When she had tossed the blouse onto a nearby armchair, the Watcher spoke.
"You look lovely, Ju. I think you shall do very well tonight." The European
licked at his lips as he glanced again at the pert cones which pressed against
the clinging silk. "The second instrument, please."
Ju inclined her head to him once again, as her servant's role dictated,
blushing at the knowledge that her bow exposed even more of her flesh to the
Watcher's predatory gaze. Then, still on her knees, she retreated to the
cabinet and removed the second object. It was a long, narrow, leather strap
which had been doubled over on itself and stitched together to form a
doubly-thick flogging surface that was nearly as long as her arm. The stitching
ended some six inches from the handle end, leaving a loop through which its
wielder could insert his wrist to obtain maximum leverage and cutting power.
Ju carried the strap, on upturned palms, back to the desk and was about to
set it down alongside the paddle when the Watcher spoke again. "What do you
think, Ju? I have had it for some time, but I have been saving it for a special
occasion."
After a few seconds of silence Ju glanced up at the Watcher and saw that he
was glaring at her stonily, waiting for a reply.
"Thank you, sir."
"Oh, it will be my pleasure, I assure you. Is it not well made?"
Ju shuddered imperceptibly as her brown eyes studied the workmanship of the
strap and the thickness of the rich brown leather. Even the tightness of the
stitching seemed to her an evil omen.
"It ... it is ... it seems ... very ... durable indeed, sir."
"Well, we shall have to find out, won't we?" he replied with a cruel smile.
Ju turned toward him until she was kneeling at his feet and offered him the
strap. The Watcher took the stiff leather strap by the striking end, and
dangled the fist-sized loop down the front of her body, letting it graze the
side of her neck for a moment. Then, smiling, he lowered it so that the
evil-looking strap brushed the curves of her breasts ever so lightly through
the flimsy fabric of the chemise.
He slid the dark brown strap back and forth across the pale silk until the
tips of her breasts began to respond. He had bedded scores of women in his
life, but not one whose nipples had been more sensitive. Within moments the
little buds had begun to stir, leaving distinct impressions in the clinging
contours of the fabric. He felt his own passion beginning to rise. It would
not be long, now.
"Remove your shoes ... and your skirt."
Still kneeling, Ju slipped her black shoes off her tiny feet, and, then,
flushing scarlet, unbuttoned the waistband of her knee-length black skirt. She
wriggled out of it awkwardly while still on her knees, and draped it neatly
across the armchair on which she had tossed her blouse.
"Your legs, madchen. Let me see them!"
When Ju hesitated, the Watcher's voice cut through the stillness of the
room like a knife. "NOW! - if you value your position here!"
The dark-eyed beauty reached down and took the hem of her half-slip and
slowly lifted it up her pretty legs, baring her sleek, slender thighs a sliver
of ivory skin at a time, while the Watcher looked on with eager eyes as he
stroked his determined chin.
When the slip was up around her trim waist, The Watcher said, in a voice
frayed with mounting excitement, "Turn for me, fraulein," and as Ju spun slowly
around on her knees, he ogled the backs of her honey-colored thighs which were
bare below a brief undergarment. A few faint streaks, souvenirs of their last
assignation, interrupted the otherwise flawless flesh-tones of her bare legs.
"Now, the third implement, bitte," he continued with reptilian courtesy as
he placed the strap on the desk alongside the black paddle.
Grateful for the chance to drop the hem of her slip, Ju bowed yet again and
then moved toward the cabinet in bare feet and reached in to remove a rattan
cane that had been polished until its golden-brown finish gleamed. Treating the
cane with the reverence she would have extended to a sacred relic, she proffered
it to the man who stood over her.
He took it from her outstretched hands and then snapped, "On your feet,
sklavin!"
Unsteadily, Ju Hua rose to her full height. The Watcher deftly slid the
tip of the cane under the bottom of her camisole, lifting it and baring an inch
or two of her flat belly.
"You have lovely skin, fraulein. It provides a beautiful canvas on which
to ... paint."
The Watcher let her shirt fall back down and then, holding the cane
horizontally, he turned slightly so that he was standing at right angles to the
pretty young housemaid. He slid the cane up along the flat plane of her belly,
outside the camisole, enjoying Ju's sudden intake of breath when he reached the
undersides of her breasts.
He pressed the length of rattan more firmly against the silk and then, to
the accompaniment of Ju's agitated breathing, he lifted her breasts gently and
bounced them lightly against the unforgiving surface of the cane.
"Wunderbar!" he whispered under his breath. Her breasts were young, firm,
and deliciously resilient to his touch. Moving around to face her again, he
traced the outline of Ju's right breast with the tip of his cane, circling it
three or four times with a teasing spiral motion, as he slowly pulled the cane
back toward himself.
Turning slightly he took a position alongside her once again and slid the
cane along the underside of the enticing indentations Ju's thickening nipples
had left in the clinging silk.
He skillfully sawed the cane back and forth across her nipples, like a
violinist bowing his instrument. On their very first meeting he had marveled at
how responsive her dark-tipped nipples had been, how they had blossomed under
his touch from tiny brown buds into long, tapering rivets of desire in a matter
of seconds. Veiled by the close-clinging silk they were no less sensitive,
lengthening and hardening before his observant eyes until they threatened to
poke holes in the fabric.
He played a brief sensual sonata on the tip of each of her breasts,
gratified by the way her delicate nubbins swelled to the touch of the rod that
would soon bring tears to her brown eyes and cries of anguish to her soft, moist
lips. He forced Ju's tasty little breast-plums to dance to his silent tune, as
he smacked the sides of her silk-covered breasts with quick little strokes with
the business end of the cane.
"You polished the cane very nicely this morning," the Watcher said, as he
gave her left breast another firm little flick with the rod, testing the
resilience of her plump little mounds as they bounced deliciously under the
gossamer-thin silk. "It is well that you did," he added with a baleful glance
as he pulled the cane back and swished it through the air twice, using short
compact strokes, before bringing it down with a resounding THWICKK!! on a
well-padded leather armchair, enjoying the way Ju flinched at the sound of the
impact. "What were you thinking about while you polished it, whore? The
money it would bring you - or the pain?"
Ju looked at the Watcher with glistening eyes. "Please sir, I hope that
you won't ... last time you ..." her voice tailed away miserably.
"It's entirely up to you, fraulein," the Watcher said, as he set the bamboo
cane down on the desk alongside her and picked up one of the stacks of coins and
riffled through them so that they clicked together. "But if you want a Groschen
from me, you would do well not to tell me what I may and may not do to your
pretty little body." The lines around the edges of his mouth hardened into an
implacable scowl. " There's the door - go now, if you would prefer to please
half a dozen men a night instead of me once a week!"
Ju looked yearningly at the clinking coins; the Watcher was right.
Thousands of young women in Shanghai would rejoice at the thought of having her
job in the consulate. Summoning up her courage she straightened herself and
threw back her head, "N-no, sir. I am grateful to have this position. What
would you have me do?"
"The rope, bitte."
Ju retreated to the cabinet, took the coil of white rope from the hook on
which it hung and placed it on the edge of the desk, alongside the three
instruments of discipline. A wicked smile stole across the Watcher's face as he
watched her graceful movements, eyeing the pointed nipples that formed delicious
dents in Ju's whisper-thin camisole. "You ARE a greedy little slut, aren't you?
Very well, you may begin by standing up and slipping the straps of your chemise
from your shoulders. Slowly."
Blushing furiously, Ju climbed to her feet and stood an arm's length away
from her dominator while she slipped her arms out of the slender straps. When
her German-speaking master motioned for her to continue, she shimmied a little,
allowing the slip to slide down her svelte body until it bunched at her rounded
hips.
The Watcher sucked in his breath as he took in the sight of Ju's lovely,
sharp-nippled breasts, so different from the lush, creamy breasts of the blonde
he had spied on earlier in the day, and yet no less perfect in their own way.
Perfect little plums, round, smooth-skinned, and sweet, with nipples that the
strap and the cane had teased to an eye-catching tautness.
The Watcher took his forefinger and drew a circle around Ju's left breast,
letting the tips of his other fingers explore the softness of her flesh. "One
night soon I shall have to give these beauties my full attention," he said to
Ju, in a voice so menacing that her breasts quivered under his touch. He smiled
darkly as his hands caressed her; her breasts were as soft and warm and
vulnerable as a fledgling. But he contented himself with giving Ju's breast a
short quick slap with his fingertips that caused her to wince in pain and his
growing erection to harden with raw desire.
"Remove your undergarment."
Ju lifted her slip, reached under it, and slid her flimsy panties down her
sleek, golden legs until they were bunched together around her ankles and then
stepped out of them.
"Now, turn and face the desk -- if you still want the money."
"Y-yes, sir ... I do," Ju said in a low, quavering voice as she turned her
back to him.
"Move forward until your thighs are pressing against the desk. Excellent.
Now move your feet until they are flush against one another. Yes, very nice.
Lastly, lift your slip up above your waist. Higher, damn you! I want to see
every last inch of that pretty bottom."
Nervously Ju hoisted her sole remaining garment until the slip was little
more than an irregular band around her waist.
The Watcher took the coil of bleached-white rope from the desk and knelt
behind Ju and quickly encircled each of her supple thighs with it, halfway
between knee and hip, and then pulled the ligatures constrictingly tight. That
mission accomplished, he used the remaining rope to cinch her thighs so tightly
together that it would it have taken some effort to slip one of the coins on his
desk between them. "That should keep you from running off, I'll wager,
fraulein," he sneered. as he gave the ripe curves of Ju's derriere a possessive
squeeze.
The Watcher stepped around her and removed the paddle from the desk,
gripping it firmly with his right hand and sliding his left across its uneven
striking surface. He placed the paddle against Ju's twitching buttocks and slid
it over the curves of her bottom in slow circles, proud of the fact that the
thigh-cinching had lent an even greater emphasis to the bewitching roundness of
the maid's lovely behind.
Even in her anxiety Ju noticed that there was something odd about the
surface of the paddle as the Watcher slid it caressingly over her bottom-globes.
"I can see by your expression that you realize that this is no ordinary
paddle, fraulein," the Watcher observed in an intimidating voice. "Tonight you
shall have the honor of wearing the imprint of the Deutsche Reich!" The Watcher
moved closer and held the paddle out in front of her so that she could see it.
An oddly-curved stylized cross stood out in slight bas-relief from the surface
of the paddle.
"It is beautiful, is it not? The blade of the paddle is made from the
hardy spruce of the Schwarzwald, the Black Forest. And the emblem is the
famouse Eiserne Kreuz, the Iron Cross, the symbol of German might. Tonight you
shall feel that might, and wear its symbol."
The Watcher removed a large, thick volume from a nearby bookshelf and
placed it on the desk in front of his nude victim. "Bend forward until your
pretty nipples touch the cover of the book. And don't let go of that slip - now
or at any time, or it will be the worse for you!"
Ju leaned forward until her lithe body was bent into an inverted L and the
half-erect tips of her breasts just grazed the binding of the book. "You will
maintain that position!" the Watcher snarled as he twirled the leather grip of
the paddle in his hand. A moment later he bent down and snatched the book away
and returned it to its place on the bookshelf. "Your breasts are not to touch
the table, nor are you to straighten up. Verstanden?"
"Y-yes," Ju whispered. "I understand, sire." She felt her bare legs
trembling as the Watcher admired her pendant breasts briefly as he riffled his
fingers expertly through one of the stacks of coins. "There are two stacks of
ten coins each here, as you can see. To earn a coin you must receive one blow
each with the paddle, the strap, and the cane -- administered at the rate of
one per minute. Thirty strokes in thirty minutes. Where else could a greedy
little vixen like you earn one of these," he said, holding one of the coins up
so close to her face that she could read its date, "in three minutes? After you
have earned the coins in the first stack, you can earn those in the second
stack," he said with a smile that was tinged with both lust and malice, " ... in
the usual way."
Ju nodded miserably, remembering the bone-jarring violence of his "usual
way" during their last encounter. The Watcher had stretched her out on her back
at one end of the long divan and extended her arms back over her head toward
the beautifully carved wooden arm at that end of the divan. It had taken him
only a moment to lash her out-stretched wrists to the wooden frame with short
lengths of rope. Then he had taken advantage of her remarkable flexibility by
bending her pliable legs backs over her head and binding her ankles to her
wide-spread wrists. After giving her bare buttocks a dozen cutting blows with
a knobby switch, he had mounted her helpless body and given 'my little
pretzel', as he had called her, a punishing sexual pounding that had left the
muscles in her legs and abdomen feeling as if a section of the Great Wall had
collapsed and crushed her under its weight. Her vagina was still tender to the
touch a week later....
Once again she tried to take her mind off the Watcher's ruthlessness by
calculating how much rice and tea she could buy with each coin. Perhaps there
would be enough left to buy an egg - or even a juicy piece of fruit to share
with her child. It had been many days since the baby had tasted the sweetness
of such a delicacy. She wasn't sure how she would make it through the evening,
but she owed it to the little one to try.
The Watcher strode around behind her and placed his left hand on the small
of her back, just above her raised-up slip. Then she felt him press the black
paddle against her right buttock cheek. The raised ridges of the embossed Iron
Cross were rough against the baby-soft skin of her behind. Then, for an instant,
the pressure of the paddle was gone and she felt nothing at all - until the
paddle returned, visiting her bottom with a ferocious SMACKKK!!
"Aaaghhh!"
"Sei still, Sklavin! Have I given you leave to cry out?"
The Watcher placed the paddle on her flat-bent back and reached for the
leather strap. He inserted his wrist through the loop and gripped the leather
tightly. "Do you know where this leather comes from, wench?
"N-no, sir. I-I am sorry," Ju sputtered, as she felt the fiery sting of the
paddle sink deep into the tissue of her tender buttocks. "I cannot say."
The Watcher deftly slid the thick strap up along the dark, sensual groove
between her burning bottom-ovals. "A colleague of mine, who shares my taste in
... women gave it to me when he returned from a tour of duty in Tanganyika, our
colony in East Africa. He had bagged a tough old hartebeest in the Serengeti,
and dried its hide under the African sun for weeks, before taking the leather
and making half a dozen of these beauties for a few of his like-minded friends."
CRACCKKK!!! The Watcher slashed Ju viciously across the backs of her
slender legs, just above the tight white bindings that bisected her shapely
thighs.
"Oooouwww!!
"Quite effective, is it not?"
"Y-y-yes, sir, " Ju moaned.
"Since you seem unable to refrain from crying out, you leave me no
choice." He bent down to retrieve the panties that Ju had kicked aside.
"No ... please ... I'll ... I'll be still."
"Too late now, wench. Open your mouth!"
"N-no .... Please ..."
"Open your mouth, I said!"
Tearfully Ju opened her mouth, only to have it filled with the musky taste
of her most intimate garment.
"Now for the cane which you have polished so admirably." The Watcher took
the gleaming length of bamboo and turned it over in his hands admiring its
workmanship. "It, too, is a product of our invincible German empire. It is made
from a rattan grown only on the islands of the Bismarck Archipelago. The
warriors there are said to use it on disobedient daughters and sharp-tongued
wives." He grinned evilly. "I am told that they rarely have to use it twice."
Ju had felt the burning sting of the Watcher's canes before, but not this
new specimen. When he rested the cane gently atop the summit of her derriere,
she trembled uncontrollably. She felt the cane tap her bottom gently, almost
playfully, once, twice, and then THWICKK!! It swept down and etched a line of
fire across her springy buttocks.
"NNNGHPPHHHFF!" Ju cried into her gag.
The Watcher strode around the desk briskly, humming Tannhauser's paean to
lust, and removed one of the silver coins from its stack and snapped it crisply
down onto the table midway between the fetching little maid's swollen nipples.
"Eins!" he barked forcefully, before walking around behind her and picking up
the paddle once again.
During the second cycle, the Watcher slammed the Eiserne Kreuz into the
very center of Ju's left bottomcheek, sending her into a stimulating paroxysm of
wriggling as a rosy blush spread outward from the epicenter of the blow. When
the sensual rotation of her hips slowed, he whipped the leather strap smartly
across her thighs a second time, a finger's width above the mark he had left a
short time earlier. He waited, watching the two dark streaks he had left on her
once-flawless flesh meld into a single livid mark, and then gave the tempting
curves of her bottom another stinging blow with the rattan cane.
As Ju groaned in misery, the Watcher set the cane down and ran his hands
over the soft curves of Ju's inflamed bottom, conscious of the moans emanating
from behind her gag.
What a lovely creature this petite Chinesischen puppchen was! he thought
to himself as he slid around to the far side of the desk But this delicate
China doll was no creature of cloth or wood. She was a living breathing
plaything with a warm, sensuous body and marvelously flexible limbs that he
could bend and twist and contort into any position he fancied, leaving him free
to toy with her as he wished. He admired the delicate lines and hollows of her
back which remained bent at a submissive ninety-degree angle, the long black
hair which partly obscured one lovely brown eye, the tiny hands that kept the
pale slip hoisted up over her hips, and the temptingly nude breasts that jiggled
so enticingly each time he struck her.
The matted tendrils of Ju's pubic hair were crushed against the edge of the
desk, making it clear that each of his blows had driven her most sensitive
flesh into the unforgiving wood. He eyed the corner of the desk thoughtfully
for a moment, visualizing its angular sharpness pressing painfully against Ju's
tender slit, and then elected to defer that pleasing notion until another
occasion. Had not the great tactician Clausewitz himself warned that one should
always hold something in reserve?
The Watcher reached out to brush a few fine hairs away from her face, and
then he removed a second coin from his stack and placed it atop the one he had
moved earlier, muttering, "Zwei!".
The third cycle of punishment was no less harrowing. Standing just to the
left of Ju's provocatively posed derriere, the Watcher rubbed the Kreuzpaddel
against the roundness of her right buttock ominously for quite a long time.
Meanwhile his left hand slid under her body and toyed with her silken mound and
deep-notched navel briefly before sliding up to fondle her left breast. At
first his touch was delicate, pleasurable, but soon the caressing hand tightened
inexorably, squeezing Ju's sensitive globe in an iron grip until tears were
streaming out of her eyes. Only then did he lift the paddle up and administer a
third painful paddle-smash to the summit of her right bottom-cheek.
"Nngghhhphfffh!"
The Watcher gave the maid's breast a final virile squeeze before
discarding the paddle and taking up the strap again. As he had done throughout,
he let a minute or so elapse between each blow, allowing the heat of each stroke
to radiate through her body. The strap took Ju by surprise this time, slashing
into her rounded bottom-ovals rather than her thighs and causing her to groan
audibly into her intimate gag.
The strap-wielder used the next brief intermezzo to run his hands over her
delicious behind, grunting with approval as he cupped the soft, rounded flesh
which the paddle had warmed for his pleasure. Once again his hands were gentle
at first, and then more aggressive, gradually widening Ju's buttock cleavage so
that he could study her secret crease and the beckoning rosebud near its base.
"Sehr schoen," he muttered before releasing her and picking up the rattan
rod. The force of the strap-stroke had caused Ju's trembling hands to relax her
grip on the skirt of her slip slightly and it had drifted lower, obscuring the
upper third of her shadowy buttock groove.
"We can't have this, now, can we?" the Watcher asked as he used the cane to
lift the garment back up to the top of her hips before lifting Ju on to her toes
with a vicious, upsweeping cane-stroke that found the soft, ripe undercurve of
her shapely buttocks.
"Ngghhmpff!
Ju's bottom was still wriggling from that fiery stroke when her tormentor
strode to the other side of the desk and added a third coin to the growing
stack between her dark, distended nipples. "Drei! Note that I am stacking these
very carefully, fraulein - see that you don't disturb the stack with your
shameless wriggling!"
Ju gave him an anguished glance; it would not take much of a reflexive
wriggle to cause her breasts to careen into the coins, not when one considered
the force of his blows.
"Well, then. Has your greed fallen victim to your cowardice?" the cool,
cynical voice asked. "Do you wish to continue, fraulein?" he barked in clipped
tones.
Despite the fact that her bottom was on fire, Ju forced herself to think of
her child and what she could do with the European sadist's largesse. She nodded
her head affirmatively.
"Gut!" the Watcher said expansively as his lips curled into a diabolical
smile. "But you know, fraulein, it strikes me that I have not yet punished you
for arriving late. We shall rectify that oversight now."
Seeing that Ju was trying to speak through the pantie-gag, the Watcher
removed it with an amused smile. "Do you deny that you were late, girl?"
"Please, sire ...I'm sorry ... One of the other girls was ill today, and
the major-domo insisted that I do her work after finishing my own. It wasn't
really my f ... ."
"Schweig!" The Watcher silenced her with a snarl. "It is my pleasure which
concerns me, not your pathetic attempts to blame others for your shortcomings."
His dark eyes narrowed. "I believe that discipline is the best teacher,
fraulein. It must be swift and sure and harsh to prevent sloth and tardiness."
"Sire... I promise..."
"Enough! The time for promises is past, fraulein!" Ju watched in
consternation as The Watcher sifted through the thick stack of papers that he
had been studying when she entered the room. What did he want with these
papers, she wondered, as she looked on while the Watcher pushed down on the
silvery clamp that held them together. He had to use considerable force in
order to open the clamp wide enough to slide the papers out.
It was only when he pushed the papers to one side that she realized with
dismay that it was the clamp that he wanted, not the papers.
He displayed the shiny metal device for her benfit, enjoying Ju's worried
expression as he pressed down on its wing-like flanges, opening its jaws as wide
as they would go. He held the clamp open for a moment, and then released the
flanges, allowing the tension in the spring to snap the teeth of the clamp back
together with a foreboding "CLICK!" that pierced the silence of the Watcher's
office.
It was only when the Watcher reached toward her left breast that the
terrible truth began to dawn on Ju Hua. Reaching out with his free hand, he
drew a circle around the aureole of her breast, letting his fingertip graze her
nipple, teasing it. He smiled as the little brown nugget responded to his
touch.
"Perhaps the memory of my shiny little toy will teach you to present
yourself at the proper time next week, fraulein," the Watcher jeered as his
fingers slid underneath her breast, cupping it gently, even as he re-opened the
jaws of the clamp with his other hand.
"S-sir ... please pardon my carelessness. It will never happen again, I-I
promise."
Ju Hua watched with mounting horror as her tormentor inched the gaping jaws
of the clamp toward the tip of her left breast. But even though her body told
her to run, she knew that even if she were somehow able to flee, she would lose
not only the money she had suffered so much to earn, and very likely her
position as well. Besides, the constricting thigh ropes had done their work
well; a one-legged man would have had more mobility than she.
The Watcher slid the lower edge of the clamp under her quivering nipple
and scraped at it gently, smiling cynically as the lovely bud continued to
blossom as he stimulated it with the hard metallic edge of the clamp.
"Are you ready, Ju, to wear your badge of tardiness?"
"P-please, sir. I-I beg you ... My breasts are very tender. I ... only
stopped nursing my baby a short time ago."
"And have I not been most considerate and patient with you? Do you imagine
that I was not tempted to ..." he paused, trying to think of an appropriate
word, "attend ... to them when they were so plump and bursting with milk? It
took all of my self-control to spare them my attentions, I assure you."
"Th-thank you sir," Ju stammered still eyeing the corky brown breast tip
which was positioned so precariously within the wide-open jaws of the clamp. "I
am most grateful, sir." What he had said was true. During their first
assignation he had made her pose for him, holding her swollen globes in her tiny
hands, while she had rubbed her tender nipples until they were thick with
desire. On another occasion he had imposed on her to squeeze her heavy breasts
until the pressure had sent fine jets of warm milk into his waiting mouth. And
only a month ago he had lain on his back on the divan and forced her to straddle
his body and cradle his erect penis between her milk-laden mounds. Then, using
only fresh-squeezed droplets of maternal milk for lubrication, she had bent
over his throbbing erection and placed it between her ripe, pendulous breasts.
The touch of her swollen breasts had excited him so much that at first she
had thought that their encounter would be brief. But he had fought off the
overpowering urge to explode, and she had been forced to pleasure his manhood
with her hyper-sensitive love-globes for quite a long time. When he could not
bear the ecstatic pleasure of her touch for a moment longer, he had ejaculated
with a violent shudder, his passion-pulsing phallus propelling jet after jet of
its own creamy secretions onto her slippery mammaries to mix with her own.
But, Ju was forced to admit that, in deference to her maternal instincts
and responsibilities, he had indeed refrained from using instruments of
discipline on her tender breasts.
Until this long-deferred moment.
'Please', she prayed silently to the spirits of her ancestors, 'don't let
him release the spring!'
"And what is the thanks I get for my solicitude?" the Watcher whispered in
an icy voice. "Tardiness! And what is worse, betrayal!"
"B-betrayal? I never betr .... Aaaaaeeiaaahh!!"
The spring-loaded jaws of the steel clamp had slammed shut, trapping her
tender nipple in its excruciatingly tight embrace.
"Do not lie to me, wench! Did you think it would escape my notice that you
had told someone of our meetings?"
Reflexively, Ju dropped her half-slip and reached to tear the punishing
clamp from her breast, but stopped short when the Watcher's strong, masculine
hand began to pull the stack of coins away from her.
"Has your avarice deserted you, then, Ju? Lift that skirt back up if you
hope to leave her with a pfennig more than you came in with!"
"Y-yes, sir," the maid murmured as a tear streamed down her left cheek.
"It's just ... it's just..."
"What? The truth, girl!" the Watcher snapped, as he walked around behind
her and picked up the paddle emblazoned with the Iron Cross.
"Oooohhh ... please ... it hurts." Ju's mind raced - she had told no one.
Only the blonde woman, and surely...
"Lift your slip, higher, slut! Or shall I look for another clamp?"
"N-no... For the love of heaven ..." and Ju's delicate fingers hoisted the
hem of her frilly undergarment up around her waist once again.
"Whom have you told about our meetings, whore?" SMACKKK!!! The Watcher
slammed the Kreuzpaddel into her derriere viciously, as his sperm-laden
testicles tightened with manly lust.
"Aaaaaiiahh!! No one ... I swear it."
CRACKKK!!! "Aaargghhhh!!" There had been no pause in between blows this
time. The leather strap had blistered her thigh-flesh again, finding the
sensitive place just below at the base of her bottom.
"Are you certain?" THWICKKKK!! The well-polished cane sliced into her
shapely buttocks with such force that for an instant Ju forgot about the
crocodilian clamp that was laying siege to her agonized breast-nugget.
"Y-yes ... you must believe me, sir," she panted, trying to catch her
breath while the Watcher stepped around to add another coin to the growing
stack, "Vier!" he muttered before reaching out and tugging at the clamp on her
left nipple.
"Aaaaghhh," Ju whimpered as this added pressure exacerbated her misery, but
at last the Watcher relented and pushed down on the metal flanges, thus
releasing Ju's brutalized nipple.
"Danke ... danke," she moaned piteously and then the realization hit her
that the removal of the clamp allowed blood to flow back into her abraded
nipple-tip, and a second wave of blinding pain coursed through her breast.
Condemned to maintain her grip on her slip, Ju was helpless to do anything but
suffer. Her body still bent at the waist over the desk, she pressed her bare
thighs firmly against its edge in the vain hope that that pressure might assuage
her anguish. A long, low moan escaped her lips.
"Sei still, mein kind, sei still. You have not yet earned half of your ...
allowance."
The toes of Ju Hua's bare feet clawed at the carpet, as she tried to
suppress the sobs of pain that were making it difficult to breathe. As the
Watcher took up his accustomed position behind her, the pain in her breast
gradually eased. The paddle, the strap and the cane were awful, but she had
borne them before and could do so again. But that ghastly clamp ...
The Watcher SMACCKK'ed her rump with the Kreuzpaddel a fifth time, almost
lifting the Chinese maid off the ground with the force of his blow. He placed
the paddle on top of her back again, and retrieved the double-strap from the
desk and waited a minute or so, letting the pain of the paddle-smash radiate
through Ju's heart-shaped buttocks. The beleaguered beauty wriggled as if she
thought her gyrations would somehow cool the flames that raged through her
smooth and shapely behind.
The petite beauty was expecting another thigh-burner, but the Watcher
crossed her up by lashing the strap across her bottom, leaving a long, diagonal
mark which began near her right hip and ended near the base of her left buttock.
"Aaaiiiahhhh!" she cried out as the cumulative impact of the blows mounted.
THWICKK!!! "Aaaeeaiiiahh!!" she groaned again, as the cane followed in the
wake of the strap. The rattan was no more than a blur as it sped through the
air. But its impact on Ju's bare bottomflesh was as tangible as that of
lightning striking a tree.
Ju trembled uncontrollably as the Watcher made his fifth trip to the stack
of coins. He removed one from the stack of six and placed it on top of Ju's
hard-earned booty. "Funf!" he exclaimed.
The stacks were now of equal size. Halfway home, Ju exhorted herself,
halfway home.
And then the Watcher picked up the clamp again and looked at it pensively.
"No ... please sir... I swear to you I told no one ..."
"You are lying, Ju. I have given you several minutes to retract your lie,
but still you persist."
At first Ju could not tear her eyes from the terrible teeth of the clamp.
And then her brown eyes darted around the room desperately as she considered her
options.
Meanwhile the Watcher's left hand snaked out to caress her right, undamaged
nipple.
Reading Ju's thoughts, the Watcher warned her, "If you step back from the
desk, Ju, you will forfeit your ... wages of sin." He smiled at his own cruel
joke. "My spies tell me that you told that blonde girl that you have a lover
in this building."
Ju shook her head agitatedly, "But sir ... I did not say who." Her head
was spinning -- How could he have known? Had the German girl told him? Why,
why had she been so foolish to tell that cursed girl?
Her nipple was beginning to swell under his touch, unconscious of the fact
that it was only seconds from agony.
"How can I believe you, now that I know you have lied to me?" the
Watcher said in a placid voice.
The lower edge of the clamp slid under the mahogany-tinted bud and began
to scrape teasingly at the half-erect nugget. Despite the rising tide of panic
that welled up within her, making it difficult to breathe, Ju felt her body
respond as if it were beyond her control.
'No,' she thought. 'No. This can't be happening.'
The Watcher stroked the blade of the clamp against the under-side of
Ju's nipple three more times, until the brave little nugget of flesh stood out
boldly from the pebbly aureole on which it stood.
And then he let the terrible clamp snap shut, pinching the sensitive
base of her breast-tip in its remorseless grip.
For the second time, Ju Hua's dark eyes filled with tears as she tried
to endure the tenacious bite of the spring clamp.
Five more times the Watcher made the short trip behind her, and five
more times he delivered his three-pronged attack on her bare bottom. After the
sixth cycle, he added another coin to her stack and then pulled the horrible
clamp off of her right nipple. Only to place it on her left nipple which still
bore a cruel indentation from its first visit.
After each of the remaining cycles, he moved the clamp from one breast
to the other, continually refreshing the attack on each of Ju's tender
lust-nipples, rather than allowing either of them to grow numb or inured to the
fiendish grip of the clamp. And only when all ten cycles of blows had been
delivered, and the Chinese girl's rounded buttocks were crimson from the
Kreuzpaddel and luridly streaked by the strap and the cane, did the Watcher step
over to the low table and retrieve the glass container that Ju had set there
what seemed like an eternity of suffering ago.
When he turned back toward her Ju was still bent double over the teak
desk. He strode determinedly back toward the petite creature whose delicious
body was still shaking uncontrollably and set the tiny cruet in the hollow
formed by the gentle curvature of her spine. Then he pulled his dark trousers
and his underwear down, revealing his massively erect cock-staff. He grunted
with pleasure as he stroked his powerful phallus a few times with his left hand
while his right hand slid around to Ju's velvety woman-slit, fingering her
delicate genitalia roughly, paying particular attention to her moist clitoris.
The Watcher leaned closer, pressing his throbbing truncheon against the
crevice that separated the perfect buttocks of his tiny Chinese doll, and then
slid the length of his cock up and down Ju's enticing butt-crease several times,
savoring the feel of her springy bottom-flesh against his manhood. Grinding his
pelvis aggressively against hers, his hands slid up her body and cupped her
bruised but tempting love plums and gave them a virile squeeze.
Only when those preliminaries had been completed, did the Watcher remove
the stopper from the tiny cruet and sniff at its dark contents. "Sesame," he
whispered. "A lovely choice, little one."
"P-please, sir ... I'm still very sore from last time."
An evil smile crossed the Watcher's face as he recalled how he had taken
her during their last encounter, bending her supple little body into a tortured
pretzel on the long divan and then plundering her tight little love-nook with a
withering onslaught of deep, penetrating strokes.
"You do me an injustice, meine liebe," he replied in an injured tone.
"I have no intention of hurting your pretty little puss today." He raked the
nails of his left hand across both of her burning buttocks, and when he spoke
next it was in a low, guttural voice. "Spread your cheeks for me, sklavin!" he
ordered.
Ju felt a rising tide of panic climbing into her throat making it
difficult for her to breathe. "N-no... you can't...I beg you ... not there."
Somehow she had never imagined that such a seemingly elegant man could harbor
such depraved desires.
"Spread them I say, you disobedient slut! Or leave empty-handed!"
The Watcher held Ju's slip in his left hand while the fear-crazed
beauty reached behind her and placed her dainty fingers on her rosy
bottom-cheeks and eased the alluring ovals gently apart.
Holding the cruet carefully in his right hand, the Watcher very
deliberately let the teaspoon of sesame oil drip dribble down into the upper end
of Ju's lovely butt-cleft. He waited for a few seconds, allowing the slippery
liquid to trickle down toward her tiny rosette and the inviting labia that
guarded the woman-slit beyond. The Watcher slid the bulbous head of his naked,
blood-thickened penis up through her ass-crease once, slowly, anointing it with
the minute quantity of oil. The inward pressure of her sweet young buttocks on
his glans caused him to shudder with suppressed excitement.
When his cock-tip was moist with the aromatic oil, the Watcher pressed
his semi-slick weapon against Ju's anal entrance and thrust his hips forward,
trying to wedge the head of his big Deutschenschwanz into Ju's tiny nether
opening. As he increased the pressure, Ju's low groan of pain seemed to rise up
from her entrails.
"Ach! Was fur ein suesser Arsch!" he muttered with obscene delight,
enjoying the one-sided sexual combat whose result was not in doubt. He fisted
his stiff ramrod and bucked forward against her adorable ass yet again,
ruthlessly forcing the aggressive tip of his cock-muscle against the muscular
ring that guarded her forbidden entrance. Every nerve-ending on the head of his
penis seemed charged with erotic electricity as his stabbing movements sent jolt
after jolt of intense pleasure all along the length of his marauding prick, and
back into his lust-heavy testicles. He continued with a succession of compact
virile thrusts that stretched little Ju's sparsely-oiled rosette until his
determined cockstaff had breached the tiny opening.
"NNGH! NGMHH!! Ju's guttural groans were several octaves lower than her
normal soprano and almost unrecognizable, as the Watcher's plunging piston
forced its way ever further inside her spasming starfish. The fleshy walls of
Ju's tight tubular channel gave ground grudgingly, trying to thwart the
Watcher's violent, rectum-filling lunges. But his strength and will to dominate
was too much for her tiny body and gradually his hard-pumping manhood mastered
her, thrust by invasive thrust. She continued her valiant resistance even
after the punishing cock was lodged deep inside her, but every movement to
escape the impaling beast served only to make her overstrained interior muscles
clutch his engine of lust more tightly.
The more Ju fought him, the louder and faster the Watcher's grunts of
pleasure grew, and her every futile attempt to repel him only caused him to
quicken his punishing pace as wave after wave of pleasure flowed through his
loins. The energy of his concussive lunges caused Ju's back and shoulders to
stiffen with the impact of each brutal thrust, giving her lower back a
sublimely beautiful arch. But it was the shape and feel of her rounded buttocks
that brought the Watcher to heights of passion he had known but rarely. Ju's
bottom was exquisitely feminine without being over-broad and fleshy in the way
of too many women of his own country, and under his relentless assault it
wriggled and writhed in sensuous half-circles that would have aroused an
octogenarian. The blushing after-effects of the flogging he had administered
gave an extra touch of color and warmth to her perfect ivory-gold buttocks.
The white ropes that cinched Ju's thighs had been judiciously placed,
too; with her legs bound together, all of the muscular tension in her legs and
pelvis and groin was forced inward. The Watcher exulted in this compression,
which resulted in an almost unbearably delicious series of contractions that
sent intense surges of desire through his manly erection.
After several minutes of plucky resistance, the unequal sexual struggle
had resulted in Ju's involuntary muscular contractions sucking his pillaging
penis deep into her incomparably tight nether cavity. He redoubled the violence
of his lunges, slamming the bare thighs of the petite Chinese beauty against
his teakwood desk with such force that her body dislodged its heavy front leg
from a depression in the carpet that it had occupied for years.
As his excitement mounted the Watcher reached around to seized the
luscious cones of flesh that he had so cruelly clamped earlier in the evening,
paying no heed to Ju's anguished cries of misery. His evil hands tore at the
tender innocent breasts which had so recently been filled with mother's milk,
even as Ju's elastic rear passageway unwillingly milked his hard-ramming
phallus.
Finally after a maddeningly thrilling series of rectum-stretching thrusts
he exploded, spitting volley after volley of sodomizing semen deep into Ju Hua's
abused bottom-chute.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!" he exclaimed, with a long, satisfied sigh as he withdrew
his bloated, semen-dripping man-weapon from Ju's exhausted body even as she fell
forward across his desk, breathing heavily.
"Did I please you well, sir?" she asked a moment later, in a voice
utterly drained of strength, knowing that she dare not move until he had
answered in the affirmative.
Only after he had answered with a curt "Ja" did she seek and receive
permission to undo the ropes that cut so deeply into her thighs - but not until
she had performed the degrading ritual of kneeling before him and using her lips
and tongue to clean his phallus. The Watcher ran his fingers through her
lustrous black hair, pulling her face ever-closer to his crotch as she
tongue-polished the residue of sesame and semen that clung to his manhood from
its angry, bluish-red tip down to its hairy root. She would gladly have
returned one of the coins for a glass of water and an empty basin so that she
could rinse the foul taste from her mouth.
That final depravity accomplished, Ju returned the three instruments and
the coil of rope to the cabinet in which she had found them. Then she retrieved
her clothes and put them on hurriedly -- except for the crimson scarf into which
she scooped the twenty coins she had endured so much to win.
After knotting the scarf around the bundle of coins, Ju bowed to the man
who was once again seated behind the desk, perusing the document he had been
studying earlier. He inclined his head in her direction, dismissing her.
The pretty maid's right hand was poised to unlatch the door through
which she had entered when the Watcher's imperious voice called across the room.
"Will I see you next Wednesday evening, Ju?"
Ju froze in her tracks and closed her eyes. She leaned her forehead
against the heavy wooden door as the sordid events of the evening began to
replay themselves in her mind. But as she lifted her left hand to wipe at a
furtive tear, the coins in her silken bundle clicked together gently and she
remembered why she had tapped on the other side of this portal of hell two hours
earlier. After a long moment of silence and a despondent sigh, she voiced the
words, "Yes, sir. At nine o'clock," in a trembling voice and unlatched the
door.
"Ju?" the sinister voice called out as she stepped into the doorway.
Apprehensively, Ju Hua turned back toward the man behind the teak desk.
"Yes, sir?"
"I suggest that you make every effort to be on time."
Chapter 104 Erika's Dream
After dinner, Doctor Kauffmann had given Erika a mild sedative to help
her sleep. She had protested a bit, despite the soreness in much of her body,
because the long, steamy bath had been remarkably soothing, and because she
hated to lose the tenuous grip on reality that she had only recently begun to
regain.
But the doctor, wearing his genial smile, had insisted, after warning
her that opiates, even mild ones, can sometimes have the effect of inducing
strange dreams. But in her case, he pointed out, any dreams, no matter how
bizarre-seeming they might be, might possibly provide a clue to her identity.
And indeed, Erika's troubled sleep that night was populated by a series
of dark visions. In the first such dream she found herself adrift on the
smooth, glassy surface of a brilliant lake. But her skin was not cool like the
lake's waters, but was scorched by a blazing sun from which there was no escape.
When the vision of the lake faded, she found herself blindfolded,
suspended from heavy iron chains, stretched into a taut, trembling X, while
two pairs of hands, one strong and masculine, the other soft and feminine
stroked her nude body. The hands explored every inch of her sun-warmed body
thoroughly, teasingly, until the nerve endings in her flesh were aroused to the
very pinnacle of passion.
But then the possessor of the soft feminine hands began to use her
hawk-like talons to rake down the delicate skin of Erika's back, buttocks and
thighs, even as her male counterpart thrust his ardent phallus into her
suspended body with powerful, punishing strokes.
After a time those unseen figures melted away and Erika was transported
to yet another place, a banquet. Only she herself was the banquet, a banquet of
erotic pleasure for a group of Asian men with cruel eyes and crueler hands. But
the faces of these men were nothing like the hearty, animated Chinese faces she
had seen in the throngs she had watched from her window earlier in the day. The
eyes of the men who encircled her were cold, dark, and merciless as they
stripped her to the waist and bound her hands behind her back. Then they passed
her from one man to the other, one man holding her by her pinioned arms, while
his neighbor in the sadistic circle slapped her naked breasts.
Her assailants began began with short, compact, almost gentle spanks that
caused her breasts to jiggle gently and her nipples to tingle with arousal.
At first the blows were relatively mild, but each man seemed bound by a pitiless
code of honor to try to do outdo those who had gone before him.
Soon the playful swats escalated into stinging slaps that left the cruel
imprint of aggressive fingers on her tender globes. By the time she had been
passed around the perimeter of pain three times, the tears of suffering that
streamed down her cheeks and throat had begun to christen her coral-crested
mounds.
That alluring sight served only to whet the appetite of her attackers for
their savage sport, and each man seemed to redouble his efforts, as one by one
they smacked her tear-moistened treasures until her pink-blushing globes began
to take on a crimson glow.
When at last she had managed to spin away from those heartless faces and
merciless hands, she was in yet another place, still bound, but this time to a
gleaming black pedestal. Atop of which stood a strange little gnome. But this
gnome was no good-natured kobold from German folklore, but rather a menacing
little man with an evil-looking whip. Erika turned away from him fearfully,
but the gnome leapt down from the column and lashed out with the whip, leaving a
scalding stripe of pain across her bare shoulders.
A plaintive cry of anguish rose up from deep in Erika's throat, and a
scream rang out, waking her from her troubled sleep. But it was not her own
voice that had cried out.
Erika sat upright in bed woozily and strained to hear the voice again. She
thought she had heard a woman's voice call out "N-no ... please ... " followed
by a second cry of pain and a single blunt "Schweig!!" from an angry male voice.
Erika shook her head, trying to clear it, waiting breathlessly in the
darkness for a few minutes, straining to hear the disembodied voices should they
come again. But all was silence and she concluded that the voice had come to
her in her own dream, and she soon fell back among her pillows.
She fell asleep again quickly, but this time it was not of strange visions
that she dreamed, but rather of Dr Kauffmann and the benign smile he had given
her when he had administered the injection to help her sleep.
Chapter 105 A Maid takes Liberties
Erika awoke early the following morning when Ju tapped at her door and
then entered, carrying her breakfast. Erika greeted the young maid with a
smile, but was taken aback when Ju gave her what could only be called a
reproachful look and set about opening the curtains. Erika started in on her
breakfast - a slice of pumpernickel bread, a quartered orange, and a steaming
cup of green tea -- and watched while Ju fussed with the draperies. She was
struck by the fact that while yesterday the vivacious maid had been as sprightly
as a sparrow, flitting around the room with youthful energy, this morning she
moved as if she had aged a dozen years overnight.
"Ju?" Erika began as she sipped at the tea and spread a little Danish
butter on her dark bread, which judging, by its warmth and aroma, seemed to have
come directly from the bakery of the consulate.
"Yes, Miss?" Ju replied, as she turned to face the blonde who was sitting
up among the pillows.
"Are you not feeling well?"
"I ... I ..." Ju's red-rimmed eyes darted nervously around the room as if
looking for tale-telling spirits. On her way home last night she had pondered
the question of how had the man who had flogged and raped her had found out
that she confided to the German girl that she had a lover at the consulate. "I
... did not sleep well, miss."
Erika noticed that Ju's eyes had stopped circling the room and had focused
on the tray lying across her lap. The poor girl is hungry, she realized.
Erika gave Ju a warm smile. "Have you ever had fresh-baked German bread,
Ju? It is very nice. Please - try some," she invited , while Ju glanced
nervously toward the door.
"I ... Thank you, Miss ... I had better not."
"Don't be silly. There is enough for us, both. Here, sit beside me,"
Erika added as she pushed the bed-clothes back to clear a space and slid over to
the far side of the bed. "Ess, ess! Eat, please."
Ju, still moving gingerly, inched her way toward the corner of the bed
while Erika spread a dab of fresh butter on one corner of the slice of bread and
broke it off. As soon as Ju had lowered herself to the bed, Erika giggled
playfully, and popped a morsel of the warm, freshly-baked bread into the little
maid's open mouth.
Ju closed her eyes and savored the smell and the taste and the texture of
the home-made bread. It was quite unlike anything she had tasted before, as was
its creamy coating of butter. It seemed to melt in her mouth, a heavenly
blessing for a young woman whose diet had consisted of little more than a bowl
of starchy rice for the past several weeks.
The petite young mother chewed the rounded corner of bread with infinite
slowness, not wanting to swallow it, not wanting to lose the sense of its warm,
rich taste. She was just about to swallow, hoping for another bite of the
delicious bread, when she opened her eyes, only to find a stern-looking Klaus
Schumacher standing in the doorway.
Erika's sea-green nightgown had ridden up when she had pushed back the
covers, and the deputy secretary's officious glance lingered on Erika's long,
bare legs for a moment before fixing themselves on the young maid, who had
jumped off the bed as if she had been speared, guiltily wiping at the crumbs on
her lips.
"What is going on here?" Schumacher snapped. "If you don't have enough
work to do around here, girl, we can easily dispense with your services. Don't
you have other rooms to clean? Your work in here seems to be done."
"Y-yes, sir," Ju mumbled around the ball of bread in her mouth. I was just
leaving, sir."
"I would be in your debt, fraulein," Schumacher continued angrily, now
addressing his remarks to Erika who was in the process of straightening her
nightgown, "if you would maintain a certain distance with the servants. No good
can come from such ...such casual behavior," he spluttered.
"But, sir," Erika began, "all I did was..."
"I have eyes, fraulein," he continued with a stony glance. "I can see what
was happening here. As for you," he turned toward Ju as she limped past him,
grimacing with every step, " I shall deal with you later."
Noticing how slowly Ju was moving, Schumacher snapped, "You would do well
to move more quickly, girl, if you expect to complete your duties on schedule.
Schnell!"
Trying to suppress her tears, Ju edged past him and then bumped into Dr.
Kauffmann just as he stuck his head inside the open door. "How is my patient
this morning?" he asked brightly as his dark eyes lit first on the apprehensive
maid and then on Erika and lastly on his ill-tempered colleague. "Is something
wrong?"
"Excuse me, sir," Ju mumbled, giving him a nervous glance. "I have work to
do."
"Of course, of course," the doctor said, as he stepped inside the room,
setting his black bag down and allowing Ju to pass. He turned toward
Schumacher. "The vice-consul needs to speak you, Mr. Secretary, before he
leaves for Tsingtao."
Schumacher nodded. Their superior would be meeting with the Japanese envoy
there, but since Dr Kauffmann did not number Japanese among his several
languages, he would not be needed as translator. "Well, let me see what the
baron wants." He glanced down at Erika, who had lain back among her pillows
with her head turned away from them, treating himself to a last glimpse of the
stunning blonde Rhine-maiden. "Perhaps while he is away for a few days, you
will have a chance to ... devote more time to the mystery of our young Lorelei."
"Indeed, sir, I hope to make good use of the time. In fact, if you'll
excuse me ....?" Kauffmann gave the under-secretary a look indicating that the
doctor preferred to be alone with his comely patient.
"Of course, of course," Schumacher replied making an effort to conceal the
envy that was welling up inside of him. Most doctors would have deferred to a
man in his position and allowed him to be present while they examined the body
of a young woman had been discovered under such mysterious circumstances. But
Kauffmann, to this point, had preferred to conduct his examinations alone,
shooing the under-secretary out of the room on each occasion, although he had
summarized her injuries and condition briefly afterward. 'I'll bet the good
doctor takes his sweet time examining that lovely body,' Schumacher thought to
himself rather bitterly, as he watched the gentle rise and fall of Erika's
breasts against the flimsy nightgown.
Suppressing his annoyance, Schumacher stepped out into the hallway. Ju was
standing at a linen closet off to his left sorting through a stack of towels.
The imposing diplomat let his eyes explore the maid's trim little body in
profile more frankly than he had been able to do with Erika Weiss. The tiny
young woman was standing on her tiptoes rather awkwardly in order to reach the
desired shelf, and when she saw the tall figure of the under-secretary staring
at her balefully out of the corner of her eye, she lost her balance, and fell
forward, bringing a cascade of clean linen down on her dark head.
As she dropped to the ground to retrieve and re-fold the fallen sheets and
towels, Klaus Schumacher strode toward her. Ju Hua was a beautiful sight,
there, on her knees on the well-polished hardwood floor of the hallway, tiny and
vulnerable. He stood over her while she frantically folded the towels back up
in stacks according to their size, not daring to look up at the stern-visaged
functionary.
"Do not think that it has gone unnoticed that you have been both lazy and
careless this morning, Ju," he said with a scowl. "I shall see to it that you
are assigned some extra duties. While you are performing them you can reflect
on your negligent behavior this morning."
After giving her a final, reproachful glance, Schumacher strode off down
the hallway, leaving Ju to wonder at the meaning of his words.
Chapter 106 A Sound Body ...
Despite the fact that Dr Kauffmann's manner was polite and professional,
Erika's knees wobbled slightly as she rose from the bed upon his request. She
felt sure that she had been examined by doctors before, but even so she turned
away from Kauffmann shyly as she slipped the pale green nightgown off of her
rounded shoulders. The frilly garment had fallen to her hips before she
realized that she was standing obliquely in front of the mirror. When she
raised her eyes, they found Dr Kauffmann's dark eyes in the glassy reflection.
She watched him watching her for a moment. His gaze wase fixed on the
smooth skin of her bare, tapering bare back, but he looked at her body not with
the eyes of a doctor, nor even with the eyes of a lecher, but rather with the
suppressed excitement of a connoisseur who has come across a work of art of
indescribable beauty. His lips were parted as if in wonder and he seemed to be
holding his breath.
His admiring demeanor helped her overcome her shyness and she let the
nightgown slip to the floor, watching with a secret smile as Kauffmann's eyes
watched its gentle descent, as it slid slowly downward over her hips, her
buttocks and her bare legs.
Then she turned to look over her shoulder at him, and with the merest hint
of coquetry in her voice, said, "Well, Doctor?"
"Er, yes," Kauffmann stammered, and then he stepped forward to check to
see how Erika's injuries were healing. Her body was young and strong and
remarkably fit, as if she had recently been through a vigorous regimen of
physical exercise. In the days since Schumacher had come across her, cloaked
and unconscious, on the doorstep of the consulate, the dozens of marks on her
body had grown fainter with each passing day.
When he had first examined her, several days ago, Daniel Kauffmann had
been startled by the fact that the beautiful young blonde seemed to have beaten
with a veritable arsenal of different implements, judging by the different size
and shape and depth of her various of her cuts and bruises. Odder still, on
that first morning there had been clear imprints of human hands on her flesh,
particularly on her breasts. But the finger-marks had been surprisingly small,
as if it had been a woman or child who had gripped her flesh so forcefully as
to leave lasting marks. He had yet to come up with any reasonable explanation
for that odd circumstance.
Dr. Kauffmann felt Erika wince as his practiced hands touched the most
sensitive areas on her back and bottom and thighs. Marks that had been scarlet
weals and purplish bruises a few days earlier were now only faintly discolored.
The powder he had give her to add to her bath yesterday seemed to have expedited
the healing process as well. He applied a cooling salve to the most severe of
the weals, most of which appeared to have been inflicted by a cane or rod of
some sort, and then asked his patient to turn around.
Erika slowly turned toward him, modestly lowering her right hand to
cover the blonde triangle that guarded her pubic area, and raising her left to
partly conceal the provocative swell of her breasts. Daniel Kauffmann examined
the vestigial marks on her thighs carefully, and then those on her flanks and
belly, before gently moving Erika's left hand away from her breasts.
Erika flushed slightly, feeling her flesh pinken with embarrassment.
She knew that the doctor had treated her before, and had surely seen and touched
her nude body, but he had never done so while she had been fully conscious. She
winced again as his hand traced the marks on her firm young breasts, while his
eyes narrowed in concentration.
From the first moment he had seen her, Daniel Kauffmann had concluded
that Erika's tormentor or tormentors had stripped her naked before beating her.
Her lack of clothing under the dark cloak in which Schumacher had found her had
suggested as much, but the nature of her injuries had removed all doubt. The
nature and number of the now-faded weals on her breasts also suggested that
sexual obsession, had been the principal motive for the perpetrator's savagery.
This was no crime of random violence or ordinary spousal abuse. Whoever had
beaten Erika Weiss had been in the grip of a sexual fury, one that sought, it
seemed, to punish this remarkably attractive young woman for her beauty. And
yet, puzzlingly, her face remained as fresh and unmarked as when she had been a
pig-tailed schoolgirl back home.
********
Back in Vienna he and the young colleague that he had mentioned to Erika
earlier, had spent endless hours in the coffee shops of that distant capital,
sometimes playing chess long into the night for a friendly stake, sometimes
discussing the peculiar workings of the human mind, a subject which fascinated
both of them. His friend had maintained that carnal impulses were at the root
of much human conduct and that, and that obsessions, sexual and otherwise,
accounted for many of the otherwise inexplicable aspects of human behavior.
Kauffmann, like many young men of his age, had rather more interest than
first-hand experience in sexual matters, and, together he and his friend had
studied the writings of the notorious Frenchman, de Sade, and they had even, on
one occasion, shared coffee and strudel in a secluded corner of a cafe with
Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, the brilliantly literate but slightly unstable author
of "Venus in Furs". After seeing that his two interlocutors were serious
students of the human passions, the Galician author had unburdened himself and
spoken freely, albeit in a hushed whisper, of his unusual need to be dominated
by women.
All of these discussions had heightened Kauffmann's interest in the
subject of sexual obsession, and he had read everything he could get his hands
on that concerned itself, however remotely, with that esoteric subject. But all
of his research had still not really prepared him for the livid marks that had
marred the peaches-and-cream perfection of Erika Weiss's stunning body when he
had first examined her.
********
Erika's skin fluttered gently and she shivered slightly as the doctor's
hands touched the softness of her breasts. It seemed to him that her breasts,
which were still painfully tender, seemed to have suffered a disproportionate
share of the mistreatment meted out by her attackers. Kauffmann's well-trained
eye noted that some of the marks resulting from her cruel flagellation seemed to
wrap themselves around the curves of her full breasts, as if they had been
delivered by a whip with some elasticity, while others sliced across the upper
surfaces of her pale, faintly blue-veined breasts at a tangent, as if inflicted
by a more inflexible instrument, such as a rod or cane. When they had first
discovered Erika, one of the lacerations on her left breast had been tinged with
dark crimson, while a thicker trickle of blood seeped from an even deeper gash
on her right breast. Two of the nastiest streaks had fallen just above and
below her pink nipples, leaving little doubt that the cane-wielder had targeted
those sensitive buds - and had delivered a number of blows with devastating
accuracy.
Lifting her left breast gently, Kauffmann saw that there were two marks
along its undercurve. While several of the marks on her breasts had clearly
been inflicted by blows delivered at a downward angle, the dark streaks on the
soft undersides of her creamy breasts tended to confirm his forensic conclusion
that at least one of the guilty parties had been considerably shorter than this
beautiful young woman. Unless, that is, she had been coerced into a very
unusual position.
Erika began to feel more and more uncomfortable as Kauffmann examined her
breasts with meticulous care, as if he were mentally cataloguing each blow with
minute detail. Finally he finished and took a seat on the bed and gently moved
her right hand away from its defensive position in front of her golden-thatched
pubic mound.
While it had immediately been obvious, when they had discovered her, that
she had been sexually assaulted by her captor or captors, there seemed to have
been no dangerous physical injuries to this part of her body. Her genitalia
were slightly bruised and inflamed, but nothing more. Kauffmann had given her
a more thorough gynecological inspection upon first treating her, and had done
what he could to reduce the risk of pregnancy.
Finally the meticulous physician lowered his hands to his knees with an air
of finality, which Erika took to mean that she was free to slip into her gown
again. She bent down to pick it up, blushingly conscious of how the motion
emphasized the fullness of her breasts, just as he reached for the gown to hand
it to her.
As he did so, their heads bumped together and they exchanged pained smiles.
Then, while Erika donned the thin gown, Kauffmann apologized for his clumsiness
with good grace and continued on. "You are improving each day, Lorelei," he
said, using the name he had given her. "Within a few days all but two or three
of those abrasions and contusions should be fully healed. In a week, perhaps a
little more, no one will be able to tell that you have had such an unfortunate
experience."
He stood up from the bed, gesturing for her to take his place and as she
did so with an easy, graceful movement, he went on. "Tell me. Has anything
else come back to you since we spoke yesterday?"
"No, not really," Erika began in a soft voice. "But ..."
"Yes?"
"Well, last night, I had another strange dream ..."
"Yes ... go on."
Kauffmann listened to her with rapt attention, occasionally interrupting to
pose a question, while Erika blushingly recounted the horrific happenings of
her strange nocturnal vision -- floating helplessly on the mountain lake, the
bizarre banquet, and the peculiar tale of the gnome with the whip. She included
as many details of her surroundings as she could remember, passing quickly over
the more lurid aspects of her nightmare.
"Interesting, interesting. Your ability to remember these details confirms
my impression that you have suffered no brain damage whatever during your
ordeal, Lorelei. You have not lost your ability to remember; it is just that
shock and fear have taken from you the desire to remember. Your amnesia is what
my learned friend in Vienna used to refer to as a 'defense mechanism'; you have
repressed the terrible memory in order to spare yourself the pain of
recollection. In most cases, we have found, people are able to compartmentalize
that repression, to isolate certain memories and bury them deeply in a secret
place in their mind. But in your case, the incident was so frightful, the
thought of it so overpowering, that your memory seems to have shut down
entirely. At least as regards the events of the last few years."
Erika nodded uncertainly.
"Forgive me," the doctor went on, "for asking you to confront these
terrible memories. But one of the reasons I administered the tincture of
morphine, was to induce such dreams. Somewhere in them, I'm sure, is hidden the
key to your past, and to your identity." He turned toward the window and looked
out over the city, taking in the crowded confusion of Shanghai in a single
glance, and then he turned back toward the bed. "Can you remember anything else
from your dream? Anything at all?"
Erika's brow wrinkled in concentration. "Y-yes. There was one other thing
- or perhaps it was just my imagination. It's ... it's probably nothing."
She paused pensively, but Doctor Kauffmann gestured for her to continue.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. The slightest detail may prove to be immensely
important."
"Well, as I told you the little man was just about to strike me with the
whip ..." she paused, as the doctor's eyes narrowed slightly. "You must think
I've read too many fairy tales," she said with a sheepish smile, feeling a
little foolish to be telling this linguistically-gifted physician about a
character who was probably no more real than Rumplestiltskin.
"No, not at all, Lorelei. Go on. It is important that you tell me
everything."
"As I was saying, he lashed me across the back. Hard. And I screamed, or
rather I tried to scream, but it was not my voice that cried out in pain. And
then I woke up, or I think I did, and heard a man's say, 'Schweig!' - Silence!"
She looked at Daniel Kauffmann confusedly. "But it's all so mixed up. I'm not
sure where my dream left off, if it left off at all. Sometimes," she said
sadly, "I think this is all a horrible dream."
Kauffmann's eyes had narrowed, but were both dark and bright at once as he
considered the import of Erika's words for a moment.
"I see ... I see," he said at last. "You have given me much to think
about today, fraulein. Get some rest, now. And we will continue our course of
treatment this afternoon."
Chapter 107 ... and an Unsound Mind
As the days passed Daniel Kauffmann employed all manner of devices to
restore the memory that shock and pain had stolen from his lovely young patient.
He was thankful that the baron - as the staff usually referred to the interim
vice-consul, had been called away to Tsingtao to meet with the Japanese, because
his absence allowed him an unusual amount of time to devote to "Lorelei".
As before, he gave her a thorough physical examination each morning, to
assess the state of her recovery, which continued to proceed nicely. When she
seemed ready have recovered enough strength to leave the embassy for a few
hours, he arranged for a dressmaker to come to her room, with samples of various
fabrics, to take the appropriate measurements in order to provide Erika with a
modest wardrobe.
Erika's spirits were greatly buoyed by the opportunity to select some new
garments and shoes, but she lamented to the doctor that she did not know how she
would be able to repay his kindness. He dismissed her concerns with a smile,
but he was grateful that she was not extravagant when it came time to make her
selections.
The first of her dresses and shoes were ready within a day or two. From
that day forward, upon completion of her daily check-up, he would step out of
the room while Erika dressed. When she emerged, he would take her by the arm
and they would set off on long walks through various quarters of the great city,
hoping that a glimpse of some person or place in Shanghai might spark her
interest or her memory. On their first such promenade they had walked very
slowly, owing to the soreness of her limbs, but with each passing day Erika's
freedom of movement improved, and within a week, the Doctor was having trouble
keeping up with his fit, athletic, patient.
********
Once their long morning walks had become part of their daily routine, Dr
Kauffmann encouraged Erika to take a nap to restore her strength in the
afternoons. And it was during those afternoons that the young doctor
experimented with several techniques that he had concluded might possibly help
to restore the shattered mosaic of her memory.
He had decided to station himself in Erika's room during her naps, on the
off chance that she might wake in the middle of a nightmare or speak in her
sleep, or otherwise provide a clue to her history. On the first such afternoon,
he set up a small table and a chessboard in one corner of the room and pored
over the scores of games from a collection of memorable contests between
masters, re-playing the games move by move, trying always to anticipate the
next move of the great champions.
He became so immersed in the geometric patterns of the chessboard, the
myriads of difficult variations, that he did not notice that Erika had woken
and had taken up a position behind him.
"The doubled pawns on Black's queen's side look weak," she mentioned in a
low voice, as she looked over his shoulder.
"Why, yes; that often happens in the exchange variation of the Ruy Lopez,"
he replied as if he were discussing the game with another strong amateur in a
Vienna coffeehouse. "On the other hand ..." Suddenly it occurred to a startled
Dr. Kauffmann that the comment had come from his troubled patient. "How ...how
do you know that? Do you remember where you learned to play? Or who taught
you?" Erika's comment had displayed a certain discernment in evaluating a chess
position; it was hardly a comment someone who knew only the movement of the
pieces would make.
Erika furrowed her brow in concentration as she took a chair opposite her
doctor. "I was just a little girl, I think, when I learned. I remember having
to stand on tiptoes the first time I saw the pieces." She smiled. "I thought
they were very beautiful. Especially the knights," she added fondly as she
reached forward and took the long-since captured Queen Knight between her
slender fingers. She pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "The pieces
were new and shiny, but the board was old, very old. There was a coffee-stain
on the King Bishop's square. After I learned to play, I fancied that when I
castled on that side of the board, my king was jumping over a puddle."
What a beautiful smile she had, Kauffmann thought, noticing how the memory
seemed to light up her face. But then her expression darkened,
"Why, doctor, can I remember a foolish set of chessmen, but I can not picture
the face of my father or uncle or brother or whoever it was who taught me the
game?"
It was Kauffmann's turn to be perplexed. "Perhaps," he began with a
worried look, "it is because there is some tragedy associated with your family,
a tragedy that is too painful to remember at this time."
********
On the next afternoon, Erika woke from her nap to find the versatile Dr
Kauffmann once again sitting in front of the chessboard, but the black king had
long since been checkmated by a bishop who had seized a long, open diagonal at
the perfect moment. Kauffmann seemed to be celebrating the unfortunate
monarch's demise by playing a sprightly serenade on a well-worn violin.
"Mozart?" Erika guessed sleepily as she brushed her tousled blonde hair
away from her eyes.
"Yes, exactly." Dr Kauffmann glanced at Erika out of the corner of his eye
as she slid her long legs over the edge of the bed and stretched languorously,
oblivious of how that movement caused the curves of her full breasts to press
deliciously against the thin bodice of her low-necked nightgown.
"I did not know that you played the violin," she added as her voice trailed
a way into a yawn.
"Not nearly as well as I would like, but I try." Kauffmann gave his
patient a benign smile. "I am badly out of practice," he added, doing his best
not to stare too obviously at the alluring cleavage of his newly-woken patient.
"You know," he said, giving her a friendly smile, "it is said that in the old
days, when the pogroms came, and the Jews sometimes had to flee their homes with
only what they could carry on their backs, there were two things that they
never left behind - the violin and the chessboard. This was my father's," he
added as he caressed the well-varnished instrument lovingly. "He taught me to
play when I was a boy."
Kauffmann shouldered the violin again and slid the bow lightly across the
four strings. He paused to check the tuning of a string, and then took up the
piece where he had broken off, as Erika Weiss' shoulders swayed dreamily in time
to the music.
After he had finished the piece with a flourish, Daniel Kauffmann put the
violin away in an ancient case, cradling the instrument as carefully as he would
have held a newborn infant. Then, realizing that he was standing between Erika
and the afternoon sun that streamed in the window, he stepped to one side,
allowing the radiant sunlight to bathe her face and body in its health-giving
glow. "I did some more reading about your condition last night, and, with your
permission, I would like to attempt a new course of treatment."
Erika looked up at him anxiously, suddenly wide awake. "I am willing to
try anything, doctor; I feel sometimes as if I were swimming in a dark sea on a
starless night, knowing that land is nearby, but not knowing in which direction
to swim."
"It is quite understandable," he replied sympathetically. "I know that so
far my efforts have yielded little tangible benefit, but I think the method I
have in mind might just succeed." Daniel Kauffman paced across the room with
his head bowed in concentration, stroking his coal-black goatee as he continued.
"While the method of treatment is not new - in fact it is more than a hundred
years old - its founder was something of a charlatan. But I think that it may
offer possibilities in a case such as yours ..."
"What kind of treatment, doctor?" Erika asked, intrigued but a little
frightened by the caveats expressed by the physician.
"It is called mesmerism -- or hypnotism. Franz Mesmer - I know, I know -
you're thinking, 'Another Viennese!" he added with a rueful smile. When Erika
smiled indulgently, he went on. "As I was saying, Mesmer introduced the
practice during seances that he gave in Paris during the last years of the
ancien regime." Kauffmann, seeing that he now commanded Erika's full attention,
continued on, his dark eyes eyes gleaming with the familiar glow of enthusiasm
that Erika had come to expect when he spoke on a topic that had seized his
interest.
"Mesmer had the erroneous notion that there was a mysterious bodily fluid
that permitted one individual to exert a magnetic influence over another."
Erika shivered slightly at the thought of falling under the spell of a will
more dominant than her own.
"But," Kauffmann continued, "some of his ideas seem to have genuine merit.
Hypnosis - sleep treatment - sometimes allows students of the mind access to
parts of a patient's psyche that are locked away even from the patients
themselves."
Erika looked at him strangely. "You - you would like to use this treatment
on me? To explore my mind -- against my will, almost?"
"Precisely. I would like to put you into a hypnotic trance and to ..." he
paused for a moment, lost in thought. "To use the power of suggestion to see if
I can't help you to uncover ... the secret to the loss of your memory.
Naturally, it is ... it is imperative that the patient trust the physician
completely." Dr Kauffmann looked at Erika questioningly.
"Y-yes," Erika added slowly. "I can see how that would be necessary."
There was an awkward pause and then Kauffmann gave her an inquiring glance.
"Well? Would you be willing to try it? It is painless, I assure you, in a
physical sense, although it is only fair to warn you that the treatment, if
successful, may unearth unpleasant memories."
Erika nodded thoughtfully. "Do you really believe that there is a good
chance that it may help to restore my memory?"
Daniel Kauffmann's dark eyes were intense with the glow of a scientist in
pursuit of a great discovery. "Yes. Yes, I do. There is an area of the mind
that we have come to call the subconscious that ..." he stopped himself, with a
wan smile. "It's not necessary for you to understand the theory, I don't
suppose. So, what do you think?" he repeated brightly, rubbing his hands with a
confident air. "Do you think you'd be willing to try it?"
Erika twisted a golden ringlet around a finger pensively. "If you think it
might help," she said finally, giving him an earnest look. "If I can not trust
you ..."
"Excellent!" Kauffmann exclaimed. "Please, take a seat here and we shall
begin. He stood up, offering Erika a seat at the table on which the
beautifully carved black and white figures on the chessboard stood. It struck
him as peculiarly fitting that Erika's treatment would be witnessed by these
thirty-two silent sentinels who had taken part in so many contests for mental
mastery.
He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and removed a shiny chain,
from which hung a silver-backed pocket watch.
"Take a deep breath, Lorelei, and relax. No harm shall come to you, but
you must place yourself entirely in my hands. Now, clear your mind of
everything and ... keep your eyes on the watch," he whispered in a strange,
droning monotone as he began to swing the watch in a gentle pendulum-like
motion. "Yes, that's it. Back and forth, back and forth," he murmured softly,
allowing the watch to catch the sunlight streaming in through the window.
Erika, feeling a little light-headed, nodded and obeyed, letting her blue
eyes track the gentle arc of the watch as she surrendered to its spell....
********
A quarter of an hour later Klaus Schumacher tapped gently on the door to
Erika's bedroom, and then, hearing no reply, turned the brass knob that Ju had
polished until it sparkled, and stepped softly into the room.
"Were you alone, Lorelei?" he heard Dr Kauffman ask softly, as he bent over
his patient. Then, sensing an interloper, Kauffman spun around toward the door.
"How did you ...?" exclaimed Daniel Kauffmann in an irritated voice, as he
recognized the intruder. "I thought that I had locked the door." ..."
"Evidently not, Doctor, " Schumacher observed patronizingly. "I assure you
that I have no key. Hmm, what have we here?"
"Please ... leave us ... you have come at a most inopportune time!"
"Have I?" Schumacher crossed the room toward the chair on which a somewhat
disheveled Erika Weiss sat glassy-eyed, while her body rocked forward and then
backward in a most peculiar way. The chess-table had been pushed or pulled out
of reach - or out of the way. "Inopportune for you, perhaps."
"Get out!" Kauffmann whispered hoarsely, pulling himself up to his full
height as he challenged the taller man. "We are in the middle of an important
and ... and possibly dangerous experiment."
"I would not dream of interfering, Doctor," Schumacher muttered as he
brushed past him and approached within a few feet of Erika. The tall
bureaucrat watched the flaxen-haired beauty as she leaned well forward in the
chair, her back slightly bent, and extended both of her arms directly in front
of her, and then slowly leaned back again in the chair, pulling her arms back
toward her in a smooth, even motion, until her elbows were bent outward, her
closed fists almost touched her chest, and her spine rested flat against the
chair-back. Then, she lifted her indrawn arms slightly, and leaned forward
again, extending her fists in front of her, and repeated the strange pantomime.
Although Schumacher stood only two or three strides from her, Erika Weiss
never looked in his direction, nor even seemed to see him, as she obsessively
repeated the same sequence of movements in time to a driving rhythmic tempo that
only she could hear.
"Please, Deputy Secretary, leave us!" Kauffmann hissed again as he wrung
his hands together nervously. "You could not have come at a worse moment."
"I don't blame you for wanting to be alone with her, my friend," Schumacher
said with a widening grin. "She can't hear me, can she?" he asked as Erika's
body surged forward again, her arms and legs straining, moving so energetically
that her low-cut nightgown fell away from the creamy perfection of her
thrusting breasts, baring the delicious globes almost to the nipples.
Kauffmann shook his head from side to side, confirming Schumacher's
supposition that Erika could not hear the unwelcome guest.
"Mein Gott, Kauffmann!! It's been a long time since I've seen a pair like
that!" he murmured under his breath. "Don't misunderstand me -- some of these
hot-blooded Asian girls are beauties. But it's nice to squeeze the big tits of a
healthy German farm-girl every now and again, eh, Doctor?" he added with a
conspiratorial wink. "Tell me -- does she show that much energy when you ..."
"She is my patient, sir, not some sluttish peasant girl!" Kauffmann
interrupted indignantly. "I must ask you to leave!"
"Of course, Doctor, of course," Schumacher added condescendingly, making
light of the physician's protestations, his covetous eyes never leaving the
voluptuous curves of the scantily-clad 'patient'. As he watched the nubile
blonde go through the strange, repetitive cycle of motions once again, he was
struck by the fact that Erika's entire body was dripping with perspiration. Her
long blonde ringlets, which Ju had brushed until they resembled spun gold, were
wet, beads of perspiration ran slowly down her cheeks, and her pale nightgown
clung to her sweat-soaked breasts, belly and thighs, as if it were damp tissue
paper. With her every forward surge, Erika's tantalizing, half-erect nipples
threatened to poke holes in the sheer fabric that veiled them.
"What have you done to her, Doctor?" Schumacher asked with a salacious
leer. He planted his feet squarely in front of Erika's chair, and crossed his
arms across his chest, enjoying his excellent vantage point as the scantily-clad
blonde continued to lunge forward energetically and then fall back against the
chair. "And would you mind showing me how it's done? Not only is she speechless
- an admirable trait in a woman so young - but she is as un-selfconscious as a
forest nymph, is she not? What a fortuitous combination of qualities in a woman
of her age! And what a body!"
"She was not silent until you entered the room," Daniel Kauffmann replied
with exasperation. "I have hypnotized her, you fool, as part of her ...
treatment."
"Hypnotism, eh? A most congenial profession, I'm sure, for a doctor with
female patients built like this one!" the under-secretary observed with a coarse
grunt as Erika leaned forward again, moving ever faster, her beautiful face
straining against some unseen force. As the tempo of her bizarre movements
increased, the nightgown slipped off of one shoulder, and the sweat-moistened
tips of her magnificent breasts popped into full view.
"Please, leave us," Kauffmann rasped, as he took Schumacher by the elbow
and tried to lead him toward the door. "I was close ... so close. Until you
barged in. And now I fear we have lost the moment."
"Close to what, Doctor?" Schumacher smirked as he reluctantly allowed
himself to be pulled away. "Far be it from be to spoil a colleague's fun, but
you really must remember to lock the door, before you conduct such ... research
on your lovely ... patient." Schumacher cast a last lingering, envious glance
back at the beautiful young woman who continued to rock rhythmically forward and
backward in her chair. "But tell me, Kauffmann," the deputy secretary asked
with a puzzled expression. "What exactly is she doing, there?"
Dr Kauffman gave his superior an agonized look. "She is rowing, Mr
Secretary," he responded in an agitated voice. "She is rowing across a mountain
lake that is surrounded by a pine forest. She is rowing under a sun that is
broiling hot, driven by a fear so dreadful that her conscious mind has cloaked
its existence in darkness."
Just then Erika Weiss' violent forward momentum threw her out of the chair,
and she fell full-length onto the carpeted floor. She lay there trembling, but
motionless, her nightgown riding high on her bare thighs, her face flushed, her
breathing rough and ragged, her exhausted body dripping with perspiration, her
azure eyes bright with ... what? Pain? Anxiety? Terror?
Dr Kauffmann rushed toward her, bending down over the prostrate beauty to
check her racing pulse. "I think she was just about to bridge the gap between
past and present, when you came into the room." Daniel Kauffman's face was
disconsolate. "Somehow, I lost her then, and her mind returned to that dark
place. The connection has been severed."
"Not to worry, Doctor," the deputy secretary responded in a cynical tone,
as he stepped out into the hallway. "The vice-consul and I are men of the world.
I'll leave you to continue your ... treatment. But remember the motto of your
profession, Doctor," Schumacher added as he gave the downcast physician a
cynical smile, "First, do no harm."
Chapter 108 A Chance Encounter and Remembered Lust
Of all the cities in China, the Europeans had left their most distinct
footprint in Shanghai. The British and the Germans, the French, the Spanish,
and the Portuguese, all had built banks and warehouse, homes and churches, for
the numerous fortune-hunters, diplomats and traders that had made Shanghai their
second home. But, after their crushing defeat of the French in 1870-71, the
Germans' influence in China was exceeded only the English, with whom their
rivalry grew ever more contentious.
When their daily afternoon walk led them to tour the European quarter of
the city for the third time in five days, Erika asked Daniel Kauffmann why they
had spent so much time in that district of the city as opposed to the others.
"First of all, Lorelei, you are European. Is it not likely that you lived
in this quarter, with family or friends? Perhaps you will see someone - or
someone will recognize you -- and our troubles will be over. Although I must
say," he said with a frown, "that it seems very strange that no one in the
European community has made an issue of your disappearance."
"That is why I asked, " Erika said as her eyes swept from face to face as
she passed people in the street, hoping to experience a flash of recognition.
"Perhaps I had only recently been brought to Shanghai. Do you remember my dream
about a lake in the mountains? Are there any large lakes nearby? Or any
mountains?"
"No, I don't believe so," Daniel Kauffmann said, frowning. His
near-success with hypnotism had never been repeated, despite several further
attempts. Schumacher's untimely entry seemed to have quashed his hopes in that
regard. Kauffman suddenly stepped to the side of the dusty street, where stood
a ramshackle flower-stall. He handed the flower-seller, a toothless old woman,
a coin in return for a small bouquet. He offered the flowers to Erika and she
accepted them with a shy smile.
"The other reason that I think it likely that you are known to some
Europeans is that the cloak you were wearing when we found you {Chapter 13} is
of British manufacture. It is more than a few years old, but of the highest
quality. Only a wealthy man could afford such a garment.
"British?" Erika repeated with a puzzled frown, as she inhaled the
fragrance of the fall flowers. "I'm not sure that I have ever met anyone
British. But then again," she added wistfully, "I'm not sure of anything." She
lifted the flowers slightly, as though she were toasting her physician. "Except
that you have been very kind to me."
Kauffmann waved away her thanks. "It is I who should be grateful to you.
There are not three physicians in Europe who are blessed with so fascinating a
case. And none," his voice dropped to a gallant whisper, "with so lovely a
patient."
Erika Weiss lowered her eyes, blushing. When she said nothing, Kauffman
sighed under his breath and returned their conversation to its former track.
"Yes, the cloak bears the marking of Anderson and Sheppard, of Savile Row.
Members of British royalty have done business with that firm."
Erika stared at him in disbelief. How was it possible that she, whose
dreams suggested that she had been abused by brutes who were little better than
animals, had been found in a garment having such a noble provenance?
"Yes, yes, it's true. The vice-consul told me once that the dapper
Disraeli himself used to wear such a cloak."
Erika racked her brain trying to think of a British connection in her past,
but there was nothing in her memory but a dim void. As they continued to walk
along she marveled at the sights and sounds and smells of Shanghai. The
European quarter was perhaps the newest part of the city, but it was by no means
the only interesting district of the teeming metropolis, and she was happy when
they left it behind and headed in the direction of the port, which Erika had
observed with such interest from the east-facing window of her bedroom.
While on their way toward the harbor district, Erika pointed out a
magnificent edifice in the distance which she could not remember having seen
before. "My goodness, Doctor. What is that building over there? Is it a
temple? A castle? A fortress? Standing alone on that high ground as it does,
it looks down over that part of the city like a Valhalla."
"It is a magnificent building, is it not? One can rarely see it so clearly.
Local legend has it that there's a dark and eerie cloud that sweeps in from the
bay and enshrouds it much of the time. It's almost sinister looking, isn't it?
The natives call it the Black Pagoda, and it was built by ... are you feeling
alright, Lorelei?"
Erika had stopped dead in her tracks to stare at the dark tower. "Y-yes,
Doctor, I think so. But for a moment there, I felt a little giddy for some
reason."
"Let me take you back to the embassy. You look as pale as a ghost. I was
a fool to let you walk this far so soon."
"N-no, Doctor. I am fine," Erika replied, but her voice remained a shadow
of what it had been moments earlier. " I don't know what came over me. You were
saying?"
"Nothing, really. Only that the Black Pagoda was built some years ago by
an old reprobate named Jiang Shao Chan. His son, Richard, took it over when the
old man died. There's a bit of mystery surrounding the Chans - Richard has a
brother, who's only a year or two younger - and no doubt a lot of nonsense, as
well. One night," Daniel Kauffman lowered his voice conspiratorily, "a wealthy
Chinese entrepreneur ... Ach! What was his name? Sung Hee? No, Sung Lo, I
think. Yes, that was it!" Kauffman exclaimed, pleased that he'd come up with
the name.
"As I was saying," the doctor went on in an animated voice, "the Chans'
name came up one night at a reception, and this fellow Sung Lo, who no doubt had
had one drink too many, later took me aside and told me a crazy tale about the
Chans heading a triad, or tong, known as the Black Scorpions, which controls all
of the vice in Shanghai and much more besides. Seems a preposterous notion.
They're very clever fellows, I'm told, the two brothers, and they're rumored to
be as rich as Croesus. They were educated in England, they say." Suddenly
Kauffman interrupted himself. "My God, Lorelei, you must have caught a chill.
You're shivering."
Daniel Kauffmann took Erika's hand; despite the warmth of the day, it was
cold as ice.
"No, really, I'll be fine," Erika smiled wanly. I'm just feeling a little
light-headed." She looked ahead. "The waterfront is not far, now. Come,
Doctor. The sea air will do me good. Perhaps a cup of tea will settle my
nerves," she added. "And then perhaps we can get a bite to eat?"
************
They had toured the waterfront once before on one of their walks, and Erika
had found it endlessly fascinating. Dozens of ships, often including huge
steamers, a cannon-studded naval vessel or two, and colorful junks, sampans, and
tiny little dinghies that seemed hardly spacious enough for one fisherman, much
less his catch, dotted the harbor. On this particular afternoon, a
splendid-looking British steamer, its Union Jack flapping briskly in the wind,
was a veritable beehive of activity as it prepared for its next voyage.
From the vantage point of Erika's second-story window at the embassy, the
harbor had seemed picturesque but stately, its constant motion obscured by the
distance from which she watched. But when she and the doctor actually strode
along the streets and quays of the waterfront, she was struck by its tumultuous
nature. Sailors, porters, fishermen - and their sharp-tongued wives - were
everywhere, scurrying around the docks. They had looked like mindless mariner
ants from her window, but up close they were thousands of individuals, talking,
arguing, cursing, but all moving purposefully to an agitated rhythm against the
backdrop of the placid harbor. So unlike, it struck her, the graceful gulls who
glided serenely overhead, circling endlessly, ever alert for a stray scrap of
fish, or a bit of cabbage that had fallen from an over-laden cart.
Erika and the doctor took a late lunch at an eating place adjacent to a
fishmonger's, where a wizened old man broiled pieces of whitefish on a smoky
grill, and served them alongside steaming mounds of rice. Dr Kauffmann noted, as
he had several times before, Erika's facility with chopsticks. Although he had
been in China for some time, she was far more proficient than he; clearly she
was no newcomer to east Asia.
While they sipped green tea and nibbled at savory bits of fish Erika
noticed a middle-aged fisherman and a young woman, the prettiest young woman she
had seen during their tour of the harbor, as they walked by, struggling with a
bulky net. The young woman, clearly imagining Erika and her companion to be
lovers, gave them a cheerful greeting as she passed. Erika returned the smile,
correctly sizing up the pair as father and daughter, and wondered if she would
ever come to know her own family again.
********
Over a simple but tasty dinner of steamed vegetables and rice later that
evening Lily, the daughter of Chung-hua, whose fishing boat, the Gem of the Sea,
had pulled Li Chang out of the harbor two nights earlier, {Chapter 35} told Li
Chang of the pleasant young European couple that she and her father had seen on
the pier that morning.
At first Li, pre-occupied by the gnawing pain in his crushed legs, had
displayed no particular interest in her friendly chatter, but when she commented
on the woman's height, and her striking beauty. Li stopped in mid-bite, set his
half-full rice-bowl down and gave his pretty young hostess a peculiar look.
"Did ... did this woman have long golden hair?" Li asked in a whisper,
gritting his teeth against the pain that seemed to have no end.
"Why, yes, so she did, Li," Lily smiled. "But how did you guess that?"
"I ... I knew such a woman once," Li said, with a faraway look in his eyes.
"She had the loveliest skin you could imagine. A beautiful face. And
beautiful hands." Lily looked down ruefully at her own hands, which, despite
her youth, were already a bit weathered by wind and sea. "She made me feel like
... like a dried fish."
"You are a beautiful young woman, Lily," Li said gently, taking her rough
but feminine hand in his own. "You are surely one of the favorite pearls of the
goddess of the sea. Do not let anyone tell you differently. If I were still a
man..." and this time it was Li Chang who spoke with regret, as he lowered his
hands to the legs that the Scorpions had crushed on the Night of the Tiger.
Lily turned away, pretending not to have heard her guest's doleful words.
But when she saw that Li had lapsed back into one of the black moods that had
plagued him since his rescue, Lily smiled brightly at him and did her best to
cheer him up, chattering away brightly about the events of her day.
But Li's mind was far away. He had been transported back to the rustin
cabin on the shore of the mountain lake, and the erotic delights of that long
ago sexual sojourn, far from the cares of the city.
He retired early that night, after Lily had rubbed his almost useless
legs, as was to become her nightly custom, with a skin-burning balm that a
Chinese doctor had told him might help to keep the muscles from atrophying.
But after she left him alone on his cot, he could not sleep, as visions of
Erika Weiss and Ming-tsu danced before his eyes. He imagined himself once again
under the canopy in the back of Hong's rowboat, watching excitedly as Ming-tsu's
deft fingers undid the laces that held the stunning young blonde's skimpy
buckskin halter together. He drew in a long, slow breath as he remembered the
thrilling moment when his exotic temptress and lover had triumphantly stripped
Erika's revealing top away, so that the lake nymph's succulent pink-tipped
breasts could sway freely with each long sweep of her oar, even as they baked
under the blazing sun. In his mind's eye he pictured the ever-widening rivulets
of perspiration trickling down the smooth planes and curves of Erika's bare back
while her fair skin reacted deliciously to every stinging flick of the whip.
And for the briefest of instants, Li felt a pleasurable tightening in his loins,
a tightening that he had feared that he might never feel again....
How much of that sensation, Li wondered in the stillness of the night, did
he owe to the two beautiful women on the mountain lake, and how much to the
caressing touch of Lily's hands?
********
Little did Li Chang know that not too many miles away, Erika Weiss also
dreamt that night, as she had many times before, of that same encounter. But
there had been no erotic pleasure for her, neither in the boat nor in the rustic
lodge of that island wilderness in the mountains to the north. There had only
been back-breaking labor, broiling sun, and days and nights of sexual
subservience to the handsome young couple who had traveled a great distance to
discipline her body and subjugate her soul.
Chapter 109 Parting Words and Parting Thoughts
Earlier that evening, Daniel Kauffmann had walked Erika back to her room
after a pleasant dinner in the banquet hall of the embassy. "May I come in for
a moment?" he had asked, as he turned the key to the door of her room. "I have
something important to tell you."
Erika had looked at him in surprise; the day had been much like any other.
But Daniel Kauffmann was clearly uneasy about something. He had dressed
elegantly for dinner, in a dark suit that belied his usually somewhat rumpled
bohemian appearance, but he had been uncharacteristically reserved all evening.
"Yes, Doctor, of course. What is it?" They were inside her room now, the
door safely closed behind them. Ju had placed a vase of fresh-cut flowers on
one of the night-tables, and the bedroom was redolent with its sweet fragrance.
Kauffman took Erika's hand and held it in both of his own. "Secretary
Schumacher and I must leave for Peking tonight, in order to prepare for a
conference next week."
"I am sorry to hear it, Doctor. But surely you will be back in a few days,
won't you?"
"Yes. Yes, I will. But you will not be here when I return."
Startled, Erika pulled her hand away and gave him an anxious look. "Where,
then, shall I be?"
Daniel Kauffman looked away from her rather guiltily, but then forced
himself to meet her questioning gaze. "Erika, please forgive me for keeping
this from you until now. I had hoped to surprise you, but .... You see,
although I have done my best, unfortunately I have made no real progress toward
restoring your memory in recent days. Furthermore, the vice-consul has informed
me that my work-load will be very heavy for the next few weeks, leaving me
little time to treat you."
"I ... I still don't understand, Doctor."
Kauffmann expelled a long breath slowly, his earnest face a picture of
chagrin. "Lorelei, it is no longer fair for me to pretend that I can cure your
condition. You need treatment more expert than any I can provide. Do you
remember my friend in Vienna, of whom I have spoken often?"
Erika nodded her head, suppressing a smile; hardly a day went by when
Daniel Kauffman did not make mention of his learned friend who seemed to have a
theory for everything.
"Well, I cabled him some days ago and told him of your case. As it
happens, if you were to sail immediately you could reach Vienna during a break
in his duties, and he could devote himself full time to your care. He is a
genius, Lorelei; if he can not help you, I fear that no one can. But ... it
means that you must sail tomorrow for Europe."
"For Europe? Tomorrow?" Erika wrung her hands in agitation. But where
shall I stay? How shall I live?"
"Please, Erika," the doctor implored as he took her hands in his own once
again. "Do not worry yourself about such matters; they are the least of our
problems. I have already taken care of your living arrangements; my friend has
secured a pleasant flat, not far from the Prater, and only a short distance from
his own home."
"But the expense? The cost of my passage?"
Daniel Kauffman squeezed her hand and smiled. "I have taken care of
everything. He reached into his jacket and removed a printed ticked and some
official-looking papers. "With Schumacher's help, I have even arranged the
necessary travel documents." He smiled at her. "Until you are safely in
Vienna, you are Lorelei Schoenfeld," he added as he slipped her papers back into
his coat. "I will leave these with the vice-consul for safe-keeping overnight.
"I can not let you do this, Doctor!"
"Lorelei, I have booked the passage already; if you do not go, then, truly,
I will have wasted the money. And Ju will have wasted her time." Daniel
Kauffman glanced meaningfully at the closet on the far wall.
Lorelei spun around and threw open the closet and found only a single white
dress hanging from a hanger above a pair of elegant shoes. Then she opened the
four drawers of her dresser in rapid succession but found only a single set of
undergarments and a silken nightgown. Only then did she see the shiny new
steamer trunk tucked against the wall behind the door. She opened it only to
find that while they had been at dinner, Ju had come to her room and packed all
of her garments and belongings into the trunk.
Daniel Kauffmann smiled benevolently at her. "I trust that my little
co-conspirator has done a good job?"
Erika, speechless, nodded, and wiped away a tear.
"Go, Lorelei. Go, with my prayers for your full recovery."
"But will I never see you again?" Erika asked as she threw her arms around
Daniel Kauffman.
Daniel felt the warmth of her cheek against his, and the melting softness
of her body pressed against his own. He took her in his arms and held her
tightly. Over her shoulder, he saw the bed in which she had lain while he
nursed her back to health. Would it be such a sin, he asked himself, to lead
this beautiful creature to that welcoming bed, and spend an hour in paradise,
before leaving on his journey?
"Oh, Daniel!" Suddenly Erika's lips were on his, warm and moist and
inviting beyond measure. He returned her passionate kiss briefly, feeling the
delicious electricity of love and lust course through his veins. He pulled her
closer, feeling, just for an instant, the insistent pressure of her firm breasts
against his chest. The tantalizing tautness of Erika's nipples was evident,
even through several layers of thin clothing. He felt his own excitement mount
and was sure that she could feel the swelling of his erection against her supple
thighs.
But, rebelling against his every manly instinct, he gently but firmly
pushed her away and held her at arm's length. "No, my dear Lorelei, not like
this. Tonight I am still your doctor. One day, or perhaps one night, I hope
that you will come to me out of love, not out of gratitude. My tour of duty
here ends next spring. When it is done, I will return to Vienna, and if you are
fully recovered, and if you have not yet found another young man, then ... we
shall see. But for all either of us know, you may have a lover, a fiance,
perhaps even a husband. My friend will leave no stone unturned as far as
locating whatever family you may have in Germany and Austria, just as I will
continue to look for them here. Surely one of us will succeed."
Daniel Kauffman took his pocket watch from his vest, and Erika's brimming
eyes followed it as they had done so often before. He glanced at it quickly.
"I must leave in an hour, Lorelei. But do not worry about anything. The
vice-consul himself will see to your luggage and he has graciously offered to
escort you personally to your vessel tomorrow. We are giving you a royal
send-off, are we not?" He chucked her under the chin gently and dabbed at her
tears with a handkerchief.
Erika Weiss took Daniel's hand and held it against her chest. "Thank you,
Doctor," she whispered, her voice trailing away into a gentle sob. "Thank you
for everything."
Daniel leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek he had just
touched. "Please, write to me when you arrive, and let me know how you are
getting along."
"Have no fear of that, Doctor."
"Auf Wiedersehen, Lorelei," Daniel whispered, as he retreated toward the
door. When he reached it, he turned and took in her ravishing beauty one last
time. He smiled, murmured "Go with God," and then he opened the door and
stepped out into the dark hallway.
Erika moved to the doorway and stood there for many seconds, listening to
Daniel Kauffmann's receding footsteps as they echoed on the hardwood floor of
the dark corridor. When she could hear them no more, she closed the door,
kicked off her shoes, undressed, and donned the nightgown Ju had left folded
neatly on a corner of the bed. Then she fell back onto the bed, only to feel
something under her pillow. Startled, she slipped a hand under the pillow and
removed a small, dog-eared copy of a volume entitled, "The Wonders of Vienna".
She opened the cover and read the handwritten inscription:
Next year in Vienna
With fondest regards,
Daniel Kauffmann
As Erika leafed through the book quickly, pausing now and then to enjoy the
lovingly detailed descriptions of the Schoenbrunn, the Prater, the Belvedere
Palace and other features of the great capital, her heart began to fill with
emotion and she began to hum the sweet, nostalgic theme of the "Blue Danube".
She clutched the book tightly to her chest as the first of what were to be many
bittersweet sobs swept over her.
Chapter 110 Sunlit Pleasures and a Last Embrace
In the morning, after Erika had returned from a brief trip to a tailor who
catered to European clientele, during which she had attended to some last-minute
personal business, Ju Hua came around to give Erika a manicure and to assist her
with her last bath in Shanghai.
After devoting meticulous attention to the nails of Erika's elegant fingers
for some minutes, Ju filled the bath with steaming water which she had scented,
on this final occasion, with a mixture of oils that bore the faint aromas of
vanilla and coconut.
As she had throughout Erika's stay at the embassy, Ju helped Erika to
undress, even though Erika's physical condition no longer required such
assistance. But this morning, the Chinese girl's usually nimble fingers danced
from button to button, from collar to clasp, much more slowly than usual.
"I am very sorry that you are leaving, Miss," Ju murmured in a soft voice
as she helped Erika remove her underthings. You have been very kind to Ju."
"No, no, my darling friend, it is you who have been kind to me. Look."
Erika, now entirely nude, took Ju's hand and pulled the maid gently toward
her where she stood in front of the full length mirror. As it had on her first
morning of consciousness, radiant sunlight streamed in through the second-story
window to enfold the two women in its warm embrace. Erika pirouetted
gracefully, while Ju's almond-shaped eyes slid reverently from the lovely body
next to her to the beautiful reflection in the mirror. "Don't you see? One can
hardly see the marks any more. And," Erika added, as she slipped her arm around
Ju's shoulders and kissed the girl with the downcast eyes gently on a
satin-smooth cheek, "I owe it all to you."
It was a bit of an exaggeration, of course, but a harmless one, and it drew
a shy but heartfelt smile from Ju as she took her mistress by the elbow and
helped her step into the bubble-rich bath.
There were budding tears in the pretty maid's soft brown eyes as she
sponged Erika's gently protruding shoulderblades.
"Are you going far away, miss?"
Erika felt a painful tug at her heart. "Yes, Ju. I will be traveling a
great distance. "But when I get to Vienna," she added brightly, as she reached
up to pat Ju's hand," I shall write to you. I will need to practice my Chinese,
you know. And you must write to me, as well! It will give you a chance to
practice your German!'
"Thank you, Miss," Ju answered, doing her best to return Erika's smile.
"But perhaps it is good that you are leaving Shanghai now," Ju murmured softly
as she slid around to the side of the tub.
"Why do you say that?" Erika asked, as Ju slid the soapy sponge along her
left collarbone. "Mmmmm," she whispered softly, as Ju squeezed the sponge so
that the warm water within cascaded lazily down onto the upslope of Erika's
left breast.
"This city -alla time more scary, Miss," Ju said as she gave the sponge as
second squeeze. Then she paused and looked around the room nervously, as if
to see if anyone had hidden in the closet or behind the door. "Two nights ago,
the black-shirts came to my neighborhood and took away a nice young girl.
Pretty girl named Qieu, never bothered anyone. I think maybe they were looking
for her husband. But she still not come home."
"The black-shirts?" Erika whispered, as she almost imperceptibly thrust her
shoulders back and her breasts out, aching for Ju's feathery touch. She often
tried to draw Ju out at this juncture of the bath, to distract her, hoping
that the maid's soft hands and softer sponge would linger on her sensitive
pleasure-mounds for as long as possible.
"Yes, Miss," Ju continued in a melodramatic whisper. " The Scorpions!"
Erika sat bolt upright in the tub for a moment and then fell back against
it slowly, once again plagued by the strange feeling of vertigo she had
experienced while listening to the doctor speak of the Black Pagoda.
"Who are these Scorpions?" she stammered. "What do they do?"
"No one knows for sure, Miss," Ju whispered as she moved the amber
sea-sponge caressingly around Erika's left breast. "Or at least no one who
dares to talk about it. "Ayee yah, Miss! You were right. I can hardly see
the marks, now, even the ones I noticed yesterday." Ju was more cheerful now as
she dabbed gently at the one or two faint striations that represented the last
remaining evidence of the savage flogging that Erika's froth-dappled mounds had
endured. "Didn't I tell you that Ju would take good care of you?"
Erica nodded, smiling again at Ju's good-heartedness.
Ju playfully twirled the soggy tip of the warm sponge around and around the
pebbly surface of Erika's left aureole, causing the sleepy button in the
bulls-eye to perk up a little more with each sensual circuit. After Ju's soapy
sponge had completed half a dozen laps around the pale pink roseate, the
slightly darker nipple at its center had stiffened into a taut and yearning
spike. Erika sighed softly and leaned back and closed her eyes and imagined
Daniel Kauffman's hands on her body. Not the detached and distant hands of
Doctor Kauffmann, but the questing, virile hands of Daniel Kauffmann.
She imagined him standing behind her, letting the slender straps of a
sheer nightgown slip from her shoulders and allowing it to slide gracefully down
over her hips until it fell like a silken whisper around her feet. Dreamily,
she pictured Daniel's strong, manly fingers, reaching around from behind to
touch the taut flesh of her midriff, exploring the smooth flesh that covered the
gentle prominence of her lower ribs. Then sliding up, slowly but resolutely,
until the edges of his thumbs inched their way under the soft, fleshy
under-curves of her heaving breasts, hefting them gently. As Ju continued her
sensual sponging, Erika could almost feel the delicious supination of the
doctor's hands as he turned them upward, cupping his adventurous fingers under
her lush breasts, lifting and squeezing them confidently, even as his
well-trimmed thumbnails strummed her yearning nipples, teasing the stiffening
tips of her breasts into sturdy, straining sentinels of pleasure and then ...
"Oooh, Miss - Ju must be doing good job today, no?"
Roused from her erotic revery, Erika's eyelids fluttered open. Ju was
leaning forward her, her face only inches from hers, smiling at her
coquettishly, as she squeezed the saturated sea sponge, allowing a soapy trickle
of water to anoint Erika's half-submerged love-melons yet again. Erika glanced
down at her creamy, froth-covered breasts; her aroused nipples poked ardently up
through the undulating surface of the bathwater, bravely fighting their way
through the fleecy blanket of bubbles as if they were struggling for
life-giving air, as they sought the next sensual stroke of Ju's sponge.
"J-Ju," she stammered, a little embarrassed by the shameless surrender of
her body to the enchantment of the pretty young maid's magical fingers.
"Weren't you telling me about the Scorpions?"
"Yes, miss," Ju giggled. "But Ju no think you were thinking about
Scorpions just now."
Erika tried to give her Chinese naiad a stern glance, but failed utterly,
and broke into a blushing smile as Ju placed a hand gently under her left knee
and lifted the shapely thigh out of the water, so that she could soap it.
"Then, this morning," Ju resumed her tale, as she sloshed the sponge first
down the outside of Erika's thigh, and then, more slowly, down its sleek inside,
while Erika luxuriated in the gentle tingle of her touch. "As I was walking to
work, I saw the Black-shirts taking Ming-tsu from her home."
Erika's blue eyes flitted open again, "Ming-tsu," she repeated
breathlessly, as her troubled mind reviewed some of the names she had heard in
the last day or so. The Chans, the Black Pagoda, the Scorpions, Ming-tsu - each
seemed to be a faintly remembered piece of tile in the shattered mosaic of her
memory.
"Yes, Miss, Ming-tsu. Everybody knows of Ming-tsu. She is one of the most
beautiful women in Shanghai. And don't think she doesn't know it!" Ju confided
wickedly. "But this morning I saw the Scorpions take her away in a cart and she
not look happy. Four of them, miss! And three of them were as ugly as
silkworms!"
"Ming-tsu ... it seems like I should know that name," Erika murmured, as
she tried desperately to assemble the pieces of the mysterious Chinese puzzle.
But the pieces that danced in her mind seemed to be shapeless and of the same
color, and she could make no sense of them.
"So, maybe it is good you leaving China, now," Ju concluded. She fell
silent then while she moved to the other side of the tub and finished sponging
Erika's graceful limbs. "All done, Miss," she said a few minutes later as she
reached for a fluffy bath towel.
Erika Weiss, her magnificent body still a-quiver from the steamy bath,
stood up in the tub and then stepped onto the little white mat on which Ju had
knelt while she bathed her, while Ju proceeded to towel her back and shoulders.
It was just as well, perhaps, that Erika could not see the reverence in Ju's
eyes for the creamy perfection of her north European complexion. Ju swept the
towel across Erika's glowing peaches-and-cream skin almost as if she were a
timid, feminine Aladdin rubbing a sacred lamp, looking on with wide-eyed wonder
at the effects of her pleasant labors. Diligently, but delicately, Ju polished
Erika's flesh, her back, her buttocks and the backs of her calves and thighs,
for the last time, before reaching for a dry towel.
Responding to a gentle prod from Ju, Erika turned toward the maid, who
dropped to her knees to dry the front of Erika's body. Now that Erika was
facing her, the petite beauty tried to be more businesslike, rubbing the German
girl's shapely thighs briskly. But she paused when her lovely Asian eyes lit on
the glistening tendrils that covered the soft, sensual rise of Erika's
sun-warmed pubic mound, and the alluringly pink petals of the nether-lips that
peeked through the fine-spun golden fleece.
Ju inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla and coconut, and then, as if suddenly
coming to terms with the notion that these were their last few minutes together,
she reached around and cupped Erika's deliciously rounded buttocks in her small
hands and pulled the taller girl closer, until she could feel Erika's moist
pubic hair against the softness of her own cheek.
Erika's heart skipped a beat as Ju held her close for an endless moment.
And then, moving as if in a dream, Ju drew her face back from Erika's treasure,
only to replace it with a tiny hand. Her delicate fingertips explored the soft
folds of Erika's femininity with the lingering, yearning touch of a sightless
young woman reading love poetry -- in the tactile language that the Frenchman,
Braille, had devised for those for whom the sense of touch could open new worlds
of pleasure.
Erika gasped softly in surprise at this unexpected caress, but could not
bring herself to push the maid's hand away. The gentle fingers stroked her with
soothing, circular motions that were half-innocent, half-sinful, and wholly
pleasurable. Erika closed her eyes and sighed languorously while Ju stroked her
body worshipfully for a few more seconds. Then the blonde, blue-eyed
Rhine-maiden took the lonely, affectionate girl by the shoulders and tried to
lift her to her feet.
But as Erika lifted her, Ju clung to her like a second skin, and when she
had pulled her upright, the diminutive Chinese beauty's cheek rested again
Erika's bath-moistened left breast. Ju slid her cheek back and forth against
the lush roundness of Erika's love mound, seeking solace and comfort in much the
same way that her child had nuzzled her own milk-laden breasts not so long ago.
"Ju," Erika whispered, but Ju could not reply because her soft lips had
closed on Erika's nipple as if it were a lifebuoy on a stormy sea. Ju pulled
Erika's body closer still and drew the taller woman's tongue-teased nipple even
deeper into her adoring mouth.
Erika held her tightly, offering a heartfelt embrace in return for the
affection and devotion that she felt in Ju's kiss.
"Ju," Erika whispered finally, "I must get ready. And you will get in
trouble if they come looking for you. Please..."
There were tears in Ju Hua's soft brown eyes, when she pulled away.
"Forgive me, Miss. I don't know what came over me. You ... you must think I'm
a terrible ... " She dabbed the towel aimlessly at Erika's taut, trembling,
saliva-slick nipple.
"Do not think that," Erika said, as she placed two fingers under Ju's chin
so that she could gaze into her brimming brown eyes. "I think you're a
beautiful young woman who wants only love and affection. And you have mine, and
you will have them always." Erika gave Ju a sunny smile. "I shall never forget
you."
Ju fell into Erika's arms, and the two women held each other close for a
long moment, before Erika kissed the slender maid softly on the cheek and pushed
her gently away. Having done that, Erika suddenly became self-conscious of a
nudity which had seemed so utterly natural only moments before. Reaching for
the dressing gown Ju had laid on the bed earlier, she continued, "I must dress
and make my goodbyes to the staff, Ju, and it would grieve me to learn that you
had gotten into trouble again on my account. You must go."
"But Miss, I have not even brushed your hair." Ju reached up and ran her
delicate fingers through Erika's golden tresses. She had brushed Erika's
shoulder-length hair devotedly each morning since her return to consciousness.
"Very well, then, my sweet chrysanthemum," Erika whispered, remembering the
meaning of 'Ju'.
And so, for one last time, with her eyes filled with tears, the exquisite
Chinese maid brushed Erika's hair until it shone like the rays of sunlight that
poured through the window.
When Ju was done, and had turned for the door disconsolately, Erika stopped
her. "Ju, wait. I had almost forgotten. Before you go, I have something for
you," Erika divulged softly, as she opened a small drawer in a night-table and
removed a sealed and scented envelope. She placed it in Ju's hands. "Do not
open this until after I have gone." She gave Ju a last hug and whispered, "It
would be best if you speak of this to no one - except, perhaps, later to Doctor
Kauffmann, when he returns. I think that he would understand."
Ju looked at the mysterious envelope whose elegant calligraphy limned her
own name, and tucked it carefully away. "If you say so, Miss Lorelei," she
added almost inaudibly as she turned dejectedly toward the door. Her hand was
still on the knob when a large puffy cloud passed in front of the mid-day sun,
leaving Erika's usually bright room encased in a murky twilight.
********
It was only hours later, after Erika had set off for the ship on which her
passage had been booked, that Ju found a quiet corner in a second-floor corridor
and broke the sticky seal on the envelope Erika Weiss had given her.
The envelope contained a large sheet of scented writing paper, folded in
quarto, on which Erika had hand-drawn a floral border. In the middle of the
page, underneath an endearingly lopsided basket of flowers, the German girl had
inscribed the following words:
"Thank you for everything, my loyal friend, and may fortune bestow upon you
all the blessings you deserve."
Ju smiled sadly, and unfolded the paper, from which several smaller pieces
of paper fluttered to the ground. She stooped to retrieve them, only to find
that they were bank notes, bank notes amounting to a month's worth of earnings
at the embassy. As Ju counted the bills, she realized that there was enough
money to help start a new life, to free herself from her abusive husband. But,
after a moment's thought, she knew that she could not keep the money. Lorelei
could not possibly afford such a munificent gesture. Once her friend arrived
safely in Vienna, she decided, she would have to return the money to her.
It was only then that the she saw that a second note, hastily jotted on a
small piece of vellum, had also fallen to the floor.
My dearest Ju,
Take this, please, with my wish that it might bring happiness to your life.
This morning I was able to sell the cloak in which they found me, to a dealer in
such goods, and I learned that it was surprisingly valuable. I could not bring
myself to keep this blood money, but there is no reason that it should not
bring comfort to another. Use it well, my dearest friend.
With hopes that we might one day meet again,
Lorelei
CHAPTER 111 HOMEWARD BOUND
Earlier that afternoon, the vice-consul had sent word to Erika that his
carriage would come around to take them to the harbor at two o'clock. Erika had
spent the latter part of her last morning at the embassy making a final round of
farewells to members of the staff, and after another hour of listless waiting,
the carriage pulled up to the front of the embassy at the appointed hour. And
within minutes, the steamer trunk had been sent on ahead, and Erika and the
Baron, as the interim vice-consul preferred to be addressed, were safely
ensconced in the back seat of the well-appointed carriage.
The baron was a handsome, blonde Prussian with slightly thinning hair who
Erika guessed was just on the far side of forty, with a military bearing natural
to his upbringing. For this auspicious occasion, he had dressed in full
military regalia, his woolen uniform a striking shade of Prussian blue, his
black calf-length boots shining as they had on the day his bootmaker had
finished them. At his belt, a golden-trimmed scabbard held a dress sword , and
row upon row of medals and decorations adorned his manly chest.
Erika had seen the busy official only briefly on two or three occasions
during her stay at the embassy, because the demands of his office called on him
to travel quite a bit. But she distinctly remembered that he had looked in on
her on the day that she had woken from her coma to see the kindly eyes of Daniel
Kauffmann and the roving eyes of Klaus Schumacher looking inquiringly down at
her. Later that afternoon, the consul had dropped by her room to greet her and
pay his respects, and asked her to let him know if there was anything he could
do for her. But aside from one or two other perfunctory encounters, that had
been the extent of her contact with the head of the German legation in Shanghai.
But the baron seemed to have been briefed on her strange history,
addressing her as 'Lorelei' just as his underlings at the embassy had done, and
on their brief journey to the harbor area, they exchanged pleasantries about the
weather and her stay at the embassy, with Erika taking that opportunity to
praise both Doctor Kauffmann and Ju in the most glowing of terms, while the
baron listened with polite but noncommittal attention.
The bustling harbor area was soon in sight, and the carriage, slowed by
pedestrians of every description, proceeded as near to the wharf as was
possible. When it reached the end of the uneven roadway, the blue-clad baron
hopped out of the coach and helped Erika to step down onto the narrow planked
walkway that described an arc around the great harbor. Erika was struck by his
faultless manners as he allowed her to walk on the clean planks while he strode
along beside her, cradling her elbow courteously even as his gleaming boots soon
grew soiled by the dust and grit of the secondary walkway. When she offered to
change places he waved her off with a noblesse oblige that would have been
becoming to an archduke.
The sun was blindingly bright in the afternoon sky and the day was warm and
humid, and as they walked Erika was grateful that Ju had chosen a thin summery
dress for the day of her departure. Even so, the stickiness of the day seemed to
increase with each stride she took, and Erika was conscious of the way her
perspiration caused the light fabric to cling to the contours of her body.
As they approached the inner perimeter of the harbor, they came to a 'Y'
in the planked walkway, and Erika recognized the magnificent modern British
steamer she had seen from a distance yesterday off to her left. She took a few
steps in that direction, but stopped short when she realized that the Baron had
released her elbow. "No, my dear," he said with a slight bow. "Dr Kauffmann
has asked me to make his apologies, but unfortunately that vessel was ...
already fully booked. Your ship is this way, to our right."
"Oh ... I just thought ...well, it did look like a lovely ship, your
Excellency. But it doesn't matter." Erika was a bit disappointed, but then,
she reasoned, passage on such a ship was bound to have been very expensive, and
she was glad in a way that Daniel Kauffman had been able to find a more
modestly-priced alternative.
Erika and the Baron strolled along the dock, feeling conspicuously European
among the hordes of Chinese workmen and sailors who toiled away at their various
jobs. They passed all manner of vessels, from fishing boats to freight
carriers, until at last the Baron paused in front of an old, grimy-looking
vessel whose exterior was riddled with flaking paint and the tell-tale
reddish-brown residue of rust. The ship flew the Imperial Chinese ensign, a
triangular flag featuring the outline of a gray dragon glaring at a tiny reddish
sun superimposed on a golden field. "Yes, here we are, I think! The Yang-tze
Dragon," the Baron proclaimed in a satisfied voice as he stared at the large red
characters emblazoned on the side of the ship, beneath the image of a crimson
dragon. "This should be our vessel."
Erika glanced at the tramp steamer doubtfully; it looked to be far older
than she, and hardly seaworthy enough to survive a ten-thousand mile journey.
Dark smoke, fed no doubt by an ample supply of coal, poured out of a sooty
smokestack, while Chinese deckhands scurried around, making their final
preparations for departure.
"Don't worry, Lorelei," the interim vice-consul said, interrupting her
musings, "this ship will only be taking you as far as Hong Kong. There, you'll
be making a connection with a larger and more comfortable vessel."
He extended his arm again, and a relieved Erika Weiss took his elbow, and
began to climb up the gangplank. Blinking a little in the bright sunlight,
Erika was a little disconcerted by the frank stares of some of the sailors who
nudged each other, covertly calling one another's attention to the exotic
golden-haired passenger in the clinging sun-dress. One muscular, pig-tailed
rigger with a livid scar on his neck and gleaming golden earrings hanging from
his ears, eyed the ripeness of her shapely figure with unabashed interest from
his vantage point behind a stack of cotton bales as she passed by him. But all
of the sailors were deferential to the baron, stepping out of the way of the
be-medaled Prussian officer and dutifully directing him toward the stern of the
ship.
At first Erika, coming to terms with the fact that she would be on board
this vessel for a few days, smiled at some of the crewmen, and greeted them in
Chinese, but only one or two of the men returned her courtesy. Most, in the
manner of men everywhere when confronted with an usually attractive woman,
reacted with their eyes and not their mouths, pretending not to look at her
until she looked away, and then appraising her shapely feminine figure with
masculine thoroughness, once they felt that they were unobserved.
Erika had just come to the conclusion that it might be best to pass most of
the hours of the first leg of her journey in the safe confines of her cabin,
when she heard the Baron say, "Here we are then, my dear. Would you like to
meet the commanding officer of the ship, Erika? I have sent word to him to make
sure that you shall ... want for nothing during your voyage."
Hearing that name, Erika suddenly became disconcerted, and glanced upward
at the Baron with a puzzled expression . He was still smiling the same
enigmatic smile he had worn since he had first set foot in the carriage. "Why
did you call me 'Erika,' Herr Baron?" she asked, feeling somewhat confused.
The heat of the day seemed to have caused the occasional dizziness she had
experienced in recent days to return. She closed her eyes and turned her back
on the bright sun and leaned against the rail of the ship trying to steady
herself.
"Forgive me, fraulein. 'Lorelei', of course. How stupid of me." The baron
shook his head in self-reproach, and looked on with concern as Erika held her
hand to her brow as if she were trying to summon the truth from the untold
fathoms of water on which the Yangtze Dragon gently rocked. At length Erika
lowered her hand from her eyes and turned, still a bit unsteadily, toward her
escort.
"Better now?" he asked solicitously. "Are you up to paying our respects at
the captain's cabin?"
"Of course, Herr Baron," Erika replied, having regained her equilibrium.
"I would be pleased to thank him in advance for any courtesies he may show me."
"Excellent. I am sure he will be very happy to greet you as well. I
believe this is his cabin," the Baron said, when they had proceeded a few steps
further toward the stern. "I have not seen him in some time myself. After
you," he added politely, as he tapped lightly on the heavy door, and then pushed
it open.
As the door to the captain's cabin swung open, Erika was greeted once again
by the almost blinding sunlight that streamed through a window on the far side
of the room. Holding a hand to her eyes to partially shield them from the
glare, Erika glanced around the room, pleased to note that, while small, the
cabin was well-appointed, giving rise to the hope that perhaps her own quarters
would be more comfortable than the run-down appearance of the ship had at first
indicated.
A simple wooden chair sat facing a desk which was covered with nautical
charts and instruments and whose far side butted up against the opposite wall.
To her right, a narrow but comfortable-looking bed, covered with a bedspread
emblazoned with the familiar tri-color design of the British union jack,
extended out into the room. On her left, a well-upholstered armchair faced the
desk and a door leading to what appeared to be a closet took up much of the wall
space. On a nightstand on the far side of the bed, a fully-laden pipe-rack that
had been carved from a piece of driftwood hinted at one of the captain's
pleasures. Just to the right of the door by which she had entered, stood a
small bookcase; Erika's inquisitive eye raced the titles on the dusty tomes:
"The Voyage of the Beagle," "Moby Dick," and "The Explorations of Captain James
Cook in the Pacific" were but three that caught her eye. Of the many books,
only one, a relatively slender volume by an unfamiliar author named Stevenson,
had a glossy leather binding whose condition suggested that it had been bought
in her own lifetime.
Standing with his back turned obliquely away from Erika and the baron, a
burly, grizzled, red-bearded man wearing the distinctive navy blue jacket of a
British mariner, looked intently out the window at something in the southern
sky. A few feet to his right, standing in a shadowy corner of the cabin, a
solidly-built man in a spotless brown officer's uniform stood stiffly, looking
in the direction the mariner had indicated.
The sea-captain had just pointed toward a cloud formation, when the
brown-clad officer, sensing the presence of others in the room, spun slowly
around toward Erika and the Baron.
Erika, still squinting against the bright sunlight, turned her eyes toward
the figure lurking in the shadows. The mysterious officer met her gaze and
bowed in the Chinese manner, before taking two steps forward, thus blocking out
the rays of the afternoon sun. At the same moment he seized the visor of his
hat in his right hand and swept it from his head, revealing a clean-shaven skull
whose sickly color resembled that of teeth yellowed by age and neglect. It was
only when the bald head slowly lifted, revealing a pair of menacing black eyes
and a hideous grin that shook her to the depths of her soul, did Erika Weiss
realize that she was once again face to face with the infamous General Wang.
{Chapters 18-22}
Chapter 112 Treachery!
The dreadful shock of recognition sent waves of fear and near-nausea
surging through Erika's body and suddenly she was engulfed in a maelstrom of
terrible memories, chief among them the orgiastic banquet over which the
merciless general had presided, and at which she had been so cruelly abused by
him and his depraved cronies.
Her mind and body reeling, Erika fell backward into the sheltering embrace
of her be-ribboned escort, feeling safe against the strong, manly body of the
German vice-consul. But her sense of a world gone mad only increased when the
protective arms of the Prussian nobleman released their comforting pressure on
her waist. Erika, dazed and in shock, was powerless to move as the baron's
hands slid slowly up over the thin fabric that clung to her perspiration-damp
torso, before coming to rest on her heaving breasts. "What ... what do you
think you are doing?" she stammered, as the marauding hands proceeded to squeeze
her full breasts through the flimsy silk with a studied disregard for her every
attempt to fend them off.
"Hold still, wench!" the baron growled angrily as Erika tried to squirm
free of his grasp.
"N-no! No!!" Erika screamed, as she struggled frantically to liberate
herself from the baron's pillaging hands, barely conscious of the fact that the
tall Prussian began to claw at the bodice of her dress just as she managed to
extricate herself from his grasp. She managed to pull herself free and spin
away, but at great cost to the material of her new dress. She tried valiantly
to hold the tattered fabric in place over her half-revealed breasts while she
stared in horror at her once-gentlemanly escort, whose distant smile had widened
into a sardonic smirk. "It can't be ... it can't be ..." Erika gasped, as she
shook her head in bewildered disbelief.
Because not only the degrading events of the banquet at which she had
forced to cater to the depraved pleasures of the general and his friends, but
more, much, much more came back to her in a chaotic, whirling rush. All of the
memories that had been lost -- the horror of the shipwreck in which her parents
had met their deaths, her betrayal by her heartless adopted brother, her long
months of sexual servitude to George Chan; her torturous stint as a rower under
the seductive taskmistress, Ming-tsu, and her handsome lover, Li Chang; the
shameful humiliation of being put on display at the Black Pagoda, and the
punishing flogging by the crazed professor. All of these nightmarish,
long-suppressed memories and more flooded over her at once, engulfing her in a
dark, drowning sea of despair. {Chapters 7, 11, 13-14}
Holding her hands to her face in horror, Erika fell to her knees, pale,
faint, and gasping for breath. One glance into the demonic eyes of General Wang
had done what all of Daniel Kauffmann's treatments and therapies had failed to
do - it had restored both her memory and her identity.
"Thank you, Baron von Gutmayer," General Wang said with a slight bow, " for
being so good as to escort our lovely guest to the Yangtze Dragon." The
black-hearted general gave the dazed blonde who knelt uncomprehendingly at the
feet of the three men a mocking grin. The baron had torn her pale dress
entirely off of one creamy shoulder and the gossamer-thin camisole beneath did
more to attract male eyes to the size and shape of Erika's proud-thrusting
breasts than it did to conceal them.
The shaven-skulled general eyed Erika's mouthwatering cleavage with
vulturous rapacity, remembering the sublime surge of power he had felt when he
had administered slap after breast-stinging slap to Erika's ripe-nippled globes.
The night of the banquet had been the most arousing evening he had enjoyed in
many years, and Erika's body had incited him to prodigies of ruthlessness and
stamina that the middle-aged warlord had thought were long since behind him.
General Wang's lips parted in a gloating smile. It would not be long before he
was reliving those moments of masculine mastery once again ...
"You should be honored, fraulein," the general continued with a diabolical
leer, "for you will be our only passenger. The entire staff of the Yangtze
Dragon will be free to ... attend to your needs," he chortled sadistically. "I
am sure that you will find your sea voyage quite ... bracing. Captain McMahon,"
he added, almost as an afterthought, "we shall not be needing you for the
moment."
The red-bearded skipper of the Yangtze Dragon lifted a freshly-lit pipe to
his lips and sucked on its hollow stem thoughtfully, eyeing the crouching,
full-breasted beauty salaciously for a long moment before expelling an aromatic
plume of smoke and leaving the room with a laconic, "Aye."
When McMahon had closed the cabin door behind him, the baron snapped the
heels of his boots together smartly and presented his card to General Wang, who
turned it over in his hands, studying both sides of it briefly before pocketing
it and giving Erika Weiss a feral glance.
"You are most welcome, General," the baron replied. "It is unfortunate
that I only learned recently that you were looking for my young friend here.
Had I known sooner ..."
Just then Erika, who had been looking around, sizing up her chances for
escape, sprang up out of her crouching position and made a bolt for the door,
trying to dart past the tall Prussian. But the baron, moving quickly for a man
of his size, grabbed her by the right arm and, pivoting counter-clockwise to his
left, swung her around and slammed her chest-first into the book case so
violently that half a dozen books tumbled off the shelves onto the floor.
Half-stunned, Erika groaned audibly and slumped to her knees in pain.
General Wang continued as if the baron had done nothing more noteworthy
than swat at a pesky fly, "It is really not I who has been looking for her,
Baron, but George Chan. I left the brothers Chan just moments ago; you know
them, I believe?"
"I have met them only once, at Madame Wong's," said the Baron, remembering
how the three Chans had first interrupted and then stayed on to witness his
memorable subjugation of Kyoto, the petite Japanese beauty he had punished on
the Silken Arch. {Chapter 76} "Clever fellows, those two. Especially
Richard. Even if they do run the crookedest gaming tables this side of Monte
Carlo."
"Indeed, they are clever, " General Wang conceded with a cryptic smile.
"But they are becoming increasingly obstinate, particularly Richard. He is
standing in the way of my plans. This lovely creature," he added, lifting
Erika's chin up so that he could stare tauntingly into her pain-moistened blue
eyes, "will be a useful pawn in my game."
Returning his attention to his blonde captive, the baron planted his left
foot firmly on the floor and then pressed the solid heel of a leather boot
against the base of Erika's spine.
"Unnnghhhh!" Erika gasped in pain as the baron crushed her body against the
sturdy bookshelf, while the wicked Chinese warlord looked on, nodding his shaven
head in malicious approbation.
Erika knelt against the bookcase with arms outstretched, her tender mons
crushed against the first shelf and her silken-clad breasts painfully flattened
against the second shelf by the force of Baron Gutmayer's black boot. The
delicate hands which Ju had manicured with such care gripped the vertical
uprights at either end of the book-shelf, in a vain effort to relieve the
pulverizing pressure of the baron's leg.
"A beautiful woman makes for a lovely pawn, does she not, General?" the
Baron observed, as he admired Erika's hourglass figure from behind while he
ground his thick-heeled boot relentlessly into the upper portion of Erika's
shapely derriere. "Rounded at the top, narrow in the middle and rounded again
at the bottom," he said mockingly. "On occasion I have found it useful to reduce
the mobility of an impudent pawn," he chuckled through tight lips. "But at
other times," he observed cheerfully, "I have found it useful to sacrifice them
... in a good cause, of course."
"Indeed, Herr Baron, " the General hissed sibilantly as he bowed to the
Prussian. "But have no fear. Your sacrifice of this lovely pawn will be amply
compensated. I will see that your gambling debts are forgiven, as I promised."
"See that you do," the Baron said sternly. "I part with fraulein Weiss
only with great reluctance." With those words, he withdrew his boot from Erika's
rounded bottom, relaxing his relentless pressure on her spine. "Forgive me,
fraulein," the Prussian smirked slyly, "but your foolish attempt to escape
forced me to put my foot down."
The general and the baron exchanged knowing smiles while Erika eased her
death-grip on the sides of the bookcase. But she remained on her knees, her
head down, breathing heavily, trying to regain her strength.
The baron glanced at the nautical chronometer on the Captain's desk. "I
do not have a great deal of time, General. May I ..." he gave Erika a
lecherous glance, "collect my ... finder's fee now?"
"Certainly, Herr Baron," General Wang said with a bow.
Erika's brief respite from suffering was shortlived. For a moment later
General Wang grabbed a handful of her golden hair, and hissed, "On your feet for
the Baron, woman! And see that you please him well! After all," he concluded
with a malicious leer, "it will be excellent practice for you! Because I am a
man not easily pleased!" And with those menacing words the General strode
resolutely out of the captain's cabin.
Chapter 113 The Hook of Gwang-zhou
Once the evil-eyed general was out of the cabin, the Prussian baron
quietly turned the key he found in the lock of the cabin door, and then pocketed
it. He spun around to face Erika, who had staggered to her feet in the center
of the room, her breasts heaving in righteous anger. Her left arm was bent
across her upper body, trying to hold the pale bodice in place. As she felt the
baron's amorous gaze she wished now that Ju had chosen a dress that was not
quite so thin, that did not cling to the curves of her body quite so enticingly.
The Prussian aristocrat appraised her approvingly, having restrained
himself with some difficulty from admiring her too obviously during the bumpy
carriage ride and their walk around the harbor. He had not appreciated until
this moment the full impact of her beauty - the striking face with its lovely
features and sparkling blue eyes, the long, golden hair, such as must have
inspired the Grimms to recount the tale of Rapunzel, and the stunning hourglass
figure which had attracted an eye as discriminating as that of George Chan.
While on an assignment in Athens some years earlier, the baron had once
met Heinrich Schliemann, the archaeologist who had unearthed the ruins of
ancient Troy. He recalled how the unprepossessing, somewhat obsessed scholar
had rhapsodized over Helen of Troy, and how her beauty had changed the fate of
entire civilizations. Gutmayer had scoffed inwardly at such an idea at the
time, but the longer he stared at Erika Weiss, the more he believed such a
thing was possible.
And she was his, if only for an hour. His to do with as he wished. His to
possess, to plunder, to enslave.
But his abducted princess was far more irate than the mythical Helen was
reputed to have been.
"How could you - my own countryman - betray me to this ... this monster?"
she fumed. "Have you any idea of what kind of man he is?"
Gutmayer brushed past her and drew a curtain across the window out of which
Captain McMahon and the general had been looking when they had first arrived, so
that no intrusive eyes could observe their encounter. "Fraulein, it is enough
for me to know that he is a fellow aristocrat and officer - and that you are a
common slut. You deserve everything that you'll get from him - and from me!"
the Baron snarled.
"I am no slut!" Erika hissed, outraged.
"Ah, but you are, fraulein," the baron insisted as he spun around to face
her.
The baron's frosty smile revealed nothing of his earlier musings. "Now I
think it's time that I had another look at that splendid body of yours. I've
looked forward to this moment for some time, you know."
"Another look?? W-what are you talking about?" Erika backed away
nervously as the Baron took a purposeful step toward her.
Von Gutmayer smirked knowingly. "You fool!" he sneered in a voice dripping
with Prussian contempt as he edged closer, his thin lips moist, his blue eyes
riveted to Erika's heaving chest. "Do you imagine that I have not seen that
body, those delicious breasts? From the first time I saw them, when that whore
of a maid was bathing you ..."
"You spied on me? But how?" Erika racked her brain as she continued to
retreat. And then she remembered how, on the day Ju had given her that first
sensual bath, she had felt as if she were being watched. "The paintings," she
whispered almost inaudibly, remembering how the eyes of the Kaiser in the
painting on the wall had, at times, seemed eerily alive.
"Precisely, fraulein! That is how I know that you are a slut. I saw the
look in your eyes when you spread those long legs of yours so that that pretty
chinesische puppchen could slide that soapy sponge between them. She is a
lovely little doll, isn't she, your pretty maid?" The baron's brown furrowed
in pleasurable remembrance, even as his voice dropped a half-tone. "The skin on
her sweet little bottom vibrates like a violin string when I give her a taste of
the strap. Oh, you should see how she dances for me! Very charming, indeed.
But I'm expecting far greater pleasures from you, fraulein!" he added with a
lascivious leer.
Erika's head was spinning, as the horrible revelations mounted, and her
fears multiplied. "So that was you, too! The 'lover' she spoke of, who beat
her!" {Chapter 102} "To think that I suspected Schumacher."
"Yes, it was I," the erstwhile Watcher sneered as he clicked his boot-heels
together and bowed stiffly from the waist, as if he were acknowledging praise
from the Kaiser for a victory over the French. "But do not think for a moment
that our China doll didn't pay for that little slip!" He smiled cruelly,
recalling the electric thrill of power and pleasure he had felt when he had let
the punishing spring-loaded clamps snap shut on Ju's perky nipples. "Schumacher
has an eye for the ladies, it is true, but he hasn't got der Sack," the baron
said, crudely grabbing his testicles, "to take his pleasures where he finds
them, as I do."
"But enough about them," the baron continued, as he inched forward,
backing Erika up until her shoulders were flat against the captain's closet. "I
am much more interested in you, fraulein. Will you do me the courtesy of
removing your clothes?" he snarled. "I am fast running short of time. And
patience!"
"Schwein!" Erika exclaimed as she reached out to push him away, but the
powerful Prussian was too strong. He slammed her trembling body violently
against the closet door, leaving her stunned and breathless while his insistent
hands reached for the torn bodice of her dress.
"You had your chance, fraulein," he hissed. But now I will show you how a
Prussian officer deals with rebellious sluts! Just as I taught the maid who
bathed you!" And with a loud grunt, von Gutmayer seized the fabric of Erika's
bodice in both hands and gave it a powerful wrench, tearing the thin material
from neckline to waist and sending buttons spinning across the wooden floor.
Erika flailed at him furiously, clawing and scratching like a wildcat,
eventually drawing blood from his cheek with nails that Ju Hua had manicured to
a fine edge.
"Arrgghh! You dirty whore!!" he bellowed in anger, and then he responded
by driving a knee upward into Erika's midriff with gut-wrenching force. She
would surely have fallen to her knees had he not slammed her back into the
closet door with bone-rattling violence for a second time. For a few seconds
Erika could scarcely breathe and Gutmayer used those seconds well, ripping and
tearing at the fabric of her dress with plundering hands until he had torn it
completely from her body, revealing an eggshell-white camisole and a matching
under-slip.
The red-faced baron paused for a moment to drink in the intoxicating sight
of the delicate silken undergarments that clung to Erika's creamy skin. But the
primeval urge to see even more female flesh soon prevailed and Gutmayer attacked
the delicate camisole next, tugging the flimsy straps down over Erika's rounded
shoulders in a feverish frenzy to liberate her jutting breasts.
Erika took advantage of Gutmayer's preoccupation with her half-revealed
breasts by launching her own knee upward, aiming at the large lump in his
crotch, but the point of her knee glanced harmlessly off his thigh instead of
burying itself in his swollen genitals. Even so, the Prussian grimaced in pain
and spun Erika around and flung her bodily across the small bed on the other
side of the room.
The force of his throw caused Erika's head to strike against the wooden
headboard, stunning her slightly, and giving the enraged baron time to press his
attack. Grinning evilly, he took two quick strides toward the bed, where the
long-legged blonde lay on her side, her skimpy underslip billowing around her
waist, her shapely legs pale against the bright tricolor of the coverlet.
"You're a feisty slut, aren't you!" he growled, as he unsheathed his dress
sword from its ornate scabbard . Then, with a quick movement that suggested
that this technique was by no means new to him, he leaned forward and bunched
the lacy fabric of Erika's flimsy camisole in his left hand, and pushed her onto
her back so that she lay crosswise on the bed. Then he stepped between her
squirming legs and inserted the tip of his gleaming sword into the
taut-stretched silk of the camisole, and slit it length-wise down the middle
with a quick turn of his wrist.
Von Gutmayer hurriedly tossed the sword aside and threw himself on top of
his wriggling captive, spreading her thighs wide with his weight. His hands
clawed at the gaping panels of her dainty undergarment, and he grunted with
primitive lust upon freeing Erika's creamy, pink-nippled treasures from their
silken confinement. Erika flailed at him furiously, but her strength was no
match for his. She could feel his massive erection straining at his woolen
trousers as he managed to pin her legs beneath his own, while at the same time
succeeding in pinning her wrists together above her head.
Having somewhat immobilized his nearly nude conquest, the strapping baron
changed his grip so that he was able to control both of Erika's wrists with his
big left hand, allowing his right hand the freedom to explore more fertile
pastures.
In less time than it took for her heart to beat, Erika felt the baron's
right hand drop to her left hip, give the tattered camisole another tug, and
then slide up her bare belly like a filthy five-legged spider. She tried to
twist her body away, but there was no escaping the inexorable hand as it made
its way slowly up the sensuous curve of her rib cage, en route to an upthrusting
breast.
The baron groaned with man-pleasure as his hand closed on Erika's pliable
breast, fondling it rather gently at first. But then, as Erika continued to
fight him, kicking her legs furiously, if ineffectually, the groans of pleasure
evolved into bestial growls and he began applying punishing pressure to Erika's
breast even as he tried to mash his marauding lips against hers. Turning her
face from his in disgust, Erika cried out in pain and then, with an almost
superhuman effort, she threw the baron to her right and then eluded his
rapacious grasp by rolling quickly to her left, and falling off the bed onto the
floor.
And then she saw it - the sword! - lying on the floor where the baron had
so casually thrown it. She reached for it and seized it by the hilt just as the
snarling baron lunged across the bed and then flew full length across the floor
in a desperate attempt to retrieve his saber.
Erika had never held a sword before, but the semi-nude blonde brandished it
like a champion fencer as she staggered to her feet, fighting to regain her
breath and her composure. She held the tip of the silver blade against the
crouching baron's throat as she forced him to scuttle backward across the floor
until his back came to rest against the side of the bed, and he could retreat
no more. Feeling slightly ridiculous in them, she kicked off her shoes, letting
them slide across the floor against the bookcase.
"How does it feel to be the prey instead of the predator, Herr Baron?" the
barefoot blonde taunted him, her heaving breasts naked under the shredded
panels of her off-white camisole. "I may die on this filthy boat, but you shall
die first!"
Baron von Gutmayer swallowed nervously, feeling the keen point of his own
sword against his adam's apple as he did so. But then the proud aristocrat gave
the statuesque blonde a look of withering scorn. "So you think you have the
upper hand, do you, fraulein?" he snarled. "Kill me, if you dare! But know
this, you ignorant slut! I gave General Wang the name of your pretty little
maid. If anything happens to me, he will send for her on your behalf. She'll
make a pretty plaything for those cut-throats on deck, don't you think? How
long do you think a petite little creature like her would last, Erika, among
animals like them?"
Troubled, Erika tried to hold her sword arm steady, so as not to reveal her
agitation. She remembered the card the baron had given the general when they
had entered the cabin. Had he really written Ju's name and whereabouts on it?
Or was he bluffing?
More confident now, the baron pressed his advantage. "Do you remember when
we boarded the ship, Erika? Did you happen to notice the sailor with the gold
earrings?"
Erika nodded apprehensively. Who could ever forget the swarthy, wild-eyed
figure who had eyed her with such obvious lust when she had strolled down the
deck earlier?
"His name is Gwang-zhou. Did you observe his right hand?" the baron
continued in a satanic voice.
Even though she had the baron at her mercy, Erika was shaking inside like a
leaf. She tried to force herself to remember, but could not. Hadn't he been
standing behind some bales of cargo ... it all seemed so long ago. "N-no."
"Of course, you didn't. That's because he has no right hand. He lost it
when a whore at a waterfront dive in Batavia betrayed him to a pack of Javanese
thugs. He has only a hook now, Erika, but he hates women, especially beautiful
women." The sneering baron paused for a moment to let that image sink in, and
then he continued on in the same diabolical voice. "Think how he could use that
hook, fraulein, if the general were to bring Ju to the Yangtze Dragon. They
say he likes to etch his name with it. And not just on wood and whalebone,
Erika. On flesh ... soft female flesh. Think of it, Erika! Think of
Gwang-zhou carving his name on Ju's arms, her legs, her pretty little brea
...."
"STOP IT!" Erika screamed.
"What would happen to her precious brat of a child, do you think, if your
little friend Ju were to feel the Hook of Gwang-zhou between her legs?"
Erika desperately wanted to cover her ears, to block out the insidious,
taunting voice, but her need to maintain her grip on the sword made it
impossible. She tried to will herself to think, to breathe, to move, but cold
bands of fear had tightened around her chest and icy fingers of terror seemed to
have drained the blood from her limbs. It was all she could do to hold the
sword steady.
The baron had risen cautiously to one knee, his aristocratic aplomb having
returned. Despite their violent struggle, not a hair on his head, not a thread
of his uniform seemed out of place. "Only you can save her, Erika."
"Monster!"
"Her fate is in your hands. Now be a good girl and give me the sword."
"What if you're lying?" Erika mumbled to herself, hardly realizing that she
had spoken the words aloud.
"What if I'm telling the truth?" the baron countered softly with a sinister
smile. "I'm losing patience, girl. I will count to three, and if you have not
given me the sword, I will summon the general and the others. Then, regardless
of whether I live or die, both you and Ju Hua will feel the hook of Gwang-zhou
-- and Shanghai will have yet another orphan!"
"God, help me!" Erika wailed.
"There is no God on the Yangtze Dragon, fraulein," the taunting voice
intoned. "There is only you and I - and the hook of Gwang-zhou! Eins!" he
counted.
Erika's glanced around the cabin desperately, hoping to find someone to
share the responsibility of her fatal choice. But no matter where she looked,
she saw only Ju's imploring eyes and the outstretched hands of a faceless child.
"Zwei!!"
The sword in her hand trembled like a sapling in an April breeze. She was
alone with the devil, and there was no one to help her. It was up to her.
"Drei!!!"
"All right!! All right!!" Erika stepped back, and with a cry of despair,
she let the baron's sword clatter loudly to the floor.
CHAPTER 114 The Sadistic Swordsman
The baron reached out and grasped the sword by the hilt and then slowly
pulled himself to his feet, dusting an imaginary speck from his immaculate blue
trousers as he did so. "I'm glad that you have finally come to your senses,
fraulein," he sneered contemptuously. He reached out and, slid the length of
his gleaming sword across her hip, as if cleaning its pristine surface of any
microscopic particles of dust that might have settled on it during its brief
contact with the floor. Noticing Erika's puzzled expression, he explained. "I
have had to punish Ju repeatedly, you know, for failing to dust my things with
sufficient care. I detest slovenliness in a woman. In fact, I may punish her
again this evening. But first things first, eh, fraulein?" he added with a
venomous leer.
Then, adroitly flicking a ragged remnant of the torn camisole out of the
way, the Prussian officer touched the tip of his dueling sword to Erika's left
aureole and circled it deftly, letting Erika feel the yin and yang of pain and
pleasure -- the painful prick of the sword-tip against her tender flesh, coupled
with the teasing pressure of the blade's edge against her swelling lust-nugget.
"Lovely," the baron whispered in frank admiration. "Now, my young beauty, be so
kind as to remove the rest of your things."
Erika blushed furiously, but the pressure of the sword-tip against her
nipple enforced her obedience. Her blue eyes flashed daggers at the
impeccably-groomed Prussian as she slipped her thumbs into the waistband of her
half-slip and slid it down her sleek thighs, leaving herself clad only in the
tattered shreds of the camisole and a pair of sheer panties that were damp with
perspiration from the furious struggle on the bed. As she bent forward she
could almost feel the heat of the baron's lecherous gaze slide from the tips of
her pendulous breasts to the clinging wisp of fabric that veiled her
golden-thatched femininity with all the opacity of a spider's web.
When she had stepped out of the half slip, the Baron let his gaze linger on
Erika's bare thighs for a long moment before snapping, "Excellent! Now drape it
over that hook, there. We must keep the captain's quarters tidy, musn't we?
Following his eyes, Erika glanced upward at the low ceiling of the cabin
and saw the hook overhead and her stomach grew queasy as she was reminded of the
dreadful Gwang-zhou once again. But this hook seemed innocent enough; it was
the type from which a flowering plant could be suspended or upon which coats or
other garments could be hung. Holding her slip in both hands she extended both
of her arms upward and ...
WHACCCKKK!!! The baron slammed the flat of his sword viciously across the
front of Erika's naked thighs, less than a hand's width below the lacy fringe of
her panties.
"Owwwww!!" Recoiling in surprise and pain, Erika dropped the slip.
"Did I not tell you to hang the slip on the hook?" the baron snarled.
"B-but ... please ..."
"Do it, slut!" he sneered. "Or shall I send for your maid so that she can
do it for you?"
"No ... please," Erika stammered. "I have done what you asked. Leave her
in peace."
Blinking back tears of pain, Erika tried to keep her eyes on the baron, who
watched her, ogling her near-nakedness malevolently, his sword at the ready, as
she stood on her tiptoes to reach the hook. But try though she might, she could
not drape the garment over the hook properly without glancing upward, and when
she did ...
WHAPPPPP!!! The gleaming steel flashed through the air once again, this
time ripping painfully into soft belly-flesh stretched taut by her reaching
posture.
"Aaaiaahh!!" Erika cried out, but this time she managed to hang the slip
precariously from the hook before doubling over in pain.
The vice-consul had been masterful with his sword. As he whipped it into
the tender flesh of Erika's unprotected abdomen, he had once again turned it in
his hand so skillfully that it had left a livid mark without drawing a drop of
blood.
"Perhaps I shall leave her in peace, fraulein; perhaps not. Her fate is in
your hands. But I must tell you -- there is more that I will ask of you," the
baron gloated in an icy voice. "Much, much more. And I suspect that our
esteemed friend, General Wang, will have his own ... special requests."
Erika felt as if she hurtling downward into a bottomless abyss, in a
nightmare without end. "Baron, I ..."
"Now the camisole!"
Erika glared at the baron, but when he turned the sword slightly and
flicked her inner thigh, opening the thinnest of scarlet gashes, she quickly
stripped off the ruined camisole, baring her luscious breasts.
"Magnificent," Gutmayer whispered under his breath in frank admiration,
using his sword to slap sharply at Erika's right hand, which had lifted the
shredded wad of fabric defensively in front of her jutting pleasure-mounds.
Wincing in pain, Erika lowered her hand, giving the baron his first truly
unobstructed view of her mouthwatering treasures.
The baron's tongue stole across his thin lips slowly as he studied her
creamy orbs with a connoisseur's eye. The faintly visible tracery of blue
pulsing nervously under her sweat-sheened skin reminded him of the irregular
veins which enhanced the perfection of Italian marble. Her aureoles were not
overly large, but they might have painted by Titian, so perfect was their shape
and texture and coloration, a half-tone paler than the pinkish-brown nipples
which rose from their midst, proudly semi-erect.
Deftly using just the tip of his sword, the villainous vice-consul hefted
Erika's left breast gently, testing its weight, its firmness, its spring.
"Magnificent," he breathed once again. No wonder the doctor had named her
'Lorelei'. Only a poet could find words that would do justice to her beauty.
"My compliments, fraulein. You are as beautiful today as when I first saw
you bathed in the sunlight streaming through your window." But then the
momentary softness in his voice took a granite edge. "Now place the camisole on
the hook, as I asked."
Erika reached tremulously upward toward the hook, but hesitated when she
saw that the baron had once again tightened his grip on the sword hilt. And he
was holding his sword arm slightly higher. A fresh wave of panic swept over
her.
"N-no ... please ... you can't ..."
"The camisole, fraulein. On the hook." The baron's voice was chillingly
ruthless.
"Please, Herr Baron ...... " Erika implored as she eyed the silver-bladed
saber warily. "I gave you the sword ... I have done everything you ..."
"The camisole, fraulein!" the baron hissed venomously through clenched
teeth.
Once again Erika stood on her toes, holding the shredded camisole in front
of her. She lifted her elbows cautiously, trying to keep them in front of her
unprotected breasts, but it was useless. To reach the hook, she would need to
extend her arms to their utmost.
"'Hang - it - on - the - hook,' I said," the Prussian sadist growled,
biting off each word with terse impatience.
Erika felt a shudder sweep over her body and then, with a quick motion she
extended her arms, draped the camisole over the hook and tried to bring them
down again quickly, but...
WHAPPPP!!!! The baron had struck again, driving the swift-flashing steel
of the sword into both of Erika's up-thrusting lust-globes at once, crushing
the tips of her breasts, making a painful mockery of their semi-arousal.
"Oh, mein Gott!" Erika fought back the urge to scream, but fell to her
knees cradling her saber-whipped breasts, and writhing in agony.
"Sehr schoen!" the baron exclaimed, with the pride of an artist as he
flicked Erika's concealing hands away with the tip of his sword so that he could
see the effects of his blow. "Beautiful!" Then he added, " Straighten up,
wench, so that I can see you!"
Biting her lip to distract herself from the flames raging through her
throbbing breasts, Erika lowered her hands to her side and knelt erect.
The Prussian sadist placed the blade of his sword between Erika's close-set
breasts and tapped their inner curves gently in turn as he examined her
quivering mounds. "Superb!" he whispered exultantly, with understandable
pride. The gleaming flat of his blade had met the lush contours of his twin
targets with masterful precision, punishing Erika's half-stiffened nipples and
leaving a fiery crimson stripe emblazoned across the very centers of her
succulent breasts. As his experienced eye had calculated, the diameter of
Erika's crinkly coral roseates corresponded almost exactly to the width of his
blade. Even Gauss, the greatest mathematician of the century, the baron
congratulated himself, could not have improved upon the thrilling geometry
formed by the plane of his tempered blade making lightning-swift contact with
the soft, curved surfaces of Erika's breath-taking breasts.
The baron's voice was as sibilant as a serpent, as he bent down and
retrieved the dress he had torn from Erika's body earlier and threw it on the
floor at her feet. He twirled his sword in his hand skillfully, as if he were
loosening up for the next round of a Satanic fencing match. "Back on your feet,
fraulein," he muttered with a Mephistophelean leer. "You haven't yet hung up
your dress...."
Chapter 115 The Cruel Conquest of Erika Weiss
"Bitte ...," Erika panted, as she bit her lip in a vain attempt to stifle
the flames of agony that licked at her sensitive breasts. "Please ... not
again..."
"Nonsense, fraulein. Have you no manners? We can't leave your rags strewn
around the captain's cabin."
"Please ..."
"The dress! On the hook!! Schnell!!"
Erika's hands shook visibly as she took the tattered, once-elegant garment
in her hands. The baron eyed the ruddy mark the flat of his sword had left on
Erika's succulent breasts with the delight of a connoisseur. When he had struck
her he had felt a delicious jolt of erotic electricity pass through his
sperm-laden testicles. He appraised Erika's near nudity with ever-rising
excitement, even as his right hand opened and closed on the sword-hilt,
freshening his grip.
The luscious young blonde was frozen in indecision. If she reached to hang
the dress on the overhead hook, she was sure that the baron's sword would
deliver a fresh blast of agony to her tender love-globes, which were already
aflame from the first saber-lash. But if she did not...
"Now, fraulein! Or shall I call for Gwang-zhou and let you debate with his
hook?!"
Erika shuddered at the thought of the maniacal Chinaman and quickly reached
up and slipped the collar of the garment over the sturdy hook.
But not quickly enough.
"WHAPP!!! The gleaming sword struck again, flat steel against curved
flesh, crashing into her breast-mounds in a smooth, up-sweeping arc. The
well-tempered metal found the tender undercurves of Erika's creamy love-turrets
and branded them with a second scalding stripe of pain.
"Eeeaaaaghhhh!!" Try though she might, Erika could not suppress a scream
as fresh waves of anguish drove her to her knees once again.
"Schweig! Silence! Or do you want your pathetic whimpers to attract the
attention of General Wang's trusty mariners?"
As Erika cupped her burning breasts in her soft hands, the baron strutted
across the room, pleased with himself. "Teufel auch! It feels good to let my
sword breathe again, fraulein! I can't tell you how long it's been since I've
been able to saber-flog a full-breasted German girl. My artistry is quite
wasted on these small-bosomed Asian women, you know. Although I must say that
I've found other ways to amuse myself with them..." An evil smile passed over
Gutmayer's face as he visualized the Silken Arch, the Lowenbrucke, and the other
deliciously refined torments he had inflicted on Kyoto and some of the other
petite beauties at the House of Madam Wong. {Chapter 76}
The baron stood over the kneeling blonde for a moment and then he slapped
the blade sharply against Erika's upper arm. "Over there! Against the bed."
Reluctlantly releasing her somehow soothing grip on her smarting breasts,
Erika crawled on her hands and knees toward the bed, with the Prussian following
her, smacking the sword against her flanks and legs until she had assumed the
desired position - on her knees on the floor, with the backs of her thighs and
buttocks pressed tightly again the mattress of the bed, and her lower legs
extending backward, underneath the wooden bed-frame.
"Knees touching!"
Erika complied, sliding her knees together until a playing card could not
have fit between them
"The panties, fraulein. Slide them off."
Flushing furiously, Erika hesitated. But when the baron greeted her
indecision by scraping the blade of his sword painfully across her half-erect
right nipple, she acquiesced. She slid her thumbs into the waistband of her
lacy undergarment, and eased it down over hips, revealing an alluring triangle
that might have been spun from the purest gold.
"Continue!"
Erika, pushed down on the panties, but with her thighs wedged so closely
together, the garment got hung up in her crotch, and dragging them down her legs
became a degradingly awkward process.
When the pale panties were no more than a pale rope around her knees, the
baron barked out another command. "Clasp your wrists together behind your
back!"
"B-but...."
SMACKK!! The flat blade of the baron's sword stung the side of a shapely
thigh. "Schnell!"
Erika, defeated, slid her wrists behind her back, very much aware that even
such a simple motion would accentuate the proud thrust of her sword-seared
breasts.
The baron eyed the stripes he had imprinted on Erika's pink-crested melons
with satisfaction for a moment, and reached down with his free hand and took her
saber-flattened right nipple between his thumb and forefinger and gave it first
a gentle squeeze and then a more demanding tug, manipulating the little bud
until it firmed and lengthened into a fleshy bullet of desire.
'What a body she had!' he remarked to himself with awe, as he extended his
hand toward her other breast. So beautiful, so responsive, so infinitely
desirable. He treated Erika's left nipple more roughly, reaching across her
body with his left hand to tweak and twist the puckering pink nubbin until he
could see the corners of his prisoner's azure eyes begin to fill with tears.
When he had teased and tormented both of Erika's nipples into quivering
erection, he took a half-step backward and pressed the tip of his gleaming sword
into the curly blonde nest between her legs.
"Silver and gold," the baron mused under his breath. "A most appealing
combination, fraulein, wouldn't you agree?"
The kneeling woman held her breath as she felt the razor-sharp tip of the
baron's sword explore her mossy pubic mound, But so skilled was he, and so
motionless was she, that the blade explored her quivering mons and her delicate
woman-cleft without once breaking the skin.
But after a few moments the Prussian tired of this sport and abruptly
walked over toward the captain's desk. He seized the armchair that faced it,
and dragged it back across the room and set it on the bare floor, so that it
faced Erika from a distance of some five or six feet.
Then, still holding in the sword in his right hand, the baron took a seat
in the chair, maintaining the same stiff, upright posture that he had adopted
during the carriage ride from the embassy, and extended a dusty black boot in
Erika's direction.
"Clean it!" he ordered imperiously.
Erika looked desperately around the room for a bit of cloth she could use
to clean the baron's boots. As she did so, she realized why the baron had been
so gracious about allowing her to walk on the planked walkway, while he had
trudged along in the dust; he had known that he would be humiliating her by
using her as a bootblack in an hour's time. Suddenly, she saw on the floor to
her left, near the bookcase, a scarf-sized piece of fabric that the baron had
ripped from her dress. She unclasped her hands and was about to reach for it,
when she felt the sharp tip of the baron's sword again, just below her left
nipple.
"Did I tell you to unclasp your hands, fraulein?" the diabolical voice
whispered.
"N-no, but ..."
""No, your excellency,' fraulein," the baron corrected her in an irritated
voice as he gave the sword-tip a tiny little flick, drawing a thin crescent of
blood from the lower edge of Erika's left areole.
"No, your excellency," Erika parroted, wincing in pain. "But you asked me
to clean your boots."
"Ah, but you have tools enough to clean them already," said the Baron with
a sadistic leer. But before you begin, you are to put your hands behind your
back. "Yes, that wasn't so difficult now, was it?" he sneered, when Erika had
followed his directive. "Can you feel the wooden rail that runs the length of
the bed?
Erika's hands felt around behind her back and found it.
"You will need to hang on to that rail, fraulein, while you clean my
boots."
When Erika glanced at him quizzically, his lip twisted upward into a
sardonic, gloating smile. "Because you are to use your beautiful golden hair,
fraulein, to clean my boots! Quickly!" he snapped as he spanked the outer curve
of her left breast with the flat of his sword.
As Erika leaned forward to comply with his request, Gutmayer felt a fresh
surge of pleasure course through his loins at the site of Erika's mouth-watering
breasts, emboldened by her arms-behind-the-back posture, jutting at him
obscenely, her brownish-pink nipples still distended from his earlier
ministrations. The visceral thrill of pleasure he had felt when he had
delivered the two blows that had reddened the peaches-and-cream perfection of
her breast-flesh had sorely tempted him to change his mind about turning this
blonde goddess over to the tender mercies of General Wang. What, he wondered,
would the general say if he were to tell him that he wanted to keep this
magnificent creature for his own dark pleasures, rather than selling her to the
Chinese warlord as he had promised. But the price the General had offered was
much too high to turn down. A cruel smile crossed his lips as Erika bent her
head to sweep the surface dust from his boots with her golden hair. It was a
price that in one way or another, Erika herself would have to pay.
Clutching the bed-rail behind her, Erika knelt before the sadistic Prussian
at a forty-five degree angle with her bare buttocks pressed against the edge of
the bed. In order to clean the baron's boots, she was obliged to bend forward so
that her sword-lashed lust-globes hung from her chest like ripe, juicy mangos.
As he watched her lean forward, Hans Gutmayer gave a long sigh of pleasure.
He had always founds the backs of trim young women to be a source of great
beauty. There was a lovely geometry to be found there, he thought. The long
sides of the quadrilateral narrowing as one's eye traced the lines of her back
from shoulder tips to waist. And who could not enjoy the gentle indentations of
vertebrae and shoulder blades and beautifully arched ribs against soft skin?
Erika, of course, was not at all concerned about her own appearance but
deathly fearful of her fate. Apparently the baron had sold her, like a piece of
meat, to the evil General Wang, who in turn hoped to profit by returning her to
George Chan. Three black-hearted villains, each worse than the other. Had it
only been last night that Daniel Kauffmann had held her in his arms? It seemed
like several lifetimes. I must be strong, she told herself. I must endure, if
ever I am to feel those gentle arms again.
Steeled to her unjust fate, Erika leaned forward awkwardly from the waist,
holding on to the bedrail grimly so that she would not fall flat on her tender
breasts. Fortunately the baron's boot was several inches off the ground so that
even with her arms stretched behind her and her legs drawn far back under the
bed, she was just able to maintain her balance. Slowly, she began to use her
long, golden hair, on which Ju had lavished such great care only hours earlier,
like a feather duster, brushing her tresses back and forth across the baron's
calf-length boots until most of the surface dust was gone.
When she was done, he extended the toe of his boot and lifted Erika's
downcast chin so that their eyes met. Then he inserted the toe of his black
boot in Erika's navel and slowly dragged it upward, between her close-set
breasts.
The baron seemed to feel the delicious pressure of her breasts even through
the stiff leather, as he worked his foot back and forth in her opulent cleavage,
enjoying the disgust he read in Erika's sparkling blue eyes. After a moment, he
artfully used the toe of his boot to etch a circle around Erika's left breast,
the tip of his boot never losing contact with her yielding breast-flesh.
Erika thought that the leather games were done when the baron had completed
his circumnavigation of her breast, but in fact they were just beginning. He
pressed his boot-toe against the very center of her breast, relishing her gasp
of pain when he touched her taut, tender nipple, and then he slid the toe of his
boot back and forth against the pink nugget, smiling evilly as Erika bit her lip
to keep from crying out in pain.
"You have cleaned my boots, well, fraulein," the Baron said grudgingly.
"Now polish them, if you please."
Biting her tongue to keep from snarling at her tormentor, Erika bent still
further forward so that her pink tongue could just touch the toe-tip of the
baron's boots. She extended it slowly, feeling more debased than at any time in
her life....
Chapter 116 Leather, Blood, and Iron
The baron had long taken a special pleasure in demonstrating his dominance,
and the subservience of his conquests, in just this way. Nothing excited him
more than the sight of a naked young woman on her knees, her pink tongue
extended from a pretty mouth, paying sexual homage to the stiff black leather of
a Prussian boot.
It was, he had come to believe, a genetic trait. He had been a lad of not
quite fifteen when he had first come across his father disporting himself in his
hunting lodge with a shapely, auburn-haired maidservant named Inge. The pretty
young housemaid had had the ill luck of breaking one of the blue-clad porcelain
Hussars that were part of the magnificent tableau of Waterloo that Heinrich
Gutmayer had arranged on a huge rectangular table in the library of his stately
villa. When the walrus-moustached veteran of the Blucher campaign became aware
of his loss, he had summoned Inge to the hunting lodge at the rear of the
estate.
Freshly returned from a year away at cadet school, young Hans Gutmayer had
been tramping through the grounds of his father's vast estate when he had heard
voices coming from inside the hunting lodge. He was about to tap on the door
when he heard a woman's voice, and elected instead to walk around to the back of
the building, where he had noticed that the draperies of a rear window had been
left slightly parted. Pressing himself against the wall of the building, he had
peered in to see his iron-jawed father standing adjacent to a round table that
dominated the center of the room.
Hans held his breath as a scowling Heinrich Gutmayer ordered an agitated
young woman with flame-red hair to remove her dirndl, the puffy-sleeved maid's
costume that the old baron, who unfailingly Octobered in Bavaria each fall,
required all of his female servants to wear.
The cadet knew that the maid, a girl not more than a year older than he,
had little choice but to obey; for Inge Bruckner's father was the baron's
footman and two of her uncles were tenants on the Gutmayer lands. Even a breath
of refusal, she had to know, would bring ruin to her family.
Inge had been a spindly schoolgirl with a pretty smile when Hans Gutmayer
had last seen her, but she had blossomed into a decidedly attractive young woman
in his absence. Her once-skinny legs had taken on an admirable shapeliness, and
her breasts had filled out miraculously and threatened to burst the confines of
a low-cut bodice that she had clearly outgrown. Hans' mouth was dry and his
heart pounded in his chest as the blushing redhead shyly unbuttoned the blouse
of her snug-fitting dress while his father seated himself in a large,
leather-upholstered chair at the far end of the round table, his clear blue eyes
drinking in the sight of Inge's pink, girlish flesh.
When her last undergarment had joined the dirndl in a pile at her feet,
Inge stood before the old soldier, naked and trembling, one arm crossed
protectively over her plump young breasts, the other defending her auburn-
fringed mons. The stiff-jointed old man grunted as he stood up and opened an
iron-ribbed chest and, to Hans' great surprise, removed a few articles of what
appeared to be clothing. Black leather clothing.
The old warhorse began by slipping a leather collar around Inge's neck, and
then tightened it until she was in noticeable discomfort. He added matching
cuffs around her wrists and ankles before ordering the ripe-breasted maid to
step into a tiny undergarment that consisted of little more than a minuscule
triangle of black leather in the front, and a strip of leather no wider than a
purse-strap that slid neatly into the dark crease between her deliciously
spankable buttocks.
But Inge's pale, lightly-freckled breasts had proved enjoyably troublesome
to Heinrich Gutmayer, since she was considerably fuller-breasted than the
slender, but careless kitchen-maid for whom the matching 'Brandenburg brassiere'
had originally been designed. As with the rest of her costume, the leather bra
was not meant to conceal her charms but to accentuate them. It was not unlike a
normal brassiere, save for the fact that it had been fashioned from tough
leather instead of soft fabric - and that it had no cups. It was a skeleton of
a brassiere, in the shape of a figure eight, whose purpose was to shape and
frame the breasts of its wearer. Two thick laces extended from the sides of the
'brassiere' and were clearly designed to be knotted together behind the wearer's
back. Hans had never forgotten how the veins in his father's neck had stood
out as he had tugged those stiff lace-straps together until the tough strips
that formed the leathery latticework of the brassiere fit snugly around the
bases of Inge's swollen breasts. By the time he had drawn the strap-bra
painfully tight around Inge's lust-melons, the old soldier's face was even more
florid than the rosy globes which bulged so invitingly out of the ebony
breast-straps.
Once the blushing young redhead was fully accoutered in gleaming black
leather, the old warrior eased himself back into a chair whose shape and
dark-timbered wood gave it a strangely forbidding quality. The baron extended a
boot toward the nubile housemaid and pointed at it imperiously, leaving no doubt
that he wanted his nude-breasted servant to attend to it without delay.
Inge, mortified by the way her pink-tipped love mounds, which no boy had
ever touched and no man had ever seen, protruded so provocatively from their
black leather bondage, seemed frozen in disbelief. The elderly baron quickly
rose up from his 'schwarzer Stuhl', his 'black chair', and angrily threw Inge
against it, ordering her to bend over and lean on its massive arms, thus
elevating her tempting backside high in the air.
The grim-faced old soldier proceeded to remove a stiff riding crop from a
hook on the wall and made his enticing captive count off the strokes while he
slowly administered a score of stinging crop-cuts to the curves of the tempting
bottom-ovals which the thin leather crotch-strap had so alluringly bisected.
" Aahhh! ... Achtzehn"
" Aiaahhh! ... Neunzehn !
"Ouwwww! ... Zwanzig"
When the groaning, gasping redhead had counted off the last of the twenty
blows she was made to turn around and face the baron, who took a moment to savor
the sight of the luscious, protruding breasts that he had taken such pleasure in
binding with the constricting straps of the Brandenburg brassiere.
Heinrich Gutmayer grunted with satisfaction and blindfolded the shapely
sixteen-year old with a black scarf and ordered Inge to stand with the small of
her bare back pressed against the upper edge of the back of der schwarzer Stuhl.
Two slicing blows of the crop across her pale belly quickly induced her to take
the position he had in mind, bent uncomfortably backward over the chair, with
her arms stretched over her head, thus elongating the pleasing arch of her body.
As Inge tearfully obeyed, young Hans, watching through the part in the
curtains, felt as if his cock was about to bore a hole in his woolen trousers.
Stretched backward as she was, every line of the blindfolded red-head's body was
displayed to perfection. The muscles in Inge's creamy thighs were taut. The
puffy lips of her labia and a few wispy auburn hairs, peeked out around the
narrow and excruciatingly tight crotch-strap. The bare skin of her belly was
pulled tight over her ribs, and her mouthwatering young breasts, shaped and
supported by the snug-fitting leather top, aimed at the timbered roof of the
hunting lodge like a pair of pale, pink-tipped artillery shells.
The old warrior proceeded to administer a thorough cropping to his shapely
servant, stinging her young body from knees to torso. He slapped the crop down
almost randomly - the outside of one thigh, then her belly, the rounded curve
of a flank, the inside of her other thigh, and so on, giving his blindfolded
victim little chance to brace herself for the next blow.
Once again, Inge was compelled to count off twenty blows, while the baron
walked around the evil chair, striking at her legs and torso from every
conceivable angle.
When Inge reached "Zwanzig!" for the second time, Baron Heinrich took up a
stance facing the front of the black chair, so that Inge's backward-extended
fingertips seemed to reach toward him. Divining his father's malicious intent,
Hans brushed his hand over his bulging crotch just as the baron brought the crop
down sharply on Inge's upthrust left breast.
"Aaaiah!"
Hans almost swooned with pleasure as Inge's taut-stretched body shuddered
in pain.
Slap! "Aurghh!" The right breast this time.
Slap! The same breast again, this time stinging a pink nipple.
Slap! The cruel baron struck the same lovely nubbin yet again, leaving
it more rosy than pink.
Concentrating on the pale pink roseates and the slightly darker tips of
Inge's leather-bound breasts, the elder Gutmayer proceeded to deliver ten crisp
cutting strokes to Inge's burning love-mounds. He stopped only when Inge, the
pretty peaks of her rubescent breasts now as red and tender as ripe raspberries,
fell to her knees in abject surrender. "Bitte, Herr Gutmayer ... I will do
whatever you wish."
Moments later her lips and tongue were making love to Baron Heinrich's
boots, while outside young Hans Gutmayer, overcome by lust, drenched the hedge
that lined the rear of his father's secluded lodge with secret spurts of
pleasure.
***
The young baron had learned a lot watching through the window on that
look-ago spring day watching Inge slave over his father's boots. He had
experienced the galvanic thrill of voyeurism for the first time, a secret thrill
which he had never outgrown. He had come to know the meaning of true Prussian
discipline and he had experienced, albeit vicariously, the lust-enhancing thrill
of sexual dominance.
Young Hans Gutmayer returned to the spartan environment of the military
academy not long afterward, but during the next academic year he had relived
every moment of the punishment of Inge Bruckner a hundred times during the
stillness and solitude of sleepless nights far from home.
Who could count the times he had lain awake picturing himself using his
thick cadet's belt on that delicious young redhead's rounded buttocks? How many
nights had he lain in bed sweating, stroking himself feverishly, while the
ripe-breasted redhead posed for him provocatively in his mind's eye? Turning,
twisting, bending. Stroking her pale thigh-flesh. Cupping her lush breasts and
rubbing her thumbs over her pert nipples until they were as hard and red as
rubies. Coming closer ... closer ... closer ... until she was just out of arm's
reach. And then, while one hand caressed her breasts and strummed her swollen
nipples, the other dipped low, and found the secret place between her legs, and
stroked it until her pale fingers were covered with her feminine dew. How that
young Delilah had smiled for him during those lonely nights! How she had
squirmed and wriggled -- just to please him. Teasing him as if she knew his
every wish.
********
On each succeeding visit home, young Hans made it a point to try to spy on
his father during the old man's occasional assignations at the lodge. But aside
from Inge, there were only two or three servant girls young and comely enough to
catch the old soldier's wandering eye. Occasionally, however, when Hans'
strait-laced step-mother had trundled off to visit her relatives in Thuringia,
the old man would entertain a fellow officer or aristocratic crony or two at the
hunting lodge with vintage wines and fine Cuban cigars - provided that the guest
brought along an attractive female servant to provide less refined pleasures....
On the following Midsummer Eve, young Hans had watched from his
clandestine vantage point while old Heinrich had welcomed three of the 'Ritter
der Tafelrunde', the Knights of the Round Table, as some of his
fellow-connoisseurs of female flesh had dubbed themselves, to the hunting lodge
for a particularly memorable wine and cigar party. The last to arrive, was
Reinhart von Eilbach, a high-ranking instructor at the Prussian War College, who
had brought along his headstrong young mistress, the beautiful and notorious
Leonie Valois, promising her that the finest wine and beluga caviar to be found
in all of Germany would be served. It would be, the old officer assured her, a
holiday celebration she would long remember.
Leonie Valois was celebrated as one of the leading courtesans of Europe.
Still in her late twenties, she was an intelligent and vivacious young woman
completely unencumbered by conventional morality. The slim blonde adventuress
had warmed the beds of dozens of wealthy and titled men from the Cote d'Azur to
St Petersburg, where it was rumored that she had helped two of the Czar's male
relatives celebrate the centennial of the Winter Palace. Her origins were
shrouded in mystery, but it was rumored that she had first attracted the
attention of the beau monde by posing for the young Edouard Manet -- along with
Victorine Meurent, the famous model for the nude "Olympia" -- in a potpourri of
positions so abandoned, so sinfully depraved, that every painting in the series
was instantly snapped up for the private collections of the connoisseurs of the
oldest art.
La Valois was frequently the subject of whispers in the salons of the great
capitals of Europe, and often appeared in those fashionable haunts on the arm of
an admiral or aristocrat, to exchange barbs and pleasantries with their worldly
habitues. "La Langue Francaise," a cynical rogue had dubbed her a few years
earlier, 'The French Tongue', and the cognoscenti had rejoiced in the wicked
double entendre. But few had dared to question, in public at least, the extent
to which Leonie's undeniable gifts of conversation had earned her such a
suggestive sobriquet
Shortly after coming to Berlin, in the wake of a scandalous love triangle
in Marseilles, Leonie Valois had taken as her lover the aging but immensely
wealthy Reinhard von Eilbach, one of old Heinrich's comrades at Waterloo, and
the heir to vast properties in Silesia. But for once "La Langue's" tongue had
gotten her into trouble, for she had laughingly mocked von Eilbach's virility to
other women of her own age and morals, who in turn had whispered the scandalous
gossip to their lovers. Unbeknownst to Leonie, von Eilbach had gotten wind of
her betrayal, and so it was that the military instructor had escorted her to the
Gutmayer hunting lodge on Midsummer Eve intent on avenging his wounded pride.
Leonie was a bit surprised to find herself the only woman at the soiree,
but after imbibing two glasses of a deliciously crisp Mosel she relaxed in the
company of the four dignified-looking officers - von Eilbach, Heinrich Gutmayer,
Dieter Schuller, and Karl Hildebrandt. All had fought at Waterloo in Marshal
Blucher's battalions, and the bonds of shared wartime experience had kept them
close for the near half-century since. Not a man among them, of course, had the
slightest affection for the French.
As had happened numerous times before, Leonie studiously ignored her
escort, who was nearly fifty years her senior. Von Eilbach could only look on
with increasing resentment as his delectable bit of French pastry flirted
audaciously with the other three, slightly younger men. The pale blue dress
Leonie had chosen for the soiree was almost indecent, cut scandalously low in
both front and back, offering generous glimpses of her tempting cleavage. Even
the aging eyes of the Knights of the Gutmayer Round Table could make out the
tantalizing imprint of Leonie's unfettered nipples stabbing against the flimsy
silk of her gown.
After Heinrich Gutmayer had filled her glass for the fourth time he offered
a humidor filled with expensive cigars to his three former comrades-in-arms. As
the humidor was passed around the circular table, von Eilbach took one and
examined the band approvingly. "A Hermann Upmann! Vielen Dank, my friend. I
tell you," he went on enthusiastically, "that if Upmann doesn't make the world's
finest cigars, I'm the King of Sweden." The war instructor licked sensually at
the tip of the cigar, while Dieter Schuller struck a lucifer and extended the
burning match toward his friend.
"I knew Upmann years ago," Hildebrandt volunteered, as the tall, elegantly
dressed former cavalry officer lit his own cigar, while the four officers and
Leonie rose from the table, von Eilbach assisting her with her chair. "He was
a successful banker here, before sailing off to Cuba. At the beginning he had
the idea of making the cigars just as a scheme to promote his bank, you know.
But within a year or two," he explained as he inhaled the aromatic smoke, "the
cart was pulling the horse. He's made millions in the cigar business. I wish
I'd gotten in on the groun ..."
"I want one." Leonie Valois' mouth had formed itself into a pretty pout.
Hildebrandt stopped in mid-sentence and stared sharply at the upstart young
woman who had had the temerity to interrupt a Prussian officer. Leonie stepped
closer to him, her soft lips pursed in a seductive moue, lightly brushing his
be-medalled chest with the tips of her breasts while Reinhard von Eilbach looked
on, silently fuming.
"Mais oui! I want one too," she cajoled in a voice swathed in satin.
"Les hommes!" she sniffed, wrinkling her perfect nose indignantly. "You men are
always talking among yourselves, n'est-ce pas? C'est toujours la guerre, les
armes, la Bourse, les cigares -- you never show a young lady the least
attention. I might as well be ... a ... a ... " she looked around in frustration
before fixing her sparkling green eyes on the baron's stark wooden chair. "A
seatcushion!" she pouted, gesturing toward the schwarzer Stuhl.
"Reinhart, my friend," Baron Gutmayer responded with a strange glint in his
eye. "Perhaps Mademoiselle Valois is correct. Perhaps it is time that we gave
her the attention she deserves."
"Bien sur," agreed Leonie, rewarding him with an arch smile. "But of
course."
The other three men gave von Eilbach, whose brow was wrinkled in a deep
frown, a questioning look. A moment later he nodded grimly, and the four
Prussian officers, moving as one, seized the protesting young woman. "So you
want attention, do you, ma petite putain Parisienne?" hissed the Military
Instructor. "Well, we'll see that you get it!" he raged, as he tore at the
azure bodice of Leonie's gown, letting her beautifully-shaped breasts spring
free.
"Non! Au secours!" Leonie cried out, as she tried to pull away, but
Hildebrandt and Schuller ignored her cry for help and grasped her securely by
the arms.
From behind her, Heinrich Gutmayer tugged at what remained of Leonie's
slinky dress, until the rest of the gown dress slid down her bare legs. A
frilly undergarment provided little resistance to Schuller's eager hands, and
moments later the four men threw Leonie Weber's nude body into the schwarzer
Stuhl that their blazing-eyed host had just vacated.
Each of the old soldiers manned his post in exemplary fashion, with
Gutmayer holding Leonie's extended wrists behind her while on either side of her
the beer-bellied Schuller and the angular, balding Hildebrandt each seized an
ankle. Then the lecherous Prussian duo pulled Leonie's lower legs so far apart
that her creamy thighs were splayed over the arms of the sinister chair, and her
blonde-tufted sex gaped at her captors with shameless abandon.
Reinhard von Eilbach, stood stock still directly in front of his
mistress for a moment or two, admiring her nakedness, before offering his cigar
to her - but with the understanding that he would dictate the terms of
engagement: he would insert the cigar in her vagina and then place it to her
lips for her to puff. After Leonie had taken the puff she had so rudely
demanded, he would re-insert the cigar in her vagina and so on. But under no
condition, the war instructor snapped through tight lips, was she to cough. If
she did so, she would be punished, just as a soldier would be punished for
disobeying orders. "Do you understand the rules of our friendly 'war games', ma
petite?" von Eilbach concluded with a mocking smile.
Helpless in the grip of the other three gray-haired veterans, and a veteran
of countless amorous escapades not much less bizarre than this one, Leonie
nodded apprehensively, and waited nervously. Surely, she tried to compose
herself, she had nothing much to fear from four men the total of whose ages
approached trois cents ans. Meanwhile her lover inserted the expensive Cuban
cigar into her vagina and, twirled it around, while she wriggled uncomfortably
against the rough wood of the chair. When it was sufficiently moist, he held it
to her lips.
Leonie's pretty French nose twitched as she took a hasty puff at the
smoking cigar, tasting the musk of her own feminine juices, and then turned her
face away. Von Eilbach repeated the process, while Schuller and Hildebrandt,
tired of holding the squirming courtesan in place, ransacked Heinrich Gutmayer's
iron-bound chest, finding an assortment of lengthy leather straps which they
used to bind Leonie's slim wrists and ankles to the back legs of the schwarzer
Stuhl, thus putting a terrible strain on her doubled-under thighs.
But the old baron considered Leonie's bondage to be still inadequate.
Hans watched excitedly as his father pulled out three long strips of buckskin
and wrapped the first around Leonie's hourglass waist, cinching it painfully
tight to the pack of the paneled chair. Two more strips of the same
golden-brown leather followed, with Gutmayer wrapping one tightly around the
Frenchwoman's chest just above the smooth-skinned plums of her breasts, and the
other just below.
Once the rumor-mongering blonde was securely bound, von Eilbach's cronies'
hands were free to stroke her thighs, to fondle and suckle the delicious breasts
whose sweetness had been tasted by royalty and statesmen, and to grope between
her legs for the warm, damp place which had known the caress of a hundred
lovers.
From his vantage point at the open window, young Hans Gutmayer had watched
spellbound at the sight of the haughty demoiselle utterly at the mercy of the
four middle-aged officers. On either side of her, Hildebrandt and Schuller ran
their lined but lecherous hands up and down Leonie's bare thighs. His father
hovered over the delicious blonde from behind, reaching through the vertical
openings in the three-paneled seat-back to tweak and twist her pert, pink
nipples from above. Meanwhile, the war instructor calmly shared his cigar with
the wanton mistress whose tongue, for once, had gone too far.
Reinhard von Eilbach, his lust increasingly aroused by the sight of his
tempting inamorata's beautiful body being manhandled by his fellow-veterans,
began forcing Leonie to take longer and deeper puffs on his long, thick cigar.
Finally, after five minutes, the smoke became too much and she coughed gently.
"Here, ma cherie, let me help you with that," her lover said softly, taking
the cigar from her lips and drawing on it. For a moment Leonie looked at him
gratefully, thankful that he was sharing the cigar, and thus bringing her
unnerving ordeal closer to its end. But when he took it from his mouth, his
eyes were as icy as the tip of the cigar was hot. "I warned you that you would
be punished if you coughed, did I not?" her lover asked softly.
" Qu'est-ce que vous dites, mon cheri?" Leonie stammered nervously.
"What are you saying? It is only a game, we are playing, oui?"
"Leonie, Leonie. So beautiful and yet so foolish. Why would you speak ill
of me to your friends?"
Suddenly sensing the severity of her predicament, Leonie reared forward
against her bonds, but the leather thongs were too tight.
"Non, Reinhard! Jamais de ma vie! Never!" she lied.
"And now," whispered von Eilbach in a granite-laced voice, "You worsen your
betrayal with your lies. Such deceit cannot go unpunished."
"Non ... non!" Leonie exclaimed in horror as her aggrieved lover reached
forward and pressed the tip of the cigar against the soft flesh just below her
collarbone.
"Aaahhhhh! Mon Dieu!"
The blonde courtesan's naked body surged forward against the leather
straps. The cigar had only touched her fair skin for an instant, but it had been
an instant of scalding pain.
Once again, the angry lover inserted the moist end of the cigar between her
legs again, twisting it around inside her, while male hands, some wrinkled, all
insistent, roamed at will over the curves and hollows of her defenseless body.
Then the cigar was at her lips yet again. Leonie tried to turn away after a
hasty puff, but the tight-leafed cylinder followed her lips relentlessly. At
last she took into her mouth, but this time her lover held it in place, despite
her struggles, while Heinrich Gutmayer tugged at the buckskin cords under her
breasts with the strength of a far younger man, forcing the air painfully out of
her lungs. When von Eilbach finally, mercifully pulled the smoking cigar from
Leonie's lips, the arrogant young beauty coughed violently, spasmodically, for
fifteen or twenty seconds.
"I make that as six coughs, gentlemen," von Eilbach murmured in a dry,
remorseless voice. "What say the member of the military tribunal?"
"Non! Ce n'est pas possible!" Leonie exclaimed frantically, as she squirmed
against her bonds, while the four old men appraised her glistening,
sweat-sheened body, before rendering their verdict
"Seven, at least!" offered Heinrich, proud of his work with the leather
cinch.
"Eight, I should have guessed," added Hildebrandt.
"Well, shall we settle on seven, then?" asked the War Instructor with an
evil leer. "The military court has reached its verdict, ma cherie," von Eilbach
hissed through clenched teeth, as he slid around behind the armchair while he
took another puff on the pungently aromatic cigar. He watched the curls of
smoke trail upward absently for a moment and then he bent over the chair and put
his left hand over Leonie's mouth, stifling her cries for help before they could
rise up from her lungs.
There was a faint tremor in von Eilbach's aged right hand as he touched the
glowing tip of his cigar to Leonie's quivering left breast six times in the
space of two minutes, distributing the tiny burns equidistantly around the
circumference of her tempting mound. Six times the cigar touched her soft,
sensitive breast and six times the arrogant demoiselle reacted to the scorching
kiss of the cigar with muffled cries of pain, as her nude upper torso convulsed
in paroxysms of agony that strained her confining bonds to their limit.
When von Eilbach finally relaxed his grip on her mouth and straightened up,
Leonie continued to writhe in pain and whimpered, "Non ... s'il vous plait ...
je regrette ..."
"Je le regrette aussi, mademoiselle," von Eilbach replied in a stern voice.
"Mais je demande la justice."
"But that was only six, Herr Instructor," Schiller pointed out to the
Prussian professor with judicial meticulousness. "The sentence is not yet
complete."
The silver-haired War Instructor once again lifted the fragrant cigar to
his mouth and inhaled pleasurably, as if he were tasting the sweet flesh the
other end of the cigar had just kissed.
"Indeed?" von Eilbach asked absently as he leaned forward again. "How
careless of me," he added dreamily, as he once again cupped his hand over
Leonie's pretty mouth. The luscious young courtesan could only wriggle in
horror as the tip of the slow-burning cigar moved inexorably toward her
puckering nipple, like metal shavings drawn to a magnet. When the red-glowing
end finally touched her pink bud, every muscle and nerve in her trim young body
bucked violently. The war instructor gave the tip of the hot cigar a slow,
measured quarter-turn before pulling it away, ending the longest second of
Leonie's young life.
Fifty minutes, one extraordinarily fine Cuban cigar, and four and twenty
half-stifled coughs later, die Ritter der Tafelrunde unstrapped the tortured
courtesan. Leonie's pale body was bathed in sweat, and her thighs, belly and
breasts sported an odd assortment of tiny, ashy-looking red marks.
Hans Gutmayer, the young watcher at the window, had continued to look on
excitedly while Hildebrandt, Schuller and his father proceeded to take turns in
the sinister schwarzer Stuhl. La Langue Francaise, her youthful hauteur and
rebellious esprit quashed by the fiery tip of von Eilbach's cigar, crouched on
her hands and knees at the foot of the unholy chair, demonstrating her fabled
oral talents on her tormentors' black leather boots and their raging red
erections.
While Reinhart von Eilbach, his proud male weapon restored to youth and
vigor by the evening's debauchery, knelt behind her and drove his Prussian
howitzer into Leonie's Mosel-moistened rosette with the gusto of a man half his
age. He had first prepared her delicious derriere by administering a thorough
strapping to Alsace and Lorraine, as he had mockingly dubbed Leonie's twin
bottom-ovals while he flogged them. It was only when her splendid behind was
warm and rosy that the red-faced aristocrat tried to partition those
much-desired provinces by stabbing his throbbing Deutschenschwanz into the most
vulnerable point in Leonie's defences.
********
Hans Gutmayer's occasional forays into voyeurism had gone unnoticed until
one afternoon during the summer of his seventeenth year. As he was hiking
through a wooded area adjacent to the lodge, he saw an ancient nag pulling an
even more ancient wagon down the uneven cartpath that ran past the entrance to
the secluded hunting lodge. A disreputable looking man of forty or thereabouts,
one with a local reputation as a drunkard and thief, held the reins. Alongside
him sat a pretty, dark-haired girl of perhaps fifteen. Hans concealed himself
behind a bosky hedge and peeked out at the unlikely couple.
When the cart came to a stop in front of the lodge, the man barked at the
girl, as if he were giving her an order, but she shook her head defiantly,
'No'. Angrily, the unkempt-looking man cursed and struck at the girl, but she
just managed to escape his blows by sliding toward the far edge of the wagon's
bench. Undeterred by his errant blows, the swarthy wild-haired man turned
toward the girl and planted a filthy boot against her hip and shove-kicked the
barefoot girl out of the cart so that she fell heavily to the ground.
Grimacing in pain, the slender, ebony-haired girl pulled up her
brightly-colored skirt and rubbed at the skinned knee of a slim leg, before
picking herself up and starting to run back in the direction whence they had
come. The man called out angrily, reached down and grabbed a switch from the
floorboards of the wagon, and started after her, cursing. But the girl had only
run a short distance, her firm young breasts bouncing deliciously under her
white peasant blouse, when she turned an ankle on the uneven dirt road and fell
to the ground again. She climbed valiantly to her feet and tried to run on her
tender ankle, but the man soon caught up to her, cursed her and used his switch
to lash at her legs through the thin but colorful knee-length skirt that she
wore.
The dark-haired girl cried out in pain, but her merciless tormentor drove
her back toward the door of the hunting lodge, striking her time and again
across her back and buttocks.
The girl was in tears by the time her assailant pounded at the door of the
hunting lodge, at which a formidable-looking Heinrich Gutmayer soon appeared.
But at the sight of the dark-haired beauty on his doorstep the old baron's
manner warmed, and he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. The unkempt
man pushed the tearful maiden into the lodge and turned toward his cart as Hans
heard the door of the lock close shut behind his father and the slender,
dark-eyed girl.
As the cartman rode off, Hans, anxious to see the denouement of this
strange rendezvous, quickly made his way toward his usual hiding place, but as
he approached the window he tripped and fell heavily against the building. A
moment later, his father stormed out of the door, bellowing, "Kovacs, you swine,
I thought I told you to get off my ... oh, it's you, my boy," he exclaimed,
seeing his son.
The crafty old baron looked at his son's position near the window and sized
up the situation correctly.
"Care for a closer look, boy?" Heinrich asked his son. "It's time we made
a man of you, anyway!"
As young Hans stepped nervously through the doorway of the lodge he saw the
dark-haired girl cowering in a corner near the fireplace, on the far side of the
round table. The swarthy man's savage blows had caused her peasant blouse to
slip off of one cafe-au-lait shoulder, revealing just a hint of the top of a
nicely-rounded breast. Nearer to him, two sturdy leather straps hung down from
the central rafter of the lodge; his father had clearly taken the time to make
special preparations for Gabriella's visit.
Gabriella Kovacs, his father went on to explain, while Hans eyed the slim,
dark-eyed beauty girl hungrily, was the daughter of a man who had recently been
caught poaching on the baron's lands for the fourth time.
Faced with a stiff sentence owing to numerous past offenses, the swarthy,
shifty-eyed reprobate had sullenly accepted the baron's suggestion that he would
pardon the man's crimes - but only in exchange for an afternoon of pleasure with
his shapely young daughter.
***
The father and son had made the flashing-eyed fifteen-year-old temptress
pay dearly for her father's sins. Armed with riding crops, they had forced her
to dance for them, in the abandoned style of the Gypsies she resembled, her
flowing skirts swinging high and wild around her bare legs as she spun around
the round table that dominated the center of the lodge. Goaded on by stinging
flicks of the whip, Gabriella danced for them until she was out of breath. She
leaned against the circular table, breathing heavily, her tawny skin bright with
the gleam of perspiration, and her gauzy blouse clinging lasciviously to her
damp, precociously ripe breasts.
"So, what do you think of think of our lovely Gabriella, Hans," his father
asked as the two approached the exhausted girl. "An angelic name to match an
angelic face, is it not?"
Indeed it was hard to believe that this girl with the beautiful features,
the flashing eyes, the lovely dark complexion and the breasts that so
delightfully disturbed her pale blouse with every panting breath was the
daughter of the swarthy ruffian who had so rudely deposited her on the baron's
doorstep.
The two men, or rather the man and the boy, pressed Gabriella backward
against the table, and the father gouged an aggressive hand inside the top of
her peasant blouse, intent on fondling a young breast, while the son bent down
and pulled her skirt up over her bare legs so that his hands could explore the
silky flesh of her thighs.
When the sultry young beauty tried to fend them off by clawing at them like
a wildcat, the iron-willed baron cursed and dragged the squirming girl toward
the center of the room. "Let's give our angel a pair of wings, lad!" The
bristling-mustached nobleman quickly cuffed Gabriella's wrists to the pair of
leather straps that Hans had noticed upon entering the lodge. Within moments
the rebellious angel was safely secured in a wing-like bondage, lifted onto the
toes of her bare feet, her slender arms and lithe thighs stretched into an
alluring X.
The amorous young heir to the estate, hardly believing his good fortune,
strode forward and attacked the bodice of Gabriella's thin blouse, ripping it
open with a single violent tug, liberating a pair of small but perfectly-formed
breasts, capped with perky, acorn-brown nipples.
When his father elbowed him aside, the younger man stepped behind the
squirming girl and cupped her yielding breasts in his greedy fingers, while he
pressed the largest erection of his young life against her warm, rounded
buttocks and probed a pretty ear with his moist tongue.
The old baron, meanwhile, had undone the clasp of Gabriella's skirt. He
tore her brightly patterned skirt away with a sudden motion, revealing a brief
ragged undergarment that soon joined the skirt in a puddle of fabric beneath the
round table.
His father had taken the dark-skinned girl first, gripping her bare thighs
with a strength that belied his years and fitting his battle-hardened phallus
against her sparsely-fringed love slit. He entered her roughly and began
pumping into her furiously, while his son contented himself with grinding his
trousered manhood against the moaning girl's nicely-curved bottom. As he moved
his hips in time with his father's thrusts, he mauled Gabriella's sweet young
breasts, first fondling them gently, but then squeezing the tender globes with a
force corresponding to the intensity of his father's increasingly violent
lunges.
Old Heinrich had climaxed with a manly shudder shortly thereafter, only
then giving his only son leave to satisfy his overpowering lust.
The young baron undid the fly of his officer's uniform as he stepped around
to face the dark-eyed beauty who eyed him with loathing, glaring at him as if he
were the son of a peasant rather than a Prussian aristocrat.
"Feigling!" she hissed fearlessly. "Coward!"
Furious at her insult, Hans slapped her sharply across the left breast,
enjoying the thrill of male mastery. Sensing that his father was watching to
see his reaction, he began unbuttoning his belt. "Such insolence must be
punished, father. Don't you agree?"
When his father nodded his gray head approvingly, Hans Gutmayer set about
bringing his darkest dreams to fruition.
He flogged Gabriella's tawny legs first, striking her nicely-curved thighs
in front and in back with two rather awkward experimental swings of his belt as
he sought the best way to put power behind each lash. Even his first tentative
attempts, though, drew squeals of pain from the miscreant's daughter, as she
desperately tried to escape the sting of the belt.
But then, intent on winning his father's approval, the younger Gutmayer
decided to be more eclectic in his choice of targets.
Hans Gutmayer had circled the dark-eyed beauty relentlessly, lashing out at
her deep-cleft buttocks with a force that caused her body to shiver deliciously.
He followed that stroke with a withering blow across her back that caused her to
scream for the first time. The next blow stung her slender calves and the one
after that left a reddish-brown streak across her mid-section, halfway between
her dark-tipped breasts and her enticing navel.
The thief's daughter, driven frantic by pain, didn't know which way to turn
in her leather bonds. If she turned her back on her tormentor, she gave herself
no chance to brace herself for the next lash. But if she turned to face him,
she took the risk of ...
SMACCCKK!!! More than two decades later Gutmayer could still remember the
thrill of exhilaration he had felt when he had whipped his cadet belt across
Gabriella's yielding breasts for the first time. He had timed the blow
perfectly, sweeping the belt forward just as she had spun around quickly in what
proved to be the agonizingly wrong direction.
For a split-second Gabriella froze, and then the pain, a deep, burning
pain, surged through her tempting breasts like a wildfire and her legs gave out
and she hung limply from the chains in shock.
Hans' crusty old father had lifted a fist in triumph as if his son had won
a decoration for valor.
Anxious to prove his mettle to his audience of one, the young baron had
waited until the convict's daughter had recovered her strength and agility.
When her moans of agony had quieted, he began lashing at her lovely body once
again, this time aiming for, and finding, the resilient bottomcheeks that had
teased his virile erection so seductively while his father had raped her.
On and on the erotic pas de deux continued, with the elder baron
occasionally offering a word of advice or lashing out at Gabriella's bottom
himself with a riding whip.
Finally the younger Gutmayer could contain his excitement no longer. He
dropped his weapon and stepped forward and lifted Gabriella's belt-warmed
thighs, as he had seen his father do, and pressed the tip of his throbbing
cock-shaft against her moist entrance. He had aimed the belt at the juncture of
her thighs twice, but his wayward blows had nipped at her tender upper thighs
instead. As he slipped the knob of his penis inside her, he was almost overcome
with pleasure, and had to pause, lest he explode too soon.
But the near-orgasm passed quickly, and he soon settled into a masculine
rhythm that was as old as man and woman, cradling Gabriella's smooth,
belt-warmed buttocks in his strong hands while he pumped his manhood into her
body relentlessly.
In his inexperience, he did not last long, but the power of his orgasm when
it came, was like a raging, rushing river compared to the streamlets of sexual
pleasure that his lonely nocturnal pleasures had provided.
By the time the long afternoon was done, the young baron was no longer a
boy who dreamed of illicit encounters. He was a man whose boots had been licked
by a brown-eyed beauty whose will he had crushed. He was a man who had felt the
hot breath of Gabriella's mouth on his genitals, while his father had flogged
her rounded buttocks bottom with stern Prussian precision. He was a man who had
experienced the delicious pleasure of being the first to stretch a young girl's
rectum with his thrusting manhood. He was a man who knew, once and for all,
that the gentlemanly paths of sexual conduct were not for him, any more than
courtly diplomacy was the path chosen by Otto von Bismarck.
Not long before, the Iron Chancellor had made "Blut und Eisen" his slogan.
'Blood and Iron' the young cadet had vowed to himself, from that day forward,
would be his way with women as well....
***
Baron Hans Gutmayer's heavy testicles surged with pleasurable lust as Erika
Weiss' s nude body bent forward over his boots. The last twenty-odd years of
his life had been punctuated with countless thrilling scenes of sexual
discipline and subjugation.
But the one that awaited promised to rank with any of them...
Author's Note:
I have been remiss in not extending my appreciation to my friend, Polybios, for
his valued contributions to the "German" chapters of the Jade Pavilion. Most of
the chapters from #100 onward have benefited from his assistance, which has
prevented me from making any number of mistakes as regards German forms of
expression. (I have made some anyway, but those are my fault not his; either I
neglected to submit them for his review, or I neglected or misconstrued the
corrections he suggested.)
By the way, I would encourage my loyal readers - yes, both of you! - to check
out Polybios' exciting tale, "Morituri". The forthcoming installment (Chapters
XVII-XVIII, which should appear in early June 2004) features a flogging scene
that I'm sure most lovers of the Jade Pavilion will greatly enjoy. The entire
story, in fact, is marvelous, if you're looking for something more in erotica
than the bare bones of pornography.
Bon apetit!
Boccaccio
Chapter 117 The Degradation of Erika Weiss
When the baron's right boot shone so that Erika could see her pale
reflection in it, he extended his sword and slapped her sharply across her left
cheek, directing her toward his other boot. Erika's pain-brightened blue eyes
glared at him briefly, until the pressure of his sword on the back of her neck
forced her blonde head back down toward his boots. Her rage turned to
revulsion grew when Baron Gutmayer undid his Prussian blue trousers and
liberated his thick, meaty member.
Still holding the gold-hilted sword in his right hand, the vice-consul
fixed his eyes on Erika's superb breasts while he stroked his man-weapon slowly
and pleasurably with his left. He pointed his cock-tip directly at her pendulous
mangos, and it responded to his obscene caresses as if it had an eye of its own,
swelling to a most impressive massiveness as the blonde Rhine-maiden worshipped
his other boot with her mouth.
She slavishly polished the baron's right boot with her lips and tongue,
feeling the firm pressure of his sword-blade against the back of her neck
whenever she slackened her efforts.
When the second boot was as glossy as the first, Gutmayer stood up, his
pulsing erection jutting hungrily out of his military trousers.
"Very nice, my dear, very nice indeed," the baron said as he pulled Erika's
hair until she was kneeling upright, with her hands still clasped around the
bedrail behind her, and her rounded buttocks planted firmly against the edge of
the bed. "And now, fraulein, I have something else for you to polish with that
talented tongue of yours."
The baron stepped closer, still holding the sword in his right hand,
crushing his throbbing genitals against Erika's breasts, enjoying the feel of
their pillowy warmth and softness against his rigid penis and his swollen
testicles. He noticed with satisfaction that the pressure of his body against
her love-mounds caused beads of crimson to ooze from the thin gash on her pink
roseate.
"Now, my sweet, pretend that I am that dirty Jew lover of yours and
pleasure me as you pleasured him."
"You filthy swine!" Erika hissed, "Dr. Kauffmann never laid a hand on me!"
The baron stepped back and lifted his sword threateningly. Erika, follow
the shining blade with fear-filled eyes, giving the baron his opening. With a
quick, compact movement, he drove the toe of his right boot into Erika's
stomach, just beneath the ribcage on the left of her deep-notched navel. By no
means hard enough to injure her severely, but hard enough to cause her to double
up in pain.
"Ouwwwwww!" Erika's hands flew forward to protect her tender belly, but it
was too late.
"You were told keep your hands behind your back, fraulein!" the baron
exclaimed with a venomous scowl, as he prodded Erika's tender tummy with the tip
of his sword-blade until her arms were once again clasped behind her back. "And
I do not tolerate disobedience!"
"So the good doctor never laid a hand on you? Tell the truth you lying
whore!" he raved returning to the subject of Daniel Kauffmann. "I watched him
examine you from the next room. I saw him put his hands on these..." and the
baron slid the flat of his sword-blade across the tips of Erika's outthrust
breasts.
Erica held her breath in terror until the baron pulled the sword away..
"He's a doctor, you pig! Of course he touched me!'
"A pig, am I?" the tall Prussian bellowed as he moved quickly to one side,
so that he stood at right angles to the kneeling blonde. "Stick your tits out!"
he whispered evilly, letting the sharp edge of the sword rest on Erika's
distended nipples. "Unless you want to lose these!"
"N-no ... please! Don't cut me."
"Shoulders back! Tits out!" he barked. "Just like you did for the Jew.
Do you think I didn't see how you posed for him, slut?" he sneered, as he tapped
the luscious curves of her breasts with the tip of his sword. "You practically
shoved these beauties in his face!"
Erika flushed crimson. While the baron's obscenities were grossly
exaggerated, there was a kernel of truth to them. She had indeed stood proudly
erect when the doctor had examined her. She had indeed thrust her chest out,
albeit more subtly than the baron's coarse accusations warranted, in order to
look her best.
"Well!?!"
Silently cursing the feminine vanity that had brought her to such a sorry
plight, Erika closed her azure eyes and did as the baron ordered, throwing her
shoulders back so that her breasts jutted out provocatively. She could feel her
upper body trembling like a leaf in a breeze.
Gutmayer stood at her side, calmly studying the almost imperceptibly faint
bluish tracery that veined Erika's pale, succulent breast-globes. Then his thin
lips turned upward slightly as his cruel mouth formed itself into an evil leer.
A moment later Erika felt the flashing steel of the baron's sword sear the
tops of her tender breasts, leaving a fiery swath of pain across the upper
curves of both of her burning pleasure-mounds.
"Aaaghh! Gott! ... Gott!" Erika moaned piteously. She desperately wanted
to cradle her tender breasts in her soft hands and caress them gently, but her
wrists were bound by the wrath of the baron.
"It strikes me that we have coddled you during your days of leisure at the
embassy, and it seems that you have forgotten the training that I'm told you
received. I'm afraid that George Chan may have to give you a new regimen of
discipline --a more severe one - when I return you to him," the baron added
coolly as Erika shook her head in disbelief.
The baron sawed the flat of his sword back and forth across the livid mark
he had just made, just above her pointed nipples, enjoying the way Erika's
defenseless globes trembled at the touch of his saber.
"Nein ... nein ..." Erika murmured almost inaudibly. "Bitte ..."
"But perhaps General Wang intends to correct your rebellious spirit himself
before he returns you to the Chans. I am told that he is a most imaginative
man," the baron added in a chilling voice, as he lifted the blade so that Erika
was staring directly at its keen edge. "But just in case he is not ..."
CRACCKK!! With a compact flick of his wrist, the baron smacked the flat
edge of the blade down on Erika's tender breasts yet again, the sword falling so
precisely on top of his earlier blow that there seemed to be only one livid
stripe.
The agony, attacking as it did breast-flesh that was still burning from the
prior blow, was both cruel and immeasurable. Erika's shoulders shuddered with
half-stifled sobs as waves of pain coursed through her ripe-nippled breasts.
The import of the baron's words was almost as awful as the sword-blow.
Erika closed her tear-filled eyes as her mind spun in horror; she had only spent
a few hours with the General and his friends, but it had seemed an eternity.
She could not imagine spending days, much less weeks, under his brutal thumb.
The baron interrupted her anxious ruminations. "Fraulein, your
carelessness is reprehensible. Look at my boot!"
Erika opened her blue eyes. The baron was once again standing directly in
front of her. The impact of his last sword-blow had caused a droplet of blood
to drip from the cut he had opened on her left aureole earlier down onto the toe
of his gleaming right boot.
"Well!!"
Erika bent low from the waist, and licked the crimson beads from the black
leather with a quick flick of her tongue.
"Do not swallow! The general tells me that you've been very well trained.
We shall see." The baron once again closed the distance between them, but this
time, rather than rubbing his erection against Erika's scarlet-wealed breasts,
he pulled her face down toward his throbbing manhood. "Do not forget,
fraulein," he snapped, before abandoning himself to pleasure, "that if you fail
to please me sufficiently, your friend Ju will dine with Gwang-zhou tonight!"
Trapped in her own sea of suffering, Erica had almost forgotten the
swarthy, sinister crewman she had noticed when she had boarded the Yang-tze
Dragon. Earlier the baron had told her a gruesome tale of how Gwang-zhou had
come to have a hook for a right hand, and of his horrible penchant for using the
hook on the bodies of young and beautiful women.
As she felt the Baron press his swollen penis against her face, Erika
remembered flashes of the harsh training regimen she had endured at George
Chan's lodge on the island in that far-away mountain lake. Ming-tsu had
drilled her for hours on how to pleasure a man with her lips and tongue, making
frequent use of a flexible English riding crop which she had found in a cabinet
of erotic paraphernalia to emphasize some of the finer points in her cruel
curriculum.
Li Chang had been the fortunate beneficiary of these enforced lessons in
love-making, but even with a fellow-student as delectable as Erika, his virility
had waned after a time. After each examination Erika had had to toil ever more
diligently to restore him to his full manly vigor, under the watchful eye and
the increasingly active whip of her stern taskmistress. By the time the lesson
was over, the pale curves of her backside were as rosy and tender as her
sunburned back.
And so it was that the flesh-stinging crop of Ming-tsu had taught Erika how
to please a man with her mouth with flesh-tingling efficiency, both with and
without the use of her hands. Some time later, back in Shanghai, at the
conclusion of the depraved banquet at which she had been the centerpiece, she
had been compelled to demonstrate her mastery of the oral art on each of the six
attendees, and all agreed that she had been superbly schooled in the fine art of
fellatio. The crouching tigress had even managed to satisfy General Wang's
ancient uncle, over whose hidden dragon she had labored for nearly an hour his
withered manhood had spit a feeble fountain of lust. {Chapter 22}
With her memory restored, all of the sensual tricks that Ming-tsu had
taught her were at Erika's disposal. And the baron insisted on a thorough
exhibition of her powers, lifting his heavy erection so that the first touch of
her blood-reddened tongue would apply a red smear to his pebbly scrotum. That
accomplished, he forced Erika to lick and suck every inch of his lust-heavy
ball-sac until he was groaning with pleasure.
Only when his testicles were tingling with masculine desire, did he offer
the tip of his pulsing cock to Erika's oral caresses. He let her tongue dance
nimbly around its bulbous purple head, teasing its countless nerve-endings to
the very pinnacle of pleasure, before offering her a little more of his weapon
for her to taste and worship. He fed his rapacious manhood to her gradually,
letting her lavish her erotic talents upon it, allowing her to gradually do
homage to its entire length with her lips and tongue, but without ever really
taking it into her mouth.
It was only when the baron's groans of pleasure came faster and more
audibly, that Erika began to use the inside of her mouth and throat, enveloping
his virility in her warm oral cavern.
Erika hesitated twice during this exercise in servility, but each time the
baron pressed the sharp tip of his sword into her upper thigh and growled,
"Remember Gwang-zhou!" Determined not to let the gentle and innocent Ju fall
into the hands of the brutal Chinaman, Erika redoubled her efforts.
She began using her entire mouth to please her cruel countryman,
swirling her mouth around his thick organ, bathing it in moistness and warmth
and then diving downward onto his dark-veined cock like a cormorant dipping his
head under water in pursuit of a fat fish. The baron emitted a bestial growl as
he filled both of his hands with Erika's golden hair and thrust forward and
upward with his hips and thighs. Erika met his virile, rutting lunges halfway,
her mouth fitting around his swollen cock like an elbow-length glove, whilea she
felt his taut thigh-muscles pressing even harder against her breasts. Deeper
and deeper the baron plunged, his body vibrating with pleasure, until he finally
gave vent to a convulsive roar and drove his cock hilt-deep into Erika's mouth
and throat with a final surge of passion. When he finally exploded, it was with
a cataclysmic shudder of sensation whose first burst drenched Erika's mouth in a
Gotterdammerung-like flood of Rhine-semen.
So aroused was he by his sadistic sword-flogging and his brutal domination
of the boot-licking blonde, that time seemed to stand still during the baron's
orgiastic Twilight of the Gods. He seemed to ejaculate forever, pumping his
spurting cock into the 'O' formed by Erika's soft lips as he sent jet after jet
of creamy Deutschen-samen into the warmth of her mouth. When he finally
withdrew his fleshy cannon from Erika's mouth it was still dripping.
His satisfaction evident from his lewd smile, the baron concluded his
depraved assault by emptying his flesh-weapon into Erika's face, splattering her
lips and chin with his last few strands of seed. He held his dripping penis
against her pink lips for a moment, enjoying the look of repugnance in her eyes,
and then gave his thick cock a triumphant squeeze, oozing a thick drop of semen
onto Erika's lower lip. He smiled disdainfully again and then pulled her head
back and then he pressed his half-erect phallus against Erika's scarlet-streaked
left breast, and squeezed the last few drops of sperm onto the thin gash he had
opened with his sword, as if his dribbles of sperm were a healing salve.
"Very nice, fraulein, very nice indeed. We have removed all doubts as to
whether you're a slut, now, haven't we?" he taunted her cynically, before
wiping his cockshaft carefully on her blonde hair, and then tucking it back into
his still-immaculate trousers. As Erika hung her head in shame, he replaced the
armchair that had stood in for his father's favorite schwarzer Stuhl and then he
strolled jauntily toward the curtain he had closed earlier, and opened it so
that any passing sailors on the starboard side of the ship would be treated to
the eye-catching sight of Erika's naked back and the uppermost inch or two of
the cleft between her nicely-rounded buttocks.
Catching a reflection of himself in the glass, he smoothed his blonde hair
into place and then turned back toward Erica, who was still kneeling as he had
left her, too shamed and stunned to move. "Unfortunately, fraulein," he said as
he slid his sword back into his bejeweled scabbard, " I must bid you 'auf
Wiedersehen', but I am confident that General Wang will see to it that you are
not left unatten ... "
The baron's mocking words were interrupted by a firm knock at the door. He
took two quick steps toward the entrance to the cabin and threw the door open,
revealing General Wang and another man, a Chinese of middle age dressed in
mandarin robes of burnt orange, standing in the doorway. Erika heard a sudden
intake of breath as the two men looked into the room.
"When my men saw the curtain open, Herr Baron, I took it as a signal that
your ... interview ... with our young friend had reached its conclusion,"
General Wang said, as his eyes peered past the German baron to the golden-haired
beauty who still knelt facing the door, her thighs and behind pressed against
the near side of the captain's bed, her legs extending under it. Her arms were
still extended behind her, clutching the bed-rail, and the three livid scarlet
bands and scattered splashes of semen that defiled her out-thrust breasts were
mute testimony to the nature of her "interview" with the baron.
"Yes, quite done, thank you, General. I found her most satisfactory, once
I had quashed a certain rebelliousness in her spirit."
"Yes, I see," replied the general, eyeing the marks on Erika's breasts
doubtfully. "Indeed; I remember that quality in her nature. She is the type of
woman that requires a firm hand. And until George Chan and I come to terms, I'll
see to it that she shall have it. But Baron," he added, gesturing toward the
humiliated blonde, "I had no idea that you were going to leave her with such
obvious ... souvenirs of your encounter."
"I wouldn't worry about George Chan, if I were you," snorted the baron
irritably as he cast a glance at the horizontal stripes the flat of his blade
had left on Erika's opulent breasts. "From what I know of him, he'll consider
those beauty marks!"
"Even so, Baron," General Wang bowed, still smiling but with an
unmistakable hint of steel in his voice. "You would do well to remember that we
of the east appreciate subtlety as well as brute force." Then, with a bow that
was meant to convey calm, Confucian solemnity, he continued. "A good host does
not begrudge his friends the enjoyment of the flowers in his garden; but it is
considered discourteous to damage another man's flowerbed without his
permission. Is it not so in your country?"
Gutmayer returned Wang's glance coolly, his frosty demeanor making it
clear that the Prussian aristocrat didn't care for being lectured on the
niceties of how and when to mistreat a woman by the likes of General Wang.
"Enough of this nonsense. Are you backing out of our agreement, General?"
"Baron, you insult me, " Wang snapped through tight lips. "And you cause
me to me lose face in the presence of my old friend," he added gesturing toward
the man in the orange robes. "I am a man of honor; I promised to settle your
debts with the Chans if you brought me the girl, and I will do so."
Then, aware that tempers were growing short, General Wang raised his hand
amicably. "But enough of that. Herr Baron, have you met my friend?"
Baron Gutmayer looked at the cold-eyed Chinaman blankly, but Erika
remembered him well. The man on the general's right was Hsi Fong, the ruthless
Commissioner of the Imperial Seal, clad elegantly in a orange mandarin's robe,
and wearing the large signet ring emblematic of his high office. Erika
shuddered as she remembered how Fong had sat at the general's right hand at the
banquet and how he had abetted each of the general's cruel whims. She
particularly remembered the sadistic smile he had given her when he had turned
the jagged surface of his stone-encrusted ring inward before taking his turn at
slapping her breasts. The sharp, protruding edges of the ring had gouged her
sensitive breasts each time he had struck her, and had left marks that had
lasted for days.
The baron and the commissioner exchanged stiff, cautious bows, Fong hardly
taking his eyes off of Erika's naked body while the general made the
introductions. "Hsi Fong, Baron," the general explained, "has seen to it that a
young woman with the proper documents will board that British liner, using
fraulein Weiss's ticket. No one will ever know that the real Erika Weiss never
stepped foot on that ship."
Tears of misery welled up in Erika's eyes at this news. She lamented the
fact that these villains had obviated all of the trouble and expense to which
Daniel Kauffman had gone. She would die, or worse, languish in the throes of
sexual slavery, while all of his letters to her went unreturned, leading him to
think her ungrateful. That thought preyed on her mind more than her own
immediate sufferings.
The baron was just about to leave through the cabin door when Erika was
startled to see the swarthy sailor with the livid scar on his neck poke his head
through the door.
Gwang-zhou! The man with the hook! {Chapter 111} Erika shuddered as the
ear-ringed cutthroat answered her shocked expression with a hideous grin.
"General!" Gwang-zhou interrupted them excitedly in a gravelly voice.
"Cheng is just boarding the ship. He says he has important news from the city!"
"It had better be important, Deng-shan! Can't you see that we're busy
here?"
"Deng-shan?" Erika stammered, looking at the Baron with a puzzled
expression. ""B-but I thought you said his name was Gwang-zhou?"
Hans Gutmayer gave Erika a look of sublime contempt. "General, could you
ask, er, Deng-shan to step into the room? It will take but a moment."
"As you wish, Baron," the general snapped irritably, visibly annoyed by
this diversion. "You heard the baron! Come forward!"
The three men parted, allowing the bare-chested sailor to step into the
room and get a good look at the voluptuous blonde captive. And she at him.
'Gwang-zhou' lifted his right arm, whose muscular triceps sported a
striking tattoo of a woman chained to a whipping post, to wipe at his mouth as
his lecherous eyes devoured Erika's nakedness. Intimidated by the officers in
the room, he said nothing, but the curl of his lip left no doubt that he would
like nothing more than an hour or two with the first female passenger that the
Yang-tze Dragon had seen in years.
Erika stared at his right hand in stunned disbelief. "Your hook?" she
whispered breathlessly. "What happened to your hook?"
Deng-shan and the Chinese officials looked at each other blankly, until an
amused Baron Gutmayer interrupted the silence.
"You really should have killed me when you had the chance, fraulein," he
began with a patronizing smile. "I was sure that I was a dead man. Our gullible
guest, gentlemen," he went on, turning toward General Wang and Hsi Fong, "
believed me when I told her a ridiculous story about your crewman." He turned
again toward Erika, giving her a mocking glance. " Do you still believe in the
gnomes and trolls of the Brothers Grimm, too, you silly wench?" he asked, in a
voice dripping with scorn and derision.
Erika's head dropped in chagrin. How could she have been so stupid? She
could have slit the villainous baron's throat in a heartbeat, had she not been
such a fool.
"General, would you be so good as to show fraulein Weiss the card I gave
you earlier?"
Erika remembered. The baron had told her that he had written Ju's name and
whereabouts on his calling card. When she had managed to gain the upper hand,
he had warned her that if he were harmed, the general would use the card to find
Ju and bring her back to the Yang-tze Dragon and serve her up to Gwang-zhou and
the rest of his cut-throat crew.
"But, why?" the general asked, turning the card over in his hands. "It is
an ordinary business card."
The other men, beginning to understand the baron's ruse, joined in the
mocking laughter as the Prussian officer stepped past them and out into the
corridor. Erika felt more miserable at that moment than she had when the baron
had flogged her with his saber. The baron had concocted the stories about
Gwang-zhou and his hook, and the fatal business card, and she had fallen for
them like a child.
"Enjoy her well, general," were the baron's parting words as he turned and
strode back toward the gangplank. As he did so, a be-spectacled young Chinese
in an olive-drab uniform bumped into him recklessly, and then rushed past him en
route to the captain's cabin. Brushing himself off irritably, the baron
concluded that this wild-eyed young man must be the Cheng of whom Deng-shan had
spoken.
********
Hans Gutmayer was in a buoyant mood as he strolled down the gangplank, and
onto the curved walkway that led back to his waiting carriage. He glanced at
his pocket watch and smiled to himself. He had timed his stay on the boat well.
He would arrive back at the embassy with just enough time to review his notes in
preparation for a dinner with the commercial attache.
And after dinner, he mused a few minutes later, as he climbed into the
coach humming the pulsing Venusberg theme from Tannhauser, a glass of cognac and
then ... what? As the coach set off for the embassy, the baron cast his
thoughts back to the magnificent young creature he had betrayed to General Wang.
Despite the fact that Erika had drained his manhood to the core, the thought of
her kneeling against the captain's bunk, nude and trembling at the prospect of
being left alone with the General and his cut-throat crew, sent faint stirrings
of pleasure through his genitals which had been so utterly depleted only a short
time ago.
Surreptitiously brushing his hand against his tingling crotch, the baron
glanced out of the carriage and was struck by the fact that the streets of
Shanghai, always crowded, always full of life, were unusually tumultuous this
evening. A number of men, many of them in black shirts, were running headlong
through the streets, seemingly swept up in some sort of disturbance. Strange,
he thought, how a people whose culture was so steeped in philosophy, were so
often caught up in the restless turbulence of the modern age.
Urging his driver to speed up and return to the relative safety of the
embassy, the baron poked his head out of the carriage, his roving eye searching
the sea of pedestrians, as it often did, for a pretty female face or a graceful
girlish body. A short time later, the carriage stopped at an intersection
within a block or so of Madame Wong's House of Pleasure, where he had first
encountered the Brothers Chan. Two young women, exotically dressed in colorful,
skin-tight cheong-sams, were walking toward the bordello. The taller of the
two, a voluptuous Eurasian beauty whose full breasts seemed destined to burst
the bodice-buttons on her scarlet dress, was whispering to her companion, a
laughing-eyed, golden-skinned temptress in turquoise. Behind them, a
black-shirted escort followed closely, making sure that his charges were neither
accosted nor distracted from making their appearance at the brothel at the
appointed hour. As they walked, the baron watched the two pairs of golden
thighs play a tantalizing game of peek-a-boo with the panels of their high-slit
skirts.
The sight of the girl from the Mekong valley, whom he recognized as a young
Annamese courtesan named Binh, settled his plans for his evening at the embassy.
He remembered a comment he had overheard one night while he had been lounging in
Madame Wong's salon. He had been sipping a glass of the madame's best riesling
and evaluating her inventory of beautiful young women with a mercantile eye,
when he'd overheard a portly English banker tell a friend that a French planter
in Indo-China had trained young Binh, from the time she was fourteen, to give
and receive anal pleasure. In the five years' since, the Frenchman's system of
alternating modest rewards and stern discipline had indeed, according to the
banker, achieved its purpose. For Binh, now, was one of the relatively few
young women of her age and beauty who craved the forbidden pleasures of anal
lovemaking, even as her talented tongue had been taught, at whip's end, to
bestow them.
As the two courtesans turned toward the House of Pleasure, Hans Gutmayer
watched Binh's deliciously rounded derriere dance under the silken cheong-sam as
the two women leisurely made their way down the street, their young breasts
bouncing under the clinging cheong-sams. For a moment the turmoil in the
streets quieted as dozens of men stood frozen in place longingly watching the
slow progress of the two alluring pleasure-girls, whose charms would have cost
most of them a month's wages to enjoy. Binh's services, the banker had said,
were booked for weeks in advance by Europeans who were willing to pay dearly to
have her incredible rectal muscles milk the juice from their cockshafts. But it
was the thought of her even rarer and equally-prized oral talents that had
provided the inspiration for the Baron's newly-conceived after-dinner plans.
Yes, he thought to himself. That would indeed be a most stimulating new
depravity to which he could subject Ju, his petite China doll. The baron leaned
back against the carriage seat and closed his eyes, picturing himself leaning
over his desk facing the stack of coins that he would use to bribe the
impoverished beauty. With Ju Hua kneeling behind him, the image of their nude
bodies would be captured by half a dozen mirrors that he would carefully
pre-position in a hexagonal galerie des glaces, to maximize her humiliation.
Confronted with the alternative of a frightful flogging, Ju would be forced to
use her slender, elegant fingers to bathe his sensitive anus and his swelling
genitals with hot soapy water. But the teasing and cleansing would only be an
aperitif to the main course.
Opening an eye just a crack to make sure that the coachman's gaze was
fixed on the road ahead, the baron casually brushed his hand across his crotch
again, feeling his swelling manhood quiver in response to his stealthy touch.
Then he closed his eyes again and breathed deeply as he visualized Ju spreading
his nether-cheeks with her tiny hands and inserting her pink probing tongue deep
into his rectal canal, while one girlish hand reached between his legs to caress
his heavy testicles.
"Schnell!" he rasped to the driver a moment later, in a voice thick with
lust. "I have important business to attend to tonight!"
Chapter 118 Erika Enslaved
After the breathless and bespectectacled young aide had brushed past Baron
Gutmayer he raced to the captain's cabin, almost colliding with a muscular,
ear-ringed sailor who was backing out of the room reluctantly, as if reluctant
to take his eyes off of whatever or whomever was inside.
Stepping around him, the young man stepped inside the cabin just as General
Wang was addressing Hsi Fong.
"Our German friend is a fool," General Wang was explaining to Hsi Fong
scornfully. "I suspect that George Chan will pay me twice the amount of the
baron's debts to recover his ..." the general glanced coldly at Erika. "Slave."
"As always, General, you have proved yourself far more clever than the
barbarians," Hsi Fong bowed obsequiously
"General!" An agitated Cheng interrupted them, and then stopped dead in
his tracks as he squinted over the tops of the spectacles which had slipped down
over his nose. His jaw dropped at the sight of the naked young woman kneeling
on the floor with her back to the bed, her sperm-splattered breasts emblazoned
with three angry stripes and a thin trickle of crimson running downward from her
left aureole
"Ah, Mr Cheng. I am surprised to see you back from the Black Pagoda so
soon. I thought you were going to wait for your old classmate, Chiang Chan?
You will remember our lovely guest, of course, who entertained us so charmingly
at the house of his father?"
General Wang's young adjutant nodded, only half-conscious of his commanding
officer's words. Cheng adjusted the frames of his spectacles into place, and
exhaled softly as the statuesque young blonde came into focus. Her wrists
seemed to be lashed behind her back by invisible cords, and her creamy,
scarlet-wealed breasts were splashed with a few random strands of semen to match
those that clung to the underside of her lip and the corners of her mouth. In
other words, she looked much as she had looked when he had last seen her, when
she had pleasured the general and his party at the banquet.
Despite his feverish longings, the bookish-looking young aide had never
even seen a naked woman prior to the night of the banquet, much less made love
to one. As Erika's veils were slowly stripped away, he had gaped at her
magnificent body like a nervous schoolboy, fearful of her accusing stare when
she turned toward him, yet enraptured by the sight of her nude body when she
looked away. He had avoided meeting her eyes, because, at least at the
beginning of the evening, Erika had searched his face imploringly for a trace of
pity, a hint of empathy for a young woman of his own age who had been ensnared
by a band of predatory vultures.
At first he had been a rather tentative predator himself, joining in
Erika's subjugation mostly because he was fearful of displeasing his master. But
as the night wore on, and the indecencies and cruelties mounted, his diffidence
had blossomed into a manly ardor. By the end of the evening, young Cheng had
cast off all of his long-held inhibitions and had taken part in the cruel
depravities of his much older companions with an enthusiasm that matched their
own.
"Yes, General, of course," Cheng stammered, his eyes avoiding Erika's, and
darting skittishly from her luscious breasts to her fleecy golden triangle and
back again. "But you don't understand ..."
"What is it, Cheng, that I do not understand?" General Wang snapped at his
adjutant irritably.
"Forgive me, sir. But the Chans are dead, General! Both of them!"
Erika was jolted to attention by the young aide's words. Could it be true?
What did this mean as far as her own fate was concerned?
"What?!? Cheng, if you've been drinking ..."
"Sir, I swear to you on the grave of my father's father! I just came from
the Black Pagoda where I was waiting outside for Chiang Chan, talking to the
Scorpion at the front gate. I don't know exactly what happened, but suddenly we
heard shots and then there were people rushing around everywhere. Within a few
minutes, there were Scorpions swarming around the Pagoda, coming from all
directions. You've never seen so many black shirts!" Cheng paused, out of
breath.
"But how do you know that Richard Chan is dead?" Hsi Fong asked, his eyes
narrowing into tiny slits.
"At one point Chiang Chan came out and told the Scorpions that his uncle
had slain his father, and had tried to kill him, and that he had been forced to
killed his uncle in self-defense."
The two senior officials fell silent considering this strange turn of
events.
"What if it's a trap, General?" Hsi Fong asked. "You told me yourself that
your meeting with them had not gone well."
"Indeed." The general's brow furrowed in concentration. "Richard Chan is
as suspicious as an aging concubine and as cunning as a cobra. " General Wang
removed his hat and ran a hand over his gleaming bald skull, as he considered
the possibilities, while he slowly edged closer to the bed.
There had seemed to be a great deal of tension between the Brothers Chan
when he had met with them earlier {chapter 96}. Even George's son, Chiang Chan,
had appeared to sense it. Could the palpable tension in Richard Chan's salon
have been a ruse to ensnare him? It seemed impossible that it could be so, and
yet ... and yet ... It would not do to underestimate Richard Chan, who had the
reputation of being the most dangerous - and the most subtle - man between Hong
Kong and Vladivostok. "It may be a trap, my friend. It may be. Time is the
greatest teacher. We shall have to wait and see."
"Cheng!" the general snapped, making his decision. "Take a couple of my
men along with you and return to the Black Pagoda and see what else you can
discover." Cheng frowned in disappointment. His eyes had not left Erika's body
since he had entered the cabin.
"There will be time enough for that later, Cheng," snapped the general, as
if he were reading his aide's mind. "If what you say is true, our guest's visit
will be prolonged indefinitely. Now get back to the Black Pagoda - I want to
know everything - everything, you understand! - that has taken place there."
"Yes, sir. Of course, sir," Cheng bowed to the the general and the
commissioner, took a last, lingering glance at Erika's naked body, and then
fled the room as hastily as he had entered it. When he had disappeared down the
corridor, General Wang turned his attentions to Erika Weiss, alongside whom he
now stood.
"It seems that you have a new admirer, fraulein," he began with a salacious
leer. "But you two will have to ... renew your acquaintance ... at another
time. For the moment, it appears that you will be our guest for somewhat longer
than I had anticipated." A wolfish smile crossed the evil-eyed general's face
as he reached down and took Erika's tender nipples between his fingertips and
jerked on them so violently that it was clear that he wanted Erika to rise from
her kneeling position.
His ruthless fingers never relaxed the painful pressure on her nipple-buds
as Erika clambered awkwardly to her feet, her golden hair wild about her
shoulders, her panties still wadded at half-mast around her naked thighs.
Meanwhile the Commissioner of the Imperial Seal had circled around behind her,
and Erika felt the edges of his ring scraping against her delicate flesh as he
felt between her legs.
General Wang's voice was as icy as a Tibetan mountaintop. "The baron
told me that you have quite recovered from your recent ... indisposition,
fraulein, and that you are once again the picture of health. I sincerely hope
that he spoke the truth. Because if George Chan is indeed dead, I will have
been cheated of a great deal of money. And I fear," he hissed as his talons
tightened on Erika's sword-ravaged breast-nuggets, "that it will be up to you to
make good my loss. My very sizable loss."
As the general's cruel fingers gouged relentlessly at the tips of her
breasts, Erika bit her lip and just managed to keep from crying out in pain.
But she was unable to suppress the shudder of trepidation that swept through her
naked body.
Noticing her fearful quaver, the corners of the general's cruel mouth
curled into a leer of sinister satisfaction. "Welcome to the Yang-tze Dragon,
Miss Weiss. I promise you a sea voyage quite unlike any that you have
experienced in the past ...."
Chapter 119 Qieu's Journey
It had been well past midnight when Richard Chan released Qieu from the
Black Pagoda after the dreadful ordeals of the Nanking Kneeler and the Mongolian
Nipple Gag {Chapter 54}. Her every movement wracked with pain, the fair wife of
Luk Yee had draped herself in her new red gown which Dao had slit from neck to
hem shortly after her arrival at the Black Pagoda.
As the gaptoothed Scorpion led her toward the subterranean entrance, the
brutalized young bride managed to stoop and retrieve a pair of red-stained
needles on the floor underneath one of the wall-mounted torches in the dungeon.
Forcing herself not to think of how the needles had come to be red-tinged, Qieu
pinned her dress together in back as best she could.
As Richard Chan had promised, when they reached the farther end of the
entryway Dao turned her over to a low-ranking Scorpion who accompanied her the
short distance to the high street, and then left her to her own devices.
Unfamiliar with that part of the great city, Qieu turned her face upward
toward the starry canopy of the heavens hoping for guidance from a beneficent
celestial spirit. Finding none, she turned down one of the dark, labyrinthian
streets, not even sure of the direction in which she was headed, but knowing
that she wanted to go as far away as possible from the dungeons of Richard Chan.
Although the day - how long ago the prior afternoon seemed! - had been warm, the
night was cool, and her gown was in ruins. Shivering noticeably, Qieu stumbled
along for half an hour or so, dragging her tortured body toward what she hoped
was the center of the city, before she heard footsteps behind her in the
darkness.
She stopped suddenly, pretending to see something on the ground, noticing
that after a last lone footfall, the footsteps following her stopped as well.
When she began walking again, the ominous echoes started up once more. Qieu
felt the cool, clammy sweat of fear on the back of her neck, but the sense of
danger helped clear her head. Clearly, Richard Chan had not released here from
any benign instinct. He had set her free so that she would lead him to her
husband, or to his friends. And he had apparently sent a second Scorpion to
follow her, after the first one had abandoned her, in the hope that she would
lead him to his prey. Despite her fervent wish to find Luk Yee so that he could
comfort her, she prayed that neither he nor any of his friends would find her
before she had rid herself of her silent pursuer, for any attempt to assist her
could only spell their doom.
The recognition of Richard Chan's clever scheme gave Qieu a newfound sense
of purpose. But what was she to do? Where was she to go? She could not go
home, because if she were to do so, Luk Yee would surely come to her, and all
would soon be lost. Nor could she go to her father's house; he had already
suffered enough at the hands of the Black Scorpions. But how was she to thwart
the hounds and throw them off her trail?
As she trudged up and down the streets of Shanghai, every step reminded her
that her knees were raw from the Kneeler, that her thighs and buttocks had been
cruelly ravaged by the denxia cane, and that her breasts were still on fire from
the effects of the bloody corsage and the excruciating bondage of the nipple
gag. Qieu knew that in her condition she could not possibly outdistance her
pursuer, nor could she bring herself to ask anyone to hide her, because doing so
would surely endanger anyone who dared to help her.
A short time later she limped past three skeletal figures sleeping around a
small fire that they had built from discarded debris. When she was some twenty
steps past the beggars, she turned quickly and saw the outline of her shadowy
pursuer illuminated in their firelight. She tried to make eye contact with
him, but he pretended to look away.
But she had gotten a good look at the man's silhouette, and while she could
not tell his age, his round belly suggested that he had dined well at the
Scorpions' troughs, those foul conduits of greed that the Chans had built from
the metal of extortion and the timber of intimidation.
Qieu kept moving, forcing herself to try to think through the pain, until
finally, perhaps an hour or so after she had left the Black Pagoda, her
pursuer's corpulence suggested a possible solution to her dilemma. Rather than
stumbling up and down one street after another, she began circling the same
block, over and over again. Moving slowly, so that her pursuer could remain
within easy sight of her, she made the circuit of the same urban block, passing
the same grocer's stalls, the same shops and warehouses and crowded tenements,
again and again, all the while moving her head from side to side in what she
hoped would give the appearance of dementia. Each time she circled the block,
she stopped at precisely the same points, and stared mindlessly at a doorknob,
or a lamp post or a cobblestone for thirty seconds or more.
Fighting desperately against the crushing fatigue which makes cowards of
the bravest men, Qieu circled the dark and lonely block six, seven, eight
times, until she sensed that her ruse was working; she could no longer see the
heavy-set man behind her, nor could she hear his footfalls. As she lapped the
block again, she found that her foot-sore follower had wearily deposited himself
on a step, convinced that the mindless madwoman he was tailing would circle the
block all night long.
Qieu did indeed circle the block one more time, and as she passed the
Scorpion, she noticed that his head was lolling on his chest. She continued on
to the next corner, and made the normal right hand turn, but at the next
intersection she turned left, instead of right, leaving her drowsy pursuer far
behind.
********
But by now, Qieu, too, was on the brink of exhaustion. She staggered a few
more blocks, passing one dark building after another. Arriving at an
intersection she paused for a moment, trying to decide which direction to take
when she heard a creaking sound coming from the darkness off to her left.
Glancing toward the source of the noise, Qieu saw a figure emerging from a
dilapidated-looking structure on the other side of the street. As the shadowy
shape struggled awkwardly with the stubborn door of the seedy building, Qieu
could see tiny dots of light, dimmer than candles, hovering eerily in the
darkness. Qieu watched, frozen in place on the street corner, as the figure
unsteadily crossed the street, moving in her direction.
As he approached her, the mumbled words, "Red ... favorite color," wafted
their way toward her through an acrid cloud of fumes that seemed to envelop the
tottering figure. It was hardly the first time that Qieu had seen an opium user.
There were a million of slaves of the poppy in China, and tens of thousands in
Shanghai alone. In all but the finest quarters of the city it was not uncommon
to find men lying in the streets, or huddled in doorways, or prostrate in the
parks, sleeping off the effects of the devil's pipe.
The man brushed past her, but as he did so he lost his balance, and fell
awkwardly against her back. He clawed at her tattered crimson gown hoping to
break his fall, and was surprised when he felt bare skin beneath his fingers, as
his hands reached out blindly toward Qieu's nearly backless dress.
The intoxicated man was barely in control of his body, but his weight
dragged Qieu to the ground in a tangle of arms and limbs. Muttering, "Red ...
always liked red," the man groped his way up Qieu's bare legs until he found
her rounded buttocks. "So soft ... like a baby's bottom," he slurred as Qieu
fought to escape his grasp. In short order she pulled free, leaving the addict
scraping dementedly at the debris-strewn street.
More unnerved than harmed, Qieu limped away. She had taken a few steps
before she realized that the man's hands had unknowingly aggravated some of the
wicked cane welts that Dao had administered to her thighs and buttocks. She
stumbled on for another block or two, but then, seeing a somewhat
comfortable-looking nook nestled in the corner between two buildings, she slid
into it, planning only to rest for a few minutes.
.
********
When Qieu awoke it was daylight, and she still felt as if she were in the
middle of a dream. Propping herself against a wall, she huddled groggily in her
secluded corner for a moment or two trying to decide if she were awake or
asleep. Surely, she reasoned, she must still be dreaming, because was that not
her husband, dressed in dusty, wrinkled clothes, who was descending the steps of
the building at the end of the street? Qieu crouched in the shadows squinting
into the sunlight as the man who looked like her husband stopped to glance at a
stocky figure who wore the dark shirt of the Black Scorpions, before turning
away and disappearing into the flow of human traffic in the busy thoroughfare.
Shaking her head drowsily, the exhausted young woman closed her eyes, and tried
to slip back into the dreamy half-sleep that had produced the image of her
handsome husband.
********
Qieu did not know how long she had slept when a noise startled her and she
sat up and pressed herself against the corner of her building as a new and
dreadful vision paraded itself before her. This time she saw the same three men
who had come for Luk Yee on the prior day - had it been only yesterday? it
seemed like an eternity - and a fourth, a young man of about her own age,
dragging the most beautiful woman she had ever seen out of the house at the end
of the street. The four men threw the woman, who was clothed only in a brief
black chemise, unceremoniously into the back of a horse-cart, where she was
soon sandwiched between the skinny youngster and the hulking behemoth. Qieu
recognized them as the same pair who had accompanied the gaptoothed man when the
brutish trio had come to her door.
Qieu shook her head trying to clear it as the horse-cart pulled away from
the gawking, intimidated onlookers. The wagon had no more than turned the
corner in front of her, leaving most of the spectators of the little scene
behind, when the slab-faced giant had reached across and slid a meaty paw into
the top of the striking young woman's flimsy garment. Repulsed by the hand on
her breasts, the woman tried to squirm out of his grasp, but the slender
pock-marked boy on her far side merely chuckled and seized her wrists, leaving
her defenseless against his partner's obscene assault as the cart made its way
down the winding street.
It all seemed so real, Qieu thought. And yet it could not be real, for had
she not seen that disheveled-looking young man with her husband's face leave
that same house not long before? The house from which the Scorpions had dragged
the scantily clad woman? If this scene were real, than the image of Luk Yee
must have been real, too? Or was she losing her mind?
Confused and distraught, waves of guilt and anxiety and doubt swept over
Qieu. Had her foolish fears and maidenly modesty driven her husband into the
arms of another woman? Had her abduction given him time and opportunity to
pursue the pleasures his empty marital bed had failed to bestow? Had he pursued
those manly pleasures with this dark-eyed temptress with whose charms she could
not possibly compete? Had the Scorpions somehow gotten wind of their tryst and
were now demanding from the temptress knowledge of her husband's whereabouts?
Was the beautiful woman truly, as it seemed, en route to the Black Pagoda for
questioning?
Qieu tried to force herself to be angry with the beauty who seemed to have
stolen her husband, to exult over the fact that she might face an interrogation
as vicious and depraved as her own had been.
But she could not. She would not have wished such a fate on a woman who
had murdered her husband, much less one who had taken him to her bed.
********
Qieu tried to rise up from the half-hidden corner in which she had sought
refuge, but waves of dizziness and pain swept over her. Her once-beautiful gown
seemed to stick to her body in places, as if some of the wounds from the
onager-hide lash and the denxia cane had re-opened. She grimaced in pain and
fell back against the building. As her eyelids once again grew heavy, Qieu
noticed a petite young Chinese woman in western attire standing nearby. The
woman, who had also watched the byplay involving the four Scorpions and their
voluptuous prisoner, shook her head sadly and turned in the direction of the
morning sun, toward the European quarter of the city.
Chapter 120 Sacred Bonds
Engulfed by fatigue, Qieu soon drifted into another troubled sleep. She
dreamt that she was locked in a dark, airless cell not much larger than a
closet, whose only illumination was provided by the glowing red coals in a
brazier which stood against the wall that she faced. A single wraith-like
figure, his face shrouded in a black cowl, had bound her nude body to a
stout-timbered bondage frame so that her buttocks were perched on a waist-high
upright post whose girth was not quite large enough to accommodate their
roundness. That short post was connected to a taller and sturdier wooden post
which stood about a yard behind her, by an inclined board some four inches wide
and six inches thick. The upper end of the inclined board was joined to the
tall post with sturdy iron rivets, and its lower end provided a rough-edged
back-rest for her naked back. A horizontal cross-piece the thickness of a table
leg had been affixed across the slanted bench, forcing the small of her back to
arch painfully upward from the inclined board against which her neck and
shoulders rested. Her arms were lashed at the elbows to the back-bowing
cross-member, and at the wrists to the post on which she sat.
The alluring arc of her body on the slanted bench proved most entertaining
to her cloaked tormentor. He stood on her left, motionless, smiling mirthlessly
as he watched her struggle against her bonds, as she struggled desperately to
lift her bottom off its perch. Because the weight of her body had forced her
delicate anus down onto a well-greased, wooden phallus that protruded upward
from the top of the short post.
The phantom in the cloak seized a trim ankle and lifted it high and wide,
before shackling her pretty foot to a rusty manacle which hung on the side wall
of the tiny cell. Then he repeated the process, lifting her other foot higher
than her head before fastening it to fetters on the opposing wall. Only when
her bare legs were properly spread-eagled, did her cloaked tormentor stand
directly before her, staring at her glistening, gaping love-nook and her
dildo-stretched rosette with evident pleasure, while Qieu wriggled desperately
in a hopeless attempt to free herself from her chains.
After a moment or two, the shadowy figure turned toward the only light
source in the cell - the glowing brazier. Through a smoky haze, Qieu could see
that there was a gleaming object nestled among the red-hot coals, but could not
make out its size and shape.
The man in the cloak poked the glowing coals, causing bright sparks to fly
through the air, one of the embers lighting painfully on Qieu's bare stomach.
Then he turned toward her once again and ducked under her upraised left leg so
that he could stand at her side. He bent slowly downward toward Qieu's left
breast as her attempts to escape the relentless wooden knob caused her chains to
jangle tremulously.
But the cloaked figure's touch, when it came, was gentle. His lips touched
her breast, just to the left of her nipple, and tasted her flesh for a brief
instant before moving lower, kissing his way all around the tip of her yearning
breast without ever quite touching the bud in its center.
The thick wooden crossbar in the small of her back gave Qieu's body an
alluring arch and the cloaked figure extended his cowled arm across her body,
while his lips continued to worship her breast. She felt the soft grayish-black
cloth touch her belly flesh caressingly, and then pale fingers emerged from the
hollow sleeve and caressed the bare flesh that her bondage had drawn tight
across her ribcage. The hand moved lower as he tongued his way around her
sensitive aureole, stimulating the tumescent bud which rose from its center and
reached for his questing mouth like a sunflower reaches toward the sun.
The sleeved hand reached her wispy pubic hair just as the very tip of his
tongue found the apex of her yearning breast-nugget. Qieu moaned softly as the
phantom's hand moved lower still, to the juncture of her legs, where his fingers
played with the folds of her flesh like a virtuoso musician.
At last the loving lips closed on her nipple, drawing it deep into his warm
mouth while gentle but insistent fingers slipped inside her, causing her to gasp
with pleasure.
The silent figure christened the tip of her breast with his saliva,
anointing it with moisture, before using his lips to draw it even further away
from the quivering roundness of her breast. His exploring teeth found the base
of her taut nipple, and fastened on it for a long, loving second, relishing its
al dente firmness before releasing it, and letting the delicious nubbin slowly
slip through his gently scraping teeth.
Qieu was pushing her tingling breast toward the waiting mouth now, as much
as her stringent bondage would permit. She writhed in pleasure as his fingers,
moist with her girl-juices, teased her clitoris until her pelvis oscillated in
the throes of dark desire.
"Please ... please ..." she whimpered closing her eyes and surrendering to
the needs of her body. She had never seen her distended nipple so stirred by
passion.
"Are you ready now, my love?" She felt the hot breath of passion on her
breast. The faceless voice was gentle, but with a hint of steely resolve.
"Y-yes ... now ...please," Qieu moaned, her hips rotating in sensuous
circles as her bottom-cheeks danced on the carved phallus.
"Very well."
Ducking under her extended left leg once again, so that he could take a
position between her widespread thighs, the man in the cowl slipped his right
hand inside his cloak and removed a tiny pair of golden pincers. Qieu drew in a
fearful breath as she saw them, wondering if he would use them to pinch her
delicate flesh.
Seeing the fear in her eyes, the man whispered, "You wrong me, my dear; I
use these only to seal our love." Then the man in the dark cloak turned his
back on Qieu for a moment, toward the brazier she had almost forgotten. She
watched breathlessly, her hips writhing seductively, while the hand holding the
pincers reached toward the smoking coals.
After a moment the ghostly figure spun slowly back toward her, his right
hand held aloft, his left hand fiddling with the belt of his robe.
Qieu glanced up at the hand holding the pincers as it slowly descended
through the ashy haze.
And then she saw it - the ring! The pincers held a tiny golden ring, too
small for even the slenderest finger, that had been lying among the red-hot
coals for many minutes. Her mind raced wildly as the seemingly disembodied hand
continued its slow descent. The man in the cloak was closer now; she could feel
the soft fabric of his cloak again her tautly-stretched thighs.
The hand slowly reached toward her and then with a horrifying flash of
insight Qieu understood everything. The mouth, the lips, the tongue, the teeth
that had paid loving homage to her breast, had done so only to prepare it for
this golden circlet. The man in the cloak used his left had to hold her breast
securely while he slipped the smoking ring over her tender nipple bud. Although
her body surged in agony against the scalding metal, the man in the cloak held
the nipple-searing hoop firmly in place, knowing that the ropes and chains he
had used to bind her would hold her fast.
"With this ring, I thee wed," whispered the phantom, and then he pulled the
hood back from his face and thrust his lust-hardened erection into Qieu's gaping
love-nook. Qieu gasped at the shock of this second penetration, and her
thoughts spun madly as she endured the torments of ring and rape.
For the face of the phantom was that of Luk Yee, who had finally
consummated his marriage with his lovely bride.
********
Qieu woke from her ghastly nightmare with a start of horror, her body
bathed in feverish perspiration. She felt soft hands on her face and forehead.
"Poor thing! How long have you been lying here?"
Qieu opened her eyes to find herself still huddled in her niche. Passers-by
continued to hurry past her, a few glancing contemptuously at the destitute
figure swathed in red, but most never even noticing her. Qieu blinked her eyes
to confirm the fact that it was the pretty young Chinese in western attire who
was bending over her. But it was no longer morning, judging from the position
of the declining orb in the brilliant western sky.
"I ... I'm not sure," Qieu croaked through desiccated lips. How long, she
wondered, had it been since she had had a sip of water? For that matter how
long had she been lying in this filthy corner? She had not noticed or cared in
the middle of the night, but now that she had pulled herself up to a seated
position, she noticed that she had been lying amidst refuse and debris. "Please
... I am sorry to trouble you ... but ... but is there somewhere nearby where I
might get a cup of water?"
"Can you stand, do you think, and walk? If you can, I will take you to my
home. It is not far -- and you shall have all the water, or tea, that you
like."
Qieu smiled at the kind-hearted woman. "Do you know me? Forgive me, I ...
I have not been well."
"Don't worry," smiled the young woman, "you will feel better after you have
had some tea and a bath." Her eyes were bright with concern. "How long have
you been here? Do you think you can walk?"
"I think so," Qieu said as she tried to rise. "Ooooohh," she groaned, as
the movement jarred her many cuts and bruises.
"Slowly ... take your time... Here, take my hand."
Clutching the helping hand tightly, and bracing herself against her
companion's body, Qieu clambered to her feet with some difficulty. "Thank you
... thank you," she breathed as she reached behind her to make sure that the
pins holding her dress together afforded her at least a semblance of modesty
For a moment Qieu hesitated, wondering whether she would be bringing her
benefactor into peril by accompanying her. But, she reasoned, if she were still
being watched after all these hours, a spy could surely see that she and the
woman who was helping her were strangers. "Thank you," she whispered through
parched lips. "You are very kind."
"It is no trouble," said the pretty young woman, forcing a smile.
"Besides, I am feeling a bit lonely," she smiled sadly, "for I lost my only
friend today."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Qieu said sympathetically. "Had she been ill long?"
"No, no, she has not died." The young woman turned toward the east and
looked off into the horizon. "But she might as well be in another world, I
fear," she added in a crestfallen voice. Then she brightened. "But she will be
happier in another place; nowadays Shanghai is a City of Sighs, is it not?"
Qieu could only nod her head dejectedly in agreement as she thought how her
own world had been turned upside-down in the space of only twenty-four hours.
"Come with me to my house, miss," said the petite young woman in the white
blouse and black skirt, as she took Qieu's hand in her own and smiled at her
warmly. "It is very simple, but it is better than lying in the streets."
They began to walk slowly, arm-in-arm, Qieu leaning against her new-found
friend, trying not to show the pain that each step caused her. "I - I wish I
knew how I could thank you."
The tiny creature next to her squeezed her hand affectionately. "You might
begin by telling me your name. I am called Ju Hua."
Chapter 121 The House of Ju Hua
Under normal circumstances Ju's home would have been less than an hour's
walk from the neighborhood in which Qieu had spent the night, but it took the
two women much longer to cover the distance owing to Qieu's weakened condition.
As she limped haltingly through a succession of narrow, winding streets, leaning
against Ju for support, Qieu could sense the sounds and smells of the crowded
city intruding themselves upon her weary consciousness. As the day drew to a
close, vendors with pushcarts packed up their wares and joined a legion of
laborers returning home from their day's work in textile mills and warehouses,
produce markets and fisheries. As the condition of the roads and buildings in
that part of the city seemed to worsen by the block, the high-pitched cries of
reed-thin children at play echoed off the walls of the buildings lining the
narrow streets.
Qieu's father, Cheng Wu, had always been a proprietor of small shops, a
man on the lower rungs of the merchant class, but while Qieu and Luk Yee lived
very simply, Qieu had never experienced first-hand the grinding ravages of
poverty on a day-to-day basis. But here, in these streets, the faces of
destitution were everywhere - sickly children, deformed beggars with faint
voices and outstretched hands, old men and women with lifeless faces and
emaciated bodies.
"Forgive me, miss," Ju murmured, as they approached a narrow doorway.
"Most of the people of my district are very poor. But they try to live by the
words of the Master and to help each other." Qieu pondered that, wondering
whether Confucius could possibly have imagined the teeming streets of Shanghai,
the temptations of opium and gambling, the woeful misgovernment and the other
social ills that plagued modern China. But then she realized that each
generation has its own vices, all stemming from the heedless pursuit of pleasure
rather than principle that the Master had warned against so often. Perhaps the
world had not changed so much in two thousand years after all.
Ju tapped softly on a weathered wooden door, and a moment later a
round-faced young woman with sparkling eyes opened the door.
"Ju Hua - I'm glad you have finally come! The little one has been
asking for his mama." The good-natured woman reached behind her and picked up a
toddler whose hands, mouth, and face were smeared with crimson, and handed him
to his horrified young mother. "Don't worry, Ju," she smiled cheerily. "It's
not blood - Li was hungry and I was just feeding him a few berries. But most of
them are on his fingers and his face, not in his mouth, aren't they, little
one?" she teased the child jokingly, chucking him under his red-stained chin.
As Qieu watched the color return to Ju's face, she saw Li's little arms
tighten around his mother's neck, as if they had been apart for days rather than
only hours. Would she ever know that type of unconditional love? Luk Yee's
face suddenly flashed before her eyes and she felt a pang of regret that,
fearful of his reaction to the scars on her body, she had not yet given herself
unreservedly to him. Until she could manage to do that, how could she ever know
the contentment which she read in Ju's eyes as her benefactor spun around
playfully, basking in her child's embrace.
"Forgive me, Mrs Pei," Ju was saying, "for being so late. I ... I
stopped to help my new friend," patting Qieu gently on the arm.
Mrs Pei looked at the disheveled young woman in the tattered dress
doubtfully. "Are you sure she's ..."
"Yes, Mrs Pei," Ju assured her. "She is a respectable lady. I am sure
of it. We are going to my house now. And here," Ju reached into a small
handbag, removed an envelope and extracted one of the bills from the envelope
Erika had given her, "is the money that I have owed you for so many months.
Thank you for being a second mother to my son."
"I am sure that you would have done the same for me, Ju, if the stars
had placed you in my shoes." The moon-faced Mrs Pei reached for the bill
nervously but gratefully. "But what about your husband - won't he ask you for
the money?"
"Ahh, but my husband doesn't know about this money, Mrs. Pei," Ju
responded with a smile. Then she glanced up at the sky, guessing at the time by
the amount of sunlight remaining. "I am sorry, but we must go. I will drop Li
off on my way to the embassy tomorrow."
Mrs Pei continued to eye the bill disbelievingly; she had long since
given up hope of receiving any compensation for looking after the child. But
she had not had the heart to refuse Ju, whom fate had cursed with a churlish
husband. "I will be happy to do it, Ju. Good night, little one," she smiled,
opening and closing her hand in the toddler's face.
********
When they arrived at Ju's home a few minutes later, Qieu was surprised
by its size. Her own rooms, like those of most Chinese, were cramped and small.
But the lodgings of Ju and her husband made her own home look spacious by
comparison.
"Here," Ju said, as she unrolled a thin mat and spread it on the floor
of the room. "Lie down, while I make some green tea. It will make you feel
better."
Qieu sank down onto the mat thankfully. Though hardly plush, it was
both safer and softer than the dismal cranny in which she had spent the day.
Despite the fact that she had slept much of the day away, her ordeal had shorn
her of her strength, and the walk to Ju's home had exhausted her.
"Li, be a good boy and lie down next to this nice lady, while I make her
some tea," Ju cajoled as she wiped the sticky berry residue from the toddler's
hands and face with a damp cloth. Then she lay the child down next to Qieu, and
retreated to a kitchen area not much larger than a closet.
Li looked at Qieu shyly, gave the matter some thought and then his
chubby face formed itself into an angelic smile. He reached out a tiny hand and
placed it against Qieu's bare arm, and then popped the thumb of his other hand
into his mouth, and snuggled closer to her.
A few minutes later Ju returned. "The tea is almost ready. I'm glad to
see that you two are becoming such fr ..." she began, before realizing that her
son and her new friend had fallen asleep in each other's arms.
"Poor thing," she murmured to herself, looking down at Qieu's slender
form. When she had asked the mysterious young woman in the red gown how she had
come to be sleeping in the streets, she had blushed and pretended not to hear.
The blush had been one of humiliation, not mere embarrassment, and Ju had
inquired no further, not even so far as to ask her name.
Ju knelt down on her haunches next to the sleeping woman, admiring the
exquisite tailoring of the red dress. Clearly this was a woman not used to
sleeping in the streets. But how had the dress come to be torn in so many
places? Sewing being one of her own talents, Ju reached forward, hoping to
undress the sleeping woman without waking her, so that she could repair the
dress.
Ju gently slid the gown off of one soft shoulder, and removed the two
red-stained needles that Qieu had used to hold the gown together in back. Then
she parted the scarlet fabric at the shoulders, revealing an expanse of bare
skin. But as she tried to slip Qieu's arm through the sleeve without waking
her, the dress fell open down the back and Ju recoiled in dismay. A latticework
of thin, livid streaks decorated her guest's buttocks and thighs.
Ju reached forward with one hand to touch the soft flesh, and the
muscles in the sleeping beauty's buttocks quivered at her touch, as if they
feared that another stroke of the wicked denxia cane was forthcoming. Shaking
her head sadly, Ju resolved to bring a vial of the green powder that had had
such a salutary influence on Erika's recovery, home from Doctor Kauffmann's
office.
After pulling the sleeping child out of the way, Ju rolled Qieu over
onto her back, and gasped softly as she slid the gown down off of Qieu's
shoulders, revealing the angry marks that Dao's cane had etched into her soft
mounds and the cruel gouges that the Mongolian Nipple Gag had left on ther
delicate tips of her breasts. Ju's thoughts turned once again to Ming-tsu, the
stunningly beautiful young woman whom she had seen the black-shirts take from
her house that very day, and she shivered. It did not seem unlikely that a
woman like Ming-tsu could be swept up in the dark underworld of Shanghai. But
this slender, innocent-looking creature, into whose arms her son had nestled?
Had it been the black shirts who had tortured the young woman she had found in
the streets? And if so, why? And what about Erika Weiss? Had the mysterious
European beauty been a prisoner of the Scorpions, too, before being deposited on
the embassy steps?
Ju finished easing the dress off of the body of the sleeping woman, and
set it to one side, replacing it with a well-worn blanket which she tucked under
the chins of the scarred woman and the sleeping child. She smiled as she looked
at Li's angelic face, and listened with a mother's ears to the gentle, rhythmic
breathing of her son, who lay with his open mouth pressed against the woman's
shoulder.
Then Ju took up the tattered gown and rummaged in a tiny chest for
needle and crimson thread. Finding some, she settled into her only chair and,
despite her fatigue after a long day's work, began to sew. As she did, her
thoughts turned to escape. Escape from her boorish, opium-smoking husband,
escape from the embassy at which she had been brutalized by the vice-consul and
belittled by his chief aide. If it had not been for the kindness of Dr.
Kauffmann, she would have left long ago. But now the money that Erika had
given her would provide a fresh start, somewhere, for her and her baby. But she
would need to go to the embassy once more, to get the medicinal powder. But
soon ... very soon, she would begin her new life.
Chapter 122 The House of Madam Wong
After entrusting Erika to the tender mercies of General Wang, the baron had
returned to the embassy in good spirits. At just about the time Qieu had
collapsed on the mat in Ju's humble living room, he and his dinner guest had
begun to dine on prawns cooked in the Hunan style, fried in peanut oil and then
seasoned with ginger, scallions, and peppers. One of the compensations of life
in China, a land half a world away from his home, was the splendid cuisine, or
rather cuisines. Peking, Shanghai, Hunan, Canton, Szechuan - each style of
cookery was a match for the finest cuisines of Europe.
The dinner with the attache had gone well, and afterward they had enjoyed
cigars and brandy in his private office, the one which he had used for his
assignations with Ju. At one point, when his guest left the room for a moment
to relieve himself, the baron took a long, leisurely puff at his pungent cigar
and was reminded of how his father's friend, Reinhard von Eilbach, had used a
very similar cigar on the lovely body of his faithless mistress, Leonie Valois
so many years ago. {Chapter 116}
Gutmayer closed his eyes and pictured the naked body of Erika Weiss
gagged and spread-eagled across his desk, her wrists and ankles bound to its
four legs, her limbs straining, her magnificent, sweat-sheened breasts heaving
furiously. He felt a massive erection swelling in his trousers as he imagined
his cigar blazing an irregular trail from the northern edge of Erika's blonde
pubic fringe, across the exquisite depression of her navel, upward to the valley
between her opulent breasts. He could almost see Erika's pale body shuddering
in agony each time the cigar touched her bare flesh as he ...
"Your Excellency?"
Opening his eyes, Hans von Gutmayer's body jerked upright, wondering how
long the attache had been standing there. As he gathered himself, he was
greatly relieved to find that there were no blonde goddesses lashed to his desk.
After the two men finished their cigars and a second glass of brandy, the
baron bid his guest good night and sent for Ju, anxious to enact the fantasy he
had conceived during his return from the harbor.
It was only some minutes later, and after arranging the series of mirrors
that he had envisioned during the carriage ride {Chapter 117} that he learned
that Ju had left for the day. Gutmayer began to regret the fact that he had
sent Schumacher along with Dr Kauffmann to make sure that the Doctor did not
return before he had taken Erika to the Yangtze Dragon. If the officious
Schumacher had been on duty, Ju would not have left, or if she had, at least he
would have been informed hours earlier.
He glanced at the beautiful Neuchatel clock on the wall at his left. Well,
at least the night was young ...
********
The baron strode aggressively into the foyer of the House of Madame Wong,
an hour later, determined to satisfy his cravings. He had just ordered an
aquavit at the well-stocked bar when the hostess of the exotic brothel sidled up
to him and pressed her warm thigh against his own.
"How may we please the baron tonight?" Madame Wong murmured breathily as
her long fingernails grazed a path down his shoulder. A slender,
well-preserved woman in her forties, Wong wore a jade green dress whose color
matched precisely that of the costly earrings that seemed to drip from her
beautifully-shaped ears. It was with some admiration that Gutmayer eyed her
trim body, her piercingly dark eyes and the elegant lines of her aristocratic
face, which was wreathed in the smoke that curled lazily upward from a long
cigarette holder.
But Seu-Lin Wong was no aristocrat. The stories of how the Dragon Lady -
an epithet that none dared to use to her face -- had climbed to the top of her
profession were legend. She was said to have begun life as a common
fifteen-year old prostitute, selling herself to sailors and shopkeepers for
enough money to buy tea and rice. But she had mastered her craft as few women
in China ever had. Tales abounded of how, in her youth, she had used every
muscle in her body, every fiber of her being, and every subtlety of the erotic
arts to transport her clients to unheard of pinnacles of pleasure. Over a
period of time she had managed to claw her way into the bed-chambers of some of
the richest and most powerful men in China, and at one point some years earlier
she had been the concubine of none other than Richard Chan himself. But Chan's
fondness for fresher, younger flowers had eventually led him to sample the buds
in other gardens. Being very far from a fool, Seu-Lin Wong had stepped aside
gracefully, and had remained something of a business partner of the Lord of the
Black Pagoda. Confident of her business acumen, Chan had set her up in the
sumptuous bordello which was synonymous with illicit pleasures from the shores
of the Persian Gulf to the banks of the Inland Sea.
Gutmayer turned toward the Dragon Lady, who had greeted him more warmly
tonight than she had on his most recent visits. Had the ultra-efficient General
Wang settled his debts with her already, he wondered.
"Guten abend, Madame Wong. Is the Newgate available this evening?" The
Newgate, named for the notorious British prison, was the forbidding, but
splendidly equipped punishment room of the House of Madame Wong. Each of the
Madame's coterie of lovelies was made available to a client or two who enjoyed -
and more importantly could afford - the dark pleasures of the Newgate about once
a fortnight, after which she would typically have a few days off to recover from
any welts and bruises inflicted by over-zealous patrons. All of the girls, of
course, were also subject to discipline in the Newgate for violation of any of
the House rules - first among which was the capitalistic proviso that the
customer is always right. Madame Wong's House of Pleasure was the most
expensive of its kind in Asia because her girls were not permitted to allow any
wish, any craving, to go unsatisfied. The penalty for failure to please the
customer was a stern private session in Newgate, or, for repeat offenders, a
session at the Black Pagoda -- under whose dark aegis Madame Wong was permitted
to operate -- such as Peony had experienced. {Chapter 10}
Madame Wong pursed her lips into a little frown as she stroked the baron's
thigh. "I am sorry, Herr Baron. Fate has dealt Fatima the Newgate card
tonight, and two Englishmen reserved her ... services ... some time ago.
Perhaps you would care to ... observe?"
Gutmayer regarded her cautiously. He had run up exorbitant bills here and
elsewhere in Shanghai for consenting to pleasures both erotic and mundane
without asking their price.
The Dragon Lady alertly sensed his discomfiture. "As my guest, of course,
baron - for one minute. After that ... we shall see."
"Very well!" Gutmayer nodded curtly, and followed as the elegant Asian
woman led him down a familiar corridor, her trim, rounded buttocks describing
sensuous circles under her whisper-thin qipao, the enticingly high-slit skirt
which the Manchus, upon coming to China, had called cheong-sams. "I regret to
say that you are too late to see Fatima dance. Do you remember George Chan,
Herr Baron?"
When the Baron nodded his head cautiously, 'Yes,' Madame Wong continued.
"Chan told me once that Fatima was the only dancer he had ever known who had no
need of music -- that the vibrations of her body provided its own rhythm, its
own sensuality, in a way that transcended music as we know it. An elegant way
of putting it, was it not?"
Gutmayer nodded politely, only half-listening. At the moment he couldn't
have been less interested in George Chan's aesthetic musings. The twosome were
still several strides from the massive door that guarded the entrance to Newgate
-- and reminded him of an entrance to a medieval European dungeon -- when the
Baron heard the unmistakable report of leather on female flesh.
A moment later he heard the voice of a young woman cry out weakly, in
heavily accented English, "Oowwwwhhh ...s-sixteen....Th - thank you, master.
May I have another?"
"To be sure, you little tart! You shall have as many as you like! I told
you the strap would teach her the Queen's English, Binky!"
By now the Baron and Madame Wong were standing just outside of the
formidable looking door. But it was not the handle of the door toward which the
Madame extended a slender hand. She reached instead for a tiny lever that
protruded almost imperceptibly from the wall of the corridor.
The whore-mistress pressed the lever and a small panel opened in the wall.
Stepping to one side, Madame Wong motioned for the baron to come forward.
He did so, peering through the hidden window into the dungeon-like room,
trying to acclimate his eyes to the dimness. He stepped back and rubbed them and
then peered in again.
A well-dressed, pudgy, middle-aged Englishman was seated in a massive
chair, at right angles to the baron's vantage point. Directly in front of the
chair a strikingly beautiful Arabic-looking girl that Gutmayer did not remember
having seen before, was bent at the waist over a narrow wooden railing. Her
shapely body was nude save for the golden chains that dangled from her neck and
hugged her slim waist and the golden bangles that encircled her wrists and
ankles. Her arms were stretched upwards behind her, and fettered with
shoulder-wrenching tightness to an overhead bar. Behind her, a tall,
athletic-looking young man in evening clothes was running a thick leather strap
over Fatima's superbly proffered buttocks.
It took the baron a moment to realize that until she had counted out the
buttock-searing blow which she had just received, Fatima's mouth had been
wrapped around the seated man's thick, saliva-wet phallus. The flickering
torchlight in the dungeon gave an eerie glow to a pair of fine golden wires that
had been wound tightly around the bases of Fatima's aroused nipples before being
stretched agonizingly taut and securely affixed to the spreader-bar that
imprisoned her ankles.
"Give her another, lad!" the heavy-set Englishman grunted, as he grabbed a
handful of Fatima's silky hair and pulled her warm mouth back down onto his
twitching cock. "I say, old boy -- It's devilish bad luck that you can't get a
good look at the way her tits jump when she gets a taste of the leather!"
"The view from here is decidedly pleasing as well, I must say, Binky," the
young man muttered enthusiastically, as his left arm drew the strap back for
another strike at Fatima's temptingly upraised bottom-globes.
The baron's heart was pounding and his manhood was stiff with anticipation
when a scarlet-tipped finger reached out and closed the panel, blocking the
exciting scene from his vision.
"Your minute is up, Herr Baron," Madame Wong advised him Would you
care to see more? The fat one is both crude and cruel, and the girls despise
him. But he pays very, very well - and he is not without ... imagination. He
never fails to entertain those who choose to watch his exploits -- without his
knowledge, of course."
WHAPPP!!! The unseen explosive impact of the strap on Fatima's bare
buttocks in the adjoining room caused the baron's body to tense with erotic
excitement while Madame Wong waited for his response.
"Agh ...agh ... ahhh," he heard Fatima choke behind the massive door before
she was able to muster up the strength to mutter. "Seventeen ... ohh ... Allah
be merciful ... thank you, sir. May I have another?"
Madame Wong had been clever. Newgate had been constructed so that the
walls, while seemingly impenetrable, actually allowed sound to pass through
rather easily - at least to the special guests permitted in that dark corridor.
The faint cries of beautiful women were tantalizing aperitifs to the expensive
main menu from which her guests could select their own entrees.
The baron was torn; he wanted to watch the punishment session being
conducted by the two Englishmen, to see the girl's shoulders strain against her
metal shackles, to see her lovely derriere dance under the strap, to see the
tears of agony form in her brown eyes as each blow caused her body to surge
upward slightly, tightening the excruciating grip of the wires on her delicate
nipples. But he could almost visualize Madame Wong mentally running her slender
fingers over an abacus as she totaled up the expense of the evening. Perhaps it
would be best to limit his ...
"I have another proposal for you, Baron," Madame Wong interrupted his train
of thought, purring in a seductive voice. "Tonight I have a late cancellation,
and Leana and Mahlua, the Ceylonese sisters, are available. Would you like to
have them? They prefer to ... perform ... together and even my most
discriminating clients find them almost unendurably stimulating. What do you
say?" Then she leaned closer and whispered a price in his ear.
The Prussian gulped soundlessly. "For the entire night?"
"Surely you must be joking, Herr Baron," Wong answered him with a brittle
smile. "I am not running a charity here. For an hour. No, wait," she paused and
pursed her lips as if making some abstruse mental calculations before continuing
with a warm smile. "Baron, because you are such a treasured client, I will
offer them to you ...only to you ... for ninety minutes at that same rate." She
eyed him carefully. "These sweet young sisters are among the few remaining Rodi
people of Ceylon, Baron, the descendants of ancient kings whose practice of
human sacrifice left their children and their children's children despised by
many in their own country."
Madame Wong's suggestive voice smoothly made the transition from tour
guide to seductress "Many have said that the Rodiya women are the most
beautiful of South Asia, Baron. They have hair that glistens in the tropical
sunlight and skin so soft that they seem to melt into their lovers' arms. And
Leana and Mahlua are the most beautiful of the Rodiya. I have had them brought
to Shanghai," Madame Wong purred as she softly stroked the baron's arm, "to
please men such as you. Have you seen them?"
The baron's feverish imagination had seized his tongue so that he could
hardly speak. He swallowed with difficulty and nodded affirmatively. He had
indeed seen the Ceylonese beauties. On his last visit but one to the House of
Pleasure, the two sisters had entertained a select audience of connoisseurs in a
tiny theater at the rear of the bordello. They had begun by taking the stage
clad only in matching, slit-to-the-waist aqua sarongs that emphasized the lovely
nut-brown hue of their bare legs.
The stage had been covered with a few inches of powdery sand, while behind
a scrim backdrop tall palm trees seemed to cast long, swaying shadows across a
beach that seemed to sparkle in the pale moonlight. From somewhere in the
darkness behind the stage an unseen musician tapped away on a distance drum,
while the Rodiyan beauties danced on their makeshift beach. They faced each
other, the slit-side of their sarongs turned toward the audience, their hips
undulating sensuously to a rhythm as old as time.
Although their movements matched almost perfectly, Gutmayer sensed a
strange chemistry between them. Mahlua the younger, seemed to be almost in a
trance. Her physical being seemed to draw strength from her sister's flashing
eyes, and to draw erotic energy from the sparks emanating from Leana's superb
body, thus allowing her to mimic her sister's abandoned gyrations even as her
mind and spirit were transported far away, perhaps to the secluded beach that
had provided the inspiration for their stagecraft.
At first the two girls danced with their hands at their sides, their
feminine fists opening and closing in time with the beat of the drum in a manner
that bespoke the sexual tension in the room. Suddenly, in unison, their hands
went flat against their legs and then their extended fingers gracefully slid up
their supple thighs, widening the part in the sarong until those in the front
row were nearly certain that they had caught a glimpse of a few stray wisps of
jet-black pubic hair.
As the beat of the drum grew more insistent, the sisters drew nearer,
moving in mirror image. The baron's eyes had been on Leana, the leader of the
two, as she pressed the long slender fingers of one hand brazenly against the
flimsy fabric between her legs, while her other hand described a series of
sensuous arcs on her stomach, and then glided up over her ribs to cup her
thinly-veiled breasts. Departing from the perfect unison in which they had
heretofore danced, Leana gave her sister a sly smile and dipped her right hand
into the top of her own sarong and fondled her left breast wantonly while her
tongue slithered salaciously over her soft lips.
Then the sisters were dancing in unison once more, their hands moving
languorously over the shimmering silk that encased their rounded buttocks. As
the drummer picked up the pace, so did the urgency of their undulations as they
edged closer, closer, closer to each other until the peaks of their perfect
breasts, chiseled by the touch of their hands into silk-stabbing points of
desire, just touched. For a minute or so they danced with only the tips of
their firm nipples kissing through two thin layers of silk, and then they moved
closer still, grinding their trim bellies and bare thighs against each other
shamelessly while the audience watched enraptured, mesmerized into silence. One
could have heard a leaf fall to the ground when, after taking a step or two
backward, each of the sisters had taken a grip on the other's sarong, and, after
an exquisite pas de deux of alternating revolutions, each girl's sarong was in
the other's hands.
They had cast the pieces of pale fabric away then, and each had began to
rub the other's body with an oil so minty and fragrant that the baron, sitting
in the second of the four rows of the carnal cabaret, could almost taste it. The
Ceylonese sisters had used the oil liberally, each polishing her sister's
breasts and belly and the secret places between their soft thighs until their
bodies were gleaming, their dark nipples were dense with longing, and their
swollen, glistening clits were aquiver with desire.
They had sunk down onto the soft beach then, and after a series of erotic
embraces and long soulful kisses, their young, well-oiled bodies were speckled
deliciously with fine crystals of powdery sand. At length they had formed
themselves into an elegant soixante-neuf, licking at the tiny particles of sand
that clung to each other's genitals with soft lips and wet tongues.
While they had made love to each other, still rocking sinuously to the beat
of the drum in front of a spellbound audience, Madame Wong had sought a bidder
for their services. ''Who wishes," she had begun the auction, "to spend a night
in a tropical paradise?" The cost, on that occasion, had soon soared beyond his
means, but the baron had not forgotten, indeed he did not think that he ever
would forget, the sisters from the isle of Serendip.
WHAPPP!!! The gunshot-like sound of the leather strap falling once again
on Fatima's bare behind, jarred him from his reverie.
"Aaaaggghhh! Ei ... ei ... eighteen," Fatima whimpered piteously from
behind the heavy door. "Th- thank you, sir. May I ... have another?"
Madame Wong could almost hear the baron's heart racing at the sound of the
leather striking Fatima's rounded bottom. She lifted her cigarette to her lips
again and continued to gaze at him intently, tilting a perfect eyebrow into a
masculinity-challenging glance. "Herr Baron, have you ever known the Pleasure
of the Two Tongues? My island girls will please you as you have never been
pleased before." When the baron still paused, she ratcheted up the pressure on
his male dignity yet another notch. "Well, do you want them or not? Perhaps I
should ask a more ..."
"Yes... Yes ... I want them both!" he snapped irritably, resenting Madame
Wong's insinuation that he could not afford to pursue his perverse pleasures.
Despite his exciting liaison with Erika that afternoon, the baron's blood was
once again boiling with lust.
Chapter 123 The Pleasure of the Two Tongues
Hans Von Gutmayer had not quite finished undressing when the two island
demi-goddesses had joined him in the bathing room of the bordello. Ever since
the first moment he had seen Ju soaping and sponging Erika Weiss's magnificent
body, images of that erotic bath had lingered in his memory and he had promised
himself that he would partake of similar pleasures at the first opportunity.
Each of the sisters was dressed in brief, belted robes of white terrycloth
emblazoned in red and gold with the same ideograph that adorned the entrance to
the 'House of Pleasure'. Hans von Gutmayer licked at his lips as his steely
blue eyes explored two pairs of golden-bronzed legs while the island girls bowed
to him submissively. Then Leana, the elder of the two, turned slightly, so that
her back was to him, thus allowing her sister to slowly slip the robe from her
beautifully rounded shoulders.
The baron had had a wide experience of desirable women, but he could not
prevent himself from emitting an almost inaudible grunt of suppressed desire as
the white robe drifted down Leana's tawny back. She caught it at the waist
teasingly, allowing him to feast his eyes at will on the flawless flesh of her
back, but giving him only a tantalizing glimpse of the upper inch or two of her
alluring buttock cleft. Then she inched the robe downward, revealing the subtly
jiggling curves of her deep-grooved derriere a sensuous centimeter at a time.
Leana teasingly lowered the robe until it was little more than a white rope
framing the lower edge of her spankably naked buttocks, before letting it
flutter softly to the floor. Then, wearing only a pair of glittering golden
earrings, she turned coyly toward him, her body moving with the practiced grace
of the bayadere she had been in her native land. She posed for him briefly,
confidently, allowing him to examine every inch of her nude body while he
finished removing and carefully hanging the crisply starched uniform that he had
worn while accompanying Erika to the Yangtze Dragon.
Meanwhile the no less exquisite Mahlua had stepped behind her dark-eyed
sister. Smiling demurely at the baron, Mahlua reached up and removed the two
hairpins which had imprisoned Leana's lustrous hair in a shimmering cocoon on
the top of her head, allowing her sister's raven tresses to spill down her
elegant neck and shoulders in an inky cascade.
As he folded his underwear with Prussian meticulousness and placed them on
a chair alongside his gleaming, mouth-polished boots, the baron watched the eyes
of the islanders as they were drawn to the erection protruding aggressively from
its nest of pale blonde pubic hair. And why would it not protrude, aroused as it
was by the prospect of burying itself to the hilt in Leana's mouthwatering body?
Von Gutmayer's blue eyes swept over the curves and hollows of the Ceylonese
beauty's shapely figure, admiring the perfection of her uptilted breasts, which
were capped with nipples that looked like sweet, dark droplets of Swiss
chocolate. The gentle swell of Leana's mons and her sleek-muscled thighs were
no less enticing. Yet it was the skin of her people, which countless
generations of equatorial sun had darkened to a delicious bronze yet left as
moist as the foliage of their tropical forests, that caused him to suck in his
breath with delight.
Mahlua was still clad in her white robe but it had fallen open in front,
giving the baron an exciting view of her alluringly close-set breasts. The
vice-consul felt his cock throb with lust at the thought of imprisoning his pale
phallus between those caramel-colored mounds of pleasure and working it back and
forth between them until it spat gob after gob of Prussian semen onto those
lovely Asian hillocks. But where Leana's eyes and manner were bold almost to the
point of impudence, her equally beautiful sister seemed to shrink from his
amorous gaze, her every movement betraying her diffidence, her uncertainty.
Somehow, Gutmayer guessed, Leana had managed to protect her younger sister from
the worst excesses of men, even in this den of carnal iniquity. It was Leana, he
imagined, who always took the lead, who performed the more depraved acts, so
that her sister might be spared them. Leana's apparent boldness, he reasoned,
might well be feigned, a means of drawing attention to herself and away from her
sister.
While Gutmayer was ruminating about the nature of the sisters, Mahlua had
undone her own glorious mane of silky black hair. Then she pressed her body
against Leana's from behind, and reached around with both hands, so that the
younger sister's slender fingers rested atop her sister's, forming a perfect
double-V atop Leana's dusky mound d'amour. Then Mahlua slid her fingers down,
gently caressing the insides of her sister's thighs, while at the same moment
Leana slid her own soft hands upward, over the gentle protrusions of her belly
and ribs, to caress her inexpressibly tempting breasts.
Gutmayer gave his lust-swollen genitals a pleasurable squeeze as he watched
the sisters play an erotic four-handed concerto on Leana's quivering body.
While her own hands moved freely across her breasts, lifting and fondling the
sun-warmed mounds, Leana shamelessly widened her stance, parting her legs so
that Mahlua's exploratory fingers would have easy access to the innermost parts
of her being. And her younger sister did not disappoint her, deftly parting the
folds of her sex so that one of Mahlua's mouth-moistened index fingers could
slip inside Leana's body while the other teased her glistening clitoris.
Leana gasped with pleasure and closed her eyes to bask in the ecstasy of
the moment. Gutmayer, too, abandoned himself to depravity, fondling his
Prussian phallus with long, firm strokes, until it seemed to him that his
man-shaft was as hard as a Krupp cannon barrel. Then he stepped into the huge,
steaming bathtub and gestured imperiously for the Ceylonese sisters to join him.
Mahlua nodded shyly, casting her dark brown eyes downward and grasping her
older sister by the shoulders and pushing her toward the tub. Strange, thought
Hans Gutmayer, that even after many months at the House of Madame Wong, the
younger sister still retained an almost virginal timidity. He found her
diffidence both refreshing and arousing -- and grew ever more determined to
put it to the test and exploit it with a ruthless born of long practice.
As Leana stepped boldly toward the tub, Mahlua followed along behind
her, trying to use her sister's body as a shield from the baron's probing eyes.
But when Leana climbed into the tub, there was no place left to hide, and
Mahlua, blushing shyly, let her own robe fall to the floor alongside her
sister's near the base of the commodious tub.
The soft, brown body of the younger sister was, if anything, even more
pleasing than that of her sister. She was a little taller, her long, lithe legs
were every bit as pleasing, and her ripe-nippled breasts were perhaps a trifle
fuller. But whereas Leana moved with a confident feline grace, quickly dropping
to her knees behind the baron in the thigh-high water, Mahlua was unsure of
herself, staring at his massive erection with something approaching awe, before
reaching out to touch it rather tentatively
The two women proceeded to bathe him with silky, soapy hands and soft,
slippery breasts. Telling him that for the moment he must keep his hands at his
side, they attended to his neck and shoulders and chest and back first, soaping
and scrubbing him gently, until every synapse in his upper body was tense with
desire. Then they moved lower, sometimes dipping their heads below the surface
of the frothy, thigh-deep water, their black hair streaming and gliding under
the surface of the bath like some rare and exotic jellyfish. The baron's body
tingled with pleasure as he felt Leana's taut-nippled breasts slide caressingly
up the backs of his thighs, while her soapy fingers slid into the crack between
his buttocks and then deeper still, probing inside, cleansing him, preparing him
for the Pleasure of the Two Tongues that Madame Wong had promised. Meanwhile
Mahlua, on her knees in front of him, cupped his swollen testicles in one tiny
hand even as she teased the fronts of his legs with the tips of her own
soap-slick love-goblets.
Their preparations complete, the Ceylonese sisters set to work. The
baron could feel Leana's mouth wet and warm against his buttocks, while her
fingers spread his cheeks. A moment later he felt the first tantalizing touch
of her pink tongue, as it gently began to inscribe un cercle francais around the
sensitive ring of his anus. At that very moment Mahlua encircled the root of
his glans in her left hand, and squeezed it gently while she lowered her timid
tongue so that it could swirl around the excruciatingly sensitive tip of his
cock.
Hans von Gutmayer shuddered with pleasure, but the moment, though
exquisite, felt somehow lacking. The sisters' lovemaking was utterly sensual,
utterly skillful, and yet utterly ... rehearsed. As if the two of them had
played these same roles before, scores of times with dozens of amorous lovers.
As he watched the innocent-faced Mahlua lick tentatively at the underside of his
cock-shaft, he wondered if the diffident younger sister had ever been compelled
to play the role that her elder sister so artfully and ably was portraying.
Surely, he reasoned, as a malevolent grin crossed his face, Mahlua should have
center stage all to herself for once.
The baron gruffly ordered the two sisters to change positions. His
supposition seemed to have been proved correct when Mahlua fearfully shook her
head 'No', clearly revolted by the prospect of inserting her tongue into his
anus however thoroughly her sister had bathed him.
Angry at her reaction, but gratified by the way in which his appraisal
of their roles had been proven correct, the baron reached down and seized the
thick sash from Mahlua's robe and was about to wind it about her slender wrists
when he was struck by an even more intriguing notion. He turned toward Leana
and pulled the older sister, who had been kneeling behind in neck-deep water,
roughly to her feet and then spun her around so that she stood facing him, with
her back to her sister. The tall Prussian quickly encircled Leana's slender
wrists with the sash and lashed her outstretched arms to an overhead spout which
served as a rudimentary showerhead.
Gutmayer, pleased with his inspiration, tore his eyes away from Leana's
dripping body for a moment to seize the sash from the other robe. It would be
far more exciting, surely, to punish the offender's sister rather than herself,
so that while Leana suffered the pangs of the flesh Mahlua would suffer the even
more gnawing pangs of guilt and helplessness.
Madame Wong did not permit truly punitive chastisements of her girls except
upon the occasion of their periodic stints in the Newgate; but the punishment he
had in mind for Leana would most surely invigorate him, while doing no lasting
damage to her. He plunged Leana's heavy sash into the steaming bathwater,
soaking it thoroughly, and then withdrew it, doubling it over in his hands and
then wringing it out carefully, forming the sodden strip of cloth into a tight,
thick braid.
Leana pulled at her bonds nervously as she watched the baron's
preparations. "Why are you doing this, sir?" she asked him in the familiar
high-pitched tones so common on the sub-continent. "In what way have I offended
you?"
As he finished squeezing the water from his makeshift weapon, Gutmayer
drank in the sight of the brown-skinned beauty standing in the soapy bath which
lapped gently at the juncture of her thighs as if it were hoping to taste the
sweetness between her legs. Leana's slender arms had been drawn upward by the
sash-rope, her jet-black pubic hair glistened with moisture, and her uplifted
breasts and her gently curved belly were wet and gleaming, as alluring as they
were vulnerable.
Gutmayer slapped the wet, tightly-wound towel sharply across Leana's
tender belly, enjoying her pained reaction to the first stinging kiss of the
towel.
"It is your kleine Schwester who has offended me," Gutmayer snarled,
pointing irritably toward the younger sister. "And it shall be her punishment to
see you suffer." Gutmayer punctuated his remark by whipping the saturated towel
smartly across Leana's left breast with a resounding WHAPP!! that sprayed froth
and moisture unto her lovely face.
"Owww!" Leana's soft moan was no more rewarding than Mahlua's
grief-stricken gasp of chagrin.
Gutmayer gestured for Mahlua to run a soapy sponge over her sister's
breasts again, so that they the curves of her breasts peeked out of a pale veil
of gossamer bubbles. He had not used a wet towel in this way in a quarter of a
century, and he wasn't sure what had prompted him to do so now, but as he
snapped the towel-whip sharply across Leana's froth-dappled right breast, he
could not have been happier with the result. Not only did the blows leave their
stinging mark on Leana's burnished flesh, but the relative harmlessness of the
weapon allowed him to use his full strength. With canes and whips a man of
normal strength always had to hold back when flogging a pair of young breasts
for fear of tearing them to pieces. But with a weapon like this ...
He waited patiently for Mahlua to anoint Leana's tempting love-apples
again with fresh streams of soapy water and then ... WHAPP!! He unleashed a
ferocious uppercut that ripped into the underside of Leana's right breast, once
again splattering froth into her soft brown eyes.
... with a weapon like this a man could direct all of his strength, all of
his masculine power, against a pair of sensitive young breasts without fear of
ruining them. There was something almost primeval, something that satisfied a
man's deepest, darkest instincts in that knowledge.
WHAPP!! The baron, consumed by an almost barbaric savagery, slammed the
sodden club viciously into the very center of Leana's still-quivering left
breast. The tail of the improvised flogger caught the dark-skinned beauty flush
on the nipple, causing her dusky brown body to recoil in pain.
Out of the corner of his eye, the baron had been watching Mahlua, who
had been kneeling behind her sister, looking on with a guilt-stricken
expression. It was time to press her into service.
In a recess in a wall above the tub there were a number of containers of
bath oils, lotions, and scents, as well as a variety of feminine grooming aids.
Reaching for a bottle of bath oil, he handed it to Mahlua. "Oil her up, little
one!"
Mahlua was just about to up-end the bath oil when the baron saw
something else, buried in a basket of soaps and suchlike at the far corner of
the tub.
"Wait!" he barked at Mahlua. "First, this," he exclaimed as he held up
a beautifully fashioned cake of soap unlike any that he had ever seen. The soap
was black, for one thing. For another it had been carved or molded into the
shape of a man's genitals - a very well-endowed man's genitals.
Mahlua took it from him nervously, staring at the ebony cock-shaft in
disbelief. "Rub it across your nipples!" Grateful that his demand was so
modest, Mahlua closed her little hand around the bulbous soap testicles and
slowly slid the tip of the soap-phallus back and forth across the tips of her
delectable breasts until her moist nipples stood out like stiff raisins.
"Now - in your mouth! Suck it!!"
Mahlua hesitated for no more than an instant, but in that instant the
Baron whipped the towel-rope into the yielding softness of her sister's tender
breasts yet again. WHAPP!! "Aahhh!"
Reacting to her sister's anguished cry, Mahlua took the soap-cock into
her mouth.
"Deeper!" WHAPP!!! He lashed at Leana's succulent lust-globes again,
catching her smartly on the inner curve of her right breast. "Aaiih!"
With tears of sympathy for her sister in her eyes, Mahlua forced the
phallus as deeply into her mouth as she could.
"Gut! Gut! Sehr schoen," the baron snapped. "Now, put it between her
legs."
Trembling miserably, Mahlua pulled the saliva-wet soap-cock from her
mouth, reached between Leana's wide-spread legs from behind, and positioned the
tip of the phallus against her sister's labia.
"What are you waiting for?" the baron fumed as he gave Leana's left
breast a swift, slashing diagonal stroke.
"Stop! ... Please ... I will do it ..." Mahlua implored him piteously,
as she eased the rigid soap-dildo up into her sister's vagina.
"Deeper! Do you hear me? Deeper, I say!"
Leana, hearing her sister's pathetic sobs, whispered, "It is all right,
sister. Do as he says."
But as Mahlua wedged the thick, dark phallus deeper inside her, even the
brave Leana could not suppress a soft groan of pain.
Despite his imperious commands the baron was frankly surprised that
Leana's petite body could take the entire phallus, but at length the phallus was
buried within her, up to its dark, knobby testicles, which were only a few
inches above the water line of the tub.
By now, Leana's lovely face was a mask of suffering and her captivating
eyes were bright with tears.
"Your sister seems a bit uncomfortable, Mahlua. Perhaps the nice bath
oil massage we promised her would do her good."
Mahlua nodded fearfully and retrieved the bottle of bath oil that
Gutmayer had offered her earlier. She poured a liberal amount of oil across
Leana's shoulders and began to massage her shoulders and upraised arms, knowing
that they must be sore and fatigued from her uncomfortable bondage.
Gutmayer watched this process disinterestedly for half a minute or so,
and then barked, "Her belly, damn you! And her tits!"
Nodding fearfully, Mahlua poured oil into her hands and then reached
around to rub her sister's midsection.
"That's it," the baron said approvingly, as Mahlua rubbed the oil over
Leana's enticingly moist belly. From a chemical point of view the oil did not
mix well with the moisture on her sister's body; but from an aesthetic point of
view, the effect was delicious. Soon Leana's belly-flesh and ribcage gleamed
deliciously in the soft light of the room.
"Ja, ja. Excellent! Now her breasts."
As Mahlua's oil-drenched hands eased their way over Leana's sensitive
breasts, Leana's body seemed to go limp with pleasure. The baron watched the
Ceylonese beauty squirm with sensual delight as her sister oiled her treasures,
cupping them and caressing them, until they were as slick as a well-greased wok.
After grinding the soap-phallus a little deeper into Leana's body, Gutmayer
edged behind Mahlua and copied her movements. He seized her golden-brown mounds
in his large hands and oiled them while she oiled her sister's, kneading her
yielding breast-flesh with true Prussian thoroughness, even as the tips of his
fingers trapped and teased her taut brown nipples.
As he worked the glistening bath oil deeper into Mahlua's slippery
love-gourds he inched closer to her, pressing his upright erection against her
buttock cleft and then pulling her body back against him, so that the deep
cleavage of her bottom-globes pressed snugly against his maleness, thereby
enhancing his pleasure.
The three of remained in this position for a few minutes, each of the
women responding with soft sighs and subtle receptive motions to the attentions
being paid to their sensitive breasts, until the baron grew restless yet again.
He stepped away from Mahlua and returned to the other end of the tub so
that he could face Leana once again. Thanks to her sister's caresses, Leana's
soft brown eyes were once again bright with desire.
"Her nipples!" he snapped to Mahlua, who obediently slid her hands
across Leana's slippery breasts so that her thumbs and forefingers could pluck
gently at the tips of her breasts.
"Nein, Dummerchen! Pinch them!"
Mahlua's dainty fingers worked her sister's lust-buds a bit more
diligently, elongating the tasty morsels slightly while the baron gave the
soap-phallus another vicious inward twist.
"Harder! Or will I have to use this?" Releasing the phallus, the baron
reached into the nook which contained the bath lotions and grooming devices and
removed an emery board. Then he slapped Mahlua's hand away and cupped Leana's
right breast and held the rough surface of the emery board against Leana's
swollen nipple.
He was just about to scrape the length of the abrasive emery board
across Leana's still-smarting nipple, when she gasped, "No ... please ... do as
he says, sister."
There were tears in Mahlua's eyes as she took her sister's tender
nipples between thumb and index finger.
"Your nails, verdammt! Use your nails!"
Mahlua repositioned her fingertips, so that the very tips of her
well-manicured nails were pressed against the base of Leana's quivering nipples.
"Very nice," the baron said in a calmer voice. "Now squeeze ...
slowly."
His left hand slid up and down his thick-veined erection as he watched
with undisguised interest as the pretty nails tightened on the tight brown
nipples. "Harder!"
It was only when the skin around Mahlua's fingernails had become pale
from the pressure she was exerting and Leana's breath was coming in short,
tortured gasps that the baron relented.
"Very well. And now you can practice tongueing your sister, you lazy
whore!" the baron snarled, wading through the bathwater to slash the younger
sister across her shapely backside with the stinging towel. "I want your tongue
so far up her ass that she's wriggling like a fish on a hook!"
Mahlua sank slowly to her knees as the baron immersed the towel in the
soapy bathwater again, reloading, as it were, for the next round of target
practice. His eyes never left the indentations that Mahlua's fingernails had
left on Leana's teardrop-shaped nipples as he carefully wrung out his sturdy
weapon and then, as Mahlua pressed her face tentatively against her sister's
bottom, he lashed out at each of Leana's pouting breasts in turn, setting them
aflame once again.
Then, ignoring her whimpers of pain, he abandoned Leana's lash-stung
breasts for a moment in order to dole out sharp blows to each side of her rib
cage, spinning her upper body around even as Mahlua was trying to hold her lower
body in place.
Watching Mahlua carefully out of the corner of his eye as he fondled his
heavy genitals with carnal abandon, the tall Prussian continued his assault on
Leana's succulent mangos.
Whap!! A blistering forehand to her left breast.
Whap!! A downward slashing backhand that left a trail of fire across her right
breast.
Whap !!! After a quick step to his left, he lashed out with a powerful forehand
that punished both of Leana's defiant nipples, drawing her loudest cry of
protest so far.
Whap!!!! He followed up with a quick pivot which gave him the ideal leverage
to launch an upper-cutting backhand that scalded both of her lust-globes with an
almost inhuman ferocity.
Maddened with his own pleasure and Leana's pain, Hans von Gutymayer
delivered blow after stinging blow to the sides of her yielding breasts in a
furious flurry of forehands and backhands that kept the island beauty's
deliciously dark-nippled breasts dancing to a frenetic staccato rhythm that was
accompanied only by her throaty gasps of misery.
Every manly stroke he delivered to the Ceylonese beauty's impudent breasts
was intoxicating and each lash was more addictive than the one that preceded it.
He paused occasionally to give her kneeling sister a stroke or two across her
bare back, but he always returned to his bound, bare-breasted beauty to unleash
another hailstorm of punishing uppercuts, slicing downstrokes and
nipple-stinging broadsides to Leana's froth-covered love-gourds.
Finally he paused to check on Mahlua and, when he had satisfied himself
that the young beauty's had overcome her fastidiousness and that every
millimeter of her pink tongue was deep inside Leana's puckering anus, he undid
the sash that held Leana's wrists and took her place, standing behind her, with
his back to Mahlua. Then he took Leana's tender breast- mounds into his hands
and gave them a heartless squeeze until her cry of pain induced her raven-haired
sister to spread his buttocks apart, and to begin her loathsome task.
Once he felt her tongue teasing the fleshy portal of his anus, the baron
relaxed his grip on Leana's burning love-globes and spun her around and forced
her to her knees so that she could worship his cock, which had been ready to
explode almost since the moment Mahlua had undone her sister's robe.
And so the "Pleasure of the Two Tongues" continued, for the balance of
the time for which he had paid, as the pair of tropical Rhinemaidens transported
the ruthless German baron to a Valhalla of perverse delights that he had rarely
known. When he sensed that his geyser was about to erupt he rudely pulled away
from Leana's diligent lips and tongue and turned around to face her teary-eyed
sister. He grabbed two handsful of her silky black hair and pulled her mouth
forcefully down onto his pulsing member. He had only time for three of four
strokes before he came, but the strokes were long and deep and pleasurable.
Mahlua began to gag and choke just as he fired the first jets of semen deep into
her mouth, but he held her face down on his semen-spitting cock-shaft until he
had emptied his reservoir of lust.
His lust sated, the baron dressed quickly, leaving the two sisters lying
exhausted in the tub, Leana cradling her tender breasts gently in her hands
while the ebony phallus floated lazily in the water alongside her. Nearby
Mahlua was covertly trying to rinse the taste of him from her mouth.
* * *
When the baron strode out of the bathing room a few minutes later, he
was as immaculately groomed as he had been when he entered. As he made his way
toward the portals of the bordello, he paused momentarily in the Newgate
corridor when he heard a plaintive female voice.
"No ... please ... not the nutcracker again ... for the love of Allah
... I'm sorry ... I swear it."
"Well, then, you sluttish little heathen, you shouldn't have called me
that name, should you?" the voice of the heavy-set man replied. "I think
perhaps you'd better cover her mouth again, my boy," he continued, presumably to
his younger companion.
Fatima's muffled cry of anguish was still echoing pleasantly in the
baron's ears when his gleaming black boots touched the cobblestones that lined
the entryway to the House of Madame Wong.
Chapter 124 Ensnared in the Baron's Web
Ju rose very early the following morning and dressed quietly. After a
brief glance at her sleeping guest, she decided to allow her new friend to
continue to sleep while she woke and dressed her son. As was her custom, she
dropped the toddler off at the house of a drowsy-eyed Mrs. Wong before
continuing on, in the pre-dawn darkness, to her place of employment. She had
intentionally contrived to arrive at the embassy before the appointed hour, so
that she would have a few minutes to search for the green healing powder. She
had every expectation that it would prove as beneficial to her new friend as it
had been to Erika Weiss during the German woman's recovery from her own savage
beating.
As she expected, at that early hour the long corridor to the doctor's
second-floor office and laboratory was deserted. Ju walked down the hallway at
a brisk pace and after cautiously looking up and down the corridor to make sure
that she had not been observed, she stealthily turned the knob on Dr Kauffmann's
office door. She breathed a soft sigh of relief when it opened. The doctor, a
trusting man, had left it unlocked, as was his custom, in case any of the
employees or guests of the embassy needed minor medical attention.
Ju slipped into the room and closed the door behind her quietly, and then
made her way toward the cabinet on the far wall. She opened the cabinet door
wide and was confronted by the bewildering array of powders and potions that
provided raw material for the Doctor's researches into the comparative
properties of drugs invented by European science and those which had evolved out
of the Asian tradition.
Not being familiar with Kauffmann's system of classifying and arranging
the hundreds of items in his pharmacopeia, and not knowing the proper name of
the medicinal powder, Ju was obliged to sort through dozens of bottles. But
after some minutes her spirits leapt when she found the glass vial she was
looking for - the one containing the pain-soothing green powder that she had
sprinkled into Erika's bath on several occasions.
Ju opened it and sniffed at its contents to confirm her belief that it was
indeed the powder for which she had been searching, and then she slipped the
vial into the pocket of her apron. Then she retreated to the office door and
peered out. Seeing no one in the hallway, she quickly slid through the door,
closed it behind her and set about performing her maidenly duties.
How could she have known that one of the doorways in the corridor was
not quite closed, and that a pair of watchful eyes had seen her enter and exit
Dr Kauffmann's office ?
********
Ju's day was long and eventful. Early that morning Greta Stahl, the
tall, serious-looking Bavarian woman who supervised the housemaids and other
servants at the embassy, advised her that her assistance would be needed in
making the preparations for a large luncheon party for a group of German bankers
and businessmen. Ju spent the morning polishing silver, cleaning crystal, and
preparing scores of place settings. The guests began arriving at 11:30 and
then there were rounds of aperitifs and canapes to serve. The luncheon itself
lasted upwards of two hours, thanks to an endless series of toasts to the
Kaiser, to Bismarck, to the Army and to the heroes of the 1870 war against
France. Then followed a number of long-winded speeches declaring that the day
was not far off when German commerce would dominate the Far East.
The guests were all male, of course, and since she was the youngest and by
far the prettiest of the four women who served the guests, Ju was more than once
subjected to a masculine hand sliding discreetly under her skirt while she
reached over the table to refill a glass of wine. She had had to bite her lip
to refrain from emptying a bottle of Riesling over the head of a white-whiskered
textile trader from Weimar who had cleverly chosen a seat at the far end of a
table in a remote corner of the banquet room. The old coot pretended to
participate in the toasts with chauvinistic fervor, but only as an excuse to
empty his wine glass again and again. Once it was empty, he would catch Ju's eye
and she would be obliged to come round to refill his glass. Since all the eyes
in the room were focused on the parade of pompous speakers at the head table,
the desiccated Thuringian was at liberty to slide his gnarled hands under Ju's
skirt with impunity.
His face flushed from wine and arousal, the lecherous Weimaraner handled
the flesh of Ju's bare legs as he would fruit at a green-grocer's. Each time
she filled his glass, one of his arms stole around her legs to prevent her from
pulling away while his other hand slipped under her skirt to explore the
smoothness, firmness, and texture of her squirming thighs.
When at last the banquet came to an end, Ju and the rest of the domestic
staff were occupied for another hour or two cleaning up the banquet room. And
only then could she set about her normal routine of cleaning the offices and
suites in the building.
********
The sun had long since set when Ju finally completed her duties. She
was just about to leave for the day when Frau Stahl, the head of the household
staff, stopped her at the door and explained, politely but firmly, that the
vice-consul wanted his dinner brought to him in his office.
Ju hesitated. It had been her plan that this day would be her last at
the embassy. She had hoped that, using the money Erika had left her, she and
her child could begin a new life. She had intended to write Dr Kauffman later,
once she had gotten settled, explaining her situation and wishing him and Erika
luck in their future lives.
She had no wish to see the baron again, nor the office in which she had
earned the money to buy her husband's opium, at the cost of unspeakable pain and
humiliation. She did not need the baron's money now.
"Ju!" Stahl spoke again, this time more harshly. "I told you that the
vice-consul is waiting. The tray is ready in the kitchen. Take his dinner to
him before it gets cold. Quickly now!"
Sighing resignedly, the dark-haired maid reversed her path and retreated to
the kitchen, where she found a large rectangular tray, laden with several
tightly-covered serving dishes, and small beakers of chili paste, reddish
sweet-and-sour sauce, and hot Chinese mustard. Alongside the tray stood a
nicely-chilled bottle of champagne and a long-stemmed flute. Ju, moving
hurriedly, knowing that the baron was very particular about his food being
served hot, carefully arranged the bottle and glass in the center of the tray,
where they were less likely to tip over. Ju could almost sense the steam
trapped within the aromatic covered dishes as she slowly began her long walk to
the rear wing of the second floor -- and the office she had come to dread.
As she stepped onto the landing on the second floor, she was surprised to
find Stahl waiting for her impatiently, and even more surprised when the head of
staff accompanied her on the long walk down the south wing toward Baron
Gutmayer's elegant, but isolated, personal office. As the two women strode down
the long corridor side by side, Ju found herself becoming slightly unnerved by
the rhythmic, hollow tapping sound caused by the clicking of Stahl's heels on
the hardwood floor.... If Stahl were going to make this journey anyway, Ju
thought irritably, she might just as well have brought the cursed tray herself.
********
When they reached the familiar door at the end of the long hallway, Frau
Stahl turned the knob and the door opened inward into the office that Ju had
come to know so well. As she stood in the doorway, Ju glanced up at the
painting of Mephistopheles on the wall to her left. On her prior visits,
Mephisto's piercing eyes had seemed to follow her across the room, gloating with
guilty pride. As if it were his malevolent will which had conceived the
depravities which the baron had acted out within the four walls of his chamber
of carnal delights.
Not for the first time, a presentiment of danger caused Ju's body to tense
in fear the moment she stepped across the threshold of the baron's office.
She took a short step backward toward the door, but the impassive-visaged matron
grasped her firmly by the elbow and guided her toward the long table in front of
the divan.
Scolding herself for her childish fears - surely, given Stahl's presence,
this errand would prove routine -- Ju carefully set the tray down on the table,
equidistant between two round, flat-bottomed candle-holders whose short, squat
candles burned cheerfully as if they had been patiently awaiting her arrival.
She bowed politely to the baron, who was seated at the far end of the divan
wearing a gray, pin-striped suit and a sardonic smile. Then she turned toward
the door to leave.
"Not just yet, Ju," Stahl snapped in a brittle voice as she placed a hand
on one of her shoulders. "The baron wishes to have a word with you."
"Take your hands off of me," Ju protested, trying to pull free, but the
superior strength of the Bavarian matron caused Ju to lose her balance and she
fall backwards against the divan, her dark skirt riding well up her pretty legs.
"Ah, so here is our kleine Diebin, Frau Stahl!" The vice consul leaned
forward slightly from his comfortable position at the other end of the brocaded
divan, which was only a few steps to the right of his massive desk. As usual,
he was immaculately groomed, his starched white wing collar protruding stiffly
beneath his tailored suit, each blonde hair on his head looking as if it had
been combed into place with Euclidean precision. Ju's dark eyes strayed
nervously from the divan to the desk - two pieces of furniture that she had come
to know only too well during her past visits to the baron's private office.
"Our 'Diebin'? I don't understand, Herr Baron." Ju stammered
questioningly as she climbed to her feet, nervously smoothing her skirt back
into place, all too conscious of the fact that the vice-consul's steely-blue
eyes had brightened at the sight of her bare legs.
"Yes, our 'kleine Diebin', fraulein. Our little thief. Or would you
prefer culprit? Or criminal?" the baron muttered testily. He leaned forward to
lift the metal lid from one of the dishes on the tray, allowing a burst of steam
and aroma to billow upwards. "Ahh -- snow peas with garlic and ginger," he
murmured, "very nice."
" 'Our thief'? ... What ... what are you talking about?" Ju asked as she
felt the icy fingers of panic stretch around her neck.
"It would be better for you to confess your wrongdoing, Miss Hua," the
Prussian snapped as he replaced the lid, before you make things any worse for
yourself. Come now, girl," he snapped peevishly. "Do you still deny that
you're a thief?"
"I ... I don't understand," Ju responded in a rattled voice as she took a
step backward, glancing uneasily first at the confident-looking baron and then
at the inscrutable housekeeper. "Are you speaking of the money that you gave
me?"
The baron gave Stahl a look which suggested that she should dismiss Ju's
feeble defense out of hand. "I gave her some extra pocket change a few times,"
he explained, "when she said that she needed money for her child." Then he
turned back toward Ju. "No, this is not about the money that I was kind enough
to give you, fraulein."
Stahl looked on with a dour expression; she had few illusions about men,
and the circumstances under which they were likely to part with money. "Will
you be needing me any longer, Herr Baron?"
Baron Gutmayer regarded his capable head-housekeeper with interest.
Despite her attempts at equanimity, her breathing was irregular, her complexion
was flushed, and she could not seem to take her eyes off of Ju's sylph-like
figure.
Although her ash-blonde hair had begun to gray and she was unlikely to see
the near side of forty again, Greta Stahl was still a handsome woman and an
imposing presence, standing nearly as tall as the baron and towering over the
petite Ju. Gutmayer had been surprised to learn from her dossier, that, while
she presented herself as the widow of an officer who had died at the battle of
Sedan, she did not seem to be receiving the customary stipend accorded the
survivors of those who had fallen fighting for Germany, nor was there any record
that she had ever applied for such. He had watched his lecherous aide, Hans
Schumacher, attempt to soften the mysterious Stahl's icy exterior on more than
one occasion, but the capable matron had rebuffed him each time. Schumacher had
also mentioned that Stahl had offered to play a more active role in attending to
Erika Weiss. But the latter had declined, not wishing, she had said, to keep
Frau Stahl from her primary duty -- the management of the embassy's domestic
staff.
"Yes, Frau Stahl, I will need you to remain for just a moment longer," the
Baron said as he rose from the divan and clasped his hands together behind his
back. With his brow furled in concentration he began pacing back and forth in
front of Ju like a criminal prosecutor. When at last he spoke, the baron's
voice cut through the stillness of the room like a knife.
"Miss Hua!"
"Y-yes, sir?"
"Do you still insist on maintaining your innocence?"
"But Herr Baron ... you gave me that money. After we ... after you ..."
"Silence!!" The baron's face was flushed with anger. "I have already made
it clear that I was not referring to my ...charity. You are not to mention that
subject again," he added, casting a guilty eye at a composed- looking Frau
Stahl. "Miss Hua, it would be far better for you to admit your wrongdoing and
make restitution than to continue in this fashion."
"Herr Baron, I have taken nothing from you, nor from the embassy. Whenever
I find so much as a coin under the carpet or in the furniture, I give it to Frau
Stahl."
"You're a liar as well as a thief! Empty the contents of your apron on the
table!"
"But there is nothing in my .... " Ju patted the front of the apron
confidently and then she felt the blood slowly drain from her face. The powder!
She had completely forgotten about the vial she had pocketed so many hours
earlier.
"Do as I said!"
Silenced by the rage in the baron's voice, Ju guiltily set the vial of
medicinal powder on the edge of the low table. "Herr Baron, I can explain," she
stammered.
"You shall have time to ... explain ... later." Gutmayer turned stiffly
toward Frau Stahl and clicked his heels in a gesture of dismissal. "Vielen
dank, Frau Stahl, for coming forward - and for providing the evidence of this
young woman's thievery. That will be all. Lock the door behind you, please,
while I ... finish my dinner ... and decide whether Miss Hua is to remain in our
employ."
"As you wish, Herr Vice-Consul," Stahl replied dutifully. Ju noticed that
Stahl's naturally pale complexion was somewhat flushed. "But if you need any ...
assistance, Herr Baron, please do not hesitate to ring."
Struck by her odd tone of voice, Von Gutmayer cast her an inquiring glance,
but the tall, elegant woman had already turned for the door. When he heard the
lock click shut behind her, he waited, listening to the sound of her footsteps
echoing into the distance and then he turned back to Ju.
"In a way, Ju, your thievery does not displease me. Now I shall no longer
have to engage in the childish charade of paying you for your personal ...
attentions." The tall Prussian, no longer inhibited by the presence of Frau
Stahl, examined Ju's figure with meticulous care. Even her chaste housemaid's
attire could not conceal the pressure of her firm young breasts against the
white cambric of her blouse, the trimness of her waist, the slender elegance of
her thighs
"Herr Baron ..."
"Silence!" The baron's blue eyes were glowing with triumph. He picked up
the vial and held it up toward the chandelier as if gauging its potency. "Do
you have any idea of the value of this powder, Ju?"
"N-no, Herr Baron. But you don't underst ..."
"I understand perfectly well, fraulein," the baron snapped as he slammed
the vial down on the table. The fact that he had no idea of the value of the
powder either was quite irrelevant to his plan of action. "Fraulein, Doctor
Kauffmann mentioned to me before he left that a number of containers of drugs
had turned up missing in recent days."
"But it's not possible ... I never ..."
"And all of them contained narcotics ... opiates."
Ju felt the room beginning to spin crazily. "Herr Baron, I don't know what
you are ..."
"Since you have worked so closely with the good doctor ..." the baron
began,
'No!' thought Ju to herself, alarmed by the hint of mockery in the
vice-consul's voice when he referred to Dr. Kauffmann. For it was the mockery
of a jealous man. She had been a bit apprehensive when she had learned that it
was the baron himself who would escort Erika Weiss to the steamship which was to
take her home. But she had never really imagined that he would have plotted
against his own countrywoman. But suddenly she was not so sure ....
"... I had one of my men look into your background." The baron finished
his thought and glared icily at Ju. "Isn't it true, Ju, that your husband is an
opium addict?"
"N-no." Ju replied meekly, wilting under the baron's steely gaze.
"The truth, you lying whore!" Gutmayer raged, his face only inches from
hers. " You shall pay dearly for that lie, and any others you tell me!"
"Y-yes," Ju murmured almost inaudibly. "I-I think he takes opium
sometimes."
"Sometimes, fraulein?" the baron snorted contemptuously. "Sometimes?
Does he not spent every groschen of your wages at the Den of White Candles?
Doesn't he!" the baron thundered.
"Yes - yes!" Ju admitted miserably, as tears began to stream down her face.
"And now you have taken advantage of your familiarity with the doctor and
his work, to steal narcotics to satisfy your husband's wicked cravings?"
"No! No!! Please, Herr Baron .... There must be some mistake ..."
"There has been no mistake, fraulein," the stern Prussian said with a
sneer. Or rather there would be none. He would see to it that by the time Dr.
Kauffmann returned from his trip, his cupboard would indeed have been pillaged
of any trace of opiates. Things had fallen together very nicely indeed.
Hans von Gutmayer's cold blue eyes stared unfeelingly at the petite
housemaid and then he spat out a single word. "Ausziehen!"
"Herr Baron, I didn't ..."
"Ausziehen! Strip! Take off your clothes, you thieving slut! Or would you
prefer that I call the authorities? Who will look after your little brat then,
if they throw you into one of their prisons for a year or two? Do you know what
goes on in the women's prison in Shanghai, Miss Hua?"
"N-no..." And indeed Ju Hua had never heard of such a prison.
"Well, the time you have spent with me here will seem like a paradise,
compared to how you would be treated there! Ausziehen!!" he repeated for the
third time. The baron had no idea whether there were a woman's prison in
Shanghai, or if there were, the nature of the conditions there. But he was
confident that his bluff about the prison would be as terrifying to his
frightened housemaid as his fiction about the man with the hook had been to the
lush-breasted Erika Weiss. He had always found women, especially attractive
young women, as easy to manipulate as string puppets. And soon this slender
beauty would once again be dancing to his tune, just as all the others had.
Tears of helplessness streamed from Ju's soft brown eyes as she slipped her
tiny feet out of her worn shoes and undid the waistband of her skirt. She had
no choice. Tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, she could flee the city. But
for one more night she was in the baron's power....
Chapter 125 The Careless Seamstress
Hans von Gutmayer sat back down on the divan and used an elegant pair of
chopsticks to snatch a bit of chicken from one of the covered dishes on the
tray. He nibbled hungrily at the juicy tidbit while Ju unbuttoned her white
blouse and threw it over the back of the divan. Underneath the blouse, Ju wore
only a virginal white camisole which fitted snugly around her small, but
beautifully-shaped breasts. A moment later the dark skirt drifted to her feet,
and the baron felt his excitement rise at the sight of her golden thighs.
Von Gutmayer held the tips of his chopsticks against his tongue for a long
moment while he ogled the bare legs whose softness and suppleness he had come to
know so well. His faux-righteous anger had for the moment been supplanted by a
pleasurable arousal which had resulted in the huge bulge in his well-tailored
crotch.
"Lovely, quite, quite lovely," he whispered sibilantly. "Ach! We shall
have many ... stimulating ... evenings together in the weeks ahead my sweet
little Chineseschen puppchen!"
Ju shivered at the sound of the word 'stimulating' and turned away from him
slightly in order to throw lay her skirt on top of the blouse. The baron
proceeded to stare at the back of her thighs with a puzzled expression. "What
happened to your legs?" he asked, his curiosity piqued by a reddish blotchiness
on her upper thighs. But before Ju could answer, a knowing grin spread across
his face. "Ah, so that's why Fleischmann was sitting in the back at lunch
today," he chuckled. "The randy old bastard asked me about you after lunch, Ju.
He was most impressed by the ... quality of your service. In fact, he asked me
if I could spare your absence one day next week. He wants you to serve at a
private luncheon that he intends to host. You wouldn't have any objection to a
few hours' extra pay next week would you, Ju?" he smirked salaciously.
Ju did her best to conceal a shudder of revulsion, but knew that this was
not the time to protest. "As you wish, Herr Baron," she murmured. But the
thought of being manhandled again by the filthy-minded textile trader and a few
of his lecherous cronies made her stomach turn. Furthermore it was only when
the baron had mentioned his name that she realized that she had been groped and
fondled by none other than the notorious Friedrich "Fritz" Fleischmann.
********
Fritz Fleischmann's numerous textile and garment enterprises in Shanghai
employed many hundreds of young women, most of whom did piecework in their
cramped living quarters, after having fled the impoverished countryside in hopes
of finding a better life in the bustling metropolis.
But few had found a better life sewing the garments that had made
Fleischmann a very wealthy man.
Mrs Wong, the good-hearted woman who looked after Ju's son, had told her
once about a girl named Xiu Mei. Xiu, the pretty but none-too-dexterous
daughter of a Hunanese farmer who could no longer provide for her, had come to
the city penniless, but had quickly found work sewing for one of Fleischmann's
most exploitative jobbers. But during her second week of employment Xiu not
only failed to meet her demanding quota but ruined a bolt of expensive fabric
in the process. The jobber, anxious to satisfy the rapacity, if not the
avarice, of his mercantile master, arranged for her to be summoned to
Fleischmann's office in a grim, seldom-used warehouse near the harbor for an
after-hours evaluation of her progress.
The brief interview had consisted of Fleischmann and his foreman, his
bullying nephew, Otto, ogling their comely new seamstress while they berated her
for the slowness and shoddiness of her work. When they were done cursing their
apologetic apprentice for her ineptitude, Otto dragged the protesting girl to a
secluded corner of the dark, deserted warehouse.
There, while his white-whiskered uncle looking on approvingly, Otto
Fleischmann had used hoisting chains to lift the hapless young woman several
inches off the ground and then used lengths of discarded rope to bind her
outstretched wrists and widespread ankles to the uprights of an empty storage
rack. The unscrupulous old entrepreneur had watched the X-shaped beauty dangle
helplessly, her shapely body illumined only by a portable oil lantern that he
had hung from one of the uprights, while his ill-tempered foreman slowly and
deliberately cut through every stitch of her clothing with an ancient pair of
fabric shears. As the shreds of her clothing drifted to the floor, the old
Thuringian's liver-spotted hands grew bolder and bolder in stroking and fondling
the sweet young flesh that his nephew had exposed.
When Xiu Mei was naked, her every muscle taut and trembling, her slim,
shapely body glistening with fear-sweat, Fritz Fleischmann calmly stripped off
his belt and let it trail down Xiu's naked back and then through her alluring
buttock-cleft, so that she could feel the toughness of its leather. Meanwhile
the younger man struggled with a pair of corroded wire-cutters before managing
to strip a length of baling wire from a musty bale of Indian cotton.
Once Otto had finally cut through the wire and doubled it over twice in
his brawny hand, the malevolent twosome had demonstrated the pace at which they
expected their under-performing employee to work, unleashing a withering
succession of blows to her back, buttocks and thighs. The two man lashed her
alternately, Otto confining the use of his wicked, improvised flail to vicious,
whistling backhands which raked the flesh of Xiu Mei's well-rounded
bottom-cheeks, while his elderly uncle varied his attack, lashing much less
forcefully at the writhing teenager's back, buttocks and thighs. But the old
man's blows were hardly ineffectual; a half-century of meting out stern
discipline to indolent young women had taught the gnarled old satyr the art of
curling a strip of leather around a female body so that more often than not, the
venomous tip of his belt stung a bare belly, a tender breast, or an unprotected
mons.
After each of the men had dealt Xiu Mei a dozen flesh-ravaging blows that
were intended to impress upon their young apprentice the need to improve her
dilatory pace, Fritz Fleischmann set about illustrating the importance of
careful sewing and needlework. He began by flicking and twisting and tweaking
Xiu's pouting nipples until they stood out from her pale aureoles like stiff
brown spikes. Then, by way of demonstrating his own prowess with thread, he
artfully formed tiny nooses from a spool of red thread before knotting them so
tightly around Xiu's nipples that it seemed that the blood-engorged nubbins
might burst.
Only then did he hold up a pair of shiny new needles in front of the
lantern's glow so that the slender young beauty could appreciate their keenness.
With painstaking care the elder Fleischmann proceeded to press a sharp-tipped
sewing needle against the edges of the most livid of the marks that he and his
kinsman had just left on Xiu's body. As he pricked the weals on the young
seamstress's buttocks and thighs with the glistening needles, Fleischmann was
pleased to see that their well-conceived flogging had increased her sensitivity
to pain rather than dulled it. Each time he pressed the needle against Xiu
Mei's flesh her frenzied gyrations tested the tightness of her bonds. But
though her body writhed this way and that, Otto's ropes did not fail.
Then, after admonishing the naked apprentice that 'close work requires
great care,' Fritz Fleischmann pressed the tip of one of the needles against
the side of a left nipple which the loop of scarlet thread had choked into an
eye-catching tumescence. He jabbed the perky bud playfully with the needle
several times before settling down to business and piercing the sweat-moistened
lust-nugget with a swift, almost bloodless, horizontal thrust.
He stepped back and joined his nephew in watching the golden-skinned
temptress struggle in her bonds for another moment or two before stepping
forward and muttering grimly, "Arbeit ist alle!" and reaching for the second
inch-long needle. For all of his seventy-odd years, there was not the slightest
tremor in the old man's wrinkled hand as he took Xiu Mei's other breast in his
gnarled hand and pressed the tip of the needle directly against the tip of its
dark, blood-rich crest. Then, squinting in the dim light to make sure that his
aim was true, he scowled maliciously at the young beauty, and with an effortful
grimace he forced the needle into her be-threaded nipple with the precision of a
jeweler, driving it hilt-deep into her shuddering mound.
Otto Fleischmann had concluded the evening's counseling session by
trapping the base of their victim's skewered left nipple in the jaws of the
rusty wire-cutters and slowly increasing the pressure of the dull blades until a
hysterical Xiu Mei had begged him to take her virginity if only he would spare
her beauty. After his leering uncle had given him an obliging nod, the cruel
foreman had taken the dark-haired nymph where she hung, impaling her girlish
love-slit on his thick Deutschenspeer from behind. The younger Fleischmann
proceeded to plunge his virile erection into the spread-eagled beauty with such
ruthless, upward-thrusting ferocity that when he was done, his hairy chest and
thighs were matted with crimson, and his genitals were dripping with virginal
blood.
During this dreadful assault from the rear, the aging uncle slowly
extracted the skewer-needle from Xiu's left nipple and used it to prick and
gouge the soft skin of her breasts until they were so streaked and smeared with
red that in the dim light one could hardly see where the blood ended and the
scarlet threads began....
Chapter 126 The Baron's Dinner ...
"Don't turn up your nose at such an opportunity, fraulein," the baron was
saying with a twisted grin, as Ju re-focused on his words. "Herr Fleischmann
knows the garment business." Then the baron added with a licentious smile, "In
fact he told me that he would design and produce a special maid's costume for
you to wear for that occasion."
Ju felt an icy shiver course through her body. Such a costume, designed by
such a man, could only be a prelude to depravities beyond her imagination.
"But enough of Fleischmann. It is our night tonight." The baron's thin
lips curled into an imperious sneer as he voiced the words that Ju had been
dreading. "The drawer, Ju! You know the one. Bring me what you find there!"
Trembling, her thoughts still plagued by the thought of being subjected to
the obscene attentions of Fritz Fleischmann, Ju turned toward the cabinet in
the bookcase which the baron had chosen as the arsenal for his implements of
correction. She was conscious of the baron's eyes on her skimpily-clad behind
as she walked toward the cabinet. As she opened the dreadful drawer her heart
sank.
For the instrument she found there was the one she feared most.
The rattan cane.
The sharp-tipped, flesh-cutting cane that had left reddened trails of fire
across her bottom on her last visit to the baron's office.
Remembering the baron's rigid rules of protocol, Ju picked up the flexible
instrument of discipline and, holding an end submissively in each of her
upturned palms, turned back toward the baron with eyes properly lowered. To her
surprise, he had moved closer and was now standing alongside the desk.
Taking the cane from her hands, the Baron, flicked it through the air
twice, testing its whippiness. Finding it eminently satisfactory, he barked,
"On the desk!"
Ju felt the baron's blue eyes ravishing her petite body as she reluctantly
hoisted her girlish backside onto the desk. The baron used the tip of the cane
to poke her in the side forcing her to slide toward his left, until she was
seated, facing him, about a foot or so from the end of the desk.
"Auf die Knie, Fraulein!"
Ju swallowed and dutifully pulled her lithe body up until she was on her
knees atop the gleaming surface of the desk that she had polished to a sparkling
shine that very afternoon.
"Spread your knees!" the baron snapped. "Further!" he hissed, when Ju was
slow to comply, whipping the cane smartly across her left thigh.
The beautiful maid winced at the blow but blushingly parted her legs,
trying to ignore the fact that the baron's blue eyes were fixed on the thin
panties which only half-veiled the sweet treasure between her thighs.
"Further! Further apart, I said!" and Gutmayer snapped the cane down
smartly again, leaving a second burning line alongside the first. Gritting her
teeth against the pain, Ju spread her thighs until her knees were as far apart
as her shoulders and then she sank back onto her haunches submissively.
The baron poked his cane into the hem of Ju's camisole and lifted it up a
few inches, licking his lips slightly at the sight of Ju's ivory-gold
bellyflesh.
"The camisole. Take it off!"
The almond-eyed housemaid obediently slid the noodle-thin straps of the
camisole down over her bare shoulders and held the flimsy garment against her
cone-shaped breasts.
"Off, dummchen. Off!!" and the rattan from the Bismarck Archipelago flashed
through the air again before biting into Ju's bare thigh-flesh a third time, no
more than a centimeter from the other two marks.
"Oooouuw! I will, Herr Baron, I will," Ju grimaced, as she eased the
camisole downward over her pert breasts until it was a circular band of silk
just south of her neatly-notched navel.
Standing slightly to one side of her Von Gutmayer extended the cane so that
it pressed against the underside of Ju's teardrop-shaped nipples, as if he were
a conjuror holding a magic wand. And sure enough, the delicious brownish buds
responded to his erotic sleight-of-hand by springing to life, lengthening and
thickening nicely as he sawed the cane back and forth against their undersides
with almost imperceptible pressure.
The baron, pleased with his efforts, gave Ju a quick belly-flick with the
cane before setting it down. "Now, fraulein, we shall dine together," he said,
in much the tone of voice he might have used to a countess. Then the baron
strode over to the dishes on the table, and uncovered them quickly, glancing at
their steaming contents before hurriedly replacing the lids and then carrying
the entire tray, along with the elegant pair of chopsticks, across the room and
placing it on the right side of the desk, as he faced it, within easy reach.
Amused by his playful reversal of their servant and master roles, he gave
Ju a charming smile. "First, I think, a glass of champagne. I am sorry, but we
shall have to share a single glass. It was very thoughtless of me, I'm sure.
You will forgive me, I trust?"
He gave Ju an inquiring glance, but when she merely stared at him blankly,
his smile darkened. "As you wish, madame," he said through tight lips. The
baron picked up the bottle of sparkling wine, glanced at the label approvingly,
and proceeded to loosen its pressurized cork. It was only when the cork was
about to burst free that he turned back toward the kneeling beauty and fired the
loosened cork at Ju's left breast from a distance of only a few feet.
The baron had practiced this form of target-shooting on more than one
occasion in the past and his aim was admirable. The cork exploded out of the
bottle and struck Ju's breast just below the nipple with almost ballistic force.
"Aaaiaaahh!!" Ju cried out in pain and rubbed at the red mark on her
breast. Meanwhile the baron quickly slid the flute under the foaming bottle,
and held it there as he moved toward her. The glass quickly overflowed with
bubbly froth and dripped down onto Ju's thigh.
"How careless of me, fraulein," the baron exclaimed with an insincere
smirk. "Here, perhaps this will cheer you up," he said, offering her the glass.
Ju took the glass from him with trembling hands and sipped at it while Von
Gutmayer's lips lapped at the champagne he had spilled on her bare leg.
Then he reached up and took the half-full glass from her lips, took a sip
from it himself, and set it back down on the tray. Then he glanced down
thoughtfully at the champagne cork which was lying on the floor where it had
fallen after cannoning into Ju's cushiony breast. He bent down, picked it up
and placed it neatly on the dinner tray.
Ju was still wondering at the baron's fastidiousness when he asked her, "Do
you like prawns, fraulein?" as he inched the cover off of one of the dishes.
"I ... I do not know, Herr Baron. I have never had one. They are very
dear."
"You must try one. Here." Taking up the chopsticks, the baron slipped
them under the lid of one of the serving dishes, allowing a jet of steam to
billow out. He snatched a large prawn expertly and held it in front of her. Ju
reached for the chopsticks, but the baron pulled his hand back.
"No, my insolent little housemaid," he said with a cryptic smile. "It is I
who will serve you dinner tonight. "Clasp your hands together behind your neck."
Trembling uneasily, Ju did as she was bid. The tall Prussian eyed the
uptilted tips of Ju's tempting breasts as if they were the most delectable of
hors d'oeuvres, and then extended the steaming prawn toward the maid's waiting
lips.
"Try it, please," he said with a feigned gentility.
Ju did, biting into the golden-brown prawn and tearing off half of it with
her teeth, allowing its succulent juices to trickle down her chin. Despite her
anxiety, it was impossible not to be taken aback by the taste of the succulent
prawn, whose seasoning and texture were indeed fit for a heavenly feast.
"Are they not delectable? They are river prawns - the finest in the world
- cooked in the kung pao style. Have you ever tasted anything so flavorful?"
"It ... it is wonderful, Herr Baron," Ju confessed truthfully, wondering at
the strange whims of this connoisseur of cruelty and cuisine.
"Yes, but they are even better when freshly basted with sesame and garlic.
Here, let me show you."
The baron reached toward the tray and took up a tiny metal pitcher with a
wooden handle, pulled back the lid and dipped the tip of the remaining half of
the prawn into sesame oil seasoned with garlic and other spices. "Koestlich!"
he murmured. "Delicious!" after biting off the very tip of the prawn, and
licking his lips. Then he frowned. "But unfortunately our lengthy ...
conversation ... has permitted the sesame oil to cool. But that is easily
remedied."
Ju watched, mystified, as the Baron strode over to the low table and
retrieved one of the candles she had noticed earlier. He placed the short, squat
candle on the desk, between her wide-spread knees, and then, lifting the pitcher
carefully by the wooden handle, he held it over the flame for half a minute or
so.
"That should do it," he whispered, tapping his finger tentatively against
the base of the pitcher to make sure the oil had been heated to the proper
temperature. "Ow!" he muttered softly before pulling his finger away from the
hot metal. "Yes, that should do nicely."
Then, taking up the chopsticks which held the prawn in his right hand and
the miniature pitcher in his left, he raised his hands in front of Ju.
Ju, feeling unusually vulnerable with her fingers interlaced behind her
neck, expected the baron to dip the prawn into the oil-cruet. But instead the
baron upended the tiny pitcher and poured a small quantity of the sizzling
concoction onto the upslope of Ju's right breast.
"Aaahh!!" Ju flinched as the hot oil began to trickle down her breast, but
the baron quickly reached out and swept the end of the prawn across her
love-mound, mopping her glistening aureole with the tasty crustacean. He had
popped it into his mouth before Ju could react to the near-scalding oil by
unclasping her hands and bringing them forth defensively.
"Hands behind your head, fraulein!" the baron snapped, angered by Ju's
disobedience. Moving with lightning-like quickness, he entrapped Ju's distended
left nipple between the midpoints of the two chopsticks, adjusting the grip of
his fingers along the wooden sticks so that he was in a position to apply
nipple-crushing pressure almost instantaneously. "Our meal has only just
begun."
Eyeing her trapped nipple fearfully, Ju obeyed, leaving the baron free to
continue his banquet of flesh.
There were five remaining prawns in the serving dish, and the baron, in the
grip of a generosity steeped in depravity, shared them with Ju, letting her take
the first bite of each. Five times the metallic pitcher upturned, and five
times the baron poured a steaming rivulet of hot garlic-oil onto the tops and
sides of Ju's reddening breast, each time using the prawn as a dainty serviette.
When they had consumed the last of the prawns, the baron, after cautioning Ju to
remain utterly still, reheating the few remaining drops of the seasoned oil
until she could hear them sizzling in the bottom of the metal pitcher.
Guessing his intention, Ju shook her head despairingly. "No," she
murmured. "Please ... No..."
But the baron met her pleading glance with a sinister smile before pouring
the dregs of the near-scalding dipping sauce directly onto the aureole of her
left breast, enveloping her sensitive bud in a lake of liquid fire. He watched
Ju's upper body vibrate in misery for a few seconds before bending forward and
licking her garlicky breast-bud clean.
By now, the repeated applications of the hot oil to her tender breast had
caused Ju's soft brown eyes to fill with tears of pain.
"Too hot, my dear?" the baron asked mockingly. "How clumsy of me!" He
picked up the champagne and held the chilled bottle against the breast on which
he had spilled the hot oil.
"I trust that you are grateful for my consideration?" he asked as he slid
the cool girth of the bottle back and forth across the curves of Ju's breast.
And indeed Ju was grateful to feel the chilled bottle against her tortured
flesh, and she nodded thankfully. Gutmayer then held the bottle to her waiting
lips and turned it upward, letting Ju drink until her mouth and throat were full
and the overflow of champagne began coursing down her chin and neck and throat
and onto the upper slopes of her breasts.
"Ah, such gusto! And now, fraulein, it is time for your second course."
Von Gutmayer set the half-empty bottle back on the tray and opened the buttons
of his fly with his left hand, liberating his stiffening penis, while he reached
sideways with his right.
Ju's eyes were not on his hands, but rather on the baron's veiny cock which
seemed to leap toward her from a nest of pale blonde pubic hair.
"Bon appetit!" Gutmayer said gruffly, as he placed his hand on Ju's dark,
silky hair and pulled her head down toward his waiting erection.
Ju's neck and shoulders stiffened in protest, but a quick, searing slash of
the rattan cane, with which the baron had just rearmed himself, across the outer
curve of her left breast and then its jabbing pressure against her nipple once
again crushed her resistance, and she let the baron press her head down toward
his thrusting organ.
"The tip. Just lick the tip with your pretty tongue for a moment. Ja, Ja,
that's it. So how you do like the taste of my schwanz tonight, madchen, now
that the champagne has cleansed your palate? You may use your hands now, wench.
Wrap your hand around it. Ahh, sehr schoen. Stroke it right down to the root.
Ja, langsam, langsam ... nice and slow. You're doing well, fraulein. More
tongue, now..."
There were tears of humiliation in Ju's eyes as she abased herself paying
oral homage to the vice-consul's blutwurst. Her tiny hand could barely encircle
his blood sausage, which had thickened as if the touch of her lips had given his
manly corpuscles new vigor.
When Gutmayer saw that his sexual servitor could not get at his throbbing
testicles properly, he undid his trousers and slid them down his legs along with
his underwear. He stood before her, incongruously well-dressed above the waist
and obscenely naked below, so that one of Ju's tiny hands could fondle his
hairy, sperm-laden balls while the other slid easily up and down the length of
his thick-knobbed member.
"Ahhhh, your hands are warm, fraulein. And your lips are sweet! Teufel
auch! I have trained you well, puppchen. Ja, ja... Don't stop, wench," he
groaned with pleasure as the pressure of the tip of the cane against Ju's breast
encouraged her best efforts. Essen ... essen. Eat your fill!"
As Ju stroked and licked at the baron's towering penis, she came to
realize that the baron had picked up the chopsticks and was once again sampling
bits of meat and vegetables from the various dishes, thus satisfying both of his
robust appetites at once. He seemed to find the idea of dining en fellatio most
amusing and the bare-breasted Asian beauty was compelled to labor over the
baron's virile genitals for several minutes by the Neuchatel clock, while he
nibbled on succulent bits of chicken, crisp snow peas, crunchy water chestnuts,
and Chinese dumplings that seemed to melt in his mouth.
After a time, he set the chopsticks to one side and leaned forward,
thrusting the length of his cock-shaft deep into Ju's mouth. He groaned with
man-pleasure as he reached out with his long arms and slid his hands along the
soft flesh of her back, as if his questing thumbs were tallying the attractive
protrusions of her vertebrae. Then he reached further still, slipping his
fingers inside the waistband of Ju's pale white panties, and then slowly rolling
the undergarment down, baring the enticing groove between her rounded buttocks.
He lunged forward slightly, burying his thick phallus even deeper into Ju's
throat while he savored her yielding bottom-cheeks. His hands roved freely over
the springy globes, fondling and kneading every inch of her nicely-curved
derriere from the base of her spine to the almost imperceptible crease where the
gentle curve at the base of her buttocks melded into the inexpressibly soft
flesh of her upper thighs. Throughout it all he ignored Ju's increasingly
urgent gasps of half-strangled discomfort as his marauding member explored every
corner of her saliva-drenched mouth.
Finally Ju, desperate for oxygen, used her hands to push the baron's
genitals away, so that she could take an unencumbered breath.
"I warned you not to stop, fraulein," Gutmayer scolded his panting
sex-captive as his fingers raked her ass-flesh. "And yet you dare to push me
away? You will come to regret such impertinence."
"No, please ... " Ju gasped, "It was only for a moment ... I...I could not
breathe ...." she pleaded, taking a last unfettered breath before lowering her
mouth to the baron's rutting organ.
"Too late, puppchen." Then, an evil smile stole across the baron's flushed
features as he seized the chopsticks and reached toward the dish from which he
had fed her the prawn earlier.
Out of the corner of her eye Ju could see that he had speared one of the
fiery dark-red chilis that had given the prawns their unmistakable 'kung pao'
flavor.
Suddenly Ju felt a powerful hand digging fiercely into one buttock cheek.
And a moment later she felt the unseen chili being rubbed against her puckering
anal opening.
"NGHMPHH!!" she screamed, or tried to, but the baron's hard- pumping
Deutschenschwanz stifled her terror-stricken protest.
"Hold still, verdammt!" the baron raged as he used the ends of the
chopsticks to wedge the chili into Ju's resisting rosette. In doing so he
ruptured the tough outer skin of the chili pod, allowing its acid-like flesh and
juice to seep out and set the walls of her delicate rectum ablaze. Holding on to
her silky black hair with one hand, Gutmayer pressed Ju's mouth back down on his
organ, even as he used the chopsticks to screw the chili even deeper into her
body. "For fighting me, you shall have another!" he grunted as he reached for
another inch-long chili, and, after a brief but intense struggle, he managed to
insert the second pepper alongside the first.
"NGMPHGHFHH!!" Ju moaned again. It had only taken a few moments for the
capsicum in the chilis to begin its devilish work and she began to wriggle her
pelvis in misery. Ju's agonies were compounded when the baron took the thick
champagne cork that he had so carefully preserved, swirled it around in the
beaker of chili paste to lubricate it, and then plugged it deep into her anal
opening, imprisoning the burning chilis.
Then, feeling himself nearing a climax and wishing to prolong his pleasure
for as long as possible, the baron pulled his saliva-wet cock-staff away from
Ju's tearful face. He watched her pelvic and abdominal muscles churn for a
moment, as the fiery chilis breathed their dragon's breath in the entryway to
her sensitive nether-passage. "I thought you might like a brief interval
between courses, my dear," he said gloatingly, as he lifted the chopsticks to
Ju's lips with his left hand as he reached downward with his right.
"A little later you shall have the rest of the dessert I promised you, my
sweet little thief. But for the moment I wish to dine in comfort. And you shall
be my table. Bend backward, fraulein! Until your shoulders are parallel with
the desktop!"
Since she had first climbed onto the desk, Ju had been sitting on her
haunches, with her thighs spread, save for when she had leaned forward to take
the baron's genitals into her mouth. But now she was being asked to lean
backward, so that her body would be perfectly horizontal a few inches above the
surface of the desk. She slid her hands behind her, hoping to use them to
maintain her balance.
"Nein! Nicht so! Hold on to your ankles, puppchen, and bend backward from
the waist!" the baron growled as he reinforced his words by slashing at her
satiny upper thighs with the cane he had just grasped with his right hand.
Ju yelped in pain but seized her slim ankles firmly and leaned back slowly,
feeling the muscles in her thighs tighten as she did so. The baron had rolled
her panties down while he fondled her bottom and now, she knew, her dark
triangle and the fleshy petals of her feminine flower were wantonly displayed.
********
As Hans von Gutmayer watched Ju's lithe, perfectly-proportioned body
trembling from the strain of trying to bend backward while maintaining a
white-knuckled grip on her ankles, the well-traveled Prussian nobleman was
struck by the thought that the Chinese were, in some respects, the most athletic
of all the peoples he had come to know. He had seen Chinese acrobats, men and
women alike, perform prodigies of balance and strength and skill that defied
belief. Europeans tended to dismiss them as worthy opponents because of their
small stature, but he had found that the people between the two great rivers had
a wonderful capacity for concentration and self-discipline. Not to mention a
remarkable stamina, he thought with a cruel smile, as he watched Ju's slender
young body straining to adopt the required position.
"Further!" the baron snapped, stripping away the camisole that was
bunched around her navel before striking Ju sharply across the right thigh with
the rattan. "Do you expect me to dine on an uneven table!"
His son had written him not long before of running into a dreamy young
intellectual named de Coubertin at a rowing competition in Europe. One night
over drinks the Frenchman had told his son of his dream of bringing the youth of
all the nations of the world together for an international athletic competition.
It was a fanciful notion of course, which would probably never come to pass.
But if by some chance it ever did, Baron Hans von Gutmayer had little doubt
that, despite their unprepossessing stature and unimposing physique, the Chinese
would acquit themselves very well, once they had accustomed themselves to the
athletic disciplines of the west.
Ju's was a gymnast's body in the truest sense of the word, he mused,
recalling that that word's Greek root meant 'to train naked'. The ancient
Greeks, who were otherwise so creative, so brilliant, had, so far as he knew,
quite overlooked the exciting possibilities of training the bodies of their
young women. Of driving them, with stern, Spartan-like discipline, to the
limits of their stamina and beyond, until their young supple young bodies were
capable of providing the last ounce of pleasure to their virile trainers. As
Ju's thigh muscles grew taut and the flesh over her smooth belly tightened, the
baron's lips formed themselves into a secret smile. Yes, it would be a signal
pleasure to train this limber, naked beauty, to force her to submit to his every
cruel demand....
Chapter 127 ... And the Housemaid's Dessert
The baron ran his tongue over his thin lips as he watched the exquisite
Chinese beauty desperately trying to contort her slim body into the desired
position. Cupping his heavy testicles in his left hand, he flicked the insides
of Ju's tautly-stretched thighs with the cane again, knowing how sensitive that
supple flesh must be. He felt a surge of pleasure race through his genitals as
she gasped in pain and her torso writhed in misery, her dark-nippled breasts
dancing to each swift, sure stroke of the cane. For a moment Hans von Gutmayer
had the strange fancy that the eerie image of Mephistopheles on the wall behind
him was the impresario at a satanic ballet, that he had chosen the baron to
conduct and that he had selected this exquisite young creature to perform the
sensual Devil's Dance.
And indeed Ju's nearly nude body seemed to shimmer to an unheard rhythm.
Her honey-gold legs and torso were bathed in perspiration as she strained to
hold her body steady at the desired angle without releasing her grip on her
ankles.
"Level, meine liebe, level," the baron cautioned her ominously.
But try though she might, she could not. "I - I can't...." she gasped.
"Unsinn!" the baron snarled. "Nonsense, fraulein! You merely need a
little motivation. THWICKK!! The cane left a dark, diagonal streak that
extended across her bare belly from her ribcage to her hipbone.
"Oouwww! Please ... I'm trying ..."
The Baron eyed Ju's sweat-gleaming breasts, her dark, cane-teased
nipples pointing almost directly upward, quivering from the dreadful strain of
her position. Until quite recently he had honored Ju's pleas to spare her
exquisite love-mounds the severe discipline he would normally have accorded
breasts of such beauty and shapeliness, because she had been nursing her child.
But he had vowed to himself during those months that he would make up for lost
time once the little brat had been weaned, as he now had been.
During their last encounter the sight of his almond-eyed housemaid's pert
brown nipples crushed between the crocodilian jaws of the spring-clamps had
excited him beyond measure. But that, he mused with a cruel smile, had only
been on a small interest-payment on the debt of suffering that her sweet
pleasure-plums still owed him. The weeks and months ahead would test his
inventiveness, but they were bound to prove most gratifying....
The baron tapped the underside of Ju's breasts lightly with the evil
rattan. "You have another three seconds, puppchen, to obey my wishes -- or
your lovely breasts will pay the price. Shoulders flat!!"
Ju made yet another effort to obey, but the agonizing anal itching
thwarted her every attempt to hold her slender body in position. Her shoulders
were first too high, and then too low, and with her pelvis on fire, the left and
right sides of her body wavered up and down like a kite wafting on a westerly
breeze.
"Eins!" the baron rasped, as he positioned the cane across the center of
Ju's breasts with one hand and gave his pulsing, dark-veined phallus a
pleasurable squeeze with the other.
"N-no!" Ju tried to shift her weight, hoping against hope that doing so
would lessen the fierce cramping caused by the fiery chilis.
"Zwei!" The baron tapped the cane against Ju's love-plums a second time,
testing their resiliency. "I am losing patience, fraulein!"
"Please ... please..." Ju begged, as she tried to hold her nude body
perfectly level. But she could not quite quell the oscillation forced upon her
by the ferocious sting of the chilis. Finally, with a supreme effort she willed
her soft-skinned torso into the desired position.
But it was too late.
"Drei!!" The baron's grim outburst was followed instantaneously by a
withering breast-stroke that missed Ju's upthrust nipple-tips by no more than an
eyelash, leaving a nasty mark across both of her pebbly aureoles.
"Aaaiaaii!" Jiu cried out, as the punishing blow drove her shoulders down
into the desk top.
"Level, fraulein, level! Or you shall have another!"
Ju tried to lift her body, but the terrible chilis sent a convulsion
through her pelvis that doomed her attempt.
Gutmayer angrily whipped the rattan downward again, and this time the cane
found its targets, slicing into Ju's nipples with a vicious THWICCKK!!! that
send overpowering shudders of pleasure through his swollen genitals.
"Aaaaaghhhh!!"
" 'Level,' I said!"
Summoning all of her remaining strength, Ju lifted her shoulders until her
back was as flat as she could make it.
"Much better, fraulein," the baron acknowledged grudgingly, quite cognizant
of the heroic effort it had taken Ju to achieve and maintain the desired
position. "As I said, it was only a question of motivation. Now, let me
continue my dinner." Gutmayer stared admiringly at Ju's straining nudity for a
moment before continuing. "By candlelight."
A few seconds later, the tall Prussian placed the bright-burning candle he
had used to heat the sesame oil precisely in the middle of Ju's breastbone,
between her breasts and her chin. Even this slight additional weight added to
Ju's misery, and, what was worse, she knew that the least change of position,
the slightest tipping of her body would cause the shimmering droplets of hot wax
to overflow the candle-holder and stream down onto her defenseless breasts.
"Now, isn't this romantic," the baron said mockingly. "How about a toast,
my dear?" Holding up the champagne bottle, he exclaimed, "To our continued
friendship, fraulein." Then he poured a little champagne into Ju's delicious
navel.
The chill of the sparkling wine caused Ju's taut-stretched body to shiver
slightly.
"Steady!" the baron cautioned her, as he watched the candle-holder sway
lightly on her chest, its pool of hot wax challenging the edge of the candle's
depression. Then he leaned his head forward and swirled his tongue around in
her navel, enjoying the fresh crisp taste of the champagne.
"Ah! I see stars!" the baron whispered enthusiastically, echoing the words
of Dom Perignon, the Benedictine monk who had chanced upon the secret of
sparkling wine some two and a half centuries earlier. Gutmayer moved the bottle
southward and poured an ounce or so of wine on Ju's dark triangle, and watched
it trickle down into her love-slit before sweeping down with his tongue and
tasting the intimate champagne cocktail.
Unfortunately the touch of his probing tongue on Ju's clitoris, caused Ju's
body to wriggle salaciously, which in turn caused a minute amount of the hot wax
to leak down into the valley between her breasts.
Ju's body stiffened in pain, but she fought bravely to keep her body still,
knowing that any physical reaction would only make matters worse.
Amused by her discomfiture, Gutmayer poured another ounce of wine on Ju's
neatly-fringed pussy and then suckled her glistening vulva until the voluntary
trembling of her body caused the candle-holder to spill another few drops of
scalding liquid onto her chest.
The hot wax caused Ju's sweat-drenched body to shiver deliciously yet
again. The evil Prussian smiled at her predicament and then reached for one of
the covered dishes. "Ah! Mongolian Beef," he muttered to himself. "One of my
favorites. But rather than using scallions, fraulein, I asked the chef to
prepare it with Spanish onions. Look!"
Ju managed to turn her eyes toward the serving dish without moving her
head. The baron's chef had sliced a large onion into thick, concentric rings
and then tossed the onion, along with thick, juicy shreds of sirloin, in a wok
seasoned with soy, garlic, ginger and other spices.
"Try it!" the baron ordered, using the chopsticks to offer Ju a strip of
the beef.
Ju obediently tasted it, and chewed it carefully, knowing that the baron
would pounce on her slightest change of position.
Gutmayer speared the smallest of the onion rings and bit into it. "Oh, too
bad. We should have eaten it sooner. It's no longer as hot as it should be."
But then he stared down at Ju with a patronizing smile. "Fortunately we have a
way of remedying that, don't we?"
The baron set the serving dish down on Ju's flattened stomach and then used
his chopsticks to sort through the beef and onions before seizing one of the
largest of the onion rings. Ju was mystified by the strange behavior of the
vice-consul as he held the pungent ring up to his face, and studied it carefully
before whispering, "Perfect!" Then he lowered it and held it over the candle
he'd placed on Ju's chest. He held it there for a minute or so, turning it over
once or twice until the candle's flame had heated the ring evenly, and then he
pulled it away from the fire.
And a moment later, Baron Hans von Gutmayer held the ring of hot onion over
Ju's left breast and then released it, watching it slither snugly down over her
conical breast as neatly as if he had slipped a ring on her ringer.
"Ach! A perfect fit!" the baron enthused while Ju winced in pain as the hot
ring slithered down to the base of her breast. But when her movement caused a
few drops of hot wax to fall from the candle, she knew that she had more to fear
from that quarter and steeled herself to hold her body steady.
The baron, a man not without erotic imagination, proceeded to build a
four-tiered pagoda of candle-seared onion ringlets around Ju's quivering
breast-cone, each tier a slightly smaller ringlet than the one beneath. In
between the placement of each tier he grasped her cane-creased nipple between
the ends of his chopsticks and teased and tugged at it, making sure that it
remained yearningly erect.
When the fourth and smallest of the rings had been placed around Ju's
breast, only her taut, tasty nipple was visible. The baron slid around behind
the desk, so that his naked testicles hovered above Ju's lips. Then, after
removing the candle from her chest, he lowered his lips to the protruding
nipple-bud and took it between his teeth, savoring the delectable mixture of
onion and garlic and woman-breast, even as he pressed his lust-laden genitals
against Ju's mouth.
"Now, meine Liebe," he grunted, between clenched teeth, it is time for your
dessert. And consider - the more enthusiasm you display, the sooner you will
assuage my hunger." And he proceeded to bite into the first and smallest of the
rings of onion.
Every muscle in Ju's body was screaming from the strain of her almost
unbearable position as she took the baron's angry red phallus between her soft
lips. Only a few more minutes, she told herself, and he will be done, and I can
flee this monster forever.
Sustained by that thought, Ju devoted herself to her demeaning task, making
love to the baron's Deutschenschwanz with worshipful lips. Meanwhile the
baron's mouth moved ravenously around Ju's left breast, biting indiscriminately
at onions and breast-flesh. As he did so, his long right arm snaked down
between her legs to finger-fondle her champagne-sticky vagina for a minute or
two before closing on her right breast, which was still store from its repeated
bastings with hot sesame oil earlier in the evening.
Such was the dessert that Ju shared with the evil baron - her mouth filled
with his blood-swollen genitals while his teeth tore at one of her love-globes
and his punishing hand tightened ruthlessly on the other. Gutmayer gave vent to
a series of grunts of pleasure as he concentrated on the delicious pressure of
Ju's soft lips and warm tongue on his throbbing manhood as his excitement
mounted to new heights.
It was only when the baron felt himself on the brink of explosion that he
lifted his head from Ju's saliva-wet breast and took up the chopsticks once
again. He slapped the remnants of onion away from Ju's left breast and then
reached forward and trapped Ju's nipple between the matching sticks. As his
passion rose, and his face-pumping hip-thrusts came faster, he tightened his
grip on the chopsticks. Ju could only endure the excruciating nipple pressure,
be grateful that it was his left hand clutching the sticks, and pray that she
could bring him to a climax before the edges of the chopsticks severed the tip
of her breast.
.
But there remained one torment more for Ju's lovely breasts. The baron's
long right arm reached out for the candle holder and seized it. And each time
Ju's mouth relaxed her thrilling cock-suction, even for a moment, he tipped the
candle slightly so that molten wax dripped down onto the right breast of his
petite Chineschen puppchen, his China doll.
When at last the baron came, he shot half of his copious seed into Ju's
mouth and then pulled his still-spitting manhood from her lips so that he could
spray her face and throat and breasts with cock-cream.
"There's some sweet German icing for you, wench!" Von Gutmayer chortled as
he set the candle down and shook the last few drops of man-lust from his
dripping erection. Ju endured the humiliating christening silently, grateful
that the baron's left hand had finally relaxed its tenacious grip on her
inflamed nipple.
When the baron had squeezed every last drop of semen from his manhood, he
wiped his cock clean on Ju's silky hair and then reached down for his trousers.
Ju rolled onto her side and extended her legs, releasing, at last, the dreadful
muscular tension in which her lithe body had been contorted for what had seemed
an eternity. She lay there for a minute or two, her breathing ragged, as she
tried to collect her strength and her wits.
The baron turned away from her in order to plant himself in front of the
paneled mirror, glancing occasionally at the sinuous Praxitelean S-curve of Ju's
lovely body while he adjusted his clothing and smoothed his blonde hair back
into place. After spending a minute or two making sure that he was perfectly
groomed, he turned back toward his exhausted dinner companion, who was now
leaning awkwardly against the desk wiping at the ropes of semen on her face and
breasts with a corner of her chemise. She had already taken advantage of the
baron's vanity-time in front of the mirror to dislodge the cork and the
harrowing chiles from her burning rectum.
"That was most enjoyable, fraulein, most enjoyable," a thoroughly satisfied
baron muttered magnanimously as he strode behind his desk. He pulled at a
gleaming brass drawer-handle and then reached inside.
Ju heard a metallic clink a split-second before she felt the handful of
coins splashing against her face and body. They fell to the floor of the
baron's office and rolled around briefly before coming to rest, their shininess
reflecting the brilliance of the chandelier overheard.
"Don't stare at me like a fool, girl! Wipe that impudent expression off
your face and take them!" the baron snapped irritably.
Ju never looked at the coins, but continued to stare fixedly at the baron,
while she dressed in silence.
"As you wish, madchen. I will set them aside for you when you return.
Shall we meet again in three days' time? At 9:00?" the baron asked in clipped,
businesslike tones.
Ju buttoned the last two buttons on her blouse, pressed her skirt into
place, and slipped her feet into her shoes.
Her hand was on the doorknob, when she heard the baron's ominous voice for
the last time.
"In three days' time, fraulein, or you shall learn how thieves are treated
in Shanghai!"
********
As Ju trudged down the long dark corridor toward the staircase, her
thoughts were not ones of self-pity. She tried not to think of her pain-wracked
body, choosing rather to dwell on the future of her little boy -- and her
disappointment at not having managed to procure the green powder which would
have been such a blessing to her new friend.
She never noticed the shadowy figure who stood motionless in a dark corner
not far from the door to the baron's office.
For Frau Stahl had slipped off her shoes after taking twenty heel-clicking
strides away from the baron's office when she had left earlier. She had tiptoed
back to the door and pressed her ear against it and listened with suppressed
excitement, curious to learn the fate of the comely thief.
She had gasped in silent anticipation when she had heard the baron tell Ju
Hua to remove her clothing, and when the baron had told Ju to spread her legs,
she had felt a frisson of excited pleasure run through her body. For Greta
Stahl had been as captivated by Ju's dark silky hair, her sad soulful eyes, her
exquisite features and her trim little body as the baron himself had been.
Stahl had snuggled closer to the door, and when the baron had ordered Ju to
strip off her camisole, she had almost fainted with pleasure as she tried to
picture the pretty young maid's naked body. Part of her had been troubled by
the sound of an implement of punishment thwickking tender girl-flesh, but part
of her had been aroused, too, as she imagined a rod or cane etching dark lines
into soft golden skin. And after all, the girl did deserve a beating. Had she
not seen her steal the powder with her own eyes?
When the baron had ordered Ju to bend backward across the desk, Stahl had
cast aside all sense of propriety. She had placed her back flat against the
door to the baron's office, loosened her skirt and felt between her legs as she
listened, imagining the dainty serving-maid being stretched naked, or nearly
so, in such a vulnerable position. Her hand had come away dripping after
hearing the baron's icy threat, "or your breasts will pay the price," followed
momentarily by his menacing countdown and then the horrendous yet thrilling
sound of rod or cane ripping into Ju's dainty girl-globes. Ju's cries of agony
had been ghastly, unforgettable, but Greta Stahl knew that she would hear those
two conjoined sounds in dark dreams for weeks and months to come.
Stahl had slipped backward into a dark corner as she heard Ju prepare to
leave, and when the lovely, teary-eyed maid came through the door she almost
stepped forward to greet her, to comfort her. But she could not think of a way
to explain her presence, and she remained out of sight until Ju had begun to
descend the staircase at the far end of the corridor.
It was only much later, after making her rounds during which she checked to
see that all of the doors of the building were secure, when Greta Stahl was
safely ensconced in her own room, that it occurred to her that her secret
knowledge of the vice-consul's dark pleasures might prove to be of considerable
value....
Chapter 128 Erika Weiss and the Sinister Scotsman ...
Erika Weiss was struggling frantically to wrest her naked body from the
grasp of General Wang and his crony Hsi Fong when she heard the throaty roar of
the engines of the Yangtze Dragon start up. The sadistic general had just
abandoned his claw-like grip on the half-erect tips of her breasts in order to
strip away the panties bunched around her thighs, and Hsi Fong had still been
holding her tightly by the wrists, when the two men were startled by the loud
blast of the ship's claxon. The rumbling sound of the ship's engines convinced
Erika that her only chance of survival was to make a break for freedom before
the Yangtze Dragon was too far from the relative safety of land. For once the
vessel was at sea, she would be utterly at the mercy of Wang and Fong and the
band of lecherous cutthroats who manned the accursed ship.
When Hsi Fong relaxed his grip slightly, the stunning young blonde summoned
all of her energy and threw a vicious elbow that smashed into his chin and
knocked him backward so that his steel-gray head struck squarely against the
edge of the map-table, stunning him slightly. Then Erika threw herself at the
general, sending him reeling into the row of bookcases near the door.
Erika quickly burrowed inside the warlord's long reach, hoping to smash his
face and shoulders with her flailing fists. Taken completely by surprise by
Erika's daring gambit, the general threw a wild punch that glanced off of
Erika's left ear before slamming into the corner of the bookcase. Wang grimaced
in pain and cursed just as Erika's charging head caught him under the chin,
knocking off his officer's cap and causing him to bite his tongue. The
shaven-headed warlord could do little but fend off Erika's desperate and
ferocious attack until the cabin door opened a few moments later and the
hulking, red-bearded figure of Captain Andrew McMahon stepped into the room.
Growling, "Aye, what's this, then?" the skipper wrapped a beefy arm around
Erika's neck from behind and pulled the naked blonde off of a somewhat shaken
General Wang. "Dinna tell me the lassie's gotten the better of you, General,"
the Highlander boomed derisively as he thrust his arms under Erika's armpits.
Grunting, McMahon laced his fingers together behind her neck, skillfully
applying a painful wrestling grip which immobilized the thrashing arms of the
bare-breasted beauty. Erika continued to try to break free, occasionally
throwing a spirited kick in the general's direction, but eventually the
punishing pressure of the Scotsman's inexorable grip crushed her resistance, and
she ceased her attempts to free herself. She faced the malevolent Chinese
warlord, panting fiercely, her face flushed from exertion, her nude,
sword-whipped breasts rising and falling enticingly on her chest with her every
labored breath.
There was an icy calmness in General Wang's thin-slit eyes as he replaced
his cap on his shaven head and straightened its visor, before adjusting the
collar and sleeves of his neatly pressed uniform. He reached into an inner
pocket, retrieved a handkerchief and dabbed at his bloodied tongue and lip for a
moment or two before wrapping the handkerchief carefully around the hand that he
had injured when he had struck the bookcase. All the while his menacing eyes
never left Erika Weiss's nude body.
Erika's bare feet were somewhat parted, and the cold-eyed general let his
gaze drop to her long, bare legs, which rose in a lovely inverted V toward the
enchanting juncture between them. He felt the pressure in his loins mount as he
eyed Erika's golden triangle which seemed to point proudly toward the exquisite
feminine treasure which lay just beneath it. Her waist was hourglass thin, her
belly a taut expanse of sword-striped woman-flesh indented by an eye-catchingly
deep navel.
McMahon used his cast-iron grip on her shoulders to bend Erika forward
slightly, causing her to gasp in pain. The blue-eyed blonde's pendulous
breasts hung downward like grapefruits ripe enough to bend a branch, the
alluring curve of their declination spearheaded by her prominent, pinkish-brown
nipples.
"Miss Weiss, it seems that we have not gotten off on the best possible
footing," the general muttered in an almost inaudible whisper, before balling
his bandaged hand into a fist and uppercutting Erika's left breast with a
punishing, nipple-crushing blow.
"Auugghhhh!!" Erika cried out as her breast exploded in pain. She would
surely have fallen to her knees, had not the brawny ship captain held her nude
body more or less upright. The breast-punch was as excruciatingly accurate as
it was swift, the dark mark left by the general's fist straddling the reddish
bands the baron's sword had left on her breasts like an oversized note on a
musical stave.
"Ah, a lovely pair of mangos they are, laddie!" McMahon boomed. "But ye
dinna want tae bruise those beauties up tae badly just now, did ye?"
Ignoring the red-bearded mariner, a malicious-eyed General Wang was just
about to drive his well-wrapped knuckles into Erika's other breast, when another
man burst through the open doorway, calling, "Captain!"
"Wheesht! Ah, I kenned it was ye, Slegg, the minute I heard footsteps!
I'll no hae ye running up and doon ma boot like a drunken Weedjie. Oot with it,
mon!" The angry Highlander lifted Erika bodily with ridiculous ease and threw
her face down on the bed. "Lie still, lassie," he barked, "while I sort out
what this fool of a Sassenach is so het up aboot, or it'll be the worse for ye!"
"I've got a score to settle with her, too," an angry Hsi Fong growled as he
lurched toward the bed, still rubbing the back of his head with one hand. The
orange-robed mandarin had armed himself with a sharp-tipped draughtman's compass
from the map-table. He was just about to stab the pointed instrument into the
roundness of Erika's left bottomcheek, when a glance from the black-eyed general
froze him in his tracks.
Jasper Slegg's beady hazel eyes had watched admiringly when Erika's naked
body had hit the bed and bounced most alluringly. Slegg was a man of average
height and build, an unremarkable man really, save for a pugnacious chin and a
pair of piercing gray-green eyes that seemed to harbor an ancient grudge. He
wore an ivory-colored shirt with an open collar, and a short blue jacket which
bore the markings of a garment which had once been issued to a seaman on one of
Her Majesty's vessels many long voyages ago. Slegg stood silently for a moment,
letting his gaze slowly make its way down Erika's tapering back, her shapely
buttocks, and her long, lovely legs as ....
"Slegg! If ye dinna keep yer mind on yer business, I swear I'll break ye so
low, ye'll be reportin' to a cabin boy! What brought ye bustin' in here like a
bagpiper on Hogmanay?"
"Aye, sir," said Slegg, reluctantly tearing his gaze from Erika's nudity
while the two Chinese looked on with some exasperation. "It's Blackie ag'in,
Sir. He's got the cough bad."
"Does 'e indeed? Who do we hae for the next watch, then?"
"Not a man, sir, not really. Everyone not already on duty worked through
the night last night unloading the .... " Jasper Slegg paused, eyeing the two
Chinese suspiciously, before rasping out the word "cargo."
The ruddy, red-bearded captain unburdened himself of a string of voluble
curses. Then he turned to General Wang, "If the weather takes a turn for the
worse, I canna hae ye on the island the morra, General ... unless ...," he added
as a sudden spark of inspiration brightened his sea-blue eyes.
"Unless what?" Hsi Fong interpolated sharply, still twirling the compass
in his hands, disappointed that he had been denied the pleasure of jabbing the
sharp-tipped implement into the quivering buttocks of the blonde who had driven
his head into the captain's desk.
"How aboot the wench, laddie?" McMahon asked heartily, pounding a
ruffled-looking Hsi Fong on the back as if they were members of the same
Highland clan. "She looks like a strong lassie - let her work for her passage!
Unless ane o' you wants to man Blackie's post?" he added with a toothy grin as
he looked from one of the Chinese to the other.
"Now yer talkin', Cap'n," Slegg said with an unmistakable leer. I'll see
to it that the wench pulls her weight, you can bet your last barnacle on that."
Wang and Fong exchanged glances. Much of the foregoing had been virtually
unintelligible to them, although both had had occasion to learn some English
during the decades of European interference in Chinese commerce and customs.
But while they had hired McMahon and his vessel, once they were at sea it was he
who most assuredly held the upper hand. It was his cutthroats, not theirs, who
manned the Yangtze Dragon.
Erika lay on the bed, naked and terrified, bemoaning her fate. She too,
only understood bits and pieces of the conversation. She, too, had picked up a
little English a few years earlier during her long sea voyage to the east, when
the only young woman of remotely her own age had been the chatty governess of a
well-to-do businessman from Manchester. But though she did not understand all
of the words, she understood the gist of the conversation - that she was going
to be put to work, probably at a difficult, dangerous and unpleasant task.
"What will she be doing?" Wang asked, at length. Erika Weiss was probably
worth more to him than McMahon's ancient vessel.
"Come along, lads, and I'll shaw ye," McMahon boomed. "On yer feet, wench!
It's time to earn yer keep!"
Chapter 129 ... and his Crew of Cutthroats
Jasper Slegg stepped forward with alacrity, pulling Erika Weiss roughly to
her feet while his eyes feasted on her nude flesh. The heartsick blonde tried
to use her hands to cover herself, but there were too many men in the cabin,
staring at her from too many angles. She had never felt so naked and alone in
her life.
Her panties were still lying on the floor at the foot of the bed and the
rest of her clothes were hanging from the hook on which she had draped them
while Baron Gutmayer had laid the cruel stripes across her thighs, belly and
breasts with the flat of his sword-blade.
"Please ..." Erika asked beseechingly, "May I ... may I have my clothes
before I go ... out there," she said as she gestured toward the door that led
toward the ship's main deck. She remembered the stares, some displaying normal
masculine appreciation, some unbridled salaciousness, that she had received when
she had strolled down the deck fully clothed less than two hours earlier. She
could not begin to imagine the lechery with which the crewmen would ogle her if
she appeared before them in her present state of undress.
The Laird of Dornoch, for that was how an ensign in Her Majesty's Navy had
once jokingly referred to the man who'd grown up as a blacksmith's son not far
from the links on the Dornoch Firth, picked Erika's panties up off the floor and
draped them over the rest of her clothes as he fingered the finery hanging from
the hook thoughtfully. "Nae, lassie, these are a' much tae bonny for the kind
of work ye'll be daeing this nicht. But hae nae fear, I'll gie ye aught to
wear." The red-bearded skipper opened the closet opposite the bed and stooped
down to pick out a piece of clothing from the middle of a pile of clothes that
looked as if it had been strewn on the floor for weeks. Standing upright and
smiling broadly, the burly son of a blacksmith tossed Erika the garment he had
selected.
Erika reached out to catch it, but as she did so she felt the heat of
Jasper Slegg's lecherous gaze on her belly and breasts as soon as her hands had
left their defensive position in front of her body.
Blushing, Erika let the shapeless lump of wrinkled fabric unwind in her
hands, only to find that it was a sleeveless man's shirt on which, judging by
its multitude of perforations large and small, generations of moths had fattened
themselves. She pulled the thin, threadbare garment over her head with
trembling hands, trying to take no notice of its rancid smell. McMahon was a
big man, but she, too, was fairly tall and the shirt fell only to the very tops
of her thighs, playing an exciting game of peek-a-boo with her blonde pubic
hair. Following the amused gaze of her grinning captors, she tugged shyly at
the hem of the shirt, only to find that by doing so, the deeply-rounded neck of
the sleeveless shirt slid tantalizingly southward, revealing the sumptuous upper
slopes of her close-set breasts.
"I always said ye were a well-dressed man, Skipper," Jasper Slegg said with
a sly wink as he slipped his hand under the hem of the faded shirt to give
Erika's naked buttocks a lecherous squeeze. "But I'll be damned for a Portugee
if this shirt don't look a lot better on her than on you."
"Aye, she fills it oot richt nicely, or I'm Old Tom Morris," McMahon
agreed with a lusty grin. "How's that, lassie? Is it no a bonnie tartan?"
McMahon chuckled at Erika's discomfiture as she tried to evade Slegg's grasping
fingers. Then he turned more serious. "Are ye ready to man yer station?"
Nodding her head dejectedly, Erika followed the red-bearded mariner as he
made his way toward the door, with the General and the Commissioner of the
Imperial Seal close behind and Slegg bringing up the rear, his eyes never
leaving Erika's hemline, where the moth-eaten shirt played hide-and-seek with
the sweet, spankable curves of her delicious backside.
********
The ship's deck, normally a-buzz with activity, quieted to a standstill as
the small procession marched past. It seemed to Erika as if an extremely
high-pitched "all hands on deck" whistle, audible only to dogs and sailors, had
sounded, for there were suddenly Chinese and Malay crewmen everywhere, some of
them still-rubbing hammock-sleep from their eyes, eyeing her with silent
appreciation.
Erika tried to ignore the lustful stares, and looked out over the bay at
the outline of the harbor in the distance, its waterfront wharves and buildings
growing fainter with each passing second, and with them her last faint hopes for
freedom. Somewhere on the great continent beyond, Daniel Kauffmann was en route
to the meeting that Baron Hans von Gutmayer had arranged to decoy him out of the
way. She raised her eyes toward the darkening sky and implored the deity to
keep the good doctor and Ju, her kindly maid, safe from the treachery of the
German vice-consul.
The piety of her silent prayer was interrupted by a profane whistle of
admiration, followed by a deep baritone voice bellowing loudly in Chinese,
"Didn't I tell you, mate? You show me a nicer pair of tits than those between
here and Singapore, and I'll buy your rum every night for a year! Look at 'em,
boys!"
Erika turned toward the voice angrily. It was Deng-shan, the
fierce-looking sailor the baron had dubbed Gwang-zhou, standing among a group of
three men who had been working on a section of the ship's hull. The
well-stocked leather tool-bag around his waist and the hammer in his hand
indicated that he was the ship's handyman. Deng-shan's licentious gaze locked
onto her body as if he were a sea-hawk and she were the plumpest, juiciest fish
in the China Sea. He pressed the business end of the hammer against his crotch
and pointed the thick wooden handle toward her, while his companions snickered
salaciously.
Erika shivered noticeably, and not just from fear. The sun-bright skies of
two hours earlier had given way to a blustery late afternoon breeze that whipped
her long blonde tresses in the gusty wind, even as the chill in the air caused
her thinly-clad nipples to stiffen so that they poked shamelessly against the
moth-eaten fabric of her only garment. Erika crossed her arms over her
half-exposed breasts defensively when McMahon paused and gestured toward the
threatening clouds and said something to Wang and Fong that she could not quite
make out. But the concerned expressions on the faces of the three men made it
clear that McMahon was apprehensive about the worsening weather. In the few
short moments that she had been on deck, the wind had picked up and the sea had
grown heavier. The Yangtze Dragon, a smallish ship, had begun to pitch
noticeably on the increasingly choppy seas.
The procession had only taken another step or two toward the three gawking
workmen when a fresh gust of wind forced Erika to lower her hands from her chest
in order to tug protectively at the hem of her shirt, which the freshening wind
had caused to swirl around her hips, giving the ogling crewmen a good look at
her blonde-fringed treasure.
As soon as she dropped her hands, of course, the mariners' marauding eyes
reverted to her mouth-watering cleavage and the wind-chiseled tips of her
breasts that stabbed the flimsy fabric of her threadbare shirt.
"I'm not takin' that bet," the taller of the handyman's companions
rejoined, rubbing his hands together as his lecherous eyes fastened on Erika's
bold-thrusting pleasure-mounds.
"Hey, Deng!" The speaker was a short, sturdily built Malayan. He chuckled
obscenely and wiped a few pearls of spittle from the corner of his mouth. "D'ye
think there might be a man or two on board the Dragon that would care to have a
go at those big beauties?"
Deng nodded silently as he stared at Erika's luscious cleavage, intrigued
by the freshly discolored blotch just below the uppermost of the two dark bands
he had seen earlier -- the stripes that the baron's sword had left on her
majestic breasts. He looked at her four escorts in turn, wondering which of
them had had the pleasure of punishing the beautiful blonde's pleasure-globes
with his bare hands.
When their grim faces gave him no clue, he pictured himself stripping
Erika's flimsy garment from her body, leaving her as naked as he had seen her in
the captain's cabin. In his mind's eye he pressed her naked belly against the
waist-high rail and took her brutally from behind while he mauled her sensitive,
sword-lashed lust-melons with his powerful hands. He gave Erika Weiss a lewd
wink and then turned to answer the Malayan. "Aye. Just a few, pal, just a
few. And I wouldn't mind sailing a true course between those pretty legs
neither. My foremast is getting hard just thinkin' about it."
Erika felt successive waves of fear and shame wash over her, as the
disreputable threesome and those around them erupted into coarse laughter. But
it was not just that one handful of men. She felt the eyes of every man on deck
crawling over her scantily-clad body.
But she had no chance to voice her displeasure because just then Jasper
Slegg planted a bony-knuckled hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her
toward a dark opening in the deck that seemed to lead downward into the bowels
of the ship.
Chapter 130 Enslaved by the Dragon
"Doon ye gae, Slegg," McMahon barked, as the mate brushed past Erika,
preparing to descend into the innards of the ship. "Be ready tae catch her if
she falls." A moment later, the captain added, "Tak this wi' ye," tossing down
an arm-long length of inch-thick rope. "And if the lassie gies ye any throuble
or tries to run awa', tie her bonnie ankle to the Dragon and give her a guid
skelp or two across that pretty erse."
Erika shuddered, wondering at the nature of this mysterious 'Dragon' below
decks. She drew in a breath as she watched Slegg carefully negotiate the first
few rungs of a grimy metallic ladder that led below. A moment later he called
out, "There's a loose rung, Cap'n. Better have a man see to it."
"Aye, Slegg, that I will."
Half a minute later Erika heard Slegg's raspy voice echoing eerily upward
from below, "All right then, princess," he smirked, "Ye can descend the royal
staircase now," as Erika gingerly took a step downward into the darkness.
Erika's bare feet had no sooner touched the first rung of the stairwell
than she realized that some sort of strange, slippery coating lined its steps.
She took a second tentative step downward, and then a third, and then was
greeted by a strange blast of heat from below.
At first the heat felt good on her bare, wind-chilled legs, but with each
downward step the heat became more and more oppressive. As she cautiously
inched her way further down the ladderwell, rung by unseen rung, she felt as if
she were descending into a dark and lifeless cavern from which she might never
return.
She glanced upward, hoping to catch a last glimpse of sunlight, but could
make out only the looming figure and reddish beard of the Laird of Dornoch.
She took another step downward, and was surprised that she could now begin to
see Slegg's leering face below her, straining to peer between her long lean legs
as she gingerly lowered herself one slippery rung at a time. How, she wondered,
could it now be getting lighter, not darker, with each downward step into the
abyss?
As she continued her descent, the heat became still more intense and the
air more difficult to breathe until finally Erika, scolding herself for not
guessing the truth sooner, realized that she was descending into the stoking
room of the ship. The light that had illumined Slegg's face had come from the
fire raging away in a huge furnace. She slipped on the last step, and fell
into Slegg's waiting arms. She heard the ill-featured little man chuckle under
his foul breath, even as one grasping hand roamed freely over the front of her
body and the other crawled under the hem of the shirt and groped between her
legs.
Erika tore herself free from his lecherous grasp and stared up toward the
top of the stairwell, hardly believing that she found herself hoping to see the
gruff Captain McMahon and the two domineering Chinese following her down, so
that she would not be alone with the filthy-minded Slegg. But there was nothing
but darkness.
"I doubt that those chinks'll be coming down here, dearie." Slegg wheezed,
as he tried to back her against the ladder. "They're a mite too posh for that."
Gliding quickly to her left, Erika eluded him again, and then, hearing the
sound of metal banging on metal, she looked over Slegg's shoulder. Behind him
there was a huge mountain of coal, and two shadowy figures moving to and fro in
the darkness.
"They're the barrow men, blondie; they'll fill the barrows and wheel 'em
over here by the Dragon. It'll be yer job to feed the bloody beast."
"Quit footerin' aboot and put 'er tae work, richt awa', Slegg!" McMahon's
voice boomed down from above, "we've lost too much time already running the
engines sae slow. And there's mair than a bit of a storm brewin' tae boot!"
"Aye, Cap!" Slegg hollered upwards as he rolled his eyes in exasperation.
Turning back toward his comely apprentice, he gave her a crooked grin. "He's a
tight-fisted, kilt-wearin' pain in the arse, the cap'n is, Princess, but he
runs a tight ship and he knows how to keep the chinks in their place. And the
Laird's got a fine eye for what a bloke is lookin' for in a bit of fluff too."
Slegg's eyes brightened as he added confidingly, " Ah, you should've seen the
cargo we took ashore last night - arf a dozen o' them Siamese wenches, none of
'em more'n fifteen, I don't s'pose. But they had bodies that'd rouse the poets
in Westminster Abbey out of their coffins! Beautiful creeturs, they was,
Princess, with skin as golden as clover honey and as soft as the down of a
Peking duck." Slegg pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I wonder how they'll like
spreadin' their pretty legs tricks in a high class chink whorehouse. Oh, well,
it's none of my affair. But enough o' that. Time to face the Dragon, dearie!"
Using a long metal bar, Slegg pried open the mouth of the great furnace.
An explosive blast of heat greeted Erika, who backed away from the gaping
maw of the furnace. She stared at the blazing inferno in awe. Was this how
Brunnhilde had felt, she wondered, at the moment she spurred her stallion into
the towering flames of Siegfried's beckoning pyre? But Erika had not the
mythical heroine's will to die, and, shielding her face with an upraised hand,
she retreated from the man-made inferno, only to feel Slegg's body pressed
against hers once again.
She pulled away, glaring at him through a dimness darker than the
Nibelungs' cave, a darkness which was given an eerie orange cast by the hellish
heat and light given off by the furnace.
"Think that's hot, princess? Wait 'til we bring the engines up to proper
speed. It'll get so hot down here," Slegg added, pointing at her threadbare
shirt, "you'll think that you're wearin' a sweater of Irish wool. But don't pay
me no mind, missie, you just slip it off whenever you 'ave 'arf a mind to."
Slegg guffawed crudely as he glanced downward at the hem of Erika's shirt,
hoping for another glimpse of golden nether-hair. Still unsure of what to make
of her strange overseer, Erika tugged nervously at the bottom of her shirt as
Slegg extended a long-handled shovel in her direction. "See those?" he
bellowed, tried to make himself heard above the roar of the furnace.
Erika took the spade and followed Slegg's finger, which was pointed toward
the wheelbarrows full of coal that the barrow-men had filled and wheeled over
toward the fiery mouth of the furnace. "Them's yer passage, princess. Work
hard and maybe I'll go easy on yer." Slegg gave her ripe figure another long
once-over and then pushed her toward the nearest barrow. "Have at it, blondie!
Those fancy-arsed chinks want to be at the far end of Zhoushan Island by this
time tomorrow!"
Erika turned obliquely away from Slegg and tentatively forced the blade of
the shovel into the barrow, shamefully conscious of how the bending motion
caused the moth-eaten fabric of the long shirt to creep upward over the base of
her buttocks. She paused for a fraction to ponder how best to protect her
modesty only to hear a sickening CRACCCKK!! that was accompanied by a blinding
flash of pain across her back. She turned angrily toward Slegg, who was
leisurely recoiling the length of rope that McMahon had thrown to him as he
started down the shaft. "Step lively now, wench! If we're not making enough
speed, the cap'n 'll have my head." Then the little man's bad teeth widened
into a sickening grin. "But I'll have your sweet arse first!"
Glaring at him furiously, Erika threw the first shovelful of coal into the
furnace, causing it to flare up even hotter, and then turned back toward the
barrow to prepare the next one. Under normal circumstances shoveling coal was
taxing enough; in the oppressive, strength-sapping heat of the stoking room the
work was arduous in the extreme.
After plunging the heavy shovel deep into the heaping coal-cart several
times and then straining to deliver the load to the great furnace, Erika decided
to reduce the depth of her shovel-plunge by a fraction, in order to conserve her
strength. When Slegg merely stood there and watched her intently she thought
she had put one over on him. But as she turned to empty the fifth of the
reduced-load shovelfuls into the furnace, she felt Slegg's rope-whip sear the
flesh of her thighs, just below the hem of the shirt.
"Aaahh!" Erika cried out as she emptied the shovel and turned to face her
tormentor.
"D'ye think I'm a bloody fool, wench? I don't care if you shovel
half-loads at double speed, but if ye think ye're going to shovel half-loads at
a snail's pace, ye've got another think comin'!" Jasper Slegg swung the rope
again, and Erika tried to pivot out of the way, but she was penned in between
the barrows and the furnace and flight was virtually impossible.
CRACCKK!! the lash caught Erika on the left hip, tearing a hole in the
fragile shirt with acidic ferocity.
"All right! All right!" Erika beseeched him, and plunged the shovel into
the coal-mound, and then pressed a bare foot against the blade, to drive it even
deeper. Then she lifted the shovel upwards, feeling its heaviness burn into
the fully-taxed muscles of her arms and shoulders. Grunting from the strain,
she twisted her body sideways, only to lose her balance slightly as the Yangzte
Dragon breasted a particularly large wave. Fighting the queasiness in her
stomach, Erika turned and shoveled the coal into the furnace, and then turned
and began again.
Slegg gave vent to a derisive laugh at her misery. "Haven't quite got yer
sea legs yet, have ye, Princess? No matter. I'll see to it that ye earn them
tonight," he sneered as he fondled his rope-lash lovingly.
Within a few minutes of beginning her back-breaking labor Erika understood
why the absent stoker was called 'Blackie' - and why he was plagued by a
terrible cough. The air, if such the sooty atmosphere around the furnace could
be called, was thick with ash and ember, glowing bits of which occasionally
found their way onto her face, her hair, into her sweat-moistened cleavage and
onto her bare arms and legs.
Erika had only managed a few heavy shovelfuls of coal, before streams of
perspiration were pouring down her face and neck, her limbs and torso. But
knowing that Slegg was watching her like a hawk, she struggled laboriously to
stoke the fire.
Shovelful after laborious shovelful followed, each one challenging the
gleaming, straining muscles of her arms and back and shoulders. Though the
shovelfuls were all of nearly equal size, heat and fatigue made each one seem
heavier than the last. Worse, Slegg's oppressive, ogling glance weighed on her
mind and spirit every bit as much as the forced physical labor taxed her body.
From the darkness he squinted at her half-naked body with unbroken concentration
through unblinking reptilian eyes.
Perhaps half an hour after she had begun, the shovel slipped from her
sweat-slick hands and clattered to the floor alongside the furnace. The
exhausted blonde wiped her sopping brow and then bent over to pick it up only to
be greeted with another ferocious CRACCKK!! of the coarse rope-whip as Slegg
ripped into the nicely-curved flesh of her bare buttocks.
"Aaaaiiaahhh!!"
"Back to work, ye lazy slut - and don't let me catch you tryin' a trick
like that again! Yer going to earn yer passage the hard way, blondie."
Struggling to hold back tears of outrage, Erika spun around to face him,
only to find him grinning at her like at a scrawny Buddha. At the audible pop
of hemp on girl-flesh, the two barrow-men abandoned their attack on the great
mound of coal for a moment, and turned to stare at the magnificent blonde who
stood before the belching furnace, the contour of her luscious figure illumined
by its fiery glow. Noticing the unabashed frankness of their stares, Erika
glanced downward to find that the rivers of perspiration that had washed down
her body had made the moth-eaten fabric cling alluringly to her every curve.
The cloth seemed no thicker and no more opaque than a sheet of onionskin paper.
No sooner had she looked down than Slegg lashed out with the rope again,
aiming for and finding the livid mark that the baron's sword had left on her
upper thighs. Erika cried out in pain and tried to pull the shirt down over the
livid weals on her legs, but it was too short, and her efforts only managed to
pull the scoop-necked shirt lower and tighter over her ripe-nippled breasts.
"Hop to it, wench! Jasper Slegg cried out again. "Can't ye mark that
this old can's losing speed?" As she turned back toward the barrow she was
emptying, 'Pigtails', as Erika had dubbed one of the barrow-men, elbowed his
partner, 'Ponytail' and the pair of them exchanged obscene cupping gestures
while Erika plunged her shovel into the mound of gritty black fuel and tried to
suppress the tears that were welling up from her heart.
Pigtails, a wiry little man whose snout-like nose had been bashed sideways
in a long-forgotten brawl in a sweltering waterfront dive, and Ponytail, a
sullen, burly, ape-visaged sailor with a single braided queue and three days
growth of dark whiskers, went back to their dismal drudgery, filling barrow
after barrow with black slag. But from that moment forward they took every
opportunity to steal a glance at the long, bare legs and the ripe, half-revealed
breasts of the scantily clad blonde who labored under the watchful eye and the
diligent lash of Jasper Slegg.
For Slegg, unencumbered with other duties, was free to ogle Erika Weiss to
his heart's content. He watched her for a while from behind, relishing the way
the ratty shirt slid up over the smooth, soft skin of her buttocks each time she
bent down for another shovelful. He wiped at his mouth hungrily as he studied
the deep, inviting groove between Erika's milky-pale bottom-cheeks trying to
hatch a plan that would allow him to batten the hatches of the sweetest piece of
girl-flesh he'd seen since he'd come to the far east seeking his fortune.
********
Jasper Slegg had been sailing under Andrew McMahon for several years
during which time the ruddy Scottish sea captain, besides dealing in more
conventional goods and the extremely lucrative trade in Indian-grown opium, had
scoured flesh markets from the Gulf of Aden to the Sea of Japan to find young
beauties to stock the brothels of the five treaty ports. But the Laird, as,
Slegg sometimes addressed McMahon behind his back, had strict rules about
keeping the men on board away from the future pleasure-girls, properly fearful
that his dissolute crew would despoil the youthful looks and freshness that
brought his 'wares' the high prices that had made the humbly-born captain quite
a wealthy man. Little did the tippling mariner know that below decks, Slegg,
assisted at times by Deng-shan, often ran a sort of female circus in the wee
hours while the Laird was snoring away the effects of a pint or two of Scotch
whisky.
Slegg, like his master, was an enterprising and avaricious man. A year or
two earlier he had conceived the idea of letting the crewmen take certain
harmless liberties with the lovely and otherwise well-cared-for creatures that
McMahon kept confined in upright bamboo cages in a special hold that Slegg had
dubbed 'the Brig'. For a modest price, the lowest deck-swabber on the Yangtze
Dragon could get a look at beauties he could never have dreamt of possessing on
shore. For a few pennies more, the female cargo, prodded by a wickedly sharp
bamboo stick wielded by Slegg himself, would be coerced into pressing their
soft, shapely bodies against the bamboo bars of their cages so that his
'customers' could fondle their nubile flesh. Another penny or two would entitle
the patron to grope the intimate private parts, fore and aft, of one of the
future courtesans, who, ignorant of the Laird's edict, co-operated, for the
most part, for fear of suffering far worse indignities.
Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Slegg smiled to himself, remembering the
voyage a year or two ago during which Captain McMahon had brought those two
dusky island goddesses from Ceylon to Shanghai. By the time the men aboard
could make out the lights in the harbor, there was scarcely a coin on the
Yangtze Dragon that hadn't found its way into his own pocket. And the soft
brown eyes and sweet young bodies of the Siamese nymphs he and McMahon had
delivered last night had brought him a nice windfall as well. Even if the
frightening image of a Black Scorpion above the doorway of the bordello where
they had made the delivery had been a bit unnerving.
Slegg had long since convinced himself that he ran something of a public
service, that he performed an invaluable economic function on board ship. The
sailors had money and rarely stayed at any port of call for long. Slegg's
menagerie, he reasoned, gave them an opportunity to spend their hard-earned
wages. When he was in his cups, he had once laughingly told his cronies that he
was fostering international trade by means of his 'open legs' policy toward
China.
Slegg himself had violated the Captain's ban on sexual relations only on
rare occasions, usually when rum or Bombay gin had gotten the better of him.
But never, as he watched Erika's superb body bend and dip in the fire-light, had
he been so sorely tempted as he was this night. And, he reasoned cunningly,
this one did not seem to be the Laird's property, but rather that of the two
well-dressed Chinese. Besides, hadn't McMahon himself said that he was to give
her a smack or two, if she gave him any trouble? He fingered the rope lovingly
as his eyes explored Erika's statuesque body. Yes, the possibilities were quite
intriguing. But how to bring his darkest desires to fruition?...
********
As Slegg pondered his next move, he moved back and forth in a semi-circle
around Erika, occasionally flicking her with the rope-whip, continually changing
his position in order to get a better look at her mouthwatering body while she
slaved away at the barrows drawn from the endless mound of coal.
Erika tried to pretend that the rope-wielding mate wasn't there, but it
was impossible, particularly when he stood directly across from her. Three times
a minute she was forced to bend forward to spear the barrow-mound of coal with
her shovel, and three times a minute her lush orbs, slick with sweat, nearly
spilled out of the low neckline of the sleeveless undershirt. Like the light
given off by the furnace, Slegg's gaze was white hot and intense. His
gray-green eyes seemed to be drawn magnetically to Erika's tempting
breast-buds, which had been chafed to a shameless semi-stiffness by the
constant rubbing of the rough fabric against her sensitive nipples.
As he drank in the delicious sight of the sweating, straining body of his
stunning prisoner, Slegg cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder to see if
the barrow men were watching. When he saw that they weren't, he slowly rubbed
the side of his hand against the thick erection that formed a large lump in his
trousers.
Doing her best to ignore her reptilian-eyed voyeur, Erika strove to develop
a rhythm, a series of flowing motions, that would ease her back-breaking
drudgery. She drove the shovel deep into the black mound in the barrow, then
lifted it clear, turned toward the hungry mouth of the furnace, overturned the
shovel and then turned back again to drive the shovel's blade once again. Her
ordeal was not made easier by the fact that the Yangtze Dragon seemed to be
tossed at will by the wind and waves, causing her to lose her footing and very
nearly her light lunch on two or three occasions, but the paleness of her pallor
seemed to amuse her rope-wielding nemesis. From time to time she heard a series
of loud clanging noises that seemed, in her exhaustion, to be coming from the
upper reaches of the furnace, as if the gluttonous beast was belching out
demands for more sustenance.
Erika managed to keep up the pace fairly well for the first hour, although
every muscle in her upper body cried out for rest. The heat was hellish,
unbearable, and she was half-blinded by rivulets of sweat that poured down over
her brow from her hair and scalp. But each time she paused at her labor to wipe
the sweat away, Slegg was there with his improvised whip, slashing it across her
shoulders, her back, her buttocks, her thighs.
"Back to work, you lazy wench!" he snarled as he raked the rope across her
bare, sweat-slick shoulders. "There'll be time enough for the likes of you to
rest when your watch is done!"
Erika soon lost all track of how long she had been in the hellish inferno
below decks, although it seemed an eternity. Worse, she had no idea how long
her ordeal would last. Would her watch be two hours? Four hours? Eight
hours?
From somewhere above her, Erika once again heard the sound of metal banging
on metal. She continued to slave away, her scantily-clad body silhouetted
against the furnace, her face and arms and shoulders flushed from heat and
exertion. She worked desperately to keep pace with the barrow men, fighting a
losing fight to empty the barrows as fast as they could bring them to her.
Because each time they got more than two barrows ahead of her they were able to
take a brief break, positioning themselves so as to take full advantage of the
light the roaring furnace threw on her statuesque body.
Erika hated their lecherous stares with a passion. 'Pigtails' was a
small, skinny, scrawny man, whose misshapen nose was ill-centered in a homely
face that tapered to a weak, pointed chin. Sporting a malicious grin, he
deliberately placed himself squarely on the opposite side of whichever barrow
Erika was working on, his body swaying ever so slightly from side as he watched
her work. His beady little eyes were furtive, darting nervously from Erika's
bare legs to her opulent breasts as they wobbled enticingly with her every
movement. The pale, sweat-soaked shirt did little to veil the ripeness of her
curves. Her sweat-moistened nipples, chafed to an irksome erectness by the
coarse fabric, were pointed peaks of desire as Erika continued to transfer
shovelfuls of coal from barrow to furnace with limb-aching regularity. But it
was the precise moment that Erika thrust the spade into the barrow that Pigtails
enjoyed most, the moment when Erika was forced to bend low, so that her
ash-tinged mounds spilled almost completely out of the Laird's undershirt.
When Pigtails had first taken his position there, Erika had hesitated,
knowing how brazenly her bending motion would display her charms. But a searing
Slegg-slash to the base of her bottom curves quickly brought her to heel. She
could do nothing more than glare at the horrid little man, before bending down
with the shovel and giving the filthy-minded beast the bird's-eye view of the
nude-almost-to-the nipples breasts that he so obviously craved.
"Nice tits, ain't they Mouse?" Slegg had nicknamed the furtive little runt
well, Erika thought. Ignorant of English, Mouse looked up at Slegg nervously,
but when Slegg greeted his glance with a lecherous grin, and gestured toward
Erika's cleavage, Mouse nodded and rubbed his skinny fingers together gleefully.
"And a fine arse, too, eh, Yim?" Slegg nudged the ape-like man with the
long queue of hair, who stood at his elbow watching streamlets of sweat trickle
down Erika's bare legs. The taciturn Yim said nothing, but grunted
approvingly. The three men watched Erika toil away for another minute or two
until she had emptied the barrow she was working on, indicating that she was
catching up to the barrowmen.
"All right, party's over! Back to work!" Slegg barked to the two Chinese.
Yim reluctantly turned back toward the dense mound of coal slag, but Mouse
pretended to take no notice of him, continuing to feast his eyes on Erika's
luscious breasts.
"Back to work, I said! Chop chop!" Slegg, not used to being ignored,
glared at the diminutive collier.
The little man scowled at Slegg, but Yim, his sullen countryman, muttered
in Chinese, "C'mon, Mao, what's the use?"
Mao, the Mouse, shrugged his shoulders despondently and as the two men
returned to their labors, Slegg turned back toward Erika, who had been watching
the brief exchange.
"What are you looking at, ya lazy wench," he snapped maliciously, lashing
out with the rope-whip and stinging her left thigh. "Get yer pretty arse back
to work!"
In pain, Erika dropped her shovel and reached for her bare thigh, further
infuriating the impatient Englishman. He slashed at her again, this time
aiming the stinging end of the rope at the bare topsides of her glistening
breasts. His aim was true and the moment the rope-scourge seared Erika's
breast-flesh, she cried out in agony and spun around, cradling her burning
globes in her hands, giving Slegg an open shot at her naked buttocks. Grunting
fiercely, the evil-tempered Englishman lashed at her shapely bottom again, and
then again, the tip of the rope scraping painfully at her smooth, rounded
bottomcheeks. "Feed the Dragon, I said!!"
Erika reached for the shovel, only to feel the lash leave another
scorching path across the fronts of her thighs, finding the narrow band of flesh
that was still tender from the baron's saber-whipping. Maddened by pain and
exhaustion, Erika grasped the shovel by the handle and swung it wildly at
Slegg's head, but missed, the end of the blade clanging harmlessly but loudly
against the side of one of the wheelbarrows.
"You'd better put that bloody thing down, Missy," rasped a pale, shaken
Slegg, "or I'll make you wish you had."
"Schwein!" Erika, seething, came at him again, swinging the shovel back in
the other direction, and this time she made contact with the retreating sailor,
the very tip of the shovel catching him just above the right eye.
"Aaarrghhh!! You cunt!!"
Erika felt a thrill of triumph as she watched blood pour out of the gash
she had opened and begin to stream down the side of Slegg's face. His features
contorted in pain, as he wiped at the blood disbelievingly. Erika drew back
the shovel to club him again, while the Mouse and the Ape looked on from across
the room, momentarily frozen into immobility.
But just as Erika took the shovel back over her shoulder, it seemed to
catch on something, and though her arms tried to swing down, the shovel- handle
was not forthcoming, and a moment later she felt it slipping from her
sweat-drenched fingers.
"Whaa ..." she began, half turning, just in time to feel the handle of the
shovel being driven into her solar plexus with gut-wrenching force. As she
doubled up in pain she found herself staring at the scowling face of Deng-shan,
the muscular handyman. She suddenly realized that the clanging sounds she had
heard earlier must have been Deng-shan repairing the rung that Slegg had
complained about. He had evidently heard their scuffle and rushed down the
ladder to lend a hand.
As she circled away from Deng, the shovel-wielding Chinese, Erika felt
Slegg's rope-whip scald the backs of her thighs again. She cried out in pain
and tried to thread her way between a row of barrows toward the unguarded
staircase, but Deng-shan reached out and grabbed her awkwardly by the front of
the shirt in order to swing her back toward Slegg.
Erika tore free from his grip, but not before Deng-shan's violent wrench
had torn the moth-eaten fabric of her shirt from neck to navel. As she pulled
away from him, Erika's luscious breasts sprang free, just in time to receive a
vicious diagonal slash from the cursing, bloody-faced Englishman. Meanwhile
Deng's effort had caused him to lose his balance on the dust-covered floor, and
his feet went out from under him. As he fell, he struck his head squarely
against the sturdy iron rim of one of the coal-carts. He sat on the floor
half-stunned, staring stupidly at the piece of Erika's shirt in his right hand.
"You fucking whore!" a half-blinded Slegg raged, as he stumbled after the
fleeing beauty, lashing wildly at her again. The tip of the rope-whip snaked
around Erika's back and bit at her naked breasts again. In a frenzy of pain
Erika's flight instinct took over, and she lurched toward the ladder, even as
Slegg's follow-through caused him to trip heavily over the fallen Deng-Shan.
Erika's heart was pounding furiously as she managed to claw her way up three
slippery rungs before she felt a pair of hands clawing at her ankles.
"Get her, Mouse!" she heard Slegg yell. Erika kicked downward viciously
at the clutching hands, her bare foot connecting squarely with Mao's angular
chin.
His pigtails flying, Mao cried out in pain and fell back, releasing his
grip. Erika tried to surge up the ladder, little knowing what she would find
above, but with the idea that the heavy weather might well have driven most of
the crew from the main deck. Even a dash to the rail and a dive to a quick,
watery death was preferable to the unspeakable horrors she might face if the men
clawing at her heels succeeding in keeping her imprisoned in the bowels of the
ship.
Despite her fatigue Erika hoisted her body up one rung and then clambered
desperately to find her footing on the next, before she felt another hand, a
stronger hand, on the ankle which had found no purchase. She kicked downward
again, but missed, and while she was off balance from that attempt, a second
hand closed on her other ankle.
"Don't let her get away, Yim!" Mao shrieked in high-pitched Chinese.
Erika felt Yim's brawny arms tugging at her slippery foot, but she fought
desperately to maintain her grip on the rung above her head, so that she would
be able to pull herself upward if the Ape relaxed his pressure. But the
powerful hands of the pony-tailed barrowman were relentless, twisting and
wrenching Erika's imprisoned ankles, until with a vicious downward jerk, he tore
her fingers loose from her grim handhold. Erika's heart sank along with her
body, as she felt her breasts scrape painfully against the rungs of the ladder
she had managed to climb before Yim pulled her back down into the hellinsh
depths of the stoking room.
Erika's bare feet had no sooner touched the ashy floor of the stoking room
again, when Yim, an evil smile beginning to form on his impassive face, spun her
around and pinned her back against the ladder. The pony-tailed man's meaty paws
quickly found their way inside the gaping rent in her shirt. Erika punched
wildly at the side of his head as his simian fingers mauled her tender breasts,
but the big man merely laughed and caught the wrist of his blonde prisoner,
whose strength had been inexorably sapped by the countless back-breaking
shovelfuls of coal.
"Out of the way, Yim! She's mine!" she heard a freshly-risen Deng-shan
growl. Erika heard Ponytail mutter something angrily under his breath, but he
deferred to the more senior crewman and slid around behind her and wrestled her
arms back over one of the rungs of the foot-ladder, pinning them behind her and
leaving her defenseless.
Grinning maniacally, Deng approached her and grabbed the hem of her shirt
and pulled what was left of her sweat-sodden garment up over her rounded hips.
He smiled wickedly at the sight of her blonde pubic hair and inviting labia and
then he rolled the shirt up some more, up over her deep-notched belly and then
over her bold-thrusting breasts, until it was little more than a pale rope
framing the upper curves of her magnificent melons.
"Keep her quiet, you fools!" Slegg rasped, taking a hand away from his
blood-gushing wound in order to cup a hand over his mouth to make his meaning
clear. "The cap'n 'll skin us alive if they hear us down here!"
His words were no sooner spoken than Erika felt the man with the queue wrap
a big hand over her mouth, stifling her cries of anguish. For by now there were
grasping, sweaty hands attacking her body from three sides. Yim's free hand
was fondling her buttocks with obscene delight, cupping and squeezing her
nether-globes. One of the Mouse's hands raced furtively up and down her thighs,
while the prying, spider-like fingers of his other hand tried to insinuate
themselves into the soft folds of flesh between her legs.
Meanwhile, Deng-shan's hands had closed on the ripe-nippled breast-mounds
that he had longed to get his hands on since the moment he had seen them in the
captain's' cabin. Although the upper slopes of her breasts were sprinkled with
ash and soot, the red bands the baron's saber had left around Erika's nipples
still stood out plainly on her creamy flesh. Ignoring her whimpers of pain,
Deng manhandled her lust-globes with punishing thoroughness, his strong,
masculine fingers kneaded her yielding tit-flesh, wiping the coal-smudge from
her sweaty mounds even as he crushed her soft, firm melons together and worked
her thickening nipples between his thumb and forefinger.
After a couple of minutes of such breast abuse, Deng-shan stepped back, and
slapped each of Erika's pleasure-mounds twice with his coal-tinged hands,
despite her futile efforts to twist away. Smiling wickedly at her abject
helplessness, Deng undid first his tool belt, which he proceeded to cast on top
of a nearby barrow of coal, and then his trousers, peeling them down his legs
proudly, enjoying the horrified expression on Erika's face. His surging cock
jutted upward and outward from a dark nest of pubic hair, hard and thick, its
blue-red veins almost bursting with man-lust.
During Deng-shan's momentary retreat, Mao buried his burrowing snout
against the side of Erika's left breast, sucking noisily at the sweaty globe.
Deng roughly pushed the Mouse's head out of the away and stepped forward until
his flat, hairy belly and his muscular thighs were hard against Erika's body.
Erika felt his virile erection, liberated from his dark, loose-fitting trousers,
pressing against her sweat-moist pubic hair and she screamed, or tried to, into
Yim's silencing paw.
"Don't think I didn't see the way you looked at me topside," Deng-shan
snarled in Chinese as he gouged his fingers under the backs of her thighs and
lifted upwards, wrapping Erika's bare legs around his waist. "The way you look
at all of us." He gave the fallen Slegg a surreptitious glance. "Round-eyed
bastards! You all think that you're better than us," he grunted under his
breath as he positioned his cock at the inviting portals of Erika's womanhood.
Erika only had time to mouth a plaintive, unheard, "No," into Queue's thick
hand before Deng rammed his body forward, slamming her back against the ladder,
even as his rutting cock slid into the warmth of her pussy. "Don't you? Don't
you?" he growled in a gravelly voice as he tightened his grip on her hips and
drove his body into hers again.
Jasper Slegg, for whom the three Chinese bore little affection, was still
crouching on one knee, unleashing a litany of vile obscenities as he used his
sleeve to staunch the blood flowing from the gruesome gash over his right eye.
Mouse, having been chased away from his mouth-hold on Erika's juicy breast,
rubbed at his sore chin until a new inspiration struck him. He scurried across
the room and reached down and grabbed the Englishman's rope, and then took up a
position alongside Yim, whose thick middle finger was by now probing deep into
Erika's buttock crease.
The big man watched as his diminutive comrade, his mouth contorted in a
diabolical grin, flipped the rope over Erika's head from behind. Then, being
careful to avoid Deng's head, he let it slide down over the German beauty's
proud-thrusting breasts before snapping it back viciously tight, jerking Erika's
upper body backward against the ladder. Erika felt as if her breasts had been
encircled by a band of steel fitting tightly around her sensitive areolae. And
then the band of steel began to move, as the mouse-faced-little man began to saw
the rough-fibered cord back and forth across her tender breast-flesh, just
beneath the pinkish-brown nipple-buds that Deng's cruel fingers had coerced into
unwilling erection.
The long-legged blonde thrashed her head from side to side in agony, as
Deng-shan thrust into her again, her misery compounded by the sensation of
Queue's thick, slobbery tongue working its way deep into her earlobe.
Deng-shan tightened his grip on Erika's thighs and lunged yet again,
delighting in his victim's desperate but futile struggles. When her left nipple
popped slipped free from the abrasive grasp of Mao's bondage rope, Deng-shan
sucked the tender morsel into his mouth and attacked it with tongue and teeth
until it stood out from her breast as hard and brown as a knot of leather.
All the while he pumped into her viciously, their sweaty bodies united into
one obscene, eight-limbed beast. Grunting like a beast of burden, Deng-shan's
used his powerful thighs to slam Erika against the ladder again and again and
again, as his thrusting cock plumbed the innermost depths of her womanhood. As
his towering arousal neared its climax, he trapped Erika's nipple-nugget between
his jagged teeth and his jaws clamped down on it with wolf-like ferocity.
Erika screamed as his fangs snapped shut on her tender love-bud, but her
anguished cries were smothered by Yim's brawny hand. Desperately she managed to
free one arm from its painful prison behind the rung of the metal ladder, and
she pushed against Deng-shan's chest just as his orgasm began. Mercifully the
intensity of the dreadful breast-bite receded as a prolonged climax caused the
powerfully-built sailor's body to generate a final series of staccato thrusts.
He exploded inside her, drenching the walls of her vagina with wave after wave
of man-semen.
Deng fell away from her, panting and breathless, as Erika exhaled for what
seemed to be the first time in minutes. But her respite was to prove
short-lived. Pigtails had thrown the breast-rope aside and worked his way in
front of her, one hand wrestling with Erika's newly free arm, while the other
grabbed at her blonde-tufted crotch.
"After ME, you Chinese scum!" Jasper Slegg had risen to his feet and there
was a deranged look in his good eye as he grabbed the rope and waved Mao out of
the way. The skinny Chinese looked up angrily but stepped back, giving Slegg
room to whip the thick rope-lash into the soft flesh of Erika's defenseless
breasts.
"Aaagghmmfpfh!!" she screamed into Yim's mouth-cupping hand.
"Over there! Bring 'er over there!" Slegg gestured wildly, and Queue and
Pigtails took hold of Erika. During their brief, one-sided struggle, the
tattered shirt that Deng-shan had rolled up over breasts slowly slid back into
place. But the front of the shirt was in ruins; it was now little more than a
flimsy vest-like rag that had been ripped open down to below her navel. Only a
few belt-like inches of fabric across Erika's nymph-slender waist held the
narrow vertical panels of the vest in place, but they did little more than frame
the luscious, pink-tipped lust-mounds that spilled out from between them.
The two Chinese dragged a kicking, clawing Erika bodily toward a heaping
barrowful of coal slag which Queue had wheeled in front of the great, black,
fire-breathing beast just before the melee broke out.
"Throw her across it! And be quick about it!" Responding to Slegg's
gestures, the two Chinese, one on each arm, threw Erika face down across the
front of the barrowful of coal, crushing Erika's full breasts into the jagged
ebony lumps. Her L-shaped, stretched-out position caused the raggedy shirt to
slide back up over the under-curves of her tempting buttocks which were now
posed deliciously high in the air.
"My turn now, whore!" Slegg roared, as he slashed the rope across the backs
of Erika's supple thighs, enjoying the way her long legs writhed in response.
Then, seeing that Deng-shan was standing there watching him, he turned and
growled, "You've had your fun. Now feed the Dragon for a bit while the rest of
us have a go at her. If the blarsted engines run slow for too long, the Laird
'll have our heads. Don't look at me like I'm daft, man, hop to it - do a good
job and I'll see to it ye get another crack at her -- after we're done."
Hearing those ominous words, and seeing the malevolent smirk on Slegg's
face, Erika redoubled her efforts to escape, but the more she struggled the
harder Mao and Yim pressed her belly and breasts into the flesh-scraping pile of
coal. .
Deng-shan considered Slegg's offer for a moment, and then reluctantly
reached for Erika's bloody-bladed shovel. "Not that one," Slegg snarled. "Hand
me that one and grab one of the others; I've got a score to settle with this
one!"
Stuffing the rope in his belt, Slegg took the shovel from Deng Shan and
held it out in front of him at chest height, parallel to the ground. "Lift up
her arms!" he rasped, raising the shovel slightly to convey his meaning to Queue
and Pigtails. When they jerked the prostrate blonde's arms painfully up behind
her, Slegg brutally rammed the shovel handle into her armpits cross-wise,
effectively imprisoning Erika's arms behind the thick wooden staff.
Erika groaned in misery, but the revenge of Jasper Slegg had only begun....
Chapter 131 The Revenge of Jasper Slegg
Jasper Stegg stood for a long moment admiring Erika Weiss's nearly-nude
body. Mao and Yim, the lust-crazed Chinese coal-shovelers, had bent her face
down over the front edge of the coal barrow, so that her splendid breasts were
cruelly crushed against the jagged coal slag, and her elbows were bent
helplessly backward over the shovel handle Slegg had driven into her armpits.
The Englishman stepped between Erika's thrashing legs and put his palms on
the hem of the tattered shirt that reached only to the upper slopes of her
alluringly positioned buttocks. He slowly eased the flimsy fabric up over her
naked backside, pausing every few inches to caress her trembling bottom-cheeks.
He squeezed her spankable behind with obscene gusto, enjoying Erika's wriggling
attempts to escape his marauding hands.
"Ah, ye're a sweet bit of strudel, ain't ye, frowlein," Slegg gloated as he
edged Erika's ragged shirt higher, up over her deep-dimpled tailbone and past
the hour-glass slimness of her waist, until it stretched across the middle of
her back within easy reach of her bent-back hands. "Hold yer shirt up,
princess!" he growled, "while I show you how sailors deal with rebellious,
round-bottomed sluts!"
Slegg pressed the edge of the rolled-up shirt into Erika's hands and then
gave her heart-shaped derriere a last lecherous squeeze before retreating a few
steps. He pulled the thick, yard-long length of rope from his belt, while Mao
and Yim kicked Erika's bare feet wider apart, emphasizing her nakedness and
vulnerability. Slegg wiped at the bloody gash over his eye and then he lashed
out at Erika's bare legs.
CRACKK!!
Erika gasped in pain and reared backward against the shovel handle as she
felt the heat of the lash across her upper thighs. But her Chinese captors were
far stronger than she, and quickly forced her body back down against the coal
barrow. Meanwhile Yim covered her mouth with a brawny hand so that her cries of
misery could not be heard up on deck.
Slegg eyed the livid mark the rope-whip had left on Erika's bare legs with
satisfaction, and then raised his glance upwards a few inches. "Aye, wriggle
yer sweet arse all ye like, wench!" Slegg taunted her as the muscles in Erika's
shapely buttocks clenched spasmodically.
The brutish mate lifted the rope-whip high and then brought it squarely
down on the base of Erika's spine. The force of the blow caused Erika's body
to recoil. Her back arched magnificently for a moment, emphasizing the
pleasing curvature of her buttocks. But only for a moment. The pressure of
four arms made strong by years of manual labor soon forced her nude torso back
into the abrasive embrace of the coal-cart.
Gripping the rope tighter, Slegg whipped it across the lower third of
Erika's nicely-curved behind with a resounding CRACCKKK!!! extracting yet
another muffled sob of anguish from the bare-bottomed blonde. Slegg wiped the
sweat from his brow and paused for a moment to take stock.
"So ye think that was a stinger, d'ye, dolly?" Slegg scoffed scornfully as
he playfully trailed the end of the rope along the crevice that separated
Erika's tremulous buttocks. "If I had a proper whip down here in this hellhole
instead of this braided bit of dung, yer pretty arse'd be dancin' a bleedin'
hornpipe!"
The ceaseless rocking of the Yangtze Dragon on the troubled sea would have
induced queasiness in an inexperienced traveler, but Slegg's cast-iron stomach
was as hard as his heart. The stormy seas did, at times, impart a gentle
rolling motion to Erika's tempting posterior. As he watched her rounded
hindquarters sway invitingly, the southern fringe of her blonde bush shimmered
in the eerie light, sending a fresh ripple of sexual pleasure surging through
his loins. Erika's arms and lower legs and shoulders, and even her beautiful
face, were streaked and smudged with dark coal dust, but the German beauty's
undulating bottom-globes seemed to glow in the infernal light given off by the
great furnace. The flesh of her sweat-sheened back and buttocks was as pale as
Devonshire cream, and yet tinged with the soft warm glow given off by the
orange-tinged exhalations of the fire-breathing Dragon.
Slegg mopped at the blood that was seeping into his bad eye so that he
could better appreciate the soft, sensuous perfection of Erika's upturned
buttocks as she wriggled in the grasp of her leering Chinese captors. With her
body stretched over the front of the coal-cart, her beautifully rounded
half-moons were perfectly positioned for the next wicked crack of the whip, and
for the depraved carnal pleasures that were yet to come. Pleasures that Slegg
had envisioned since he'd gotten his first good look at Erika's resilient
bottomcheeks.
The evil Englishman gritted his irregular teeth and lashed out with his
improvised whip again, scoring Erika's sweat-soaked buttocks with the stinging
tip of the rope despite the shapely blonde's desperate attempts to escape the
biting lash. Ignoring her half-stifled cry of pain, the lizard-eyed little man
altered his position slightly and slashed at the springy curves of her ass
again, this time CRACKKKing the last foot of the rope-whip around her bottom so
that its tip left a nasty reddish mark on Erika's right flank.
Slegg, grimacing, paused to inspect the hand that held the rope-whip. Mao
took advantage of the brief interlude to grab Erika's blonde mane and jerk her
blonde hair back forcefully, lifting her luscious breast-globes clear of the
coal-cart. The Mouse-like man buried his wet tongue in Erika's ear, and slid a
greedy hand inside her gaping shirt so that he could he fondle her lust-mounds
with his insistent fingers, first kneading the resilient love-gourds and then
tweaking and twisting her sensitive nipples into aching erection.
Slegg bent down and picked up the bit of cloth that Deng-shan had torn
from Erika's shirt earlier.. He wrapped it slowly around his right hand, and
then, after tentatively flexing his hand once or twice, curled his lip upward in
grim satisfaction. He re-gripped the rope-whip carefully, waiting for the two
Chinese to force Erika's body back down against the coal-barrow, before once
again sweeping the lash viciously across the rounded summits of Erika's
mouthwatering derriere.
CRACCKK!! "Awgfmmphph!" Erika groaned into the hand covering her mouth,
her discomfort worsened by the ceaseless pitching of the Yangtze Dragon on the
stormy sea.
"Aye, that's better," Slegg chortled evilly, as he adjusted the edges of
the improvised bandage he had wound around his hand. "I was starting to get a
blister. How about you, dearie?" he asked mockingly as he lifted the cord high
over his shoulder and then delivered another savage slash across her twitching
nether-globes. "Are ye enjoying the other end of the rope?" he added in a
taunting voice.
Erika's body froze in agony, her every muscle tense and taut, each time
Slegg's whip bit into her delectably upraised derriere. But that frozen pose
lasted for only for a heartbeat, that momentary stiffening soon giving way to an
involuntary but delicious paroxysm of thrashing thighs and wriggling buttocks
that only inspired Slegg to press on with his barbarous attack. The punishing
rope rarely broke the skin at first impact, but it seemed to Erika as if it
flayed her flesh with every blow. Each searing slash of the whip left an
irregular stripe across her bare buttocks, stripes which were bespattered with
streamlets of wet crimson where a new stroke had been laid across an old one.
In between lashes Yim, standing at Erika's right shoulder, replaced his
mouth-stifling hand with his veinous cock. When Erika tried to turn away, he
twisted her pinioned right arm into a punishing hammerlock that enforced her
tearful compliance. He fed her his swollen organ leisurely, pausing to pull
back out of harm's away only when Slegg's arm swept down to deliver yet another
stroke of lightning that caused Erika's jaws to tighten in agony before
atomizing her torture-sweat into a fine mist.
After the first half dozen lashes, the pace of the flogging slowed
considerably, which allowed each of the three men ample leisure to enjoy their
cruel depravity to the fullest. Little Mao stood on Erika's left, his pigtails
dancing in the air in time with his quick birdlike movements. He used his left
hand to hold Erika's shoulder and torso down while his right hand wandered
freely up and down her left thigh and her spankable buttocks, his bony fingers
occasionally inserting themselves between her legs to fondle her most intimate
flesh.
The nimble little man acted as something of a target-setter for Slegg,
squeezing and slapping at Erika's upper thighs and whip-wealed bottom-globes,
sensitizing them, readying the raw nerves of her shapely behind for the next
cruel cut of the lash. It was only when the malevolent mate began a punishing
downstroke that Mao pulled his hand away for a moment. He waited until the
explosive impact of the whip had sprayed his face and arms with scarlet-tinged
droplets of woman-sweat before his hands continued their greedy exploration of
Erika's body.
Twice during the violent scourging, Jasper Slegg stepped up between Erika's
unsteady legs to press the bulging lump in his crotch against Erika's
whip-reddened bottom. When she wiggled her burning butt-cheeks in protest, he
ran his greedy fingers over the sweat-slick curves of her ass. "Don't pretend ye
don't like the feel of me Jolly Roger against yer bum, wench!" he jeered as he
ground his swollen groin against the base of Erika's bottom-cleft, feeling his
massive erection thickening by the moment. "D' ye think I can't see the way
ye're gobblin' at Yim's cock? Have patience, missy. You'll be gettin' the full
Jasper Slegg treatment soon enough!"
Although Erika experienced waves of pain, nausea, and humiliation as
Yim's thickening cock slid in and out of her mouth and his hairy balls slapped
against her chin, it was the crude pressure of Slegg's genitals against her
bottom that raised the level of her panic to a fearful pitch. Despite her
exacting and painful stint of sexual slavery to George Chan, she had always been
spared the ignominy and torment of anal rape. George had sodomized her on
occasion, of course, but he had always been careful not to use undue force, for
fear of prematurely impairing the delicious rectal elasticity of his youngest
and most-prized possession. But Erika feared that the frenzied pack of
man-wolves in the stoking room would have no such compunctions. There was
nothing to stop them from squandering the virginal tightness of her
nether-channel in a manic rush to capitalize on an opportunity which would not
soon come their way again. "Bitte ... bitte," she gasped , but her pathetic
pleas were quickly stifled by Yim's aggressive thrusts.
CRACCKK!!! Slegg's lewd, cock-pleasing caresses had been brief, and he
had retreated to launch the first of another barrage of butt-stinging blows,
concentrating on the areas that Mao's exploratory fingers had prepped for the
lash. Despite the pain of his facial injury, or perhaps because of it, Jasper's
lust continued to mount even as his arm grew weary.
CRACKK!! Slegg whipped the upper slopes of Erika's creamy nether-ovals
with sadistic gusto and then, while her burning buttocks were still twitching in
agony, he CRACCKKKed!!!, the rope-whip across them again, etching a jagged
reddish trail that began at the top of her right hip and angled across half a
dozen lurid horizontal weals. The slashing diagonal stroke drew blood on both
sides of Erika's shadowy butt-crease before growing paler and eventually fading
away near the undercurve of her left buttock.
Erika's soot-covered thighs and peaches-and-cream buttock-globes were
criss-crossed with upwards of a score of reddening streaks before Jasper Slegg,
sweat streaming down his bloodied face, let the rope-whip fall inertly to his
side. His chest heaving from his exertions, he bent down and took the rope and
lashed Erika's legs tightly together a few inches above the knees.
Leering evilly, Slegg placed his hands, crimson-daubed from the blood of
his brow, on the sweet dimple just above the northern edge of Erika's enticing
bottom-cleft. He used his thumbs to part her half-moons, exposing her pretty,
puckering anus to his view, and then he dug his fingernails into the upslopes of
her buttocks and raked downward in an elliptical motion.
Slegg felt his cock swell with intense pleasure as he gouged a pair of
painful parentheses into Erika's bottom. His uneven nails raked downward over
Erika's blushing buttcheeks, bracketing the grillework formed by his mostly
horizontal lash-strokes. He pressed his swollen crotch against her backside and
grabbed her around the waist to pull her tightly against him. Just then the
ship pitched wildly to one side and Slegg could feel a violent spasming in
Erika's stomach muscles as she fought off a new wave of nausea.
"Got the collywobbles, princess?" he chortled. "Not to worry. I've got
just the thing to settle your innards right here!" Slegg fiddled with his belt
and let his soiled trousers slide down his legs. He massaged his crotch for a
moment before shucking off a pair of shabby drawers, allowing his virile,
thick-knobbed phallus to spring free.
Breathing heavily, Slegg pressed his tubular man-meat into the dark groove
between Erika's bottom-globes and eased it back and forth, reveling in the sweet
pressure of Erika's sweaty butt-cleavage against his hard-throbbing English
sausage. A veteran of countless anal assaults, Slegg had bound Erika's legs
together in order to tighten the inward pressure of her pelvic muscles. His
efforts were well-rewarded even before he launched the final invasive attack.
Then, as if seized by an inspiration, the cold-hearted sailor pressed a
hand to the ugly scarlet swamp above his right eye. He pulled his
freshly-crimsoned hand down and wrapped it around his pulsing phallus, coating
it with his own blood. He signaled to his two fellow-assailants to lift upward
on the shovel handle, arching Erika's back painfully, but excitingly, backward.
Then Slegg reached around and cupped her coal-smudged left breast in one
predatory hand, while he positioned the domed crown of his cock, freshly lubed
with his own blood and Erika's torture-sweat, against her winking rosette. He
twirled a flinty nipple in his fingers for a moment and then he thrust his hips
forward with a quick, compact lunge that punched his meaty man-cock against
Erika's tough, resisting anal ringlet.
Erika's body surged forward, trying to escape the punishing intruder, and
Slegg lunged again, pulling his hand out of the way so that he could crush the
beleaguered blonde's soft breasts into the flesh-gouging coal-slag. Then,
seeing his opportunity to increase his leverage, he grabbed hold of the shovel
handle and jerked Erika's body backward against his own yet again, impaling her
resisting rectum a fraction deeper on his insurgent cockshaft.
"Cor blimey! If she's not tighter than a vicar's widow, I'm the first Lord
of the Admiralty," Slegg enthused, as he gritted his teeth determinedly and
corkscrewed another inch of his rutting man-shaft into Erika's suctioning chute
of Sodom. Erika could only groan in pain and misery as Slegg, in conjunction
with the two scowling Chinese, used the shovel handle as a cruel lever, first
jerking Erika's helpless body back against his blood-thickened manhood, and then
shoving her forward brutally, crushing her pink-nippled breasts and her bare
belly into the jagged chunks of coal. He repeated this rapacious cycle of lust
several times, with each iteration allowing him to plow his phallus ever deeper
into Erika's indescribably tight anal passage.
Erika bravely tried to free her legs from the rope with which Slegg had
bound her thighs, desperately working her legs to and fro so as to loosen the
ropes. But Slegg had planned his assault well; Erika's every evasive moment only
added to the intensely pleasurable muscular friction assailing his thrusting
cock.
It was only when he had buried his virile weapon to the hilt in Erika's
squirming rectum that Slegg signaled the others to withdraw the shovel handle
from underneath her arms. "I want the bloody bitch to wriggle!" he snarled,
and wriggle Erika did, even though her legs were bound together. To Slegg's
delight his blonde captive's hips squirmed sensuously as she fought to escape
the insistent anal pressure, while her newly freed arms clawed helplessly at the
mound of anthracite on which she lay.
Just then Deng-shan, who had been stoking the furnace from carts that had
been filled earlier, called out loudly that he needed a man to begin filling the
barrows again. With an imperious jerk of his thumb, Slegg motioned Mao toward
the coal-mound. The Mouse could not conceal his aggrieved expression, but
seeing that Yim's excitement had reached a feverish pitch, he retreated toward
the coal-pile reluctantly, confident that it would not be long before his
pony-tailed partner and he exchanged places.
Meanwhile Yim's thick, braided queue was bouncing on his broad shoulders
with his every forward lunge. The moment Slegg had ended the fearful flogging,
the burly coal-shoveller had forced his meaty phallus between Erika's lips once
again, and now he was plunging his erection halfway down Erika's defenseless
throat. She didn't know which was worse, the iron-hard piston assaulting her
whip-ravaged bottom, or the pumping organ on which she deemed destined to choke.
"Suck!" Yim grunted with gusto in Chinese as his heavy, hairy balls slapped
against Erika's pale chin. The blue-eyed blonde could do nothing but obey, even
as Slegg's hands went to her writhing hips, holding them steady while he
delivered a series of deep, powerful thrusts, making up in savagery and ferocity
what he lacked in natural endowment.
The violence of the tandem rape kept Erika's upper body moving backward and
forward across the uneven mound of coal, allowing the frightful friction of the
coal slag to take a punishing toll on her sensitive breasts. From across the
room, in between loading indolent shovelfuls of coal into his barrow, little Mao
watched excitedly as Erika's succulent love-globes fought their losing battle
with the sharp-edged bits of coal.
Groaning with man-lust, Yim began fucking Erika's mouth more urgently, his
hips picking up the pace, pumping faster and faster until they were little more
than a blur, as his swollen phallus responded to the warmth and softness of
Erika's lips and tongue and throat. Finally the big man could sustain his
excitement no longer, and several cavernous grunts of obscene pleasure signaled
his coming release.
Erika felt the first jet of Yim's hot man-sperm splash against the back of
her throat just as Slegg tightened his grip on her behind and increased the pace
and power of his own rectal thrusts. Erika groaned in misery, but the intensity
of the Ape's lust kept the bursts of semen coming for a seeming eternity,
filling her mouth and throat with his viscous scum. Finally, his passion
quenched, Yim pulled his dripping erection from her mouth.
Without slowing his own punishing hip-thrusts, Slegg jerked his head toward
the coal pile, indicating that Yim was to resume his labors, at least for the
time being. Shrugging, the big Chinese gave Erika's right breast a final
predatory squeeze and returned to his drudgery, gesturing to his diminutive
companion that he was now free to sate his twisted lust.
The Mouse threw his shovel down with alacrity and scurried quickly back
across the room, opening the drawstring of his trousers on the way. By the time
he had reached Erika, he was stroking his skinny member eagerly . He reached
out and grabbed Erika's mane of sweat-soaked hair and pulled her face toward his
erection. Erika, seeing the hideous rictus of pleasure etched in his ugly face,
spit a mouthful of Yim's semen, which she had not been able to bring herself to
swallow, at the grinning, rodent-faced crewman.
The gesture was harmless, but it seemed to enrage Mao. The lust-crazed
little man reached toward the leather tool-pouch that Deng-shan had cast aside
much earlier and pulled back the flap. His bright eyes lit up with fiendish
glee as he withdrew a thin-bladed screwdriver.
Angered by Erika's quixotic show of defiance, the wiry Chinese covered her
mouth and then tentatively pressed the tip of the screw-driver against the side
of Erika's breast.
"UGHMFFPHH!!" she gasped in pain into Mao's fingers as her body recoiled
from the touch of the pointed tool.
"That's it, mate!" Slugg rasped in between groans of pleasure. He let go
of Erika's hips and seized two handfuls of her sweat-soaked hair. With a mighty
jerk, he pulled her head up and back, bowing her lovely back into a sensual arch
and lifting her proud-thrusting breasts clear of the coal-barrow.
"Get 'em!" he snarled. "Get those fucking tits!" knowing that any attack
on Erika's magnificent breasts would be bound to drive her backward, increasing
the milking action of her cock-clutching rectum.
Having no English and being uncertain of Slegg's meaning, the Mouse held
the screwdriver up to Erika's breast and gave the mate a questioning glance.
When the hard-pumping mate gave him an eager, approving nod, the pigtailed
sailor's eyes lit up and he pressed the flat-tipped blade of the screwdriver
against the areole of Erika's left breast, just below her nipple, and pushed.
Erika's body writhed in pain as the little Chinese increased the pressure,
knowing that she was pinned hopelessly between the iron-hard ramrod behind her
and the well-tempered metal blade that pressed against her love bud.
"Harder, you bloody heathen!" Slegg jerked Erika's head back again, while
Mao, wild-eyed with excitement, pulled the tool back a few inches, tilted it a
fresh angle, and then drove its sharp edge into Erika's ripe, yielding
breast-melon. This time, as Slegg had hoped, Erika's body jerked backwards in
pain, adding to the pleasurable pressure on his deep-thrusting cock.
"ARRRHHH,!" Slegg snarled with goatish glee as he met Erika's backward
buck, an ineffectual attempt to escape the flesh-gouging screwdriver, with
another cock-thrilling hip-thrust. "So, how d'ye like the feel of an English
stiffie, frowlein?!" Slegg caught the eye of his pigtailed conspirator.
"Again, you skinny stack of seaweed, or I'll feed your balls to the sharks!"
Mao, of course understood next to nothing of Slegg's frenzied ravings, but
the evil ardor in his eyes and voice was unmistakable. As Slegg jerked Erika's
head and upper body into position again, Mao managed to keep her sperm-splashed
mouth covered with one hand, while he used the other to press the beveled tip of
the screwdriver into her yielding breast-mound. He slowly forced the corner-tip
of the blade into the soft under-curve of Erika's breast, searching her blue
eyes for the tears that would proclaim his triumph. When he did not find them,
he cursed and pulled the tool back and jabbed her again, and this time his
blade found the outer edge of Erika's pebbly pink-brown areole.
Erika groaned into the stifling hand and her sweat-drenched body recoiled
sharply again, sending another prolonged shudder of sexual satisfaction through
Slegg's lust-heavy genitals. "That-a-boy! Keep at it!" Slegg muttered in a
voice choked with lust. Staying on the attack, little Mao pressed the
screwdriver directly against Erika's taut nipple-bud and then slowly turned his
wrist, increasing the terrible pressure until Erika threw back her head in
agony. Goaded on by Slegg's obscene grunts of pleasure, the undersized Chinese
jabbed and scraped Erika's succulent pleasure-mounds with the fine-edged tool
again and again, denting and lacerating her tender globes until Erika's enforced
retreats finally brought Slegg to the brink of ecstasy before a final,
nipple-stabbing thrust sent him over the precipice.
The Englishman came with a primeval grunt of satisfaction that seemed to
rise up from the depths of the ocean floor. Releasing Erika's hair, Slegg held
on to her shapely hips with a death-grip. His feet almost seemed to lift clear
of the floorboards as he emptied his lust-swollen balls with a series of
grinding pelvic cock-thrusts that were accompanied by groans of indescribable
pleasure.
Meanwhile Mao had placed his moist-tipped erection against Erika's
sperm-splashed lips just as Slegg had begun his final crescendo of lust. At
first Erika ignored the skinny phallus, but when Mao pressed the screwdriver
even more fiercely into her nipple, Erika was compelled to take him into her
mouth. Despite Slegg's gut-wrenching rape-thrusts Erika forced herself to use
the oral skills she had learned at the faraway mountain lodge to focus the
little man's concentration on his throbbing erection. A moment or two later she
glanced up at Mao and saw that his eyes had closed as he neared his climax.
A few seconds later Erika felt Slegg's body collapse on top of hers and
although she, too, was well past the point of exhaustion, her primal will to
retaliate for her mistreatment gave her a strength that she did not know she
possessed. She quickly finished Mao off, knowing that for a few precious seconds
he would be pre-occupied by the pleasurable jets of semen spitting out of his
ugly little organ.
Erika took a deep breath and then braced herself for a moment before
throwing her right elbow backward at Slegg's head. Erika exulted inwardly when
the bony tip of her elbow found the bloody gash that she had opened earlier.
Slegg was still slumping to the floor in pain when she ripped the screwdriver
out of Mao's hand and stabbed at his left hand, drawing blood. The little man
yelped in pain as he fell forward against one of the coal-carts.
Seeing this, Yim started to come forward, but Deng-shan who was screened
out by a row of coal carts, waved his hand directing Yim to guard the
ladder-well, the only means of egress from the stoking-room. By doing so he
virtually eliminated any chance of Erika escaping their lair; besides, he
thought, a game of cat-and-mouse with the ravishing blonde might well prove
amusing.
Erika's hands, meanwhile, flew to her legs. She tore at the knot on her
thigh-ropes frantically until she managed to loosen them, allowing the rope to
drift harmlessly down her bare legs. As soon as her legs were free, she stomped
downward at the crouching figure of Jasper Slegg just as he was trying to rise,
her heel slamming into his lower ribcage with punishing effect.
"Aaaghh!! You dirty whore!" Slegg grunted in pain and clutched at his
mid-section, just managing to block Erika's next stomping kick with his arms.
Erika was about to punch downward at the cowering mate when the diminutive
Mouse, newly armed with a pair of pliers he had taken from Deng's tool-pouch,
jumped on her back from behind. Half expecting this attack from the rear, Erika
staggered forward briefly, but managed to stay upright and maintain her grip on
the screwdriver.
Grinning excitedly, Mao wrapped his left arm around Erika's neck and
reached around and pinched the side of Erika's right breast between the jaws of
the pliers. Erika cried out in pain and spun around rapidly hoping to free her
breast, and indeed a moment later the pliers did slip off of her
sweat-slickened globe. But Mao wasted no time pressing his attack and a moment
later Erika groaned in agony and her legs almost gave out as the wiry Chinese
closed the jaws of the pliers on her half-erect nipple.
She tried to stab at his arm with the screwdriver, but with his arm draped
across hers, she was unable to get much leverage. Mao squeezed the pliers again
and the excruciating pain nearly drove Erika to her knees, but she continued to
fight back, stabbing downward at his skinny thigh.
But the blow was a glancing one and the wild-eyed Chinaman gleefully
twisted the pliers to and fro, further crushing the fleshy love-nugget, while
his comrades cheered him on, confident that the nipple-pain would soon force
Erika to succumb. Erika, fighting back tears of agony, shook her blonde head to
get her bearings, and began backpedaling deliberately, away from the crouching
figure of Jasper Slegg, who was still clutching his ribs in pain, and toward the
great furnace.
Thinking Erika's backward steps were only an involuntary reaction, Mao
cackled with glee and gave the pliers another savage twist that caused Erika to
falter for a moment as searing waves of pain tore through her breast. But she
bit her lip and took another determined step backward, and then another, as Yim
the Ape looked on obtusely from the vicinity of the ladder. Deng-shan had just
begun to circle around the obstructing array of empty coal-barrows when Erika
tightened her grip on Mao's legs to keep him from breaking free and continued
her backward march toward the cavernous furnace.
The wiry little man sported an idiotic grin as he continued to crush
Erika's soot-blackened nipple with the pliers, thinking that Erika was merely
staggering around aimlessly, hoping to shake him loose. It was only when Mao
could feel the raging heat of the furnace from a distance of about six feet that
the realization of his predicament began to sink in and his beady little eyes
began to dilate in horror. He screamed and tightened his grip on the
nipple-crushing jaws of the pliers, and tried to tear himself free from Erika's
piggy-back grip on his legs, but it was too late. The indomitable bare-breasted
blonde took three more lurching steps backward, before crushing the
bloodthirsty little monster against the super-heated metal that formed the front
of the hellish furnace.
Erika heard the ghastly sound of sizzling flesh a split-second before she
heard the first of Mao's horrific screams. She took a half-step forward,
exhaling in relief as Mao finally released his death-grip on her tortured
nipple, and then backed up again, once again driving the little man's back
against the red hot metal of the furnace. Despite his blood-curdling cries
Erika held him against the furnace for another long second or two before
tottering forward and releasing his legs. Then she peeled the little man's arms
off of her shoulders, allowing him to fall limply to the ground, where he lay
moaning, his face contorted, his slender body twitching horribly. His dark
coolie-shirt had completely melted away and the flesh on his back had been
nearly liquefied into a charred, foul-smelling jelly.
Chapter 132 Mutinies and Memories
Yim, stunned by the ghastly fate that had befallen his partner, rushed
forward in a rage even as Deng-shan emerged from behind the rows of coal-carts
and Slegg, still clutching his side, rose from the ground. Erika glanced at the
three of them fearfully and lunged for the shovel Mao had abandoned when he had
tried to keep her from escaping up the ladder.
But just then they all heard a tremendous clatter of feet clanging on metal
accompanied by several voices as a skull-capped Chinese, followed by two
slightly-built Malays, lowered themselves down the ladder-shaft.
"These three stoke the next watch, Slegg," Deng-shan confided as the three
newcomers' nervous gaze traveled from the eye-catching spectacle of Erika
Weiss, wearing nothing more than a nearly frontless shirt and a patina of
coal-dust, to the appalling sight on the floor and then back again.
A moment later everyone in the stoking-room heard the booming sound of a
liquor-lubricated Scottish brogue echoing down the stairwell.
"Shlegg!" roared the blustery voice of Captain Andrew McMahon. "Why are we
losing power? Are ye daft, mon? Dinna ye ken that the wind's in our fache?
At the sound of McMahon's stentorian voice, Erika turned around to face the
ladder. As soon as she did so, Slegg, who had been eying her warily while he
pulled up his pants, leaped toward her from behind and wrapped an arm around her
throat. He grunted in pain as he pulled her bodily into a dingy corner, away
from the illumination given off by the furnace. Once in the shadows, Slegg did
his best to re-arrange the tattered remnants of Erika's shirt, but not before
the three newcomers had gotten a glimpse of a beautiful sweat-slick body smudged
with a thin layer of coal-dust, and criss-crossed by several slender streams of
scarlet. One of the Malays elbowed the other meaningfully as they gawked at
Erika's nudity.
A moment later the burly captain's foul weather mackintosh came into view
as he clumped his way noisily down the ship-ladder. "Losh! It's as cauld and
dreich as a whore's hert up on deck, but it's as het as a bakery in hell down
here. For God's sake, mon, who the devil was screamin' like an Irish bansh...."
As McMahon's black boots hit the floor of the stoking room, he turned toward
Slegg and saw Mao's blackened body shudder convulsively one final time before
lying still. McMahon glared angrily at the grisly scene, his weathered face
beet-red from a combination of the exertion caused by his descent, the eerie
reddish glow given off by the furnace, and a dozen drams of the Dalmore, that
exquisite whisky from the banks of the Cromarty Firth, not far from his Dornoch
home.
Slurring slightly, he roared, "For the love o' all that'sh holy, Shlegg!
Whit's happened to this wee lad, then? And as for ye," he roared to the men who
had come to relieve Mao and Yim, "get busy, the lot 'o ye. And put yer
shoulders into it. We need tae make up for the time these caber-headed galoots
have cost us."
"It was the wench, cap'n," Slegg rasped angrily from the shadows as the
newcomers manned their shovels. The mate tightened his grip on Erika's throat
as he continued, his words coming with difficulty. "She came at me with the
shovel, and knocked me arse over tea kettle, the whore did. Nearly took my
bloody 'ead off." Slegg paused to indicate the blood oozing from his head
wound. "Then when Mao tried to grab her, she pushed the poor little barstard
against the 'Dragon'. After crackin' me bloody rib."
Despite her terrible predicament, Erika felt a faint thrill of triumph. At
least she had gotten in a few blows. Though from the pain and venom in Slegg's
voice it was clear that he would give her cause to regret them soon enough.
McMahon looked down at Mao's body and then at the bloody gash above Slegg's
right eye. In the shadowy gloom of the darkest corner of the stoking-room he
could just make out the ripe curves of Erika's breasts spilling out of the shirt
that Deng-shan had ripped down the middle, but not the crimson streaks and
gashes left by Slegg's rope-whip and Deng's flesh-tearing tools. McMahon moved
toward her unsteadily and ogled Erika's lush, black-smudged body thoughtfully
for a moment while he caught his breath.
Erika could smell the whisky fumes as McMahon glared at her through
bleary, blood-shot eyes. He stepped closer and slipped a rough hand inside her
tattered shirt to cup her left breast. "Ye're no end of trauchle, are ye,
lassie? So it's mutiny ye've been up tae, is it, wench? Och! I'll nae hae any
breaches of discipline on board my ship!" A lecherous leer crossed the
Scotsman's ruddy face as he fondled her ripe breast in the darkness. Erika
slapped ineffectually at his hands, unable to escape from Slegg's throat-choking
grip. McMahon squeezed Erika's lust-melon roughly for a moment or two, frowning
when her eyes filled with tears in response to the pressure of his clutching
hand.
Despite her desire not to give him the satisfaction of knowing her misery,
Erika could not help but groan in anguish when the sea captain's callused
fingers found the taut nipple that Mao had gouged with the screwdriver. "We'll
have tae toughen ye up, lassie, if ye've a mind tae sail on the Yang-tze Dragon"
the red-bearded mariner chuckled as he ground Erika's tender love-nugget
between his finger and thumb with punishing force. Erika had to bite her lip to
keep from crying out, but with Slegg maintaining his iron-armed choke-grip on
her neck she was powerless to repel McMahon's assault.
When McMahon finally pulled his hand away and stepped back toward the
better-lit area near the blazing furnace, he noticed that his fingers were dark
with sweaty coal-soot. He looked at his hand distastefully for a moment before
wiping it on his mackintosh and then turning back toward Erika. He
straightened his spine, spread his feet and then clasped his hands behind his
back in what he imagined to be a Nelsonian pose before growling, "Slegg, gi'e
this filthy wench a good washing-up." There was a ribald twinkle in McMahon's
eye as he added. "She'll want tae look her best when we try 'er for mutiny the
morra. Won't ye, lassie?"
********
Erika's heart sank when she heard those words. When she had been a
schoolgirl of thirteen and fourteen she had often been transported to flights of
excited fancy by the brutal accounts of shipboard 'justice' she had occasionally
encountered in books of adventure. As often as not the victims of such
punishments had been gallant young heroes whose valor and steadfastness had
stirred her heart and her fast-maturing body to strange longings. Many nights
she had lain awake in her little bed, reading such stories by candlelight,
occasionally setting the book aside for a few minutes to imagine how the hero's
athletic young body might feel pressed against her own trembling flesh. How his
lips would touch hers, gently at first and then more passionately, leaving her
lips, after a few moments, to kiss her neck, her throat. And then lower still,
after his sure-fingered hands had undone her bodice, to the soft, warm mounds
that, while not yet fully-formed, were surely as sensitive and responsive as
those of the most amorous of adult women.
The thought of the young hero's lips closing on nipples that his masterful
fingers had teased into fleshy spikes of longing would send delicious frissons
of pleasure through her adolescent body. She would slip her frilly nightgown
off of her shoulders and lay back amid her white pillows with her eyes closed,
breathlessly imagining the feel of an expert tongue swirling around the pretty
pink crests that she herself had nursed into aching turrets of desire so many
times before.
One of her hands would inevitably be drawn to her swelling breasts while
the other would slide downward, across her bare belly, through her
sparsely-haired golden triangle, to the sweet, damp place of pleasure between
her legs. How many times had she attended to her strange longings with the
urgent but guilt-ridden fingers of a minister's daughter? How many times had
her gentle probing of her pleasure-bud, and the increasingly insistent circular
caresses of her secret place transported her to the loftiest peaks of pleasure?
How many times had she opened her eyes slightly so that she could watch the
furtive writhing of her girlish torso and her slim, supple thighs in the full-
length mirror she had artfully positioned near her bed?
When she had first been enslaved by George Chan, Erika had naively wondered
if her mistreatment had been some sort of divine retribution for her sinful
explorations of her young body. But during her training in the mountains she
had noted that her cruel but seductive female captor had pleasured herself often
-- especially during Erika's thrice-daily performances of fellatio on her
crop-wielding male counterpart -- without having brought down on herself the
wrath of the heavens.
Despite their unfeeling narcissism, her captors had taught her a great
lesson -- that the pursuit of pleasure was not, in and of itself, a shameful
sin. Cruelty and coercion were the only sexual sins. She regretted now more
than ever the fact that she and Daniel Kauffmann had not consummated their ...
did she dare call it love? For now, it seemed certain, they would never meet
again....
"Mutiny," the captain had said. She would be tried for mutiny tomorrow!
Never in all of Erika's girlhood imaginings had she dreamed that the brutal
methods of discipline inflicted on sea-faring men in her romantic but ultimately
prudish stories could ever be employed on an innocent young woman - much less
herself. But such, it seemed, was to be her fate. And in full view, no doubt,
of the leering, bloodthirsty crew of the Yang-tze Dragon!
********
"Aye, Cap'n," Jasper Slegg wheezed painfully, one hand still pressed
against his lower ribs. "I'll see to it that she gets cleaned up good as new."
Then he gave the red-bearded Laird of Dornoch a conspiratorial wink. "Even if I
have to lick the coal-dust off 'er tits meself!" Slegg released his hammerlock
grip on Erika's left wrist for a moment or two in order to give her left breast
an illustrative squeeze, while a bleary-eyed McMahon looked on approvingly.
Then the roguish ship captain turned his unsteady gaze toward the sad-faced
Yim, and pointed toward Mao's body before giving the pony-tailed coal-loader an
abrupt gesture with his thumb. A disconsolate Yim gave Erika a vengeful glance
and then nodded and then bent down and gently threw the slender, lifeless body
of his partner over his shoulder and started slowly up the ladder-well. "Get to
wark, ye lazy sons of a Singaporean shopkeeper!" McMahon roared at the three
new shovelers. The Malays had replaced Yim and Mao at the coal pile, and the
skull-capped Cantonese had begun to feed the dragon. But all three kept
glancing toward the corner in which Slegg held Erika in tow, in hopes that the
mate and the stunning, half-naked blonde would soon emerge from the dark corner.
"I'm going to go back to my cabin to finish my ... charts, Slegg," said
McMahon, wiping his thirsty mouth on his wrist before putting a huge boot on the
bottom rung of the ladder.
"Watch 'er for 'arf a mo, Deng," Slegg muttered to Deng-shan, as he
released his grip on Erika." As the muscular Chinese watched their cornered
captive, making sure that her rope-wealed body did not stray from the shadows,
Slegg hurried over to the ladder-well. "Cap'n - what about the chinks - the
fancy ones I seen with you in yer cabin. Ain't they goin' to raise a bit of a
bother if we give their wench a taste of ... you know?"
From his position on the second rung, McMahon scowled down at his first
mate. "I'm the master of the Yang-tze Dragon, Slegg. The wench killed one of
my men. She'll pay for that, laddie. It's the law of the sea."
"And besides, laddie", McMahon muttered a moment later after he had
laboriously lifted his bulk up to the second rung. "Those seasick landlubbers
have been puking their guts out for the last hour. They'll still be green at
the gills at dawn."
********
Author's note: Is anyone still reading this story? I mean really
reading it, and not just opening it, skipping ahead to the thrill scenes, racing
through them and moving on to another story?
With the exception of two or three few regular correspondents, I haven't
gotten a breath of feedback on this story in months and months. I spend twenty
or thirty hours, sometimes more, on each installment, and lately I've begun to
ask myself if I'm not wasting a ridiculous amount of my life on this project.
Please, someone - give me a reason why I should carry on.
Thanks, and I really do hope some of you are enjoying the story
Sincerely,
Boccaccio
Chapter 133 Lashed by the Winds
With her wrists lashed together, Erika's ascent up the ladder-well was
hardly easy, and Slegg's continual pawing at her bare legs and naked buttocks
helped matters not at all. She was still several rungs from the top when she
felt a blast of cold air on her over-heated body. For a moment, the coolness of
the air seemed a godsend, restoring some of the strength and vigor the
sweltering stoking-room had stolen from her, but as Deng-shan pulled her up onto
the main deck, the coolness of the air turned to an icy chill. As he pulled her
body against his own, she realized that he had re-donned the tool belt, two
implements of which now were stained with the blood from her lacerated breasts.
The ship pitched violently, throwing them bodily against the cold metal
hull. Overhead, one flag bearing the ensign of Imperial China and a second
bearing the cross of St Andrew, snapped loudly in the rising evening gale,
giving evidence of the woeful state of vexillary etiquette observed by the
officers and men of the Yang-tze Dragon. A moment later Slegg heaved himself up
onto the main deck and sniffed at the air.
"Aye, there'll be rain enough to drown the steepletops inside the hour," he
mumbled to no one in particular as he rubbed at his tender ribs, just as the
head and shoulders of Yim re-appeared in the stairwell. Yim carried Mao's
slight body over his shoulder as if it were no heavier than a rucksack. Slegg
offered him a hand and pulled him up on deck, at which point the ape-visaged Yim
stalked somberly to the rail before depositing Mao's diminutive carcass into the
foaming sea. The powerfully-built sailor stared downward forlornly until his
friend's body had sunk beneath the seething waves and then he turned and gave
Erika a look that made her weak at the knees. Her only comfort was that she
knew that Yim dared not usurp the authority of the villainous first mate.
Just then that very mate, Jasper Slegg, called out to his companions. "Take
her forward and secure the bitter end of that rope," he snarled, pointing at the
rope around Erika's wrists, "to the bleedin' winch-bar." The crafty Englishman
shivered with cold as he pointed toward an ancient winch which stood on the
larboard side of the ship. At some time in the remote past it had apparently
been used to raise and lower a none-too-seaworthy- looking dinghy. "The rain'll
save us the bother of cleaning 'er up!"
After a few hasty hand signals, a momentary lull in the blustery
quartering wind allowed Yim, much the tallest of Erika's three tormentors, to
loop the end of her wrist-rope around an iron bar which ran across the top of
the winch-frame some seven feet off the ground. "Facin' windward, you lubbers!"
Slegg yelled disgustedly into the whistling wind. "Ye haven't the sense of a
dockpost betwixt the two of ye, do ye? Use a hitch-knot, ye ignorant
barstards!" he added, as the two Chinese wrestled with the rope. "And don't cut
this long-legged wildcat any slack neither!" he added, as he rubbed his tender
ribcage. A moment later Erika felt a strong tug on her shoulders as the ape-like
man with the pony tail secured the rope, pulling her up onto her tip-toes.
.
"Aye, that'll do 'er!" yelled Slegg approvingly, pleased by the way the
tightly-coiled rope had hoisted Erika's curvaceous body to a pleasing tautness.
"Enjoyin' the sea air, princess?" he added mockingly as he felt between her
squirming legs, while the wind turned the remnants of her torn shirt into a
ragged pennant streaming outward from her back. Huddling against the fierce
wind, the three men stared admiringly at Erika's semi-nude body, illumined in
the moonless night only by the faint gleam given off by a row of oil lamps that
lit up the nearby forecastle which housed the sailors' quarters.
And then the winds and sea rose up in earnest, as if angered by the fact
that this sumptuous blonde Nereid had dared to face their fury. Erika felt her
stomach do a somersault as the Yangtze Dragon was tossed on the foaming sea as
if it were a child's plaything. By ducking down below the rail Slegg and his
comrades were able to escape the worst of the blast of wind, but it struck
Erika's helpless body full on, almost flattening her majestic breasts with its
icy fury. "Ye both can stay on deck and keep this wench company if ye like,"
roared Slegg into the howling wind, but I'm haulin' my freezin' arse into the
cuddy!" A moment later the Englishman rose from his crouch and scurried toward
the narrow hatchway that opened into the forecastle, with Deng-shan and Yim in
tow behind him, leaving Erika to brave the storm by herself.
As the flesh-chilling winds whipped at her splendid body it seemed to Erika
that she had been transported, in the space of only a few minutes, and across a
distance of only a few yards, to a different world. A quarter of an hour
earlier her body had been drenched in sweat in the sweltering subtropical
atmosphere of the stoking room. But now she was as cold as she had been since
she had skied cross-country as a girl through the foothills of the Bavarian
Alps.
She twisted her body to the right to avoid the punishing sweep of the wind,
but the Aeolian gusts were unpredictable, seeming to swirl around the hollows
and angles and projections of the ship so that they could come at her from
several directions at once. No matter which way Erika turned, the winds lashed
at her legs and belly and breasts with the fury of an avenging deity. But the
whistling gale seemed to sense that she was near the point of exhaustion, for
suddenly it died down considerably, giving way to a light but chilling rain.
Within a few minutes the steady drizzle had left Erika's long blonde hair
sopping, her nearly-nude body eye-catchingly wet and the ship's ancient deck
decidedly slippery.
But the brief downpour was but a mere interlude, lasting for only a short
time before the winds picked up again even stronger than before, as if
re-invigorated by their brief surcease. A shivering Erika once again tried to
turn away from the bitter westerly, but as she did so she turned toward the
forecastle where she saw a trio of familiar faces. The salaciously smiling
faces of the men who had bound her to the winch were pressed against a row of
porthole-like windows a dozen feet away, their predatory glances knifing through
the bitterness of the gale.
And indeed Erika Weiss was a splendid sight. Dangling helplessly from
the sturdy winch-bar, her pale body was clad only in the shirt that trailed
behind her like the tail of a Cantonese kite, tossed helplessly in the blackness
of the night. Her freshly-showered skin sparkled with moisture as her long legs
and bare feet scrambled in vain to find a firm purchase on the treacherously wet
deck of the ship. Her whip-ravaged buttocks, her feminine loins and her
billowing breasts continued to be buffeted by gusts of wind which had chilled
her pink nipples into swollen tidbits that would have delighted the hands and
mouth of the Emperor himself, much less the misbegotten crew of the Yang-tze
Dragon.
Erika glared at her tormentors defiantly and turned away, only to find that
the rain had begun again. But this time the rain came not in a light drizzle,
but in sheets and torrents, pelting down on her bare, defenseless flesh with the
force of a hailstorm. The heavens themselves seemed to open up and the rain
came down in blinding bucketsful, only to be arrested by the swirling winds and
diverted into an almost horizontal attack on the Yangtze Dragon. The tempest
was relentless, pounding the shipworn vessel and its precariously-exposed
prisoner with its ruthless fury.
Erika cried out in anguish as the driving rain raked her flesh with
needle-like ferocity, scraping her bare skin with its wind-driven claws. Then,
to make matters even worse, the force of the gale began to create waterspouts,
tiny tornado-like whirlwinds of sea water, which the typhoon cast at her in
quick succession, adding, literally, saltwater to her many wounds. The
beautiful blonde writhed in her bonds in utter misery as the seawater splashed
against her rope-scourged body. Each gust of wind caused microscopic particles
of salt to embed themselves in her most delicate flesh, adding their saline
venom to her every bruise, every cut, every gash.
The storm tore at Erika's helpless body for another twenty minutes before
relenting, the rains falling off to first to a light drizzle and then dying away
altogether, as the winds died down to a brisk breeze. The exhausted blonde hung
from her ropes, her chest heaving, as a bank of clouds parted revealing a
gibbous moon whose reflected light bathed her in a pale glow. Only
half-conscious, Erika looked down at the still-roiling sea, utterly spent and
wishing only to sink beneath the endless waves.
But a stinging slap across her bare buttocks roused her from her gloomy
torpor. "Wake up, wench! The skipper might be as drunk as a laird, but the
night's still young!" Slegg leered at her through his good eye, while his hands
roamed freely over her thighs, belly and breasts. "Aye, the wind and the sea
scoured her up good as new. Ye're as fresh and clean as the Cliffs of Dover
now, ain't ye Princess?" he muttered as he ran a callused hand through Erika's
storm-drenched golden triangle before probing the soft puffy lips of her labia
with his middle finger. Erika squirmed miserably as Deng-shan, his circular
earrings gleaming in the moonlight, climbed up on the winch and made short work
of the knot that bound her wrists to the overhead bar. She felt Slegg's
disgusting tongue probing her ear as her weary arms were liberated. "Don't
think it's time for your beauty rest, just yet, my pretty little partridge.
It's the Bird Cage for you, blondie. Time for the rest of the boys on the ship
to have a little fun - and for me and my partner 'ere to pick up a guinea or
two."
Chapter 134 The Bird Cage
A few minutes later Slegg and Deng-shan deposited their chilled-to-the-bone
prisoner in a dark closet below decks and slammed the door shut behind her
before stalking off to make some last-minute preparations for the evening's
entertainment. After giving her captors sufficient time to leave the area,
Erika began to tug at the knob frantically, but in her heart of hearts she was
hardly surprised to learn that she had been locked in. She tried forcing the
door open by slamming into it with a bare shoulder, but the space was so
confined that she could scarcely turn around, much less build up the kind of
momentum it would have taken to challenge the solidity of the wooden door.
Surrounded by utter blackness, Erika sank to her knees in despair,
massaging the sore shoulder that had done battle with the door. She was seized
by a wave of silent sobbing for a minute or two as she contemplated the
hopelessness of her plight. Her chest grew heavy with emotion and her eyes
began to fill with tears as she reflected miserably on how her life had changed
in the last twenty-four hours. Had it been only last night that Daniel Kauffman
had held her in his arms, had pressed her soft body against his own, and had
spoken of the promise of days to come? But now the days to come promised only
an endless cycle of mistreatment and abuse at the ends of the men of the Yangtze
Dragon and -- once they had arrived at his isolated island -- the evil General
Wang and his followers.
Now that she was no longer under constant attack by the relentless storm,
the dozens of minor injuries that she had sustained in the last few hours began
to gnaw anew at her body. Her back and shoulders were sore from shoveling, and
would, she knew, be even sorer tomorrow. She ran her fingers gently down the
fronts of her thighs. Despite her bout with the freezing rain, the band of
thigh-flesh that had borne the brunt of the baron's vicious sword-stroke still
felt warm to her touch.
She felt the heat of Slegg's lashes to the backs of her thighs anew as she
gingerly dragged herself back to her feet, wiping at the tears that would avail
her naught. In rising, her rounded bottom scraped against a shelf behind her,
reminding her that Slegg's whip had all but flayed a layer of flesh from her
tender backside.
Her private parts still ached from the brutal pounding she had endured at
the hands of Deng and Slegg, but it was her soft, womanly breasts that seemed to
have suffered the most. Even in the utter blackness of the closet she could
still picture the gleaming steel of the baron's sword slamming into her
sensitive nipples; she knew that she would relive that dreadful mental image in
nightmares for months, perhaps years to come.
If she were somehow able to survive at all.
She gently cradled her throbbing love-mounds in her hands, unable to dispel
the memory of Slegg's stinging rope-whip, the cruel pressure of Deng's hands and
teeth, the unequal battle with the coarse chunks of coal slag, and the
flesh-gouging punishment that Mao had meted out with the implements he had found
in Deng-shan's toolpouch.
Stripping off what was left of her wet, tattered shirt, Erika used its
ragged edge to swab at the secret parts of her body that the wind and the rain
had been unable to reach, anxious to cleanse herself of the foul detritus left
by her ruthless ravishers. She wrung the well-soaked shirt out carefully and
hung it over the knob to dry. Then, after managing with some difficulty to turn
and face the shelf she had felt behind her, she began to feel around blindly.
She quickly gathered that she had been thrown into a wide but shallow storage
closet which was lined with shelves that contained blankets, folded-up hammocks,
and bins which contained, judging by the feel and smell of their contents, rice,
and tea, and other staples.
Removing a coarse woolen blanket from one of the shelves she toweled her
shivering body vigorously, and then dried her golden hair. Draping the
makeshift towel casually over her shoulder, she explored the shelves some more,
hoping to find a tool, a weapon, anything that might help her escape the
clutches of the men of the Yang-tze Dragon. Even a crust of bread would have
been of some solace since she had had nothing to eat in many hours. But the
only thing her fumbling fingers could find that could possibly be of any use was
a piece of cotton sheeting, about the size of a pillowcase, which she proceeded
to wrap around her loins, hoping to preserve her modesty, however briefly, when
her captors returned.
The bare-breasted blonde had just finished knotting the low-slung
loin-cloth on one hip when she heard a loud rattling at the door. Bracing
herself for the worst, she held her breath as the door swung open, letting in a
little light and revealing the leering figures of Jasper Slegg and Deng-shan
standing in the doorway.
"Ah! 'ere's the star of our little swar-ay, my friend," Slegg chuckled, as
he held up the whale-oil lantern he carried so as to get a better look at his
comely prisoner. "Enjoyin' the weather on our little cruise, are ye, milady?"
he added in a mocking voice as he adjusted the crude bandage he'd tied around
his brow. Then he reached out and snatched away the damp woolen blanket on
Erika's shoulder that partially concealed her left breast.
Grunting with pleasure at the sight of Erika's nude breasts, Slegg had
just finished placing the lantern on one of the closet shelves when he noticed
her improvised loin-cloth. "So ye've found a ball gown in the armwahr, 'ave ye?"
Slegg jeered as he eyed Erika's scanty attire. "Might I 'ave a look at the
lining, milady?" he added mockingly as he fought off her resisting hands and
reached under the loin-cloth. He groped between her legs for a moment, probing
her rain-damp slit with a hand weathered by wind and sea. Then he spun Erika
around and pinned her against the closet shelf while he raised the skimpy cloth
halfway up the buttocks he'd flogged and ravished so thoroughly.
"What d'ye think, Deng?" he asked as he ran his hands over Erika's rounded
bottom-cheeks. Erika winced in pain as the leering Englishman probed the edges
of the welts he'd etched into her defenseless derriere with his rope-whip. "I
sort of like the 'ide-and-seek look, meself. And besides, we don't want the men
to go 'arf blind all at once, do we now?" Slegg gave her springy asscheeks a
final squeeze before letting the loin-cloth fall and pulling Erika back around
to face him. "But don't go expectin' too many favors from Jasper Slegg, dearie.
I ain't drawn a good breath since ye kicked me in the bloody ribs. Let's go,
sweetie. It's time for the show, and we wouldn't want ye to be late for yer
day-boo, now, would we?"
Dreading the prospect of being put on display to satisfy the depraved
pleasures of the crewmen of the accursed Yang-tze Dragon, Erika instinctively
reached out and grabbed hold of the uprights supporting the shelving behind her
and held on for dear life.
As Erika stood there with arms extended, her captors eyed the delicious
body which was now bathed in the soft light given off by the lantern on the
shelf to her left. The fierce wrath of the gale and the driving rain seemed to
have sanded most of the weals from Erika's finely-sculpted physique. She stood
with her feet planted well apart, her left leg bare to the knot at her hip, her
arm and shoulder muscles taut with the effort of clinging to the uprights. Only
a few faint striations from the rope-whip marred the perfection of her long legs
and bare belly. Higher still, regenerative nature had done much to restore the
pristine beauty of the opulent, proud-thrusting, breasts that had been so
ill-treated below decks. Aside from the pinkish bands left by the baron's
sword, a few thin, red-edged lacerations that Mao had gouged into her left
breast with the screwdriver, and some painful-looking indentations around her
right nipple, the youthful beauty of Erika's sumptuous pleasure-globes had been
completely restored.
Tearing his eyes from the lushness of her breasts, Deng-shan tried to
detach one of Erika's outstretched arms from its death grip on the shelf-post
for a moment or two without success. Then, losing patience, he cursed and drove
a clenched fist into Erika's unprotected solar plexus.
"Unngghh!" Erika groaned in misery, but she managed to maintain her grip on
the uprights, even though her upper body doubled over in agony, permitting the
ear-ringed sailor to trap her swollen nipples between his clutching fingers.
Deng's tightened his grip on Erika's brutalized breast buds and tugged at
them until the tattoos on his muscular forearms seemed likely to split apart, as
he sought to tear her away from the shelf. Erika could feel her grip loosening
as a result of the dreadful pressure on her nipples, and with a heroic effort
she pulled her breasts free of the punishing fingers, and turned her back on
him, using both hands now to cling to one of the shelf uprights.
"Allow me, Monsoor," Slegg snarled as he reached into Deng's toolbag and
withdrew out a short-handled chisel. "You'd do well to come along nice and
well-behaved-like, Princess," he rasped as Deng grabbed a handful of Erika's
still damp mane and pulled her head back painfully. When Erika still refused to
relax her grip on the post, Slegg drove the blade of the chisel into the back of
her thigh.
"Aaaaghhh!" Erika cried out in pain, but it was only when she felt Slegg
ease the edge of the cold steel under the loincloth and into her sensitive
buttock cleft and muttered "Last chance, dearie," that she conceded defeat and
released her grip on the upright.
"Now, isn't that better?" Slegg said in a jeering voice as Erika turned to
face her tormentors. "All friends now, eh?"
But as soon as Erika had completed her turn, Deng was reaching for her
breasts again. Digging his punishing fingers deep into her pink-nippled globes,
the muscular sailor dragged her out of the closet and into the narrow
passageway.
Just as Deng slid behind her to slip a length of cord around her slender
wrists, Erika, counting her blessings that she was apparently being allowed to
keep the loincloth, reached for the soggy shirt that she had hung over the
doorknob.
"You won't be needing that, slut!" Deng scolded her as he pulled her body
back against his own and slid his callused hands up over Erika's midsection and
cupped her aching breast-melons from behind. "Not for the kind of party we've
got in mind."
Meanwhile Jasper Slegg was eyeing her thoughtfully. After a moment or two,
the first mate picked up the nearly frontless shirt and turned it over in his
hands, making note of both its wetness and its thinness. "Let 'er put it on,
Deng."
Erika did her best to cover herself with the thin garment despite the large
scrap that had been torn out of its center; it took her a couple of attempts to
knot the two strips of cloth midway between her half-revealed breasts. Slegg
nodded appreciatively, pleased with the way the wet fabric accentuated the
impetuous thrust of her breasts and drew attention to her prominent nipples.
********
A few minutes later, the two men dragged their scantily-clad captive into a
low-ceilinged room that was something of a forest of timber and bamboo. Bamboo
cages of various sizes filled one side of the room while the salient feature of
the other half of the room were the sturdy wooden cross-beams that formed the
ceiling. Beneath them, a number of lattice-like frames of wood and bamboo were
stacked against the walls. Coils of rope of all kinds hung from hooks on the
wall, and a number of pieces of oddly-shaped framework whose function she could
not divine, were scattered around the room. A huge sheet of sail-cloth
partitioned the visible part of the room from an adjoining area.
"D'ye like it Princess? Here's where we keep our beauties 'til we arrive
at our port-of-call. We dropped off a new shipment just last night, which is why
ye've got the whole room to yerself tonight."
Erika shuddered as her blue eyes took in the numerous cages, some of which
seemed too small to house a human body, even that of a petite young woman. How
many female captives, she wondered, had spent nights of stark terror and
degradation in the Bird Cage before being sold or bartered to the flesh brothels
of China's treaty ports?
"Let's start 'er off with the Screw, Deng," Slegg muttered, "and then you
can round up the boys."
The two men dragged Erika bodily across the room toward a tall T-shaped
bamboo cross and a pair of floor-mounted shackles spaced about two feet apart,
to which her ankles were quickly cuffed. She stood, facing the cross and almost
touching it, while her bound wrists were extended above her so that she was
forced to stand on her toes. It was only than that Erika noticed that the
waist-high crossbar of the T had a circular opening that was large enough to put
a hand through. As she pondered that peculiar circumstance, Slegg growled, "I
can take it from here, Deng - go get the others," before he attended to the last
few details of his pageant...
********
After completing his preparations, Jasper Slegg stood back, pleased with
his work and lifted Erika's loin cloth and slapped her naked bottom with
authority. "That should do it, Princess. Be a good girl tonight, and help
uncle Jasper make a few quid, and maybe I'll forget how ye tried to cave in me
ribs. The Laird said no more rough stuff, but that don't mean me and the boys
can't 'ave a bit o' fun, now, does it?" He gave Erika's springy bottomcheeks
another stinging slap and then slipped through an opening in the canvas that
separated the two parts of the room.
Shackled, standing on tiptoes on the rolling planks of the lower deck and
otherwise encumbered, Erika was uncomfortable but not really in pain as she
listened to the sound of foot-falls and expectant murmurs from behind the
canvas. The audience that was about to witness her degradation had begun to
assemble....
********
Jasper Slegg stared at the expectant faces that had filled the half of the
room on the other side of the canvas. Twelve or fifteen crewmen were milling
around, many of them straining to catch a glimpse of what was going on in the
adjacent room through the tantalizingly small gap in the curtain that Slegg had
artfully contrived.
"What about it, lads?" he asked in a barker's voice. "Which of ye's got
some red blood in 'is veins and wants to get a closer look at what Deng and me
've got 'idden away in the next room?" He waited for Deng-shan to translate his
words, however loosely, into Chinese, as he was to do throughout the evening.
"It's only a shillin', boys - and where were ye going to spend them, anyway, out
here in the middle of the bloody China Sea?"
Several of the men came forward, offering coins to Deng-shan. In the
chaotic aftermath of the Taiping Rebellion, there was no single dominant
currency in the treaty ports of coastal China. Chinese taels minted in half a
dozen provinces and silver sycee money were traded widely for Spanish reals,
Mexican silver pesos and Japanese yen, not to mention marks, shillings, dollars
and francs. The wily Deng-shan had made it his business to stay abreast of the
relative values of these various coinages, and was in a position to add a modest
personal commission to nearly every transaction he brokered. Coins from half a
dozen lands found their way into Deng's metal box as his patrons lined up before
the narrow opening in the curtain.
"What's the matter with the rest of ye? Are ye going to let a little
storm shrink yer manhood? You all saw 'er on deck this arternoon, didn't ye?
Wearin' the cap'n's shirt and fillin' it out as nice as a man could want?"
Slegg paused and gave his audience a disdainful glance. "Are ye tellin'
me that ye don't want to get a better look at those beauties? I've stopped at
every port of call from Cape Town to Calcutta, gents, and I swear that Nelson
'imself never saw a finer pair of cannon! See for yerselves if you don't
believe me! It's only a British shillin', mate. What 'ave ye got to lose?"
********
Erika blushed and shifted her weight as the procession of men began to
file into the room behind her. She could almost feel the heat of their eyes on
the backs of her legs. With her arms elevated above her head, the muscles in
her bare thighs were given added curve and definition, and she sensed that her
loin cloth had ridden up over the base of her buttocks.
"What did I tell ye, lads? Take a look at these legs." Slegg had taken
a position alongside Erika now and was running a coarse hand over the backs of
her thighs. "Long and lovely, ain't they?" he enthused as he eased his hand
upward, letting his eager-eyed audience see just a hint of Erika's lovely bottom
cleft. "And soft as shantung silk, gents, soft as silk."
"What about it, men?" Slegg said cajolingly as he let the loincloth fall
and gave Erika's derriere a good squeeze through the fabric. "How'd ye like a
closer look at this sweet arse, boys? Me and Deng 'ave got a nice show planned
for any of you blokes that's still got a good pair of bollocks. For the
pittance of a shillin' a scene. Seven scenes for seven shillings, mates. Seven
be-yoo-ti-ful scenes of a beauty in bondage. Nothin' 'eld back, lads - for
those who ain't too lily-livered to watch, our sweet little frowlein'll soon be
wearing nothing but rope and bamboo." Slegg looked over the crewmen, confident
that he had them in the palm of his hand. "Rope and bamboo, gents -- just the
way ye want to see her. Step right up, lads! The first man to dip 'is hand into
'is pocket 'll get the best view!"
Deng-shan had apparently done a good job of capturing the flavor of Slegg's
salacious overture, for the crewmen were now jostling with each other to be the
first to throw coins into Deng's metal box.
"What's the matter with the rest o' ye?" Slegg barked irritably at the
stragglers. "D'ye think you'll get a stiffie just from 'earin' these blokes,"
here Slegg gestured toward those who had already paid, "tellin' you 'ow her tits
jiggled when I 'ung 'er from her bloody 'eels?"
Erika shivered as Slegg encouraged a man who had removed a coin from a bag
at his belt. "That's it, mate. Ye don't 'ave to pay the 'ole seven shillings at
once; pay as ye go, men, that's the ticket." Slegg turned and looked back at
Erika's long legs and wiped at his mouth. "But I'll bet 'arf a crown to a Welsh
farthing that there ain't a man among ye, who won't want to stay for the whole
show, once they've seen the first act."
"All right, ye cheap barstards," Slegg grumbled to the few remaining
hold-outs. " 'ave another look then." Slegg, ever the showman, inched the
skimpy loin-cloth up over Erika's heart-shaped derriere a fraction of an inch at
a time, tempting the sailors with the delights that he had already enjoyed. As
he eased the garment higher, there was a sudden intake of breath as the men
began to take note of the jagged marks he had inscribed on pale Erika's buttocks
with the rope-whip. As Slegg glanced around the hold, looking from face to
face, he had little doubt that there was not a man in the room who did not
experience a twinge of raw envy. Nor did he believe that a single one of them
would have stepped forward to prevent him from raping Erika's sweet young arse
when she had been bent so provocatively over the coal cart.
He smiled to himself as he studied his audience. One of the Chinese
sailors was running his thick tongue over his lips as he eyed Erika's saucy
bottom, while a goggle-eyed Malayan was almost beet-red with excitement. The
ship's cook, an aging, sallow-faced Vietnamese, rubbed a bony yellow hand
surreptitiously across the tent that had formed at the front of his trousers
like the foresail of a three-masted junk.
Erika, dreading the events to come, felt a blush of shame suffuse the
length of her body, warming the female flesh that was still a bit chilled from
the squall. A long, shuddering tremor swept through her body as she awaited the
beginning of Jasper Slugg's carnival of suffering.
As for Jasper Slegg, the mercenary peddler of female flesh was in his
element.
Chapter 135 Devadanyi - "The Woman Who Felt No Pain"
Jasper Slegg had come by his gift for showmanship naturally. When he had
been a boy his father, who at various points in his disreputable life had been a
tout, a pimp, and a confidence man, had, for a time, run a traveling carnival,
exhibiting various human unfortunates and oddities. Among them had been
'Thelma, The Thirty Stone Woman', 'Evelyn, the Hunchbacked Hermaphrodite' and
'Felipe, the Pin-headed Man'. Other occasional part-time players had included
Tuppence, the Twelve-fingered Milkmaid, Rex-Rex, the two-headed dog who ate as
if he had had four stomachs, and a curious assortment of albinos, bearded
ladies, cretins, dwarfs and the like.
But Amos Slegg, ever the entrepreneur, soon came to appreciate that a
significant number of his better-heeled male customers had interests of a more
private and personal nature, interests to which he was only too happy to cater,
provided the law could be kept at a safe distance. And so it was that a
handful of women of dubious virtue began to accompany Slegg's Circus of Marvels
on its seasonal peregrinations through southern and central Britain.
Once the women and children and the tamer male hearts in the audience had
been packed off and sent safely home to dreams filled with pinheads and
hermaphrodites, Amos Slegg would whisper in the ear of patrons with a certain
gleam in their eye, that a second show, one reserved for gentlemen with special
tastes, would be offered later in the evening. And it was during these
night-caps that Amos Slegg fattened his purse. For a shilling or two Maggie the
Middlesex Midget could be induced to display that part of her body connoting the
region of her birth. Rhiannon, the Welsh Pony Girl, did more, much more, than
traipse her equines around a dung-strewn earthen ring during the late show.
Zenobia, the Persian snake dancer, allowed her wriggling serpents considerably
more liberties than she did in the early evening show. And Alana, the Levantine
Pretzel Woman, who could contort her body into positions nearly impossible to
describe, was obliging enough to wrap her naked legs behind her own neck - or
around a generous gentleman's -- for half a crown. It mattered not a whit, of
course, to Amos Slegg that neither Zenobia or Alana had ever been closer to the
middle east than the east midlands.
********
During the December of Jasper Slegg's thirteenth year his father had set up
winter quarters in an out of the way cul-de-sac in Whitechapel, a district
notorious for the sins and the sinners of its dark alleys, but one that was
only a short hansom cab ride from the imposing stone edifices of the City of
London. Quickly word had passed, among men interested in such things, that a
new entertainment, one of the most debauched variety, was being offered to
free-spending rakes who took little pleasure from the sedate cultural and
educational attractions that the recently deceased and much-loved Prince Albert
had done so much to foster in London.
It was during that same dismal winter that Amos Slegg had introduced the
Devayani, the "Woman Who Felt No Pain". The exotic beauty was actually the only
one of Amos Slegg's strange cast of itinerant entertainers who actually hailed
from a faraway land, in her case from the land of the Taj Mahal. Her unusual
name, Jasper Slegg had learned years later from an oleaginous brothel-keeper in
Madras, meant 'daughter of Shukra', a Hindu deity whose name in turn was
derived from the ancient Sanskrit word for 'semen', the giver of all life.
During the early hours of the evening, Devayani, clad in an elegant sari,
would entertain the general audience by pricking the skin of her arms with
slender golden needles. After piercing her soft flesh, she would wave the palms
of her hands through the licking flames of an array of bright-burning candles,
seemingly heedless of the keenness of the needles and the heat of the flames,
while she intoned mantras of the east in a voice as light and fresh as a
bubbling spring.
But when the conventional audience departed, along with it departed the
constraints of Victorian London. Each night, at about midnight, after Maggie,
Zenobia, and Alana had performed (Rhiannon having run off with a
massively-endowed coachman from Shropshire a few weeks earlier), Devayani,
wearing a colorful costume from the east that brought out the highlights of her
mocha-colored skin, would re-emerge from behind a filmy curtain. During her
first few moments on stage, she would kneel motionless before a tall mirror
alongside the curtain, seemingly oblivious to the ring of heavy-breathing
bankers, brokers, and lawyers who sat tight-collared and impatient around the
tiny stage....
********
The tears of Queen Victoria lamenting the death of her beloved Albert were
not yet dry when Devadanyi had joined Amos Slegg's Circus of Marvels. In fact,
all of Britain was still in mourning on the foggy night in January 1862 when a
curious twist of fate had enabled young Jasper Slegg to see the midnight show of
the Indian beauty. On most nights his father had packed him off to their dingy
rooms near George Yard once the boy had finished sweeping up the refuse left by
the patrons of the first show. But the weather on this particular night had
been so desperately cold and foggy that Amos Slegg had told him to bed down in a
loft overlooking the improvised stage.
Weary from the day's labors, young Jasper had dropped off to sleep quickly,
but he was awakened an hour or two later by the sound of wooden chair legs being
dragged across the floor below. He sat up, shivering a bit in the cold, and
rubbed at his eyes as he listened to the familiar rumble of his father's voice.
"Slide yer chairs closer, my friends, because for the next 'arf an hour you
won't want to blink yer bloodshot eyes! For tonight ye happy few have the
distinct honor and rare privilege of witnessing the most thrilling, the most
exotic performance ever seen in Londontown! Without further ado, 'ere she is,
gents, our own Star of India -- Devadanyi, the Goddess of the Ganges, the Woman
Who Feels No Pain!"
There was something in the tone of his father's voice that led young Jasper
to wonder if his father, who he knew to be both a cynic and a charlatan, had
actually come to believe his own bombast --- at least in the case of Devadanyi.
The elder Slegg's grandiloquent introduction was marked by some further
shuffling of chairs, and then a somewhat inebriated voice was heard to call out,
"Off you go, then, Slegg. We came to see the wench, not to listen to you!" The
outburst was greeted by the muffled laughter of impatient men.
His boyish curiosity aroused, Jasper Slegg inched his way soundlessly
across the debris-strewn floor of the loft until he found a vantage point from
which he could peer down unobserved at the proceedings below. There were eight
men arranged in a semi-circle around a tiny stage dimly illuminated by a pair of
oil lanterns hanging from opposing walls. Three well-dressed -- and even
better-fed -- men of business from the City sat together, brandishing thick
cigars as they passed a flask of brandy back and forth. A pair of pipe-smoking
veterans clad in the regimental yellow of the Highlanders sat to their left,
their ruddy complexions testifying to a recent tour of duty in the tropics.
Further to the left of the soldiers sat two dripping and half-drunk rakehells
who had just come in out of the rain. One of them was the wag who had just
called out to Amos Slegg; the other wore the insignia of a sable griffin on his
cravat proclaiming him a barrister at Gray's Inn.
To the right of the three men of finance, a solitary toff sat slightly
apart from the rest. This last gentleman was dressed in a cape of funereal
black, with a dark scarf wound closely round his face even though Amos Slegg had
made sure that the coals in the poorly-ventilated fireplace were burning briskly
on such a chilly night. Behind the scarf, Jasper Slegg could see that the man's
face, while still quite young, had the chalky pallor of a nocturnal creature
unused to the midday sun; despite the relative darkness of the room, he still
wore the dark-tinted glasses of a man sensitive to light.
Alongside the fireplace an array of wet raincoats had been hung up to dry
within easy reach of the other half of the circular stage. Fifteen tall,
upright candles had been positioned around that arc, but of them, only the
tallest and centermost had been lit.
Just as Jasper had finished surveying the half-circle of eager patrons,
Devadanyi, clad from head to toe in iridescent silk, emerged through an opening
in a gauzy curtain and stepped lightly onto the crude stage of Amos Slegg.
Although he had seen her routinely in recent weeks, Jasper had always been
pre-occupied with his own chores and had never really taken note of her striking
appearance. The Indian maiden was about his own height - a little over five
feet - but the masses of thick, lustrous hair piled high on her head made her
appear somewhat taller. Her complexion was an appealing shade of bronze and her
facial features were of a classic purity - lovely cheekbones, a proud chin,
full, seductive lips, and deep, dark eyes of bottomless beauty. Between her
artfully trimmed eyebrows lay a beguiling red dot, the bindi worn by many Indian
woman, the third eye of Hindu lore.
Devadanyi began by bowing submissively toward her male audience in the
Indian fashion, with her hands pressed together as if in Christian prayer. Then
she turned and took down the single lit candle and flitted back and forth from
one side of the semi-circle of tapers to the other, using the lit candle to
light the others, thus providing a flickering backdrop for the performance that
was to follow. As she did so, Jasper noticed that illuminated images of lustful
Hindu divinities and vengeful demons seemed to appear out of nowhere on the
dingy wall behind the arc of candles, as if to ensure that in this room on this
night, a centuries-old tradition of male dominance would be served. Behind the
drapery from which Devadanyi had emerged, Jasper saw the silhouette of a
reed-thin, turbaned flautist lift a flute to his lips. A moment later a
haunting, sensual tune began to waft its way upwards toward the boy's place of
concealment. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his father dimming the
pair of oil lanterns, leaving the stage illumined only by flickering
candlelight. The performance was about to begin....
********
Jasper's young heart began to pound the moment the south Asian temptress
began to twirl in time to the music, the bangles on her slender wrists
glittering in the candlelight, her bare feet gliding across the tiny stage as if
she were walking on air. At first he thought that Devadanyi was still wearing
the sapphire-blue sari that she had worn during the earlier show, but upon
closer inspection he realized that she was now encased in a cocoon of veils, the
outermost of which had been cut from the same bolt of cloth as her sari.
She danced for a minute or two, seemingly in a rapture, her brown eyes
nearly closed, her soft lips whispering what Jasper took to be supplications to
her pagan gods. Then she stopped in front of one of the raffishly dressed young
lawyers and offered him the corner of a veil. Winking delightedly at his
companion, the law student took it and gave it a firm tug. The Indian beauty
spun around slowly twice, letting the veil unwind from her lower body before
drifting slowly to the floor.
Her legs now bare to mid-thigh, Deva continued to dance to the sensual
music as ten pairs of hungry eyes followed her across the stage, savoring the
sight of her slender, shapely limbs. Jasper, who had rarely seen so much as a
female knee, was transfixed by the sight of Deva's bare legs and felt a
pleasurable stiffening between his young legs, a stiffening that he greeted with
a furtive brush of his hand.
On the stage below, the dark-skinned temptress paused in front of the bank
of candles for effect. She reached up and unclipped the pair of ivory
hair-clasps that had kept her lush mane of ebony hair piled high on her head.
Shaking her head from side to side, she let the dark tresses cascade down over
her shoulders. A few moments later, one of the men from the City, a tall,
distinguished-looking man in his early thirties, relieved the graceful beauty of
a second veil, and was rewarded with hearty claps on the back from his
colleagues, one of whom was heard to mutter, "Bravo, Jamieson! Well done!"
The removal of the second veil left Deva's shoulders and upper chest nude
under a storm of jet black hair. As she continued her dance, all eyes were
drawn to the upper slopes of her perfect breasts and the delicious valley
between them.
Half-fearful that the hard-eyed men below could hear his ragged breathing,
Jasper unbuttoned the threadbare trousers which had become uncomfortably tight
around his groin and liberated his swelling penis, which responded to its new
freedom, and the touch of his eager hand, by growing larger by the moment.
The flautist began to play faster as the bare-legged dancer whirled around
and around as she spun across the stage toward the solitary gentleman in black.
Her body was turned obliquely toward the boy in the loft as she posed for the
pale young man in the ebony cape, her bare feet remaining in place, while her
supple young body continued its seductive dance. Jasper gave his youthful
erection a long pleasurable squeeze as his boyish eyes drank in the silky-smooth
texture of Deva's tawny thighs, and he imagined the feminine mysteries hidden
away beneath the rest of the veils. How far would she go, he wondered, as his
excitement mounted. He watched enthralled as the Indian beauty's breasts
oscillated beneath the filmy fabric, her sharp-pointed nipples seeming to dance
to each note of the flute-player's hypnotic tune.
Her eyes half-closed as if in prayer, Devadanyi leaned forward, offering
the end of the veil around her midriff to the bespectacled gentleman in black.
As she did so, Jasper, looking down from above, had a perfect vantage point to
enjoy the splendor of the deep, enticing cleavage between her close-set breasts.
He stroked himself again, slowly, from the very root of his cock to its
sensitive crown, which he teased gently with the tip of his thumb, and then
again, faster and harder, as he imagined himself fondling the Indian beauty's
succulent breasts. His breathing quickened as he stroked himself again. What
would it be like, his mind raced in youthful wonder, to touch those luscious
breasts, perhaps timidly at first, but then more boldly, testing their
resiliency, and then nudging them gently together so that he could bury his face
in their softness. He saw himself using his lips and tongue to explore the
pebbly texture of her areolae and the taut, sweet firmness of her jutting
nipples.
Jasper's hand slid up and down the length of his throbbing organ as he
wondered how Deva's bronze love-gourds would taste. Would they taste of the
perspiration that gave them such a superb sheen, he wondered, or would they be
scented with some exotic eastern perfume?
After exhaling deeply, young Jasper Slegg pictured himself and the dusky
Indian temptress lying entwined in a shady meadow, far from the squalor of
London, her nude body poised above his own. His eager lips captured a swollen
nipple, as her hands, her soft knowing hands, fondled him, teased him, stroked
him to the limits of his endurance. She took his manhood and pressed the
excruciatingly sensitive tip of his penis against a nipple taut with desire and
then shamelessly pressed her glorious dark-tipped breasts together around his
fleshy shaft, making love to it with wanton abandon. Only then, when he was
half-maddened with desire, did she swirl her tongue around the head of his penis
once and then a second time, more slowly, before sliding forward and mounting
the column of flesh that she had erected with such loving care....
Abandoning himself to this ecstatic vision, Jasper's hand became a blur
as he fondled his throbbing erection until it exploded, shooting jet after jet
of seed into the air. So powerful had his delicious orgasm been, that the boy
had to scoot back from his vantage point in order to keep his spunk from arching
downward into the room below.
Jasper Slegg sat back on his haunches, panting, spent for the moment, but
his ardor was rekindled almost immediately as he watched the man in the dark
glasses disdain the corner of Deva's veil. Instead the pale figure snarled
under his breath and ripped the filmy garment from her mid-section with a
violent wrench. Devadanyi spun around awkwardly, almost falling, and Amos Slegg
interjected, " 'ere now, guvnor, there's no call for ..." but the man in black
silenced the showman with a withering look and slid silently back into his seat
once again, staring fixedly at the tawny belly he had bared.
And what a belly it was! Deva's wasp-thin waist contrasted beautifully with
the womanly convexity of her hips. An imitation ruby sparkled in her exquisite
navel, which seemed never to stop moving, even during those rare moments when
her feet were perfectly still. The faint impression of her lower ribs could be
seen against her baby-soft belly-flesh, as could the sweet swell of her lower
abdomen. All the while the sphinx-like man in the cape continued to scrutinize
every detail of her torso with the thoroughness of an anatomist.
After wiping the spent fountain of his healthy young cock on a scrap of
sacking, Jasper leaned forward again, peering down through the smoky haze at
the exotic creature below. Devadanyi, her belly now bare down to the low-slung
veil that clung to her womanly hips, stood with her eyes closed and her
shoulders bent back, undulating sinuously as if she were offering herself to one
of the salacious deities who looked on from the iconic paintings she had placed
on the walls. The Hindu priestess, (if his father was to believed), was now
down to her final pair of veils, two pale wisps of gossamer around her ripe
breasts and shapely hips that were hardly more substantial than a spider's web.
The men below had grown silent now. Their was no joking, no ribald banter
now, as they watched with intent faces, their chins firm, their unblinking eyes
glued to the voluptuous body of the Asian seductress whose tawny legs glistened
in the candlelight. The dancer had her back to young Jasper Slegg now, and the
young boy felt a second surge of virility as he stared rapturously at the
alluring groove between Deva's shimmering buttocks which was plainly visible
through the sheerness of her nether veil.
When Devadanyi spun around and posed before him, the taller of the two
Highlanders gallantly swept the penultimate veil away from her hips, leaving
behind a miniscule golden crotch piece held in place by chains so fine that
Jasper could barely see them through the smoky haze. As Devadanyi spun for the
Highlander, her quivering buttocks now bare save for the slender golden chain
nestled between them, Jasper noted that the bewhiskered face of the shorter of
the two officers was contorted by some violent passion ... Anger? Lust?
Hatred?
Deva pirouetted across the floor once more, finally coming to rest before
another of the City men, a corpulent young banker with thinning hair and the
smug countenance of a plutocrat who felt it advisable to re-tally his extensive
holdings every hour or two.
The dancer fell to her knees before him, still, gyrating, still silently
mouthing an esoteric chant. Then, with her thighs well parted, she arched her
lovely body backward, affording the banker, his companions, and Jasper Slegg an
exquisite view of a bare belly glistening with perspiration, the shapely legs
doubled up beneath her, and the bewitching no-man's-land between them, which was
guarded by the golden crotch-piece. She shimmied orgiastically for a moment or
two and then sat up again and leaned forward so that her pulsating lust-globes
strained against the diaphanous silk scant inches from the banker's eager face.
"I think she likes you, Benson - or your bank account," the elegantly-
dressed Jamieson teased his crony.
But Benson wasn't listening. His piggish eyes were welded to the luscious
pair of dark-nippled breasts that jiggled so enticingly within their tissue-thin
confinement. His pudgy hands clenched into menacing fists as he wheezed, "Good
girl, good girl. Shake those sweet tits for me, you heathen slut!"
Devadanyi seemed to shrink from this crude outburst, but only for a
moment. Averting her soulful eyes from his, she gestured toward the knot
between her breasts, which held the last veil in place.
Grinning obscenely, Benson extended his short arms and fumbled clumsily
with the knot. But it might have been the knot of Gordius, for all of Benson's
ability to solve it. He cursed and tugged at it, while a subtle smile on
Devadanyi's face betrayed her contempt for the impotent banker.
But suddenly a black sleeve appeared out of the darkness, a sleeve holding
an oddly-shaped knife. As the audience held its collective breath, the pale man
in the black cape pressed the blade of the knife against the scarlet spinel in
Deva's navel. His dark glasses glittered eerily as he slid the sharp edge of
the blade slowly up her trembling belly and between her shuddering breasts,
before deftly flipping the blade over in his hand and cutting through the silken
knot as if it were butter on a summer's day.
He retreated as silently as he had advanced, and re-took his seat, allowing
the others to enjoy the sight of the veil falling away from Deva's superb
breasts, leaving her ripe-nippled, sweat-slick globes nude for their
delectation.
Jasper Slegg was hard as a rock again, but this time he had no thoughts of
soft meadows and sunny skies and shady trees. It was the glitter of cold steel
against Deva's soft breasts, naked power tyrannizing naked flesh, that had
aroused him this time. His jaw set, he squeezed new blood, new power into his
cockstaff. For now Jason Slegg was admiring Devadanyi's body with the cold,
hard eyes of a man, not the curious eyes of a boy.
Amazingly, Devadanyi had recovered her poise. Her doe-brown eyes closed in
a secret rapture, she sank gracefully into the lotus position and dripped a
small quantity of oil from an ornate ampulla into the palms of her hands. Her
fingers thus anointed, she spent a minute or two rubbing the oil, fragrant with
scents of mint and sandalwood that refused to be drowned out by the acrid stench
of burning tobacco, into the flesh of her arms and the soft, supple skin of her
limber thighs.
Her audience watched her dainty ministrations with bated breath, as if
enchanted by the crimson dot between her eyebrows, which glowed in the
half-light given off by the candles and reflected by the gemstone in her navel.
Ten pairs of lecherous eyes followed every motion of her hands as she smoothed
the sacred oil over the planes and hollows of her shapely body. From above the
younger Slegg stared down in wonder at the mesmerizing jut of her ripe-nippled
breasts as Deva lathered her love-mounds with oil until they glistened like
polished cherry-wood.
It was only when her nipples stood out from her breasts like slick, sturdy
sentinels that Jasper realized that Devadanyi had been temporizing until the
desired number of gratuities had been proffered by her audience. It was then
that Jasper Slegg realized that to this point, he had been witnessing a pleasing
but inconsequential prelude.
The final act of "The Woman Who Feels No Pain" had yet to begin....
********
During the next few minutes, young Jasper was to learn that a gentleman who
placed a pound-note or a golden sovereign on the apron of the stage earned the
pleasure and privilege of piercing Devadanyi's soft flesh with one of the fine
golden needles that she had used to prick her arms during the earlier, tamer
show. When Devayani took the coin or the banknote, and stood before its
offerer, and held out the elegant jewel case that housed several gleaming
needles, it was a timid toff indeed who contented himself with using the
scarlet-studded needles to poke at the flesh of her arms.
Amos Slegg could have told his son that on prior nights some men had
driven a needle into her thigh-flesh, hoping to elicit a reaction. Some had
chosen to probe her flanks or her shapely buttocks or her trim belly, so devoid
of fatty tissue that the needle seemed certain to draw a gasp of pain. But most
chose her tempting young breasts, confident that a sure hand and a vigorous
thrust into a sensitive underslope or a nerve-rich areola would be sure to
elicit a cry of distress from this mysterious young woman whose soft, serene
chant once again echoed endlessly in the airless, smoke-filled room.
For the rules of the house were such that if Devadanyi raised her hands or
voice to stop him, the gentleman wielding the needle was permitted to keep the
amount he had hazarded, and better still, to strike again, adding a second
needle to the first. Night after night, Amos Slegg's fortunes had risen as
strong men who had ventured a pound drove the bejeweled needles into nearly
every part of Devayani's lovely body. But never once did the sublime composure
on her face change; never once did she cry out. And at the end of each night
she and Amos Slegg had divided their proceeds evenly between them. Is it any
wonder that the avaricious showman had come to believe in the mystical talents
of his 'Goddess of the Ganges'?
For the wager of a guinea, a gentleman was permitted to hold a candle at a
distance of two inches from Devadanyi's body - any part of her body save for the
feminine treasure shielded by the golden crotchpiece - for five seconds by Amos
Slegg's watch. Not infrequently a man would hold the candle under the soft
undercurve of an oil-gleaming breast that his neighbor had just pierced,
confident that by compounding pain upon pain he would win the day. But always,
always, Devayani would stand perfectly motionless, her eyes closed, her dusky,
dark-nippled breasts thrust forward proudly, her soft lips intoning the words
of a mantra which had doubtless been ancient eighteen centuries earlier, when
Boadicea, the proud Queen of the Iceni had sacked Londinium to revenge herself
upon the Romans who had flogged her and raped her daughters.
But on this occasion, Jasper Slegg watched with ever-growing excitement as
the young man from Gray's Inn, his hand visibly trembling from a combination of
nervousness and alcohol, plunged a needle into the fleshiest part of Devadanyi's
upper thigh. Even from above, young Slegg could see the muscles in Deva's leg
quivering noticeably, but her soft rhythmic chanting never stopped and she moved
on to the next pound note, which had been proffered by the taller of the two
Highlanders.
"Remember Kanpur, Major Campbell?" his stocky comrade goaded him with a
snarl. "Remember how the cow-loving bastards slaughtered the men and raped the
women? The Sepoys killed my brother and his sweet young wife, Major. Make her
pay, Major, make her pay!"
Even a boy of Jasper Slegg's station in life knew the story of the Sepoy
Mutiny a few years earlier and the dreadful massacre that had taken place at
Kanpur. So this was why the bushy-whiskered Highlander had glowered at
Devadanyi with such intensity earlier....
Nodding to his fellow adjutant, Campbell removed one of the needles from
Deva's box and twirled it thoughtfully for a moment between his fingers as he
contemplated his strategy. Having decided, he grabbed Devadanyi firmly by the
wrist, twisted her around and stabbed the needle deep into a bare buttock. She
gasped softly and the ring of men watched the delightful play of the muscles in
her sweet bottom, but once again there was no real sign that Devadanyi's mystic
defenses had been breached.
The third man to try his hand was Benson, the portly banker in the
expensive pin-striped suit who had wrestled so futilely with the knot at her
breasts. But his piggish eyes had not left Deva's pleasure-mounds since the
caped figure had cut away the filmy fabric which had half-heartedly attempted to
veil her mouthwatering globes.
The pot-bellied man of property began cleverly, holding a needle by its
jewel-studded hilt as he leisurely scraped its entire length against the
underside of the Indian beauty's left nipple, teasing the already-swollen bud to
a remarkable length and fullness. His fashionably-dressed companions looked on
excitedly, their faces flushed with after-dinner port and an arousal fanned by
the most exciting game of darts in all of Greater London.
Benson nurtured the sensitive nipple of Deva's breast until it blossomed
into a distended bud of desire. Only then, urged on by the tight-lipped
mutterings of his companions, did he press the point of the gleaming needle
against the very tip of Devadanyi's left breast.
"That's it old boy! Do it!" called out the disappointed young rake who had
just lost his wager. "Jab her good, Benson!" rasped the mercenary colleague
from the City who stood at Jamieson's left . "Get your money's worth from the
little tart!"
Although the pressure against her tender nipple would have brought tears to
the eyes of any another woman, Deva never opened her own, and her outthrust
breasts continued to rise and fell gently with her even breathing. It was as if
her body and soul had been transported from Amos Slegg's tawdry den in the East
End to the tranquility of an eastern temple.
From his hiding place above, Jasper Slegg had seen the unmistakable
banger-like erection pressing against the front of Bennett Benson's pin-striped
pants even as he stroked himself to an erection mightier than the one he had had
before. The florid-faced banker, his porcine face contorted with lust, fondled
Devadanyi's well-oiled breast with his free hand for a moment or two before
chuckling, "In for a penny, in for a pound, eh, gents?" to his companions. Then,
as Jasper gently cupped his swollen, aching testicles, the belligerent banker
squeezed the shining gemstone between his fingers and plunged the tip of the
golden needle deep into Deva's outthrust nipple.
Despite a subtle fluttering in the muscles of her bare thighs, and a sudden
exhalation of breath that bespoke the depths of her silent suffering, Devadanyi
uttered not a sound. The portly banker continued to put pressure on the hilt of
the needle, pressing it into her tender breast with his thumb until his thumb
grew so sore that he pulled it away in disgust. But never once did Devadanyi
give voice to whatever pain she felt.
Wasting not a moment, the stocky, vengeance-minded Highlander threw a
guinea on top of Benson's banknote and reached for one of the flaming candles
that had illuminated Devadanyi's remarkable performance. His face was contorted
with long-suppressed fury as he held the candle under Deva's pierced breast at
the prescribed distance. The bright yellow sleeve of his dress uniform trembled
with vindictive wrath as he sought to retaliate for the atrocities of the recent
insurrection, by exacting a cruel revenge on the beautiful body of a young woman
who had no one any harm.
There was a crazed look in his eyes as he watched the candle's flame strain
to reach its tempting target for the full ten seconds permitted. Then, when
Jasper Slegg called, "Time!" and he still had not elicited a cry of pain from
the dark-skinned beauty, he cursed and raised the candle so that its eager flame
licked directly at the glistening half-inch of golden needle that protruded from
Deva's quivering nipple. He heated the slender skewer for another second or two
before Amos Slegg could step forward and pull his hand away.
" 'ere now, Lieutenant Roberts, you know the rules."
The fuming adjutant angrily thrust the candle at Amos Slegg and sullenly
backed away, wiping furiously at the spittle that had formed in the corner of
his mouth.
Meanwhile, the corpulent man of property had launched into a rancorous
outburst. "It's hocus-pocus, that's what it bloody well is!" Benson raged.
"Like those fakirs in the east who pretend to walk on hot coals. It's a
swindle, I swear by the Christian God, or my name's not Bennett Benson!"
"So ye think it's all a trick, d'ye Mr. Benson?" Amos Slegg's brow was
wrinkled in thought.
"Of course it's a trick. Or a Hindoo hoax. You can't trust these wogs, man.
This hot-blooded little tart's no more a priestess than I'm the Archbishop of
Canterbury. I just haven't figured out how she does it yet."
Amos Slegg eyed the banker pensively. "Listen, guv'nor. If ye think it's a
bloody swindle, I've got twenty quid that says Deva can press her pretty
breasts into a bed of 'ot coals for three seconds, without lettin' out a peep."
Amos Slegg gestured toward the blazing fireplace. "Whaddye say, guv'nor?
Willin' to put yer purse where yer mouth is, are ye?"
"Done!" barked Benson, as he reached for his thick wallet and extracted two
ten-pound notes. "Take a good look at 'em sweetie," he taunted Devadanyi,
waving the banknotes in front of her while he eyed the thin trickle of blood
oozing from the point where his needle had lodged in her breast. "Cause this is
as close to them as you're going to get!"
Young Jasper had seen many men of twisted pleasures during his two years
touring with his father, but never a man so overtly crude as Bennett Benson. A
pot-bellied man of thirty or so with thinning hair, his thick body seemed
ill-suited to his thin banker's pin-stripes. The malice given off by Benson's
manner had had an effect on Devadanyi as well. For the first time, Deva seemed
in danger of losing her composure, as if she had been unnerved by the brazenness
of Amos Slegg's challenge. And for the second time that night, Jasper Slegg
wondered if his father had really begun to believe his own inflated rhetoric.
While Amos Slegg wrestled a sturdy table onto the stage, Jasper watched
Devadanyi sink to her knees facing the mirror before which she had knelt briefly
at the very beginning of her performance. She stared into it humbly, as if
seeking strength, and then she bowed her chin on her chest and closed her eyes,
unconscious of the lascivious stares of the watching men, while she chanted and
prayed to some august deity of the east.
Once the table was safely centered on the stage, Amos Slegg stalked over to
the fireplace and began shoveling chunks of coal ash and glowing embers into a
large cast-iron skillet. When it was full he gingerly carried the heavy skillet
back toward the stage.
" Stir 'em up," Benson snapped, pointing to the coals, as Slegg carefully
set the improvised brazier on top of the wooden table. "Stir 'em up and bring
'em back to life. Or the bet's off!"
"Stir 'em to suit yourself, guv'nor," the senior Slegg said obligingly, and
Benson began to poke at the coals with his walking stick until they were
crackling with new-found life.
"That should do it," the young banker said with an evil smirk as he edged
the pan of glowing coals back toward the center of the table. Then he laid his
two tenners down alongside the skillet. "Let's see you stick your pretty tits in
there, you swindling slut!"
"No need for language like that, guv'nor. Deva's a lady. And she'll do
what she's told. Won't you, Deva?" Jasper heard a grim undercurrent of menace
in his father's voice.
"As you wish, sahib." Something in Jasper Slegg thrilled to the sound of
the word, 'sahib.' It meant 'master', he knew, in the language of the east. He
began to stroke himself again, his ardor rising at the sound of that soft,
submissive "Master"!
"It's only three seconds, dearie, but you understand I'll have to 'old you
down while one o' these gents," Slegg gestured toward the onlookers, "counts off
the time."
Devadanyi trembled in a way that Jasper had not seen her do before. But
she rose to her feet and took two steps forward, until her bare thighs were
pressed against the table that held the smoking skillet.
" 'ere, let me take out the needle. No need for that now, right, guv'nor?"
"That wasn't part of the bet!" snapped Benson sharply. "Leave it in!"
"Whatever ye say," said Amos Slegg nervously. Jasper could tell that his
father was beginning to have misgivings about the bet.
"Are ye ready, Deva?" Amos Slegg asked as he placed his hand between
Devadanyi's bare shoulder-blades.
"Yes, sahib."
"See that you press down hard enough, Slegg! I'm not paying off for a
Punjabi parlor trick!"
"There'll be no swindle, guv'nor." Amos Slegg looked around and his eyes
settled on the one guest who had come alone, who seemed the most likely to be
independent-minded. " 'ow about doing the counting, sir" he asked the
chalk-faced man in the black cape. "No funny business, eh? Three seconds.
Fair's fair."
"Let me get my watch from my bag," the man in the cape whispered in an
asthmatic voice. He bent down next to his chair and reached into a black
leather bag in which an array of scalpels, lancets, forceps and other medical
instruments were neatly nestled.
"Medical man, eh?" muttered the tipsy barrister to the muffled man in
black. "You might want to give a thought to your bedside manor, old boy."
The man in the cape gave the man from Gray's Inn a look that would have
done a gorgon proud.
"Hurry it up, the lot of you!" Benson snarled. "And be sure that you mash
those beauties in there good and proper, Slegg!" Benson snarled, gesturing at
the hot coals. "Or I'll have the law on you before the tide goes out!"
Amos Slegg glared at the banker angrily, knowing that his illicit income
was entirely dependent upon a conspiracy of silence between his patrons and
himself. If he were to displease even one of them ...
Jasper Slegg had shifted his position slightly so that he could get a
better look at Devadanyi's lovely face. He saw things in her dark eyes, as she
stared fixedly at the glowing coals, that he had not seen there before.
Hesitation. Fear. Perhaps even panic. And that fear, that panic, only added
to his excitement. His swollen cock was aching with dark desire as he eyed
Deva's glistening breasts, one of which was bisected by the golden skewer and a
rivulet of red nipple-blood and seemed to quiver in the half-light given off by
the flickering candles.
"Get on with it, man! Before the fire cools!" The intensity in the
banker's gruff voice matched the feverish brightness in his piggish eyes.
Jasper had never forgotten the steely strength in Devadanyi's voice when
she averted her eyes from the glowing coals, and silenced Benson by addressing
him in a respectful but determined voice. "If you think the fire is cool,
sahib, put your hand in it."
Trembling but serene, Deva removed Amos Slegg's hand from between her
shoulders, whispering, "There is no need, sahib" and glanced at the time-keeper.
"Ready?" Slegg asked the mysterious figure in the cape.
The man in black nodded silently. But the tiny beads of perspiration that
had formed on his ashen brow and the manner in which he stared fixedly at
Devadanyi's bare breasts and belly betrayed his excitement.
When he nodded, Deva closed her eyes, and began a new chant in a soft
sing-song voice that seemed to issue forth from the depths of her soul. After a
few seconds, she slid her bare feet a little further apart, and clasped her
hands together behind her back, a movement which accentuated the pleasing jut of
her breasts. Then, chanting slightly faster, she bent forward from the waist
and pressed the turgid tips of her breasts against the glowing coals.
Jasper heard a hiss not unlike that of water thrown on a fire as every
muscle in Devadanyi's bare arms and legs jerked bowstring taut. He stroked
himself twice and then paused on the very precipice of desire.
"One!"
Deva's chanting began to come louder and faster. Jasper Slegg could see
tears streaming from the corners of her tightly closed eyes. Despite his
father's protestations, this was surely not a woman who was impervious to pain.
"Remember Kanpur, you Sepoy slut!" Lieutenant Roberts' voice was thick
with blood lust.
His eyes greedily drinking in the sight of Deva's nudity, Jasper stroked himself
again, re-kindling his passion.
"Two!!"
"Deeper! Stick 'em in there deeper, you heathen whore, or the bet's off!"
Devadanyi's body shuddered violently as she leaned forward a bit more,
burying the protruding needle deep in the smoking embers, until her well-oiled
breasts were completely enveloped by the fiery coals. She held that agonizing
pose for an endless second until Amos Slegg cursed at the pallid timekeeper,
who, ignoring his watch, had become transfixed by the expression of suffering
on Devadanyi's lovely face. Belately he regained his self-possession and
rasped out "Three!!" in a voice choked with male arousal.
And on that 'Three!!' Jasper Slegg, his lust inflamed beyond measure by
the cruelties the men huddled around the stage had inflicted on Devadanyi's
beautiful breasts, came once again, as surge after surge of pleasure shot
through his genitals.
It was some seconds before Jasper recoverd his composure. Below him,
looking like a tortured goddess who had bathed in a volcanic lake, Devadanyi
had straightened up, her soft lips still mouthing words in an unknown tongue.
She slowly gathered herself before setting about removing the three needles.
The ones in her thigh and backside slid out rather easily, but the needle that
Benson had thrust into her nipple seemed to have been fused into her flesh by
the heat of the coals. It took long painful seconds and a number of agonized
grimaces to extract the bloody pin, but at last she managed to do so.
She then proceeded to collect the veils and wrap the largest of them
around her nude body. Having covered herself, she took one of Benson's bank
notes and tucked it into her bosom, leaving the other for Amos Slegg. Then,
with a gesture inflected with both submissiveness and pride, she bowed to the
ring of gentlemen, and then to Slegg, before disappearing behind the silken
curtain from which she had emerged only a quarter of an hour earlier.
Most of the men in the audience watched her departure with something
approaching awe. They stood milling about for a moment talking to one another,
offering each other their impressions of the remarkable performance they had
just witnessed. Just as the audience was about to go its separate ways, Benson
approached the figure in the black cape, who remained off to one side as he
carefully returned his watch to the black bag.
"Benson's my name," the banker muttered gruffly as he extended his hand.
"Anglo-Chinese Bank. I appreciate your giving me another second or two just
now. Damned shame it didn't do any good! But at least we made the hot-blooded
slut pay dearly for her windfall, eh?" he added with the complacent smile of a
capitalist who felt he had gotten fair value for his money. "I still don't see
how the little trollop did it, but no use crying over spilled milk, is there?
Sorry, but I don't think I caught your name?"
The caped figure tugged the scarf tighter around his face as he stared
disdainfully at the well-heeled banker's outstretched hand.
"Jack," he whispered in a dry, asthmatic voice. "You can call me 'Jack'."
Then, as a somewhat mystified Bennett Benson looked on, he reached down for his
bag, strode to the door and opened it. The muffled figure paused in the
doorway, staring out into an almost impenetrable London fog before pulling his
cape tighter around his shoulders and setting out. By the time he had taken
three steps, he had disappeared into the mist as if he were no more substantial
than the shadow of a streetlight.
********
To his chagrin, Jasper Slegg never saw Devadanyi again. It was only years
later that he learned that she had submitted to the pain and degradation of his
father's exhibitions because it was the only way she knew - aside from
sacrificing her virtue in a way that she refused to do, to earn sufficient
money to liberate Indukala, her younger sister. For Indukala, whose serenity and
loveliness did justice to the moonlight for which she had been named, had been
the unhappy victim of an arranged marriage to a corrupt and sexually abusive
Indian aristocrat who had brought the two young women to London.
Despite all of her devout prayers, Devadanyi had not been a mystic at all,
although the unguent with which she had generously laved her lovely body had
afforded some protection against scars resulting from burns. She had cringed
inwardly at every stab of the needle, and screamed silently at every lick of the
flame. But she had endured, and in the end had conquered. Three days after
bathing her breasts in Bennett Benson's lake of fire, she had bought her
sister's freedom and after a joyful reunion, they had returned home to begin a
new and happier life.
********
Even now, more than twenty years later, the memory of that beautiful Indian
enchantress was still sufficient to rekindle the fires of passion in Jasper
Slegg. Had Captain McMahon's announcement that Erika Weiss would be tried for
mutiny in the morning turned his thoughts to the Sepoy Mutiny of more than a
quarter-century ago, he wondered briefly?
But Jasper Slegg was not a man much given to profitless speculation. He
glanced at Erika Weiss, whose bound, half-clothed body was the cynosure of all
eyes below the decks of the Yang-tze Dragon. He smiled to himself as he
examined the faces of the men gawking at the bare legs of the long-stemmed
blonde. They were twenty-odd years and half a world away from the men who had
exploited Devadanyi's charms, and even more unlike them in terms of language,
religion, and culture. But at a primitive, instinctive level, were they not
much the same? From the alleyways of London to the back streets of Bombay to
the brothels of Shanghai men dreamt of enslaving beautiful young women, of
forcing them to submit to their will, of using and abusing their soft bodies for
their own selfish pleasure. So it had ever been, and so it would always be.
So why should he not profit from that manly impulse? He had learned the
art of separating a male audience from its collective purse at his father's
knee. He would give these men what they craved so desperately, a taste of
sexual dominance, but on his own terms, and in his own time, for the benefit of
his own account.
Slegg winked slyly at his patrons and ran his hand up Erika's left leg,
squeezing her thigh-flesh as she wriggled in revulsion, and then higher still,
lifting the hem of the loincloth slowly, giving his audience another peek at the
pale perfection of her buttocks and a glimpse of golden-fringed pink labia that
was sure to stoke their passions.
"Seven scenes, mates. Seven scenes that you'll tell your sons and their
sons about when they ask you to tell them about the most beautiful woman you
ever saw. Seven scenes of a beauty in bondage unlike anything you've seen
before. Seven scenes that you'll never forget. For a paltry shilling apiece!"
Slegg smiled to himself, and as the last few stragglers deposited their
coins in Deng-shan's money box, he was reminded of the extra strut visible in
his father's gait on the morning after an especially good box office. Jasper
Slegg was a simple man, but he understood what motivated men. It had only been
a few years earlier that the American, Barnum, had come to London and acquired
'Jumbo', the prodigious African elephant. In Europe, Jumbo had been a large
elephant; in America, thanks to the unceasing drumbeat of Barnum's publicity
machine, the great pachyderm had become the Eighth Wonder of the World.
From Barnum, that consummate salesman, Slegg had learned that the art of
pleasing the customer lay as much in shaping the customer's wants as in
supplying them. And tonight, he concluded, as he studied the faces of the men
whose glazed eyes were devouring the sight of Erika Weiss's luscious body, he
would have little difficulty in convincing each of these simple fools into
believing that it was his own hands, his own manhood, which had subdued and
enslaved this proud, long-legged beauty. There was indeed, Slegg conceded with
an inner smirk, 'a sucker born every minute.' They were sheep waiting to be
shorn. And he was just the man to shear them.
But now, he concluded, as he slowly surveyed the Bird Cage taking in the
coils of rope of every description that hung from the walls, the sturdy hooks
and rings which had been driven into the walls and floors, and the various
bondage frames than Deng-shan had built with his clever hands, it was time for
the show to begin. And as he rubbed at his still tender ribs he vowed that his
voluptuous semi-nude prisoner would come to rue the instant that she had aimed
a shovel or a kick at Jasper Slegg....
Author's note: Sorry this episode has been a bit long in coming; I was
traveling for a time. And a special thanks to all who have written me in recent
weeks. Your comments were gratefully received and very much appreciated.
Boccaccio
Chapter 136 The Night of the Seven Torments (Part I)
When the last straggler had coughed up the price of admission to Deng-shan,
Jasper Slegg turned his attention to Erika Weiss. The German beauty was the
newest in a long line of female captives who had adorned the Bird Cage, the
special hold below decks where Captain McMahon stowed his most-prized cargo -
the unfortunate young women who were destined for the flesh dens of his Chinese
ports-of-call. He strolled around Erika slowly, casting an admiring eye at the
scantily-clad body of the stunning young woman who was to provide the
entertainment for his eager-eyed audience.
The waxing and waning light given off by the four ancient kerosene
lanterns which provided the only illumination in the Birdcage played over
Erika's creamy flesh lovingly. She stood facing a wooden T-cross, with her
wrists securely bound high above her head to an evil-looking hook near the top
of the upright. Her bare midriff and nicely-tanned legs provided a pleasing
contrast to the whiteness of her improvised halter and her makeshift loincloth.
The latter remained precariously knotted at one hip, revealing a delicious
expanse of thigh-flesh and just a hint of her shapely behind. Her ankles were
securely bound to floor-mounted manacles which allowed her pretty feet no more
than an inch or two of play.
For some minutes Erica had been trying to fathom the purpose of the
circular opening at the waist-high juncture of the cross, but now its meaning
quickly became all too clear. Grinning evilly, Jasper Slegg made his way across
a deck littered with sawdust and bone-dry bamboo shavings, the products no
doubt, of Deng-shan's penchant for carpentry. Arriving at an irregular mound of
wood and bamboo, he began sorting irritably through the pile of seeming rubble
for a moment or two, before exclaiming triumphantly, "Ah, here it is!" With a
satisfied grin he pulled free a pointed bamboo rod whose rifled diameter matched
precisely that of the opening in the cross.
Slegg held the stake up so that his audience could see the sharpness of its
tip as he returned to the cross. He jabbed the rod into Erika's side briefly,
and then pulled it back, giving Erika a malicious scowl. "Scene One, dearie!"
he muttered, before inserting the rod in the aperture in the crosspiece. He
began turning it, slowly screwing it into the opening in the wood. Erika
stared at the opening apprehensively as the tapering bamboo pale slowly emerged
and began inching its way toward her naked belly.
As Slegg continued to turn the fearful screw, Erika soon began to feel its
sharpened point pressing forcefully against her navel. Wincing in pain, the
scantily-clad blonde tried to pull away from the post, only to realize the
cleverness of her bondage - with her ankles lashed to the rings in the floor and
her wrists bound high on the cross, no real retreat was possible.
Jasper Slegg had been eagerly awaiting Erika's first grimace, and he
beckoned his audience forward so that they could enjoy Erika's expression of
chagrin as he continued to twist the bamboo screw through the snug-fitting
opening, driving Erika's tender belly one inch - two inches - three inches -
further from the upright.
It was not until Slegg heard Erika's first muffled gasp of pain that he
paused for a moment, letting the crewmen savor his prisoner's helplessness. "I
promised ye that I'd give you a good look at these beauties, didn't I lads?" he
muttered, as his reached around the cross, his hands casually brushing against
Erika's stiffening nipples while he undid the knot in the halter that Erika had
fashioned from the Captain's shirt. Slegg made short work of the knot, and
then, gloating lecherously, he pushed what was left of what had once been a
sleeveless undershirt back over Erika's rounded shoulders, unveiling her
ripe-nippled globes.
Erika blushed furiously as the onlookers pressed closer, jostling each
other roughly as they formed an irregular circle around the forbidding cross,
each man seeking a better view of the pink-tipped turrets of flesh which rose
and fell deliciously with her every straining breath. Erika's enforced shower
in the typhoon had removed the smudges of caked blood that Mao's flesh-tearing
tools had drawn from her breasts, but there were still faint vestiges of his
work with screwdriver and pliers, especially around the soft brown areoles from
which her tempting, semi-taut nubbins rose so shamelessly.
Catching Deng-shan's eye, Jasper Slegg signaled to him and the muscular
Chinese carpenter stepped forward. Each of the men reached for a tender nipple
and worked it between rough fingers, until the two lust-buds stood out
impudently from Erika's mouthwatering breasts. Only then did Deng dip a hand
into his leather tool-bag and extract a cylindrical spool of coarse twine. As
Erika watched in mounting dismay, the handyman unwound the ball and cut two
twenty-inch lengths of twine, and handed one to his partner in perfidy.
Each man then formed a circular noose at the midpoint of his twine-cord and
slipped it around the base of one of Erika's distended nipples. After checking
to see that both of the tiny circlets were in place, Slegg gave Deng an almost
imperceptible nod and each man gave the ends of his own length of twine a swift
jerk at precisely the same moment.
"Aaiaaaa!" Erika groaned as the loops snapped shut, seizing her tender
nipples in their merciless grip. She twisted her upper body from side to side
violently, hoping against hope that she could somehow throw off the
nipple-gnawing cords, but her agitated movements only served to entertain her
admirers, who eagerly followed every eye-pleasing wobble of her oscillating
breasts.
The searing, stinging pain had caused Erika's knees to buckle slightly,
and, as soon as her gyrations slowed her two captors took steps to correct her
indolent posture. They began by taking the leads of twine and carefully
looping their ends around shoulder-high hooks that had been pounded deep into
the sides of the wooden upright. Within a few moments they had tied them off so
that the tips of Erika's thrusting breasts were pulled painfully upward toward
the hooks.
It took only another quarter-turn of the Belly Screw for Erika to realize
how the nipple-cords had added to the severity of her predicament. The bamboo
screw that pressed against her navel drove her belly back, away from the bamboo
post, thus forcing her upper body slightly downward and inward, toward the
centerpoint of the post through which the sharpened stake protruded. But the
shoulder-high nipple-hooks forced her breasts to strain upward to relieve the
dreadful traction. The combination of the two devices spelled agony, and each
remorseless turn of the Belly Screw compounded her suffering.
Jasper Slegg watched with grim satisfaction as a fine dew of perspiration
began to spread over his beautiful prisoner's flushed flesh and her soft moans
of pain grew louder. Knowing that time, relentless, inexorable time, was his
ally, he turned the screw only once or twice a minute, and only a fraction of a
turn at a time, drawing out Erika's misery endlessly, driving the pointed stake
ever deeper into Erika's enticing belly-notch, continually ratcheting up the
pressure on her distended nipples.
"Beginning to 'ave second thoughts about kickin' me, are ye, Princess,"
Slegg taunted her, as he gave the belly-screw another flesh-gouging turn.
"Aauuuughhh!!" Erika could no longer conceal her suffering as the sadistic
Englishman continued to torque the evil screw, exacerbating the strain on her
pink-tipped love-gourds. She had reached the point where she was certain that
the next turn of the screw would tear the tips of her breasts from her tortured
body when Slegg at last relented. He slowly turned toward an audience held in
thrall by the sight of Erika's nearly nude body straining against the device
which had enslaved her, and muttered, "So did ye like the Belly Screw, boys?"
A dozen deep-voiced grunts of approbation sent shivers of dismay and
despair coursing through Erika's nearly nude body.
"Well then, 'oo's man enough to watch Act II of our little lady's
thee-atrical dayboo? Step back behind the curtain, lads, and get yer money out,
while Deng and I arrange the next set. Shouldn't take more than two shakes of a
lamb's tail..."
********
The attendees filed out obediently, boisterously exchanging excited
impressions of Erika's spectacular body and speculating as to the nature of her
next ordeal. They did not have long to wait, for a few minutes later Deng
joined them, collected the next round of admissions, and then ushered them back
into the Bird Cage.
There they found Erika Weiss's scantily clad body spread-eagled face down,
some four feet off the ground, to the four posts of a sturdy bamboo frame. It
was as if she had been bound to the bedposts of a high bed, and then the
mattresses and springs had been hauled away, leaving only the bedposts,
supported by the box-like rectangular frame. The more observant of the voyeurs
noticed that a pile of metal bars was stacked neatly against a nearby wall.
Erika's body, cruelly stretched by the ropes that lashed her limbs to the
uprights of the frame, was as perfectly parallel to the ground as the curves and
hollows of a woman's body would permit. The shirt still hung from her neck, but
Jasper Slegg had knotted its tattered panels behind her back, allowing her
luscious breasts to hang down, naked and pendulous. He had removed the lengths
of twine from Erika's red-ringed nipples, draping them around her neck as grim
reminders, but the renewed flow of blood to her throbbing nubbins was nearly as
painful as the cords themselves had been. The panel of her improvised loin
cloth had fallen away from her body, leaving her shapely left leg bare all the
way to the hip-high knot in the garment.
Jasper Slegg tore his eyes away from the creamy expanse of Erika's
outstretched body long enough to turn toward his guests. "Well, lads, we're
going to stretch our pretty Princess in another direction, now." His eyes
ranged around the room from man to man, his lips moving soundlessly.
Erika squirmed silently in her bonds, her discomfort hardly lessened by
Slegg's enigmatic comment. But her curiosity, along with that of the lusty-eyed
crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon, was quickly satisfied.
"D' ye see that stack of iron bars there against the wall?" Slegg barked.
"Cookie, you go first. Get one and bring it over 'ere." Erika's flesh crawled
as she felt Slegg's hand sliding caressingly over her thigh, even as her eyes
were drawn to the stack of bars to which Slegg had referred.
Erika watched helplessly as Tranh, the Vietnamese ship's cook, after
listening to Deng-shan's translate Slegg's words into the pidgin Chinese known
to all the sailors of the China Sea, crossed the room, and retrieved the bar on
the top of the stack. The bars were all of a size, each of them about as long
and as wide as a tall man's foot, and as thick as her index finger. The cook
hefted the bar's not inconsiderable weight in his hands as he returned to the
frame on which Erika's body was so cruelly stretched.
"That's it, Cookie. Now lay it down right 'ere, on the small of 'er
back."
A moment later Erika felt the coolness and rigidity and downward pressure
of the iron bar that was just long enough to stretch across the bare expanse of
her back. The bar was solid, but not inordinately heavy, and she judged that it
posed no immediate cause for concern.
But when the second man and third man laid their bars alongside Tranh's,
she realized the gravity of her situation. Her wrists and ankles were bound to
fixed points on the upright and would not slip down. The entire weight of the
iron bars would be borne by the small of her back, whose muscles were already
beginning to tense. And how many more bars were yet to come?
Slegg, who had been staring at her intently, seemed to have read her mind.
"There's fifteen o' the boys 'ere just now, Princess," he chortled. "You're a
lucky woman, you are. A bloke couldn't ask for a better number for buildin' a
bleedin pyramid."
Erika groaned, and her long-legged body shuddered a bit as another pair of
grinning sailors placed a fourth bar and then a fifth alongside the bars that
stretched across her back.
"That's it, gents," Slegg interpolated. "That makes for a nice base. Now
for the second tier, each bar straddling the two beneath it. Four bars on this
row, lads."
While the sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth bars were being added, at
intervals of a minute or so, Jasper Slegg had repositioned himself in front of
Erika. "Not to worry, eh, dearie? Iron bars do not a prison make." Chuckling
at his joke, Slegg eyed the raw, reddened tips of Erika's breasts. He stepped
closer, pressing his mid-section against the top of Erika's head, compelling her
to look down at his thick, cloth-covered erection. Then he leaned forward
slightly and took her pendulous breasts in his two hands, testing their weight
like a cautious goldsmith. Satisfied with their measure, he rolled her
half-stiffened nipples between his fingertips until they were pinchably erect,
while two of the Malayan sailors added the final bars to the second tier.
Erika's back was bowed considerably now, supporting nine bars that pressed
heavily against her aching spine. But she was utterly helpless to prevent the
men from beginning the third tier of her pyramid of pain.
His jaw clenched intently, Slegg playfully hefted Erika's breasts again as
the next three sailors took up their bars. But there was nothing playful about
the way he dug his thumbnails into the pebbly texture of Erika's pinkish-brown
areolae, and slowly increased the pressure. Meanwhile Deng-shan had located a
slender bamboo rod in the pile of debris and draped it carelessly across the
back of Erika's bare legs. He slowly sawed the cane back and forth across her
quivering thighs while Slegg admonished her that if she moved enough to dislodge
any of the blocks in the pyramid, he would have his cronies begin again and
build another pyramid - but the new one would be six tiers high! Then Slegg
nodded to Deng and the tattooed Chinese slipped the tip of his cane under
Erika's loincloth and flipped it up over her hips, giving the crewmen a good
look at her taut-stretched bottomcheeks.
As he saw the men's eyes taking in the lurid marks his rope-whip had left
on Erika's buttocks earlier, Slegg released Erika's left breast long enough to
finger the bandage over his eye. He mumbled to no one in particular, " 'ere's
one little tart that won't be raisin' a shovel to Jasper Slegg again, I promise
ye that!" As a crewman stepped forward and laid the first bar of the third
tier atop the wall of iron, Slegg nodded to Deng. Returning the nod with a
covert wink, the ear-ringed Chinese whipped his arm downward, slicing the
slender rod into Erika's tender bottom-globes.
THWICCKK!!! "Unnghhhhh!"
Even though the cane was very thin, Deng had angled the stroke cleverly, so
that its path angled across some of the marks Slegg had left earlier, leaving a
trail of livid intersections in its wake. It took every ounce of Erika's
fortitude not to twist and turn her body enough to cause the pyramid to falter.
"A sweet arse, ain't it,boys?" Slegg mumbled as he signaled the eleventh
man to deposit his burden.
THWICKK !!! "Nggghh!!" Once again the sound of hard-edged bamboo
striking soft butt-cheeks echoed through the Bird Cage. Erika bit into her lip
to keep from crying out again. Aside from Slegg's taunts and her own cries of
anguish the Bird Cage was deathly still. There was only the eerie creaking of
the bamboo frame which bore the weight of her taut-stretched body to interrupt
the awful concentration of her audience.
"Only one more on this tier, dearie," Slegg muttered, as he cupped Erika's
down-hanging breasts in his rough, wind-weathered hands yet again. "That's it,
mate - set it on nice and easy now."
But no sooner had Erika felt the pressure of the eleventh bar than she
heard the fearful whizzing again, followed almost instantaneously by another
resounding THWICKKK!!!
"Aaaaighhh!!" The third stroke of the cane seemed to follow the path
of the first one, leaving a fresh trail of agony in its wake. "No more ...
please ... no more..."
Erika's sweat-moistened back was bent like an overstrung bow, and her long
blonde hair tossed from side to side as if somehow that futile motion would numb
the soreness in her breasts or cool the scalding sting of Deng's cane-strokes.
Gritting her teeth, she somehow managed to endure her suffering without
upsetting her burden.
"Ah, that makes twelve, now, Princess," Slegg said as he released her
pain-ravaged breasts and stepped away. "Just three more luv. Two on the next
tier, boys! Be sure to 'old still, dearie. Ye wouldn't want us to 'ave to start
over again, now, would ye?"
Choking back a sob, Erika shook her head, 'No', just as a tattooed seaman
from Hong Kong started the fourth tier. As she awaited the next fearful stroke
from Deng-shan, she tried to focus on holding her nearly-nude body as still as
possible. But her concentration was momentarily shattered when Deng whipped the
strip of bamboo downward into her springy nether-globes for the fourth time,
its vicious THWIICCKK!!! at impact drawing fresh groans of misery from her
parched throat.
"Water ..." Erika moaned miserably. "Please ... water ...." It was
strange - an hour or two ago she had been enveloped in the torrential downpour
of the typhoon, but now her lips and throat were as dry as the sawdust on the
floor of the Bird Cage.
"Thirsty are ye? Would ye like something nice and juicy to suck on,
dearie?" Slegg taunted her as he grabbed at his swollen crotch.
"N-n-no," Erika groaned, just as the fifth stroke of the bamboo fell.
Timed to coincide with the laying of the fourteenth brick in the pyramid, it was
a wicked, slashing blow to the base of her buttocks that drew such a violent
convulsion of pain from her that Slegg was sure that his edifice would topple.
But somehow Erika righted herself just in time and brought her sweat-moistened,
spread-eagled body back under control.
As he watched the delicious oscillation of Erika's bobbling breasts, Slegg
grudgingly tipped his hat to his prisoner's stamina. He'd only used this
technique twice before, once on a rebellious little wildcat from the isle of
Hainan, and once on a feisty Filipina who'd spit on him when he forced her into
her cage. But he had only used a four-tier, ten-bar pyramid on their slender
frames. Even so, they had begged him for mercy by the time they had taken the
two cane-strokes that accompanied the laying of the third tier. And, he grinned
to himself, those slim beauties hadn't had to endure the kind of mauling that
he'd given to Erika's opulent breasts.
"One more. " 'oo's left then?" Slegg asked. "Ah, it's you, Froggie. Go
ahead, then. Put the crown on the pyramid, mate."
Froggie, a middle-aged Chinese who walked with a slight stoop, shuffled
across the room and picked up the fifteenth and final bar. Then he limped over
to Erika and played with her long blonde hair for a moment before adding the
final story to Jasper Slegg's pagoda of punishment.
Meanwhile Deng had slid around behind her and timed his final stroke so
that he flicked the whippy bamboo switch directly into the crevice between
Erika's spread-eagled buttocks, just as Froggy released his metal brick.
"Aaaiighhhh!!" Erika cried out again, taking little comfort from the fact
that there would probably be no more cane-strokes. But even as the pain in her
bottom receded, the strains on the rest of her body mounted. Throughout the
ghastly ordeal in the Bird Cage, one of the worst parts was not knowing the
duration of each torment. The tendons and ligaments in her arms and legs were
stretched tight as a drum, and her back was cruelly bent under the weight of
Slegg's pyramid from hell. And for how long?
The seconds passed interminably as Jasper Slegg and his rapt audience
watched Erika's long, lovely body straining under its awful burden, the only
sounds in the room being her low moans and the rubbing of rope against bamboo
whenever her weight shifted, however slightly. Over the years Slegg had
developed a sixth sense for determining when he had pushed a woman to the verge
of her breaking point. Erika, he had concluded in the stoking room hour
earlier, had a much higher tolerance for pain than most women. It was almost,
he mused, as if she had been trained to endure harsh treatment.
Captain McMahon had long since imposed a strict rule about marking or
otherwise damaging the bodies of the female cargo he transported on the Yang-tze
Dragon (save for the rare punishments administered to young women who proved
completely incorrigible and non-compliant). And indeed, milder methods of
bondage and restraint had worked wonders on most of their young prisoners, no
matter how hostile and combative they had been when first thrown into
confinement in the Bird Cage. But in the case of Erika, Slegg reasoned, a few
more cane-strokes would hardly be noticed on a bottom so thoroughly scourged by
the rope-whip. Besides, for the price he was charging the crewmen they deserved
a little bonus...
Each second seemed to pass with agonizing slowness for Erika, and not
only because of the constancy of her pain. The thought that more than a dozen
of the sea slugs of the Yangtze Dragon were ogling her naked breasts and her
bare buttocks only compounded her misery. She heard every catcall, every lewd
remark as the men crowded closer and closer.
"You're going to need a nice long rubdown, when we're done with ya,
baby!" Froggie smirked, his massive erection clearly visible through the thin
fabric of his trousers. "And I'm just the man to give it to you. Nice and
slow. And I'd start with that sweet ass of yours."
"Yeah, maybe," said another man who had worked his way around the
semi-circle of men until he stood at the head-end of the framework. He licked
his lips as he eyeballed the indentations the twine had left around the bases of
Erika's swollen nipples. "But if it was me I'd start with those juicy tits."
"Shit, Lucky, we'll be pullin' up to the dock at the island tomorrow.
Knowing you, you'd still be workin' on 'em when we got there!" Froggie elbowed
his pal in the ribs good-naturedly while he, too, eyed the fullness of Erika's
breasts.
The man called Lucky called out, "How about it, Deng? Are we gonna get
a crack at those tits? For the kind of money we're paying, we oughta be able to
give those babies a squeeze or two!"
A chorus of masculine assents forced Deng-shan to turn to his partner
and translate. Slegg rubbed his chin thoughtfully, pretending to think the
matter over, but he had long since anticipated their request and planned
accordingly.
"Well, I suppose I could ... juggle things around a bit," Slegg acquiesced
grudgingly, pumping his cupped hands in a way that turned Erika's stomach.
"Provided you lot stick around for the 'ole show. 'ow about it, boys? Anyone
else interested in givin' our princess's tits a little special attention?"
When Deng repeated the juggling motion even more salaciously as he
translated the Englishman's words, Slegg's question was greeted by an excited
acclamation of ayes. Grinning knowingly, Slegg turned to Deng-shan, with a
merry glint in his eye. "All right, gents. I think something can be arranged."
********
A minute or two later Slegg freed Erika from the dreadful pyramid and
its back-crushing bondage. But it took he and Deng only a minute or two to
prepare her for her third ordeal, which was to prove less taxing to her body,
but no less taxing to her spirit.
After giving the beleaguered beauty only a few moments to catch her
breath, the two men forced Erika's back against the reverse side of the same
rough-hewn wooden cross to which she had been bound earlier. While Slegg
twisted her arms painfully behind her, Deng-shan looped a rope around her waist
twice, before binding her tightly to the upright. Then he took her left foot
and pulled it upward behind her so that her calf pressed tightly against her
thigh, before lashing an ankle-rope around the waist-cincher. He repeated the
process on her other leg, pulling the ankle ropes so tight that the muscles in
Erika's sweat-moistened thighs were drawn bowstring taut.
When Deng was finished with her legs the two men bound Erika's slender
wrists to an iron hook directly above her golden hair. Stepping back, Slegg
nodded to himself, pleased with his conception. The points of Erika's upraised
elbows constituted two vertices of the alluring diamond of female subjugation
formed by her imprisoned arms. In that position her aching shoulders, coupled
with the waist cinch, once again supported the entire weight of her body.
Slegg rearranged the tatters of Erika's threadbare shirt so that it
wrapped around her chest just above her jutting breasts, and then knotted it
tightly behind her. The pale rope of white fabric somehow seemed to emphasize
the nakedness of Erika's shapely pleasure-gourds as they rose and fell with her
every breath. With her hands bound above her head, Erika's mouthwatering mounds
were lifted into superb prominence, and one by one evil-minded sailors with
mast-hard erections came forward and paid obscene homage to her naked flesh.
Having conceived the idea for this man-pleasing intermezzo, Lucky was
awarded the honor of going first, and as his crony had intimated, he could not
get enough of Erika's love-globes.
He began by cupping them lightly, enjoying the intoxicating feel of the
soft skin of her under-breasts against his index fingers. Then, as he lifted
her plump hillocks slightly with his fingers, he used his thumbs to circumscribe
her pinky-brown aureoles. He scraped his nails across the newly-dormant tips
of her breasts until the sensitive nubbins began to respond to his masculine
touch. When Erika's lust-nuggets were half-erect, Lucky bent down and licked at
some of the tiny beads of breast-sweat that had blossomed during her first two
trials. He tongued her coral-tipped treasures greedily for a moment and then
buried his homely face between them, mouthing noisily at one for a time, before
turning his head slightly to taste and nuzzle its equally sublime twin.
His face flushed with desire, Lucky wallowed in the salty taste and musky
scent of Erika's luscious woman-globes. He raised his bleary eyes for a moment
to take in the expression of shame and humiliation on Erika's face, and then
lowered his head again, taking the tip of her left nipple into his mouth and
nipping and tugging at it with his lips and teeth until it was long and hard and
wet enough to please the most debauched hedonist.
When Slegg called, "Time!" Lucky backed away reluctantly and Tiger, one of
the Malayans, came forward. Like Lucky, he too attacked first with eager hands,
using his thumbs to press into the creamy undercurves of Erika's breasts while
his fingers arced upward in a bid to encircle her swollen globes. Then as his
fingers tightened, Tiger twisted her sensitive breasts first inward and then
outward, before mashing her close-set melons together, providing twin targets
for his ravenous mouth.
Each of the men got two minutes by Jasper Slegg's watch to knead and nuzzle
Erika's tempting turrets to his heart's content and Erika was subjected to all
manner of breast-fondling tactics. Some of the men were squeezers, or worse,
crushers, who liked nothing better than tightening their fingers around Erika's
sensitive tit-flesh. Froggie, the middle-aged man who had limped forward to put
the peak on the pyramid, seemed intent on proving that, while his legs were
weak, there was nothing wrong with his rough-weathered hands. Unlike the men who
had preceded him, he took up a position behind the post, and then reached around
it and took Erika's breasts in his hands while he surreptitiously ground his
groin into the wooden upright. He gave his cronies a toothy grin as his fingers
tightened on Erika's swollen globes until tears began to form in the corners of
her azure blue eyes.
A couple of the men were twisters, who delighted in adding the cruel
pressure of torque to their insistent grasp. Still others seemed
nipple-obsessed and used their entire time pinching, flicking, twisting,
twirling, tugging and gnawing the out-thrusting tips of her beleaguered breasts.
Though none of the men was unusually brutal, the cumulative effect of the
sailors' plundering hands had two unfortunate effects. By the time half a dozen
men had taken finished manhandling her lust-melons, Erika's breasts were sore
from the nearly continuous abuse. Even worse, each man seemed to want to out-do
the man who had preceded him, and the attraction of ordinary pleasures seemed
to pale for the men at the tail end of the line who had seen their shipmates
fondle Erika's throbbing globes in almost every way imaginable.
As her humiliation and suffering mounted, Erika closed her eyes and tried
to imagine that it was Daniel Kauffman's hands fondling her breasts. That his
gentle, caressing, healing hands had been seduced to masculine roughness by an
onrush of virile passion. But as each sailor gave way to another even more
intent on displaying his dominance, her mental image of an affectionate but
masterful lover became ever more difficult to sustain.
The ninth man, a long-armed Malayan his crewmates addressed as "Orang" did
his best to emulate Froggy's troglodytic tit-crushing technique, squeezing her
rounded pain-melons until a tiny pearl of blood began to ooze from one of the
gashes Mao had carved with the screwdriver. As she struggled to endure the
pain, Erika saw Slegg lean over and whisper something into the ear of Tranh, the
Vietnamese cook, who stood twelfth in line. The cook listened closely, grinned
and nodded and stepped out of the line, disappearing through in the gap in the
curtain. He reappeared several minutes later, just before his own turn was to
come due, with a lumpy-looking burlap sack hanging over his shoulder.
When the man in front of him stepped away, after giving Erika's
thick-swollen nipples a parting pinch, Tranh removed an ampule from the shoulder
bag, removed the stopper, and began dribbling oil down onto the upper-slopes of
Erika's blotchy breasts.
"Sesame," he chuckled with a wink to Deng-shan as he poured a little more
oil into his cupped palm. He set the half-full vial down and poured half of the
oil from his cupped palm into his other hand and then rubbed his hands together.
Then he slid his oil-slickened hands down Erika's luscious breasts, working the
aromatic oil into her tender breast-melons.
"That's it, Tranhie! Baste 'em up nice and juicy for us," a thick-bodied
Mongol with three days growth of beard, who brought up the end of the line,
called out approvingly.
Tranh needed little encouragement. He slid his hands under Erika's
pleasure-globes, lifting and oiling their silky-soft undersides in one motion.
"Just like making home-made Chinese noodle, eh? " he beamed to his comrades as
he kneaded Erika's love-mounds as if they were tasty clumps of dough, sometimes
working one slippery breast with both of his wrinkled hands, and sometimes
massaging both love-mounds at once.
When Tranh's time was done, Erika found that the two jabbering Malayans in
coolie shirts in line behind him had decided to join forces. As each of them
fondled a slippery breast with one hand, the man on her right reached under her
loincloth to finger her pussy. Meanwhile his partner, after running his
fingers back and forth across Erika's well-oiled breasts a few times, wedged his
hand into the tight space between Erika's behind and the T-cross. He fondled
Erika's squirming buttocks for a moment or two, before easing his fingers
between her legs, and then with a swift upward movement, he thrust an oil-slick
middle finger into her unsuspecting anus.
Erika gasped, more in surprise than in pain, her faint image of Daniel
Kauffmann swept away in a tide of depravity, just as two mouths descended onto
her defenseless breasts. As the lips of the Malayans roamed freely over the
curves of her pleasure-mounds, they continued to finger her in tandem, their
intrusive digits synchronized like the pistons of a smooth-running engine, each
man feeling the pressure of the other's hand through the thin membrane which
separated them. Erika's limbs strained at her bonds, but there was no escaping
the obscene assault.
When their time had elapsed, the fifteenth and last man, a squat,
beetle-browed Mongolian coal-shoveler who had been hired for his prodigious
strength, stepped forward. Jasper Slegg had noticed that the grimy collier from
the wilds to the north had been waiting impatiently, enviously, his jaw
twitching spasmodically as he watched one man after another manhandling Erika's
pink-nippled treasures.
But there was something more, Slegg thought, in the Mongol's bottomless
black eyes, than lust. The men called him Khasar, Slegg remembered, and someone
had told once told him that the name meant 'wild dog' among the nomadic peoples
of the Gobi. And indeed Khasar wore the name well, looking for all the world as
if he were the sole possessor of the warlike Mongol blood that had enslaved much
of Asia for hundreds of years. Slegg could see that this man would have to be
watched to make sure that things didn't get completely out of hand.
The powerfully-built Mongol stopped the scrawny Malayans who had preceded
him, just as they were about to step out of his way.
"Wait a minute!" he snarled, grabbing them by the shoulders with hands
darkened by years of coal-shovelling, as he eyed Erika with a venomous leer.
"Stick your fingers in her mouth. Let's see which finger the slut likes best!"
Notwithstanding Khasar's bullying manner, the Malayans seemed quite
agreeable to the idea of having their time with Erika extended. They obliged the
burly Mongol by standing on either side of Erika and pressing their musky-moist
fingertips to her lips.
Despite being thankful that she taken the time to clean herself with the
end of her wet shirt when she had been locked in the closet, Erika balked at
making such a degrading choice and turned her face away from their insistent
fingers. "Du Dreckschwein! You filthy pig!" she hissed at the stubble-bearded
Mongol.
SMACKK! The sadistic son of the desert responded by lashing out and
slapping Erika's left breast so hard that she cried out in pain.
"Who you callin' a pig?" the muscular Mongol roared. His face was creased
in a sullen rage as he whipped the back of his sooty, hard-knuckled hand across
Erika's other oil-slick breast.
SMACCKK !!
"Aaieeaahh! Grosser Gott!" Despite the helplessness of her situation,
Erika's pain and rage and fury got the better of her. "Bastard!" she hissed in
Chinese at the coal-smudged Mongol. "Dirty, filthy bastard!!"
Jasper Slegg reached out to stop him, anxious to keep Erika's body as
unmarked as possible, lest he incur Captain's McMahon's displeasure. But the
burly Mongol elbowed him out of his way.
Khasar grinned through yellowed teeth as he delivered a vicious slapping
uppercut to the underside of Erika's left breast.
SMACKKKK!!!
"AAAUGHHH!!
"Do as I said, wench!"
The beefy Mongolian had balled his big hand into a fist and was just about
to strike again when Slegg and Deng-shan both stepped between him and the
moaning, bare-breasted beauty. " 'ere now, mate. The night's till young. Ye
don't want to mash up yer cake before ye've eaten it now, do ye?"
Grunting disgustedly, the fuming coal-shoveller relented, and did not
strike Erika again, but for the rest of his allotted time he gouged the tips of
his coal-blackened fingers into Erika's slap-reddened breasts and tugged at them
as if he were harvesting firm, thick-stemmed grapefruits from a resisting tree.
Slegg watched this barbaric abuse closely but did not interfere again,
because, having an abundance of experience in such matters, he judged that the
finger-marks, unlike the more-lasting marks left by slaps and punches, would
fade quickly. He had no moral qualms whatever about allowing the brutish Mongol
to punish the long-legged blonde who'd slugged him with the shovel and stomped
his ribs. But the self-interest inherent in his pay-as-you-go scheme required
that Erika's nearly inexhaustible allure, and particularly the appeal of her
luscious, bold-thrusting breasts, be preserved until he had coaxed every
possible coin from his eager customers.
Chapter 137 Dreams, Disappointments, and Debauchery
Jasper Slegg lit a small Sumatran cigar, inhaled heartily and looked on
with an air of satisfaction as Deng-shan once again made his rounds. The
well-built Chinese handyman passed among the crewmen quickly, collecting the
admission fees for the fourth of the seven torments that Slegg had promised his
lecherous shipmates.
The enterprising Englishman cast a glance across at Erika Weiss, the
beautiful bare-breasted blonde who continued to strain at the ropes that bound
her to the symmetrical Greek cross. The four oil lanterns in the ship's hold
splashed an aura of shimmering light on her tousled blonde hair and her
lake-blue eyes, which sparkled with indignant fury. Her infinitely desirable
body was clad only in a minuscule loincloth knotted at one shapely hip, a
glistening patina of perspiration, and the rosy blush of shame.
Slegg's eyes narrowed menacingly as he appraised her alluring, oil-slick
breasts, pink and blotchy from the manhandling administered by the lusty
crewmen and the punishing slaps meted out by Khasar the Mongol. Despite the
rough treatment they had endured, Erika's tempting, stiff-nippled mounds rose
and fell provocatively with her every ragged breath, their arrogant jut untamed
by her shipboard ordeal.
Slegg licked at his dry lips, enjoying every moment of her degradation,
leering at his stunning captive triumphantly as he exhaled a shimmering ring of
smoke. He watched the evanescent circlet drift through space for a moment
before it came to grief against Deng's coin-box, which by now was brimming with
the evening's proceeds. It had been a profitable night, to be sure, and would
soon be even more so, thanks to his statuesque and deliciously exploitable
prisoner. He had made the most of this voyage, as he had ever since fleeing the
crowded cobblestones of London for the untrammeled license of the high seas.
But as with most men of a grasping nature, Jasper Slegg was not content
with his lot in life. He considered himself immeasurably cleverer than the men
of the Yang-tze Dragon and cursed the fate which had cast him into the working
class. Why had he not been born an aristocrat like the black-booted baron who
had brought Erika on board, or a warlord like General Wang?
There were, as far as Slegg could see, only two paths to a life of ease for
a man of his lineage, talents and training. His father, Amos Slegg, had
suggested one course in a letter written a year or so earlier. The wily old
showman, slowed by hard times and advancing years, had never fully recovered
financially from the loss of Devadanyi, the lush-bodied Indian dancer whose
breathtakingly erotic performances had drawn all manner of free-spending toffs
to his shows. But, still alert to the ways of an ever more sensation-seeking
London, Amos Slegg had written his son concerning a freakish-looking man he had
seen in Southwark not long before, a man who might make them both rich.
The man's name was Merrick, his father had written, but a fellow-showman
had dubbed him the "Elephant Man" owing to the malformation of his over-sized
head and the pachydermatous scaliness of patches of his skin. An acquaintance
of his father's, a fellow-showman named Tom Norman, had come across the
unfortunate man and had been exhibiting him on both banks of the Thames.
But Norman was a man of little imagination, Amos explained to his son in a
tremulous scrawl. What if the Sleggs were to offer him a modest sum for
Merrick, and then sell him or lease him to the great Barnum himself? Barnum was
an old man now, but he had paid well for Jumbo, the enormous elephant he had
bought in London not so long ago. What would he not pay to display a grotesque
Elephant Man along with the great beast?
The sound of hands spanking bare flesh interrupted Slegg's musings. After
coughing up his fourth admission fee, Tranh, the ship's cook, had apparently
decided to celebrate by anointing Erika's breasts with a fresh coating of oil.
His first attempt had drawn a venomous whispered epithet from the blonde's
pretty lips, and Tranh had repaid this rebuke by unburdening himself of a string
of Annamese curses and slapping the sides of Erika's glistening love-goblets
with a force surprising for a man of his years.
Erika's moans of anguish were followed in short order by a plaintive plea
for water. But the heartless mate of the Yang-tze Dragon paid her no more heed
than the statue of Nelson in Trafalgar Square would have done as he continued to
eye her futile attempts to wriggle free from Tranh's lewd caresses.
As he did so, he continued to ruminate about how he might acquire a
fortune befitting a man of his cleverness. The Barnum scheme had been a good
one, and he had sent his father all the money he could beg or borrow, telling
him to approach Norman about acquiring the rights to the Elephant Man. It had
taken many weeks for his father's reply to catch up to him in Shanghai, and when
it did, it was disheartening in the extreme. Norman, it seemed, had handed
their potential gold mine over to some do-gooding doctor who imagined he could
turn the misshapen freak into a gentleman.
The night he had gotten the news, Slegg, enraged by this cruel twist of
fate, had tried to drowned his sorrows in a bottle of gin, but the harshness
of the cheap alcohol had only served to aggravate his bitterness. He had taken
the rest of the money his father had returned to him and set off for the famous
bordello of Madame Wong, intent on salvaging some pleasure from a day of
crushing disappointment.
In recent years Jasper Slegg had had occasion to deliver countless young
beauties, fresh from confinement in the Bird Cage, the hold of the Yang-tze
Dragon, to the back door of Shanghai's most notorious flesh market. However,
he had never before had both the money and courage to enter through the
well-appointed foyer as a paying customer. But on this night, prodded by the
bravado cheap liquor can provide, he had stridden into the brothel brandishing
his money ostentatiously. Hearing reports from one of her girls of a loud,
somewhat tipsy Englishman with a wad of banknotes, the Madame herself had
emerged from her office to give him a brief tour of her palace of desire.
After giving him a chance to appraise the mouthwatering selection of as yet
unclaimed filles-de-joie loitering languorously in the lobby, an elegantly
dressed Madame Wong had led him down several long hallways, her slit skirt
rustling softly against her thighs with every step. As he passed a series of
closed doors Slegg heard the gentle clink of champagne glasses, the silvery
trills of flirtatious laughter, and the unmistakable grunts and squeals of
sexual pleasure coming from within. In the darkest hallway of all, he had heard
what seemed to him gasps of pain, not of pleasure, and he had stopped for a
moment to listen, giving his hostess an inquiring glance.
"Ah, I thought you might find the delights of our Newgate room ...
stimulating," the Madame had whispered in excellent English, "as so many of your
countrymen do." She inclined her head slightly toward her guest as she pressed a
well-concealed lever in the adjoining wall. "Needless to say, I had them in
mind when I named it."
At the touch of her fingers, a small viewing panel in the wall opened, and
Slegg peered into the dark, dungeon-like room beyond. Through the dimness he
saw a tall, slender Chinese in silver robes scrutinizing a panoply of
instruments that hung on the wall to his left.
To the right of Slegg's field of vision, an almond-eyed young woman had
been stretched against the opposing wall like a shapely butterfly. Her
honey-gold thighs were drawn outward almost at right angles to her slim body,
her ankles having been stretched to their limit and shackled to a pair of heavy
iron rings. Between her legs, the pleasure girl's obscenely-splayed sex
glistened, moist and inviting. Her slender wrists had been chained to a
forbidding iron hook that protruded from the grim, gray stone high above her
head. Between her sparkling white teeth she clutched a whip whose thick leather
handle was as black as her glossy hair. The agitated writhings of her young
body caused the whip's slender thongs to slither across her left breast with
serpentine malice.
"This evening Xia is entertaining in the Newgate for the first time,"
Madame Wong whispered in a seductive voice. "A pretty name, Xia, is it not? I
have called her that from the first moment I saw her. In our tongue it means the
glow of the sun at sunrise or sunset. Look at her skin. Does it not seem to
have been kissed by the summer sun?"
Slegg nodded, only half hearing the Madame's sensual byplay, so enthralled
was he by the captivating sight of Xia's futile writhings, and the accompanying
clink of the chains which confined her. It took a few moments for his eyes to
become fully accustomed to the dim light. Only then did he realize that the
trembling girl's thighs and belly were criss-crossed with three or four faint
striations; the evil-looking whip in her mouth had already struck and struck
hard.
"Lord Chan likes to ... officiate ... himself when our new arrivals
entertain in the Newgate for the first time. We are greatly honored, of course,
by his presence," Madame Wong continued, bowing reverentially toward the stern
figure in silver as he held a pair of nipple-clamps up to the light and examined
them with an expert eye. When Chan turned toward Xia, holding the clamps by
their short, connecting chain, so that she could see the sharpness of their
serrated teeth, she shook her head fearfully, 'no.'
"Oh, she should not have done that, poor girl," the Madame clucked in a
voice tinged equally with disapproval and anticipation, as Richard Chan brushed
the breast-clinging thongs of the whip gently to one side so that he could affix
one of the clamps to an enticing nipple. "But she is new and has much to learn."
Madame Wong pressed her body against Slegg's so that she would have a
better angle to see through the viewing panel. The tips of her breasts felt
like nuggets of precious jade against his shoulder, betraying the fact that she
was as excited by the events taking place in the forbidding cell as he was.
"Xia's breasts are exquisite, don't you think? Who would guess that she is our
newest girl, and only fifteen? How fortunate it is for her future lovers that
Lord Chan is such a meticulous teacher! In a month's time, she will be so
well-instructed, and so skilled in the arts of love, that only the most
discerning clients would be able to guess that her pretty lotus had been pierced
for the first time only a few weeks ago."
Slegg had felt the Madame's appraising eyes on him as he watched the stern
figure in silver pull the chain taut so that he could attend to Xia's other
nipple. The chain, being only as long as Richard Chan's hand was wide, pulled
the tips of Xia's shapely breast-plums inward in a way that sent jolts of erotic
pleasure through Slegg's loins.
Taking the handle of the whip from Xia's mouth, Chan frowned distastefully
and wiped the saliva-covered whipstock on a handful of Xia's lustrous hair.
Then, after taking two steps backward, he proceeded to deliver three withering
whip-strokes to Xia's soft, supple thighs, before Madame Wong gently closed the
viewing panel.
"And now, sir, how may we please you?" she had whispered in a voice as old
as temptation itself.
********
The raging fire in Jasper Slegg's loins was quickly addressed. Within the
space of a few minutes he had surrendered nearly all of his money to the Madame.
That transaction had permitted him to select as his companion a petite Japanese
named Kyoto who had bowed and smiled to him sweetly upon his arrival. Taking
the tiny sensuous steps of a geisha, Kyoto had led him to a scented chamber
bedecked with flowers and furnished with an elegant assortment of floor pillows.
Despite the considerable amount of alcohol he had imbibed, Slegg had
gotten his money's worth from the sloe-eyed cherry blossom. He had forced the
tiny pleasure girl to her knees among the pillows and gestured for her to undo
the buttons of his trousers, liberating his thick-veined erection. Then his
strong pressure on her head and shoulders had compelled her to use her warm
mouth and her soft, silky hair to tease his hairy testicles and to nurse his
throbbing member into a saliva-slick tower of flesh.
Only then had he undone the beautifully embroidered obi that held Kyoto's
cherry-red kimono together. Draping the sash around her neck, he slowly slid
the robe back over her shoulders, letting the silken gown slide sensuously to
her hips, leaving her nude to the waist. Then he had tugged gently on the sash,
pulling her against him so that she could cradle his stiff, mouth-moistened
phallus between the perfect cones of her dark-nippled breasts. She had
dutifully pressed her love-mounds close together, imprisoning his moist manhood
in their sweet caress, while her pretty tongue traced an electrifying path from
his pubic hair to his navel.
But despite Kyoto's consummate erotic artistry, the news from London that
his dreams of fortune had been dashed had left him in a dark and angry mood.
And the innocent Kyoto was to bear the brunt of his bitterness.
Perhaps because he was a man of only average build he had chosen the
tiniest and most fragile-looking of Madame Wong's pleasure girls as the object
of his lust. His superior size and strength allowed him to dominate her
physically in a way that would have gratified the most barbaric tribesman of
central Asia.
He had imposed his sexual will on the Japanese beauty relentlessly,
stripping away her elegant gown and treating her diminutive body as if it were a
plaything, a warm-bodied doll to be bent and twisted in any way that pleased
him. As young man he had dallied with some of the female contortionists in his
father's troupe and he treated Kyoto as if she were as loose-limbed as they,
crushing her into the billowing sea of pillows, and twisting her flexible limbs
into whatever position suited his pleasure of the moment.
At one point he pinned her ankles to the pillow behind her head and forced
her to count each thrust aloud as he drilled his cock-staff deep into her
pleasure-nook. He had striven to give her a hundred strokes, but on the
eighty-eighth the tantalizing grip of her vaginal muscles had gotten the better
of him and his lust spurted from him in great gushing geysers, spitting deep
into Kyoto's love canal.
He had rested after that ecstatic climax, but only briefly. Within minutes
he offered his still-dripping cock to his petite paramour, seeking resuscitation
and finding it in her oral caresses.
When Kyoto's lips and tongue had nursed him back to full arousal he had
taken her in the style of the missionaries who had set up outposts in Nagasaki
two centuries earlier. Then he took her with one shapely leg bent over his
shoulder, and then with both legs wrapped around his neck. He ravished her
akita-style, crushing her pretty face into the soft pillows and then mounting
her fiercely from behind like the dogs of her native land.
It had been the saucy roundness of Kyoto's bottom beneath the thin kimono
that had first attracted Slegg to her, and for the better part of three hours
her buttocks had been the centerpiece of his marathon of depravity. He had
gripped and squeezed and spanked and clung to those sweet bottomcheeks while he
conquered her fragrant body with a ruthless virility honed by weeks of sea-borne
abstinence. He had drenched her inviting love canal with his seaman's semen
from half a dozen angles, on each occasion compelling her to revive his depleted
lust by paying worshipful homage to his manhood with her soft lips and
fluttering tongue.
After their penultimate embrace he had brought their one-sided sexual
combat to an ecstatic conclusion by rubbing his flaccid cock-staff into the
beckoning cleft between Kyoto's soft, sexy bottom-globes until it had regained
its manly length and girth. When it was once again blood-hardened and randy he
pressed the knob of his saliva-slick truncheon against Kyoto's fleshy anal ring
and entered her aft passage with an almost bestial savagery.
Working his manhood like a fleshy cork-screw, he had pumped his weapon
into Kyoto's spasming bunghole with tireless ardor, thrilling to the way the
muscles in her tiny rectum milked his throbbing cock. He had drawn soft moans
from her lips with his every thrust, as his lust-heightened senses drank in the
cloying scents of flowers and incense and tatami mats, and the pungent odor that
accompanies coerced sex as smoke accompanies fire.
********
At the harbor the next morning, tired, unshaven, bleary-eyed, his head
throbbing from cheap liquor, Slegg had seen a mighty British frigate approaching
a small Japanese steamer. He had stopped to stare at their flags fluttering
briskly in the morning breeze. A grin of remembered pleasure crossed his face
as the jaunty Union Jack of the British warship edged aggressively closer to the
Japanese flag which sported the Hinomaru, the crimson disc representing the
sun, centered on a stark white field. In his woozy condition the two flags
appeared to merge together for an instant, the Jack seeming to be the aggressor,
dominating the crimson disc and blocking it from sight. Then a sudden trick of
the wind and the peculiar angle of the ships' course left the Jack whipping in
the breeze, strong and proud while the banner sporting the red disc of Nippon
looked defeated and vulnerable. Then, as he watched with the complacent smile
of a conqueror, the two ships parted, perhaps never to pass again.
********
Slegg had never forgotten the softness of Kyoto's baby-fleshed bottom, nor
the infinitely arousing stifled squeals of protest that had accompanied his
every manly thrust. It had been that intensely pleasurable if impoverishing
experience that had opened Slegg's eyes to a second path to riches. Why should
he be content with being Captain McMahon's lackey, delivering young beauties to
the brothels of the treaty ports, when he might, with a bit of joss, become an
entrepreneur in the flesh trade on his own account, and reap for himself the
economic and sexual bounties offered by that ancient industry. But it would
take money, a considerable sum of money, to acquire beauties of the caliber of
Xia, or Kyoto, or Erika Weiss, beauties that could command such sums as he
himself had been willing to pay. But what if ...
Chapter 138 The Night of the Seven Torments Part II
Slegg was distracted from his far-sighted scheming when Deng-shan caught
his eye and signaled that he had finished collecting the money for the Fourth
Torment.
After unshackling their thirsty prisoner, Slegg and Deng-shan hauled Erika
back across the room to the large wooden framework to which they had bound her
for the Second Torment. It would take five strong men several minutes and coils
and coils of rope to prepare Erika's next ordeal.
While the men had been amusing themselves with Erika's luscious breasts
during the Third Torment, Deng-shan had been busy replacing the shoulder-high
side-rails he had removed from the rectangular framework earlier so that the
sailors could erect their pyramid on Erika's bare back. Now, with the
all-too-willing connivance of a trio of well-built sailors they had taken on in
Foochow during the Dragon's last voyage, Slegg and Deng muscled Erika's
pain-wracked body into the shape of an inverted T.
Within moments Erika's long, shapely legs were painfully spread-eagled
against the underside of the shoulder-high rail, with her abdomen, torso, head
and shoulders hanging helplessly downward. The pale garment around her hips
slithered southward, bunching around her waist, leaving her loins shamelessly
exposed. The top of her head hung several inches above the ground, leaving her
golden tresses free to sweep across the sawdust-strewn floor with every twist
and turn of her nearly-nude body.
Although her hands were free, Erika could only claw helplessly at the air,
twisting and turning her down-hanging body from side to side in a way that
hardened the erections of every man in the lamp-lit room. While his helpers
held the blonde's squirming body in place against the rail, Slegg strode across
the room, past one of the piles of bamboo debris, past the long rack piled high
with boards and planks, and toward the rough-hewn cupboard which stood against a
nearby wall.
Thick coils of rope were stacked on the far end of the horizontal cabinet
while an oil lamp atop its nearer end cast an eerie glow on that corner of the
room. Slegg yanked open the top drawer of the cupboard, revealing an assortment
of tight spirals of cord, intermingled with ominous lengths of chain and all
manner of grim-looking shackles. Erika shivered as her blue eyes took in the
array of implements of restraint, each of which had doubtless been used to
confine other rebellious prisoners of the Bird Cage.
From her inverted position, Erika listened to the blood-chilling rattle of
the chains and watched as Slegg selected two of the coils of rope. Leaving the
cupboard door ajar so that Erika could not help but be intimidated by its
gruesome contents, Slegg returned to his helpless captive and placed the rope at
the disposal of his partner. While the other men held the struggling captive in
place, Deng-shan unsheathed a heavy fisherman's knife that hung from his belt.
After pressing the sharp tip of his blade meaningfully against Erika's trembling
triangle of golden fleece in order to still her agitated writhings, he proceeded
to cut the lengths of rope that he and his companions would use to bind Erika to
the railing.
The German beauty groaned in protest as the muscular Chinese proceeded to
lash her legs to the rail, binding her tightly at ankle, knee, and upper thigh.
So cruelly were Erika's legs split, and so widely were they stretched, that
there was scarcely room for a man to slide his hand between her blonde-fringed
pussy and the wooden rail. But as each succeeding winding of cord bound her
naked thighs more tightly to the bar, each of the five men took his chance to
fondle her velvety niche. Erika was powerless to prevent them from exploring her
puffy labia with the eager concentration of botanists probing the petals of an
exotic iris. Rude, questing fingers flicked her moist clitoris, and inserted
themselves into her defenseless vagina, exploring her feminine warmth.
When the ropes around Erika's long legs were at last secure, Slegg gestured
for Tranh to come forward. "Oil 'er up again, cookie!" he barked, gesturing
toward her wide-spread crotch.
The sallow-skinned Vietnamese wasted no time in splashing a liberal
quantity of oil over Erika's love-flower, letting it stream down into the
crevice between her shapely buttocks. Then, chortling delightedly, the wizened
sea cook gripped her with wrinkled hands and began smoothing the oil over her
private parts while his debauched shipmates looked on with approving glances.
Twice Erika made a heroic effort to curl her body at the waist and lift
herself upward so that she could swat at Tranh's probing fingers. The first
time, Jasper Slegg simply mashed her face with the flat of his hand and pushed
her back down. But a minute or two later, when Erika had recovered her strength
and rose up again to slap at the plundering hands, her fingers inadvertently
raked across the bandage above Slegg's injured eye as he stepped forward to
restrain her.
"Owww!! You whore!" Slegg roared in a half-blind rage as he rubbed at his
eye. "I'll see that ye pay for that, wench! Get her arms, Deng!"
The two ringleaders pushed Tranh out of the way for a moment and the old
cook could only look excitedly on while the two men jerked Erika's arms up
behind her so brutally that she cried out in pain. Grunting from his exertions,
Deng-shan cinched her arms together above her elbows with three quick windings
of cord that dug deep into the flesh of her arms. When her arms were
immobilized, Deng and a fuming Jasper Slegg cinched her wrists in the same
fashion. Then, ignoring Erika's agonized moans of protest, they hoisted her
wrists upward, her back to the rail, until she thought her spine was about to
snap, before binding her tethered wrists to the center-point of the bamboo
crossbar.
With her legs stretched out almost horizontally along the underside of the
crosspiece and her fully extended arms bound to it as well, the pressure on
Erika's shoulders was excruciating. Her magnificently arched body was a
symphony of pain, every nerve in her arms and legs and spine was awash in a sea
of agony. Her shoulders had been pulled up so far that her breasts hung from
her chest like low-hanging, late-summer fruit, plump to the point of bursting,
her ripe nipples offering their sweet juice to the mother-earth that had
nourished them.
Meanwhile Tranh had stepped forward and poured some more oil into the sweet
depression formed by her spread-eagled legs.
"Please ... please ..." Erika mumbled almost inaudibly, her delicious body
shuddering in revulsion at Tranh's every touch.
The aroused crewmen watched mesmerized, their eyes slowly gliding from
Erika's glistening genitals to the alluring fullness of her pendulous breasts
and then back again while Tranh finished anointing her pubic area. Then the cook
slid his oily hands downwards, and, while Erika writhed in protest, he gave her
taut-stretched bottom-globes the same squeezing, clutching, kneading action he
had given her delicious breasts a few minutes earlier. In a short time, Erika's
cock-teasing buttocks were as slick with oil as her shimmering breasts.
Still irritated by Erika's attempts to evade Tranh's molesting fingers,
Jasper Slegg dropped to one knee alongside the tortured beauty and grabbed a
handful of blonde hair and jerked her face up to meet his own. 'Ye're still
squirmin' around too much, sweetie. But I'll teach ye to hold still when ye're
told!".
Once again Slegg made his way to the rope cupboard, but this time he pushed
aside a length of coarse rope and retrieved a long, shallow box. The oil lamp
on top of the cabinet cast eerie shadows upon Slegg's craggy face as he removed
a trio of cream-colored candles and returned to his helpless captive, making no
effort to conceal the massive erection in his trousers.
A diabolical leer crossed Slegg's face as he sawed one of the candles
back and forth through Erika's oil-slick crotch, letting her get a sense of its
length and girth. Then, standing at the midpoint of the crossrail, he began
working the base of the lengthy, dildo-thick taper into the pinkness of Erika's
well-oiled, wide-splayed vagina. Ignoring her throaty murmurs of protest, he
slowly screwed nearly two-thirds of its length into her wriggling body, until
only a thumb's-length of the wick end of the candle protruded from between her
spread-eagled thighs.
Grinning evilly, the English mate scraped a lucifer against the heel of his
boot and when it burst into flame he lit the wick of a second candle, before
blowing out the match. Then, making sure that the eyes of his audience were on
him, he touched the still-smoking head of the match to the edge of Erika's
labia. The depraved Londoner nodded his head with satisfaction as Erika's body
jerked convulsively at the touch of the hot match. He touched her with the
match-stick again, drawing a second yelp of pain and another shudder of agony
from his securely bound prisoner. When Erika's nude body finally stopped
twitching, Slegg used the candle in his hand to light the one he had wedged into
her gaping pussy.
"The better to see you with, Princess," Slegg muttered in a mocking voice.
"Now if ye can 'old that pretty arse still, dearie, ye'll have nothing to fear
from your little wax friend. But if you get a little frisky ..." and he paused
to jerk at her tightly bound wrists. The sudden motion caused a drop or two of
wax to drip down the side of the phallus-thick candle between her legs before
slithering along the lips of her delicate love slit. The kiss of the hot wax
caused Erika's body to shudder again, allowing a second mini-cascade of wax to
spill over the candle's edge, seemingly attracted by some occult female
magnetism to her throbbing clitoris. First a desperate groan and then an
agonized "Bitte nicht... bitte ..." fell from her dry, trembling lips.
With her head perforce facing downward, Erika was the only one in the room
who could not see the candle. Nor could she see Jasper Slegg when he lit the
third hand-held candle from the second and gestured for two of the sailors to
come forward.
The dark-skinned Malayans who had teamed up on her breasts earlier strode
forward eagerly and Slegg handed each of them one of the bright-burning candles.
"What d'ye say we give our little princess a pair of 'ot crossed buns, lads?" he
rasped, as he undid the knot of the loincloth that was bunched uselessly around
Erika's waist, and stripped it away, leaving the bare expanse of her buttocks
and back wantonly naked.
The sailors caught on quickly and, holding their candles at shoulder
height, tipped them cautiously so that capillary-thin trickles of hot wax
spilled over the edges and dripped down onto Erika's naked buttocks.
"Aah! Aaaiiaahhh!!" Erika gasped as the scalding wax found its target
and coursed down the shapely curves of her behind.
"Don't be shy, lads!" Slegg boomed. "Give 'er some wax - and then we'll
give her some whacks!" Enjoying his joke, even though none of the Asians could
make any sense of it, Slegg looked on excitedly as the Malayans let the
flesh-searing wax flow more freely.
Each time she felt the kiss of the hot wax on her bottom Erika bucked in
her bonds. And each time her body convulsed in pain, the quivering waxen
volcano between her legs spilled its hot lava onto her naked flesh. Gritting
her teeth in misery, Erika prayed that she could keep from writhing, because
every paroxysm of pain only added to her suffering.
But there were no gods to hear her prayers in the bowels of the hellish
hold. Jasper Slegg, the evil being who ruled over that infernal domain, eyed
her nude body with undisguised lust as he called his lusty retinue forward in
twos. Each pair of men stepped forward in turn, holding their flaming tapers
before them as if they were hellish acolytes intent on celebrating a sadistic
sacrament. Two by two, under the watchful eye of their demon-priest, the
candle-bearers anointed the tempted curves of Erika's buttocks with sizzling
streams of cream-colored wax. The more devout celebrants did their best to let
the molten beads trickle into the beckoning cleft between those whip-ravaged
half-moons, as if dripping the pale droplets into that secret, sensual place
would somehow purify the shameless heretic whose martyrdom they were bent on
carrying out.
As for their voluptuous victim, Erika could only see her tormentors' lower
legs. She did not know when the hot wax would drip down, nor where it would
strike. She only knew that the devil's rain would fall, and that it would burn,
and that if she did not hold perfectly still when the pain came, her suffering
would be doubled when the even hotter wax dripped from the candle between her
legs.
But try though she might, she could not.
********
The ordeal of the scalding wax lasted little more than ten minutes, but for
Erika, each minute was an hour of purgatory. By the time each man had taken
his turn, Erika's oil-slick buttocks were latticed with dozens of meandering
streams of dried wax, a few of which extended well down her lower back. Erika's
only consolation was the fact that the oil with which Tranh had coated her body
had prevented the wax from burning too deeply into her naked flesh.
"Time to clean you up, princess!" Slegg snorted good-naturedly as he
extricated the candle from Erika's vagina, blew it out, and placed it
absent-mindedly on one of the cornerposts of the wooden framework. "Good job,
Tranhie," he boomed as he began to peel pale, glutinous strands of wax away from
Erika's vulva. "You can 'ave the honor of whackin' the wax off 'er pretty
arse."
As the grinning cook squeezed his way past Froggy and the Mongol, the last
two men to torment their captive with the candles, Slegg and Deng-shan undid
the ropes lashing Erika's upstretched wrists to the cross-beam, allowing her
arms to collapse downward, thus easing the horrendous strain on her shoulders.
But her ordeal on the railing had still not reached its end.
Grinning with anticipation, the Vietnamese cook popped out of the crowd and
stepped toward Erika with hands outstretched.
"No - use this," Slegg grunted, returning to the open cupboard and
extricating an unusual-looking device of some two feet in length and resembling
a small broom. Except that instead of broom bristles, some two dozen
noodle-thin strips of tough bamboo had been tightly wound to the butt of the
thick, six-inch handle.
Erika realized then that the only reason Slegg had freed her arms, was so
that Tranh would have easy access to her defenseless backside.
Tranh hefted the unusual flogger, eyed his well-waxed target, and then
whipped the bamboo flail smartly across bottom-cheeks that had already been
sensitized by suffering.
THWAACKKK!!
Had it not been for the flogging in the stoking room and the torture of the
candles, the blows of the scrawny Vietnamese might not have had any great
effect. But falling as they did on the raw flesh of Erika's buttocks, they felt
as powerful as the sword-strokes of the baron who had beaten and betrayed her.
"Aah!"
"Didn't I tell ye?"
And indeed, upon close inspection, Tranh could see that there were a number
of worm-like strings of wax adhering to the stiff bamboo bristles, and still
others had been swept to the floor.
THWACKK!! His second stroke, across Erika's left bottom-oval, raked anew
at the waxen residue.
"Aaghhh!" The strips of sharp-edged bamboo seemed to flay the flesh from
her tender buttocks.
"Keep yer hands out of the way, princess," Slegg barked, when Erika tried
to shield her tingling bottom with her hands. "Or it'll take three men with
razors to scrape off all the wax I'll drip on those big tits before the night is
out!"
Dreading the thought of candles dripping their molten lava onto her
sensitive breasts, Erika summoned enough strength to whisper, "No ... please
..." through her dry lips.
THWACKK!!!
"That's it, Cookie! Scour that sweet arse nice and clean!"
Tranh crossed over so that he stood at the right of the blonde beauty who
hung so helplessly in inverted suspension, her hands upreached in a futile
attempt to defend her burning bottom.
But the Vietnamese brushed her hands away easily and unleashed another
powerful THWACCKK!!! Making up in enthusiasm what he lacked in youthful vigor,
the ship's cook blasted Erika's right bottom-cheek so hard that her pendant body
swayed back and forth sensuously even though her legs remained tightly bound to
the crossbar.
THWACKK! "Unngh!"
THWACCKK!! "Anngh!!"
THWACCKKKKK!!! "Aungghh!!"
Tranh slashed the flail at the centers of Erika's burning butt-cheeks three
more times, each stroke harder than its predecessor, each one drawing a new cry
of suffering from the helpless blonde. Then the galley-chief targeted the
remaining strands of wax until Erika's derriere was a nicely polished pink and
only a few slender threads of wax that had dripped into her buttock-cleft
remained.
Tranh paused and looked at Slegg with a puzzled expression. Slegg
answered his inquiring glance by stepping forward and digging his fingertips
into the soft ovals of Erika's bottom-flesh. He proceeded to pull her
ass-cheeks apart so that the Vietnamese could drag the stiff-thonged flogger
through Erika's butt-crease like a whiskbroom, removing the last few particles
of wax.
********
The fifth torment began a short time later, after Deng-shan had taken up
the customary collection from Slegg's eager-eyed audience. Erika found herself
bound to the ominous wooden frame in still another painful position. Slegg and
Deng began by widening her stance and binding her outstretched ankles to
floor-mounted manacles. Then they pressed her upper back against the sturdy,
shoulder-high crossbar formed by the railing behind her. Its height was such
that the two men had to lift the lovely blonde onto her tiptoes in order to
muscle her armpits upward and backward over the rounded bamboo crosspiece.
Once they had done so, they jerked Erika's taut-stretched arms downward and
backward, and then, making good use of the coils of rope from the cabinet,
lashed her wrists to rings in the floor a yard or so behind the railing, thus
making sure that the taut-stretched muscles in her thighs would be granted no
respite during this leg of her odyssey of suffering. Had they done nothing
further, Erika's backward-bent bondage would itself have been an onerous ordeal.
But they had only just begun.
Positioning himself directly behind the taut-stretched body of the
voluptuous blonde, Deng-shan, perhaps envious of his shipmates' earlier
opportunity to manhandle Erika's superb breasts, reached around her and took her
swollen globes in his powerful hands. He pressed them together and squeezed
them roughly, as he had done in the stoking room, shaping them into pink-tipped
torpedoes of titflesh which he proceeded to aim at each of the leering onlookers
in turn. His eager-eyed audience greeted his every move with boisterous shouts
of approval.
Deng's golden earrings sparkled in the lamp-light as he massaged Erika's
tender lust-gourds with painstaking thoroughness for a minute or two before
releasing them. He then took a couple of backward steps and eyed Erika's naked
body thoughtfully, as if re-assessing the dimensions of her predicament with an
architect's practiced eye.
After a moment or two of mental measurement, he nodded to himself, and
pocketed the candle that Slegg had set aside after jamming it into Erika
earlier. Having scooped up the nipple-cords the two men had used during the
First Torment, the evil-eyed handyman took Erika's proud-jutting breasts in his
hands again, and rubbed her aching nubbins until they stabbed upward into the
air like fleshy spikes.
That pleasant task accomplished, Deng knotted the nipple-cords around
Erika's lust-nuggets just as he had done earlier. When the nooses were once
again securely in place, he expertly looped the ends of the lengths of twine
that dangled from her left breast around one end of the candle, and the strings
that dangled from her right breast around the other. The candle was slightly
shorter than the distance between Erika's nipples, so that when he slowly
lowered the hand which held the candle, the loops of twine gave an eye-pleasing
inward tug to Erika's beleaguered breast-tips. Deng's hand was at navel height
when he released the candle, letting it rest freely against Erika's
backward-bowed belly for a moment or two while Slegg, enjoying this latest
demonstration of nipple bondage, gave him a nod of encouragement.
Deng shot back a roguish, "You ain't seen nothing yet," wink and proceeded
to cinch a rope painfully tight around Erika's trim waist. Then he took the
candle he'd tied to Erika's inflamed nipples and slowly lifted it, up over her
rib cage, until it was even with her deliciously out-thrust breasts themselves.
He pulled outward on the candle, slowly distending his prisoner's pinkish
nipple-buds, and then, as Erika looked on uncomprehendingly, he began lifting it
again, tugging her nipples painfully upwards, as Erika began to divine his cruel
purpose.
"No ... bitte nicht ...please ..."
But Deng stifled Erika's murmurs of protest by jamming the candle crossways
into her mouth, not only gagging her effectively, but eliminating most of the
slack in the nipple-cords.
"Bite down on it, Princess! Nice and easy-like." Slegg admonished her.
"Cause if ye let that candle fall, I'll ram it so far up yer arse ye'll still be
able to taste the wax in yer throat!"
Having little choice, Erika reluctantly closed her teeth gently on the
waxen gag, tasting the musky secretions of her own body for the second time that
night. Once Deng had satisfied himself that her mouth-grip on the candle was
secure, he reached behind her and formed her golden, sweat-dampened hair into a
tight pony tail, looped a thin cord around it twice and knotted it carefully.
Then he tugged the pony tail down over the shoulder-rail with such force that
Erika felt that her neck would surely snap, before passing the hair-rope through
the waist-cincher, tugging at it firmly to eliminate any hint of slack, and then
tying it off.
The first downward tug at her hair had pulled Erika's nipple-strings taut.
But Deng continued pulling her hair downward knowing that each ounce of pressure
he applied increased the tension on Erika's updrawn breasts. By the time he
finished lashing her hair to the waist-cinch, there were bolts of lightning
shooting through the tips of Erika's tortured lust-mounds.
"Nnnnggg!! Nnggggghhh!!" she groaned into her waxen bit, hoping that Deng
would loosen the hair-knot, but to no avail.
"By God, that should keep the little tart on her toes, eh lads?" Slegg
smirked to his eager-eyed audience who looked on spellbound at the well-defined
muscles in Erika's distended thighs, the flatness of her sweat-gleaming belly,
and the cock-stiffening bondage of her upthrust breasts.
Erika had no way of knowing how long her tormentors subjected her body to
the agonizing torture of that position. She only knew that every second that
her arms and shoulders were stretched painfully backward over the cross-rail,
every second that the muscles in her calves and thighs burned from the strain of
her tip-toed posture, every second that her scalp and neck were awash with pain,
every second that her breasts were subjected to the diabolical discipline
imposed by the nipple-cords, seemed like an hour in the ghastly time-scheme of
the Yang-tze Dragon.
But it was not only physical suffering that she felt. Her discomfort was
doubled by the knowledge that it was the wickedness of men, not the sweltering
heat of a stoking room, or the icy fury of a typhoon, that were the source of
her pain. That every moan that escaped her lips, every grimace of her lovely
face, and every writhing of her tortured body provided her voyeurs with a fresh
source of erotic pleasure.
********
Just when she was certain that she could endure no more, Slegg stepped
forward and ordered her to spit the candle-gag from her mouth. Erika quickly
rid herself of the foul-tasting gag, but came to regret her haste when the
candle's swift plummet took its inevitable toll on the pouting nipples to which
it remained bound. Slegg grinned with triumph at the sound of her groan and
proceeded to remove the fiendishly tight nipple cords. A moment later he undid
the hair-knot, lessening Erika's discomfort substantially before he and Deng set
about freeing her wrists and ankles. When they were done, Erika slumped to the
floor, exhausted, wishing only to die and to be spared any further abuse. But
even that surcease was denied her when Jasper Slegg seized a handful of her
blonde hair and jerked her back up into a sitting position.
"Ye know what they say, princess. 'The show must go on.' Ye wouldn't
want to be disappointin' yer legion of admirers now, would ye?" Slegg scolded
her.
"Wasser ... for the love of God ... wasser," Erika moaned. The candle-gag
had caused her to salivate furiously but her mouth and throat were as dry as the
desiccated bamboo shavings and sawdust that littered the floor of the Bird Cage.
"Tranhie, did ye bring a water-bottle down with ye like I asked? Our
little princess wants a drink!"
"Aye, boss," replied the cook, as he rummaged into his bag and withdrew an
ancient green bottle, stopped by a cork plug.
Slegg took the bottle from his hands and pulled the stopper out with his
teeth. "Ye want water, wench? Get on yer knees and beg for it!"
Groaning, Erika pulled herself up to her knees, holding one arm
protectively over her breasts. "Bitte ... please..." she begged, reaching for
the bottle.
"I'll do the pouring, dearie!" Slegg taunted her, pulling the bottle away
from her outstretched hand. "Now, kneel up nice and straight, clasp your hands
behind your neck and tilt yer head up for me pretty-like, and I'll wet your
whistle."
Erika licked her dry lips and stared at the water bottle with longing.
What could she do?
She tentatively raised her elbows and touched her fingertips to the side of
her neck, conscious of how that movement lifted her breasts into wanton
prominence.
"I said 'Behind your neck', sweetie," Slegg snarled roughly as he took a
long pull at the water. "And hop to it, if ye want any of this." He raised the
bottle to his lips again and drank greedily, allowing water to leak out of the
corners of his mouth and spill uselessly to the dusty floor.
Having no choice, Erika touched her fingers together behind her head, while
Deng-shan's dark eyes blazed at the sight of her tempting, close-set globes
coming together to form a mouthwatering canyon of breast-flesh that his swollen
manhood ached to explore.
" 'Clasp 'em together', I said!" Slegg barked. "Tighter!"
Blushing furiously, Erika interlaced her fingers, knowing that seventeen
pairs of eyes were feasting on the creamy, pink-nippled breasts she was being
been compelled to exhibit so shamelessly.
"That's better, princess. Wasn't so bad was it? You should be used to
'avin male admirers by now, I should think. "Lovely," Slegg mumbled as he
devoured Erika's succulent lust-melons with his eyes, their peaches-and-cream
perfection only slightly marred by the ruddy marks left by grasping hands and
nipple-choking cords. "Just lovely. Now, wench, tilt your pretty head back
and open yer mouth and I'll give ye that drink."
Erika did as she was bid. With her head tipped back, she watched as a
smirking Jasper Slegg upended the water-bottle. A rush of relief swept over her
and she closed her eyes as she felt the first few drops of water trickling down
to her lips. She opened her mouth wide to take in more of the falling liquid
and did so, for a moment, but then she felt the water splashing uselessly off of
her chin and upturned throat.
She tried to move her mouth forward to catch the water that was just out of
reach, but Slegg was too quick for her, pulling the bottle back hastily so that
the rest of its contents spilled onto her naked breasts.
"No!" Erika cried, as she lowered her hands to catch what water she could.
"No!!" She slurped hastily at the tiny pools of water she had managed to trap
in her cupped palms, and then, heedless of her surroundings, she scooped her
luscious, dripping breasts into her anxious hands, and tried to transfer the
remnants of moisture to her mouth.
But the coating of oil that Tranh had applied so lovingly to her breasts
earlier had repelled the water like the slope of a swan's back. When Erika
lifted her hands to her mouth, they tasted of sesame. She bent her head to the
floor, hoping to find a tiny pool to dip her tongue into, but the refreshing
coolness of the water had been absorbed by the desert-dry sawdust of the deck.
Erika stared at the floor in disbelief, her despair deeper than the
heartless sea which permitted the Yang-tze Dragon to ply its boundless depths.
Out of the corner of her eye she could see Deng-shan making his rounds of the
hard-eyed crewmen again. As she listened, trembling, to the menacing, metallic
clink of the coins that promised yet another bout of suffering, she felt the
licentious gaze of Slegg and his cutthroats washing over her naked body. It
struck her that not a single crewman had left since her ordeal had begun. Her
harrowing sexual subjugation had stoked their primitive lusts, not sated them.
"That's it, lads!" crowed Jasper Slegg, as he watch the coins mount up.
"The best is yet to come!"
Chapter 139 The Night of the Seven Torments Part III
The sixth torment, like the third, offered Erika some respite from the
depths of her physical suffering, but only at the cost of almost irreparable
harm to her dignity.
As Erika knelt on her haunches, her nude body bathed in the light of the
oil-lamp on the cabinet, she tried to put her thirst out of her mind and gather
her wits. At least for the moment the dreadful strain on her limbs was at an
end, and she was free from all forms of bondage. Erika was grateful that the
heinous nipple-cords had been removed, but soon, as her sorely-tried nervous
system began to restore itself, blood began to flow more freely into her swollen
breast tips, bringing fresh torment to erectile tissues that had been be-numbed
by their recent bondage.
She was just about to cup her aching breasts in her trembling hands, when a
smirking Jasper Slegg boomed in a faux-helpful voice, "Don't trouble yourself,
Princess. 'ere, let me do that for you." Then he knelt down behind Erika,
pressing his heavy, trousered erection against her naked back, and reaching
under her arms so that his powerful hands could maul her aching breasts.
Meanwhile Deng had pulled her wrists away from her body and begun to wrap coils
of rope around them. "Cross-handed," Slegg snarled, "so she don't get any ideas
about rubbing her tits."
Resigning herself to still another round of torment, Erika looked on glumly
as Deng knotted her wrists in front of her, and Slegg rummaged in the pile of
debris against the wall. He returned a moment later with a four-foot length of
bamboo. After the two men maneuvered their naked prisoner into a seated
position on the floor, Deng-shan spread Erika's feet wide apart and laid the
bamboo rod across her ankles. Then, he deftly wound loop after loop of thin
cord around her left ankle, interspersing occasional intricate wraps around one
end of the sturdy bamboo. He repeated the process with her other ankle, so that
the fronts of her ankles were securely trussed to what had become, in effect, a
bamboo spreader-bar.
At that point Slegg pulled Erika to her feet allowing Erika to stand
comfortably, albeit with her wrists lashed together and with her ankles bound to
the spreader bar. It was only when Slegg pushed her toward the T-cross to
which she had been bound earlier, bent her forward over one arm of the
waist-high crosspiece and pulled her bound wrists down toward the middle of the
spreader bar at her ankles that she realized his cruel intent.
Within seconds, Slegg had doubled her body over from the waist, and lashed
her crossed-over wrists to the midpoint of the bamboo bar which spread her
ankles. Erika would certainly have lost her balance and fallen forward on her
face had it not been for the crossbeam of the T-cross which fitted snugly
against her trim waist.
It took only a moment for Erika to realize that that her shapely bottom was
now the most prominent part of her body, and that every man in the room had a
bird's-eye rear view of her buttocks and her genitalia. Blushing furiously, she
bent her knees slightly, hoping to minimize the shamelessness of her posture,
but was rewarded by a flesh-searing stroke across the backs of her thighs.
"Aaaaiaahh!" Out of of the corner of her eye, Erika could see that
Deng-shan had armed himself with the cane he had used earlier.
"Keep that arse UP, Princess," Slegg growled. "The boys paid for a good
show, and I'm 'ere to see that they get one! 'ave a good look, lads!"
Erika felt the hot flush of embarrassment passing over her body, as the men
edged forward, their eyes drawn magnetically to the delicious curvature of her
bottom-cheeks and the tempting lips of her labia.
"Didn't I tell ye that'd ye'd get an eyeful from uncle Jasper," Slegg
bragged to his comrades. "What d'ye think, Froggy?"
"Aye! Smooth and moist as a ripe papaya, Slegg," Froggy muttered in the
croaking voice which had earned him his nickname. He eyed Erika's glistening
sex hungrily. "And I'll wager just as sweet."
"And as tight as the emperor's tax collector, too!" chimed in Lucky, who
had leaned forward to get a better look at Erika's girlish treasure.
But it was Tranh, the wizened cook, who elbowed his skinny body past both
men, waving something in the air and jabbering excitedly in his native tongue,
as he maneuvered his way to the front of the line and began running his hands
over Erika's naked body.
"What's that you've got there, Tranhy?" Slegg barked at the cook he had
sent on the errand earlier.
"Ah, got Chinese snakegourd, boss! Special one!" The Vietnamese grinned
as he stepped aside to reveal the tian hua fen, the thick Chinese cucumber he
was pressing against Erika's distended vagina. He giggled excitedly and then
jammed the fibrous vegetable into her defenseless body.
"Ungghh!" Erika groaned miserably as Tranh experimented with the angle of
penetration. Ribald chuckles greeted his efforts as the little man worked the
phallus-shaped vegetable deeper and deeper into Erika's womanhood.
"Relax, Missy," he murmured, as Erika's moans of discomfort grew steadily
louder each time he twisted and probed with the cuke. "Don't you know
vegetables are good for little girls?" The ship's cook giggled a strange
high-pitched laugh and then thrust the snakegourd a little deeper into Erika's
blonde-fringed love-canal, drawing another guttural moan from his helpless
victim. "You no like, Missy? Maybe you like ginseng better. I got nice
piece," he said pointing toward a thick tuberous root protruding from the bag he
had brought down with him earlier. Tranh winked conspiratorially at Jasper
Slegg as he cranked the snakegourd into Erika's love-channel with a circular
thrusting motion until all that could be seen of it, was the end he held in his
fist. "Hey, boss. I got more oil, too. Hot or sweet - any kind you want!
And I got nuoc cham, too!"
Jasper Slegg nodded and smiled thinly. "Good work, Tranhy. Why don't you
give the wench a little taste of the nuoc cham!"
Erika's long blonde mane brushed the sawdust on the floor as she struggled
to maintain her balance and tried to guess who or what nuoc cham was. She heard
what sounded like a jar being opened and then a moment later she felt Tranh's
finger spread a cool substance around the edges of her gourd-stretched labia.
At least it felt cool at first. But in a matter of seconds she began to
feel the burning.
Jasper Slegg watched with cynical amusement as Erika's beautifully
proffered buttocks and thighs began to twitch in agony. Tranh's garlicky nuoc
cham - or Vietnamese chili paste - was the spiciest condiment he had run across
in all of his wide travels. Like many Englishmen who had spent years plying the
coastal waters and the waterfront eateries of south Asia, Slegg had developed a
taste for spicy food. But a mere thimbleful of nuoc cham in a bowl of rice or
pho, the steaming concoction of noodles and broth that was the signature dish of
Tranh's native land, was enough to give it a fiery flavor.
Erika struggled furiously to free her wrists from the spreader bar so that
she could wipe the burning chili paste from her vagina, but Deng and Slegg had
bound her well. Her misery would not have been so acute had not Deng-shan
raped her so savagely when he had pinned her against the ladder in the stoking
room, and had not the hot wax seared her most delicate flesh. But her
love-channel was now hyper-sensitive to the least irritation - which the nuoc
cham provided aplenty.
When Tranh stepped away from her, Slegg watched Erika wriggle, her blonde
tresses sweeping the floor gracefully, her perfect ass describing saucy circles
in the air, the cock-thick snake gourd protruding obscenely from her pink,
chili-tinged vaginal lips. He was quite pleased with himself. The nuoc cham
was not only yet another revenge on this German beauty who had dared to strike
him - it was also an excellent prophylactic against the possibility that Khasar
or others in his wild-eyed audience might get completely out of control and tear
the shapely blonde to pieces with their lust. Only a complete fool would stick
his penis into a vagina slathered with chili paste. "Give 'er a second 'elping,
cookie - but be careful not to get any in her arse!"
Erika should have been glad to hear this first sign of mercy she'd heard
since she'd been in the Bird Cage. But the bestial growl in Slegg's voice
suggested that it wasn't her interests but his own that Slegg had in mind. And
the very thought caused her pelvic muscles to convulse, allowing Tranhie to cram
the fibrous phallus even deeper into her defenseless body.
One by one the crewmen came forward to fondle her. Some delighted in
squeezing the flesh of her soft, sweat-slick thighs, while others groped her
springy buttocks with virile gusto. Still others pressed their blood-stiffened
cock-staffs against her rear end and ground their pelvises against her while
they violated the perky rosette of her anus with their fingers. As the line
began to dwindle, Froggy knelt down behind her widespread legs, extended his
long reptilian tongue and licked a dash of nuoc cham from Erika's labia. Erika
exhaled a sigh of relief, but only until the cackling Chinese deposited the
reddish matter on the very tip of her clitoris. Within seconds her nude body
was trembling so violently that Slegg thought that the sturdy bamboo
spreader-bar might give way.
But the bar continued to hold Erika in place, allowing the next man,
Khasar, to slowly extract the cucumber-like vegetable from her vagina. Erika
relaxed briefly, only too glad to be free of the invasive object, just as the
muscular Mongol rammed it back inside her with a ruthless thrust that caused her
body to crumple helplessly over the crosspost.
And still they came, one man after another, each sailor adding his own
salacious signature to Erika's dreadful ordeal....
********
Orang, the brutish Malayan who was last in line of the fifteen, was still
running his meaty fingers over Erika's tempting buttocks when Jasper Slegg let
his glance wander toward the sturdy cross-rail of the bamboo framework he'd
employed thrice before. He surveyed the grim apparatus thoughtfully, mentally
putting the final touches on his plans for the seventh torment.
When Deng-shan had finished collecting the final round of admission
charges, the two men released Erika from the spreader-bar. Moments later,
after some effort, Slegg extracted and held aloft the snake gourd whose reddened
tip bespoke the savagery with which the phallic object had been forced into
Erika's body. As the sailors elbowed each other with congratulatory nudges,
Erika slumped to the floor in despair, but Deng and Slegg wasted little time in
pulling her to her feet. Her strength sapped, Erika was unable to deter the two
men from hoisting her naked body astride the horizontal rail of the bamboo
framework which had already caused her so much suffering. She groaned as the
pressure of her weight forced the raw lips of her vagina against the abrasive
rail.
While Slegg held her upright, Dengshan coiled a length of rope tightly
around one ankle and then, after giving it a mighty tug, lashed her outstretched
leg to a rusty iron ring that extended from the base of the framework. He
repeated the process on her other ankle, aggravating the dreadful friction of
the bamboo pole which ran between her legs. When her ankles were safely secured,
Deng pulled Erika's wrists behind her, bound them together, and then tied them
to the crotch-rail.
After Deng had immobilized Erika's limbs, he and Slegg conferred briefly.
Grimacing from the gnawing, abrasive pressure of the railing against her crotch,
Erika was powerless to prevent Deng-shan from taking a fresh coil of thin cord
and wrapping it around her chest several times, just below her breasts, taking
care that each wrap fitted snugly against her skin, abutting its neighbors, but
not overlapping them. Then he took a second length of rope and wrapped it
around her upper chest several times in precisely the same way, so that the
lowermost coils fitted snugly against the tops of Erika's breasts, pinching the
soft mounds of flesh from above just as the under-breast ropes lifted them from
below.
Then the Chinese handyman took a third rope, doubled it in his hands and
pulled it up through the middle of the lower bindings, lifting the center
portion of the under-breast ropes up slightly. He formed the two ends of the
rope into a decorative braid as he pulled it up between Erika's breasts, lifting
her opulent mounds so that they jutted out even more prominently than before.
Then, after tightening the braid by passing it through the upper-breast ropes,
he passed the two ends of the rope over her shoulders, forming an aesthetically
pleasing V at her throat, before pulling them down through the lower windings in
back and knotting them securely in place.
Erika remembered having seen Japanese women bound in just this manner in
the book of erotic drawings and paintings that George Chan had prized so highly.
'Shinju' the Japanese called it, using their word for 'pearls'. Breast bondage.
As Jasper Slegg watched Deng's skillful ropework with unfeigned admiration,
he could well understand why Deng had gone to the trouble of mastering this
technique. The intricate rope brassiere he had created would have shaped even a
small-breasted woman's 'pearls' into the most tempting of morsels. The effect on
Erika's succulent mounds was breathtaking.
As Deng stepped away from his creation, Slegg gave him an approving nod.
There was a fine line between a breast bondage that was snug enough to enhance
the shape of a woman's breasts and one that was so tight that it distorted their
natural appeal. Deng-shan had done well. The ropes around Erika's chest
squeezed her thrusting globes splendidly, adding a hint of wanton impudence to
their natural jut.
With the breast-harness securely in place, Erika's two tormentors turned
once again to the nipple-cords they had used earlier, wasting little time in
once again snapping the fiendish circlets of hemp excruciatingly tight around
her tender lust-nuggets. Squirming miserably as a result of the inexorable
pressure of the crotch-rail against her beleaguered love-slit, Erika glanced
down at the nipple-gripping cords despairingly. They clung to the bases of her
engorged breast-buds like leeches feeding on blood-rich flesh, the dangling
strands of twine looking for all the world like the tentacles of some grotesque
parasites.
Deng took yet another rope and looped it around her neck before knotting it
around the front end of the rail, pulling Erika's head and shoulders forward a
few degrees, setting up a painful counterpoise to the rearward pressure of her
wrist-ropes. Within a few seconds Erika realized that Deng's rope-prison had
insured that her upper body was in such traction that she could neither lean
further forward nor straighten to sit fully erect.
Once Slegg was satisfied that his bare-breasted prisoner was tilted
forward at the desired angle, he turned once again to the pile of wood and
bamboo against the wall. After a brief search he found what he had been looking
for -- a pair of miniature birdcages that some craftsman, perhaps inspired by
the name that Slegg had given to the hold which had imprisoned so much lovely
cargo, had once fashioned from dozens of thin strips of dried bamboo. The base
of each cage was no larger than the palm of his hand; the cages themselves
weighed next to nothing.
Slegg ran a weathered hand across Erika's warm belly-flesh, as if rubbing
it for luck, and then he removed the detachable roofs from each of the bird
cages. Exercising great care, he carefully suspended the bird cages from the
short lengths of twine that hung from Erika's pinkish-brown nipples. Then,
after examining his handiwork with the eye of a jeweler, he released the cages,
allowing them to hang like wicker baskets from Erika's taut-stretched love buds.
The cages were quite light and did not add appreciably to Erika's misery -
but the evil glint in Jasper Slegg's eyes assured her that his scheme had not
yet reached fruition.
"Deng - hand me the coin box," he exclaimed, as the onlookers looked at
each other in puzzlement. Even Deng-shan looked perplexed as he handed over the
box of coins into which he had been depositing the admissions fees for each of
the torments.
" 'ere you go lads," said Slegg as he distributed the coins to his
audience. " 'ere's yer money back - but not for keeps. Let's 'ave a little
sport, boys - a friendly game of pitch and toss."
As Deng translated his words into Pidgin Chinese, Slegg tossed one of the
coins in Erika's direction. The coin landed on the upslope of Erika's right
breast and then slid down into the open-topped birdcage beneath. As the coin
hit the bottom of the cage, Erika felt the first slight tug on her distended
nipple. It was only then, when she tried to straighten her spine but could not,
that Erika realized the insidious nature of her enforced forward-leaning
position. Had she been able to sit fully erect on the rail, she could have used
her chest and ribcage to help support the weight of the cages. But her slightly
forward-leaning posture insured that the full weight of both cages and coins
would be borne by her rope-pinched breasts.
Within seconds, the raucous crew was laughing and cheering and wagering
as the men took turns tossing their arsenal of coins at the twin breast-baskets.
A number of coins quickly found their targets, with each successful toss adding
slightly to the mounting strain on Erika's nipples. Even the errant coins added
to her misery by bouncing off the baskets and causing them to sway back and
forth beneath her beleaguered nipples like pendulums of pain. "Keep those
titty-banks moving," Slegg incited his gleeful comrades. "Fill 'em up, boys!"
As the piles of coins in the bottom of each basket began to mount, their
weight began to take its toll. The crewmen jabbered excitedly as Erika's
tightly-bound nubbins begin to downward under the mounting strain. Soon Lucky
decided that straightforward low-arced tosses offered little challenge, since
Erika's Shinju-ed breasts offered such a forgiving backboard. He conceived the
idea of flipping the coins high in the air from either side. This technique
required some practice, and many flips misfired and fell harmlessly to the
floor, but some did not, and the added speed and momentum garnered from falling
from altitude meant that every direct hit sent a sharper tug of pain through
Erika's down-stretched nipple-nuggets. As coin after coin clinked its way into
the ever-growing caches at the bottoms of the bird-cages, the strain on Erika's
aching nipples continued to mount.
As Slegg had calculated, the sailors enjoyed the sport so much that after
tossing all the coins from the coin box at Erika's succulent breasts, and they
began going through the contents of their own pockets searching for coins that
were heavy, but of little value. As each coin found its way into the gently
swaying piggybanks that hung from Erika's breasts, each tiny bit of weight added
perceptibly to the strain on her entire body, from her harnessed breasts to her
outstretched limbs.
But even the weights hanging from her nipples were little more than a
nuisance compared to the conflagration that raged between her legs. The weight
of her body pressing down on the bamboo had soon rubbed her genitals raw. And
every time she felt that her suffering could not possibly get any worse, Slegg
was there to dip a fingertip into the fiery chili paste and rub it into her
burning girl-slit. Each such application of the nuoc cham sent Erika's body
into paroxysms of misery that set the coin-laden birdcages into motion, bouncing
against each other wildly to the delight of the crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon.
Chapter 140 The Eighth Torment - Slegg's Revenge
When a gloating Jasper Slegg and a bright-eyed Deng-shan finally began
undoing the ropes that had bound Erika to the rail, ending her seventh and final
torment, the sailors began filing out of the room. Erika flushed with
humiliation as she heard them laughing and talking, comparing their favorite
memories of Jasper Slegg's circus of sexual subjugation.
As for Slegg, he knew that his extravaganza would provide his cut-throat
crewmates with an abundance of material for shipboard scuttlebutt for months.
And erotic visions of a blonde demi-goddess enslaved by rope and bamboo would
surely haunt the lonely hammocks of the ship's sleeping quarters for many
voyages to come.
But even with the crewmen gone, Erika's night of terror was not yet done.
With the half-full coin-baskets still hanging from her aching nipples, the
malevolent first mate brusquely ordered her to retrieve the coins that had
missed their mark and add them one by one to the already-heavy baskets.
"Hurry it up, wench!" Slegg rasped. "And don't let those baskets touch the
deck - unless you want to wear 'em all night!"
And so it was that an utterly debased Erika Weiss crawled around the floor
on her hands and knees between her two gloating tormentors, her superb breasts
straining against the weight of the coins. From time to time one or the other
would spear her flank with the pointed toe of a boot, keeping the swaying
baskets in motion as she searched for the coins that had gone astray. Erica's
anguish was redoubled by the knowledge that the weighted baskets swaying gently
from her abused nipples were only inches above the floorboards whose support
would have eased her dreadful burden immeasurably.
It took Erika several minutes of frantic searching to retrieve all of the
coins and add them to the nipple-tugging baskets. When she had finally found
the last coin, Slegg ordered her to stand up. "Easy, now, Princess," he warned
her, as she tried to clamber to her feet without upsetting the brimming baskets.
"Ye wouldn't want to spill 'em and begin again, would ye, now?"
"N-no," Erika murmured as she struggled painfully to her feet, her breasts
throbbing from the weight of the coins. As she did so, she saw Jasper Slegg
gingerly fingering the nasty gash over his eye, the gash she had opened with the
shovel in the stoking room when his lash-strokes had driven her to a pain-crazed
act of rebellion that had brought disaster down upon her head and body. Erika
could tell by the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his teeth and the
pulsing of a vein in his temple that the wound had begun to throb once again.
Jasper Slegg, no bargain under the best of circumstances, loomed even more
menacingly before her now.
Once she had risen, Deng-shan ordered her to extend her wrists, which he
quickly imprisoned in a tight circlet of rope. Then, armed with his fishing
knife, the ship's carpenter cut through the lengths of twine that hung from her
tender nipples. Having done so, he removed the coin-baskets and passed through
the curtain which partitioned the Bird Cage in order to put the money safely
away, leaving Erika alone with a Jasper Slegg who was clearly in pain. The
Englishman's fingers wrestled briefly with the tight loops of twine that choked
her nipple-buds before liberating them. As the tiny ringlets fell away, Erika's
nipples began to throb anew as circulation returned to the sensitive tips of her
breasts.
Deng's shinju bondage had left Erika's luscious love-gourds rosy from the
constrictive pressure of the hempen ropes. As he stroked his brow, Slegg
squinted at Erika's bound breasts with an air of self-satisfied possessiveness,
still finding it somewhat difficult to believe that such a magnificent creature
was utterly in his power. The performance, the Seven Torments, had gone better
than he could have expected. The men seemed to have enjoyed the show immensely
and he and Deng had earned enough for a thrilling night of debauchery at Madame
Wong's when next the Yangtze Dragon called on Shanghai.
As an exhausted Erika struggled to catch her breath, Slegg continued to
stare at the hypnotic rise and fall of her proud-jutting breasts with hawk-like
concentration. His right arm twitched spasmodically, betraying his longing to
give those coral-tipped beauties the kind of meticulous, workmanlike strapping
that their splendid size and shape cried out for.
It had been four (or was it five?) years since Deng and a couple of the
boys had helped him settle a score with Hua Ping, a beautiful pleasure girl in
Kowloon. {See the story "Abduction in Kowloon"}. Slegg's swollen cock pulsed
with virile longing as he remembered the riveting sight of Hua's honey-gold
love-mounds recoiling in pain in response to each cut of Deng's switch. After
every stinging stroke the raven-haired concubine's breasts had shuddered like
rose petals in a morning breeze before coming to rest and offering their naked
splendor to the next slash of the switch.
He could still hear, as well, the echoes of the wicked THWACKK! that
Froggy's leather strap had made when it collided with Hua's tempting young
breasts. Each stroke of the strap had flattened her pouting nipples for an
instant in time, but invariably they had sprung back, pert and defiant,
presenting the most erotic of targets for the length of dark leather. The
haunting groans of anguish that had spilled from Hua's soft sensuous lips after
each flesh-searing stroke were etched in his memory forever....
But Captain Andrew McMahon, Slegg well knew, would keelhaul him if he
defaced the superb body of this fiery, blue-eyed blonde with the kind of
flogging he and his cronies had given Hua Ping.
But there were other pleasures, equally depraved pleasures, that would be
less incriminating ....
Noting the increasing redness of Erika's breasts, Slegg decided that it
would be a prudent precaution to undo the shinju-ropes from Erika's luscious
love-globes. He spun her around roughly and then pulled her toward him so that
his granite-hard erection pressed against Erika's naked buttocks as his fingers
went to work on the knot midway between her shoulderblades. As the ropes began
to fall away from Erika's torso, Slegg peered over her shoulder and smiled with
satisfaction as he studied the alluring pattern the cord had etched into the
upper curves of her breasts. The marks would probably fade by morning, but the
soreness would surely last for a day or two.
For a moment Erika was relieved as she felt the breast-pinching ropes fall
away from her tender mounds. But her relief was short-lived when the ropes were
replaced almost instantly by Slegg's marauding hands. She felt the wiry body of
the evil Englishman pressing against her nakedness and tried to pull away. But
Slegg merely laughed and pulled her against his body, rubbing his erection into
the crease between her buttocks while he cupped her right breast with one hand
and pawed at her crotch with the other.
Squirming fitfully, Erika cursed at him and pushed at his lower hand with
her bound wrists and managed to pry his groping fingers away from her golden
triangle. But Slegg merely uttered a derisive grunt and slid his free hand up
over her sweat-slick belly and wrapped his fingers around her left breast. His
crushing grip caused Erika to cry out in protest and she tried again to tear
herself free of his grasp, but she slipped on the sawdust-strewn floor and fell
to one knee. Angered by her stubborn resistance, Slegg seized her by her blonde
mane, lifted her to her feet and slammed her bodily against a nearby wall.
Erika cried out in pain and took a few staggering steps in hopes of eluding her
tormentor. But the hours of abuse had taken their toll and soon she felt Slegg
wrap his arms around her from behind once again, this time pinning her arms to
her sides even as he reached for her breasts.
Ignoring Erika's feeble attempts to raise her arms and push his hands
away, Jasper Slegg snarled angrily and gouged his fingers into her tit-globes
with renewed ferocity, crushing her mouthwatering melons between his clutching
fingers until Erika could no longer suppress a series of soft moans.
"Don't give me that! You like it rough, you little whore!" Slegg growled.
"Don't you? But it's time for another game, now, sweetie," he growled as he
released her breasts and proceeded to wrestle Erika's pain-wracked body a few
steps forward and to his right. Within moments he had bent Erika's nude body
over the thigh-high storage cabinet he had taken the ropes and candles from
earlier.
As he liberated his throbbing cock, the oppressive weight of Slegg's body
crushed Erika's breasts against the coils of rough hempen cord that were stacked
atop that side of the cabinet. "No! ... No!" Erika protested as Slegg used the
weight of his body and the strength of his arms to hold her down even as he slid
his rutting phallus into the soft, sensuous cleavage of her bare bottom-cheeks.
The tip of his cock tingled with pleasure as Slegg felt the incomparably sweet
pressure of rape-lust building in his swollen testicles.
"Better not fight me, wench!" Slegg growled as he wrestled Erika's body
into position. "Unless you want to take twenty men up the arse instead of one!"
Tranh had oiled Erika's shapely derriere generously and within seconds,
Slegg's cock-shaft was slick and glistening and poised at Erika's defenseless
rosette. He lunged forward, driving Erika's naked thighs into the side of the
sturdy cabinet, as he punched his ramrod into her defenseless passageway.
"YAAGHH!" he snarled triumphantly, as he gripped her tighter, exulting in
the twin sensations of power and lust as he worked his knob deeper into Erika's
anus.
Erika grunted in pain, and fought to spring free, trying to escape an anal
rape that would surely prove as vicious as the one she had suffered when Mao and
Yim had held her over the barrows in the stoking room. As she lunged forward,
Erika, searching desperately for a weapon, stretched a hand toward an oil lamp
that was just out of reach on the far end of the cabinet.
Overcome by passion, Slegg took no notice of Erika's reaching hand, and
lunged again, driving his rampaging ramrod still deeper into her defenseless
body. This time his hip-thrust seemed to lift Erika's body slightly and she
clawed frantically for the lamp yet again. Her outstretched fingertips had just
found the base of the lamp when Slegg stabbed his cock-staff into her with such
violence that the pressure of her fingers caused the lamp to slide off the far
end of the cabinet and crash to the floor.
WHOOOSHHHH!!!! The oil lamp exploded into a fiery ball of flame at
impact, causing some of the bone-dry bamboo-shavings and sawdust on the floor to
ignite. Within seconds a panicky predator and his prey saw thin fingers of
flame sprinting across the floor in all directions.
"Bloody Christ!! You stupid cunt," Slegg roared as he shoved Erika aside
violently. He stuffed his fast-fading erection back into his dark trousers, his
virulent lust depleted by the sight of the spreading fire. "Look what you've
done! Fire! Fire!!"
Chapter 141 Shadows of Retribution
As Erika fell, her head struck the corner of the cabinet, stunning her
slightly. She watched, dazed, as Deng-shan burst through the curtain. The
ear-ringed Chinese handyman unleashed a string of curses, but he sized up the
situation quickly and began to tear at the heavy canvas curtain that divided the
two parts of the hold. Having taken one panel of it down, he carefully
approached the source of the fire and threw the canvas over the flaming oil
lamp, hoping to smother it, but with only partial success. Meanwhile Slegg had
seized the still-damp rag that had served as Erika's shirt. Unwinding it
quickly, he used it to beat at some of the trails of fire that led toward the
highly flammable piles of bamboo and wood debris that were stacked in opposing
corners of the Bird Cage.
But there were too many feathers of fire burning too quickly. As heat and
noxious smoke began to fill the room, a seeming battalion of Asian sailors came
racing down the ladder-well into the hold, jabbering and cursing excitedly in a
babel of languages as they tried to douse the fire. Some of the sailors used
their shirts as Slegg had done, others stomped wildly at the spreading fingers
of flame, and others stormed back up topside, hoping to find water.
As Erika's alertness returned she pulled herself up into a crouching
position, knowing that the smoke, the shouting, and the confusion offered her a
last best chance at escape. When she had faced the fury of the typhoon earlier,
she had noticed a small lifeboat a little aft of the winch-frame from which she
had hung. If she could reach it and find a way to lower it, perhaps she could
yet escape the floating chamber of sexual horrors in which she had been so
cruelly abused. But she would have to move swiftly. Even if the fire proved to
be stubborn, the chaos of the moment would eventually produce an organized
bucket brigade, thereby cutting off her only avenue of escape.
Her natural strength and quickness having been all but beaten out of her in
the preceding hours, Erika waited for another few seconds, staying low, trying
to breathe clean air, as she tried to summon up one brief burst of energy. Just
then half a dozen crewman who had gone looking for water clattered noisily down
the metal ladder that led to the upper deck, spilling half the water they were
carrying in all manner of pots and jugs. Some had tucked towels and blankets
under their arms, in hopes of using them to smother the flames.
Her heart pounding, Erika looked on anxiously through the thickening smoke
as the returnees re-entered the tumultuous battle against the spreading fire,
and noted that the stairwell was unattended for the first time since Slegg had
sounded the alarm. Erika stealthily edged toward the ladder through the
deafening cacophony of coughing, cursing sailors, trying all the while to judge
whether still others were about to descend into the hold.
Just then the shirt of one of the Malayans on the front lines of the fire
burst into flames. He screamed in pain and spun around and around like a fiery
dervish, until his blanket-bearing comrades knocked him to the deck, encircled
him, and attempted to smother the flames.
Sensing that this was her moment, Erika sprang toward the ladder and began
to climb it, though the horrors of her ordeal had etched agony into the muscles
in her arms and shoulders. But she bravely pulled herself upward, hand over
hand, looking back over her shoulder, gratified that for the moment only the
flames seemed to be in hot pursuit.
When she reached the top of the ladder she scampered through the open
hatch, onto the storm-slick foredeck of the ship. As she struggled to her feet
she heard running footsteps and voices and ducked behind a projection of the
forecastle, as two of the Foochow sailors, each armed with a brimming bucket of
water, raced toward the ladder that led below.
Once the mariners had disappeared below, Erika ran a hand through the
puddle in which she knelt and scooped a bit of water toward her dry lips. She
sighed pleasurably, and sipped again, hardly mindful of the aftertaste of oil
and metal. Then she rose up and began to make her way sternward, her bare feet
splashing wetly on the deck, a nocturnal sea-nymph, her pale body caressed
with a loving light by an adoring moon. Behind her, the flames in the hold
seemed to shoot their orange glow upward through the hatch, throwing eerie
shadows across the deck.
Erika crept stealthily along the port quarter, her naked body shivering
in the cool night air, her frayed nerves rattled by the constant din of shouts
and screams of pain coming from the men fighting the fire below. At one point
the voices seemed to come from directly behind her and she flattened herself
against the cool, metallic superstructure trembling uncontrollably and seeing
dark shadows everywhere.
Erika tried to calm herself. Just a few more steps and she would be there.
The dinghy she had seen earlier had been carelessly roped to the side of the
vessel; it should be child's play to set it adrift. But it had grown ominously
darker when the moon passed behind an unfriendly cloud. Would there be light
enough to free the boat from its mooring?
She was only a few steps from her goal when she heard Slegg's gravelly
voice rise from below and cut through the night. She froze, looking back over
her shoulder so that she could make out his words. "Good work, lads! All but
out now, and we saved most of the lumber, too! I'll see that ye get double
rations tomorr..." His voice trailed away for a moment but then rasped even
louder than before. "The wench! Where's the bloody wench?"
Erika's heart seemed to her to be pounding as loud as the ship's engines.
In a matter of seconds the crewmen would be crashing their way up the ladder to
the upper deck. She groped for the rail, enveloped by shadows that seemed to
swirl around her like dark vultures of the sea. Reaching the rail, she fumbled
desperately to free the dinghy from the hawser that secured it to the ship,
breathing a sigh of relief that the boat seemed to have survived the typhoon's
wrath fairly well.
As she undid the heavy rope, setting the boat free and allowing it to
drift clear of the ship, she calculated that if she rowed for her life in the
darkness there was a slim chance that she might yet escape her pursuers. She
placed one bare foot on the rail, and was about to vault over the side when the
moon emerged from behind a bank of threatening clouds and for an instant cast
its pale gaze down onto the dinghy before slipping behind its nocturnal shroud
once more. But that brief moment of illumination send shivers of icy panic up
the spine of Erika Weiss. There was no oar in the boat! Where was the oar?
She heard footsteps and coughing as the men began to storm noisily up the
ladderwell. Erika took her foot from the rail and spun around rapidly. Where
was the accursed oar? She turned toward the stern, her eyes frantically
searching the darkness.
Suddenly another shadow, massive and menacing, seemed to separate itself
from the uniform blackness of the sea and sky.
As she turned toward it, Erika was greeted with a horrific WHAPPP!! as a
barely seen object slammed painfully into her belly.
Doubling over in pain, Erika peered in the direction from which the blow
had come, only to realize that the shadow which had frightened her had
materialized into a coat of midnight blue.
"Looking for this, lassie?"
The red beard of Andrew McMahon above the collar of his dark peacoat, had
barely registered in Erika's consciousness when the flat side of the oar
cannoned into her creamy belly-flesh with punishing force for a second time,
its beveled edge just clipping the lower curve of her right breast.
WHAPPP!!! "OOAAAUNGHH!!" Erika fell to her knees in agony, but when she
saw the heavy sleeves move closer, and the brawny hands protruding therefrom,
brandishing the solid wooden oar as if it were no heavier than a broom-handle,
she gamely struggled to her feet and tried once again to flee.
WHAPPP!! The Scottish mariner hammered the oar into the sweet, soft curves
of her backside. Erika groaned as the force of the blow sent her reeling toward
the railing. She raised one foot in hopes of climbing the slippery rail and
leaping soundlessly into the sea, at this point desirous of nothing more than a
quick, watery death. But the red-bearded captain thwarted her scheme by
slamming the oar into her bare buttocks again with a fourth thunderous
WHAPPPPP!!!
The mighty blow drove Erika's midsection into the railing with such force
that her body began to crumple to the deck in pain. But before her fall was
complete, a fifth vicious smash, this one to the backs of her thighs, sent her
sprawling face down on the slippery deck.
Erika rolled over on to her back, hoping to make a grab for the end of the
oar the next time McMahon swung it. But this time the burly captain did not
swing it. He simply placed the tip of the blade against her throat and applied
pressure, slowly forcing her head down until the strands of her golden hair
were flat against the rain-splashed deck.
By this time, the crewmen, following the sound of the blows and Erika's
cries of pain had, had made their way to the stern, with a wild-eyed Jasper
Slegg in the vanguard.
"Cap'n! You found her!"
"Aye, I found her, ye bloody fool," McMahon roared. "But how in the name of
Mary of Scotland did ye manage to lose her? Slegg, if you had a six-inch putt
to win the Open, ye'd manage to lose your clubs walkin' tae the green."
"But, sir, there was a fire ..."
"D'ye think I canna sniff the air, mon?" McMahon bellowed, shaking his head
disgustedly as he surveyed the wet, bedraggled crewmen. "D'ye think I canna
hear? For Gawd's sake, mon, ye were makin' enough of a ruckus below to
celebrate Hogmanay, Guy Fawkes, and the Chinee New Year togither. O' course, I
ken there was a fire! But there's thirty of ye lubbers if there's three. Canna
ane o' ye watch the lassie while the ither twenty-nine o' yer ignorant clan pour
water on each ither?" McMahon shook his head contemptuously. "All o' ye
togither dinna hae the sense o' a half a pound o' haggis!"
The fuming mariner lowered his gaze to the naked beauty he had pinned to
the deck with the oar. His wrathful glare was slowly replaced by a lecherous
smile, as he turned the oar on its edge and slowly traced a line down Erika's
heaving chest. He paused when the oar was midway between her breasts, and
turned it over in his hands so that its flat side pressed against the inner
curves of the superb mounds which rose from her chest with gravity-defying
audacity. "Ah, lassie, if I didn't hae tae turn ye over tae the general the
morra ..." he muttered as he placed the oar across each of her breasts in turn
and gave each of her taut, night-chilled nipples a stinging tap that sent
shivers of dread through Erika's body.
"It's just as well the twa o' them were seasick, after all," he continued,
speaking of General Wang and Hsi Fong. "The laudanum they took to ease their
land-lubbing guts must have knocked them richt out, if they dinna hear this
stramash. The whole British fleet didn't make this much noise at the Battle o'
bloody Trafalgar."
McMahon turned the oar on its edge again, as he continued his southward
journey down Erika's body. When she tried to pull away, four of the crewmen
pounced on here and pinned her out-stretched limbs to the storm-splattered deck.
'Ye're a bonnie lassie, you are," he muttered as he drew the oar's blade across
the sensual notch of Erika's navel, and then across the sweet swell of her mons.
"Tak' 'er tae the infirmary, Slegg, sae that Tranhie can patch 'er up,"
McMahon barked gruffly as the blade crossed Erika's golden triangle. Then,
leaning more heavily on the oar-handle, he slid it downward until it bisected
her delicate vulva. Eyeing the deep impressions the cords and ropes and twine
had left on her soft flesh, he added, "And keep these fools awa' from her for
the rest of the night. If anyone but Tranhie lays anither hand on 'er, I'll
break ye sae low ye'll be salutin' a cabin boy - if ye can find a captain daft
to gie ye anither post."
The captain turned toward the ship's carpenter. "Was your stack o' lumber
lost in the fire, lad?"
"No, sir," Deng replied nervously. "A pile of bamboo went up fast, sir,
but most of the wood was only singed around the edges."
"Ah, we're in luck then. Or at least most of us are," he smirked, casting
Erika an amused glance, before turning toward Deng again. "There'll be a trial
at dawn, mon; take a few of these lubbers and see to it that the apparatus is
ready in time."
"Aye, captain," the earringed carpenter assented, giving Erika an evil grin
as two of the sailors pulled her to her feet and were about to haul her away.
Just then McMahon held up a big hand to stop them. He stepped so close to the
pinioned blonde that she could smell the stale Scotch on his breath.
"Dinna look so surprised," Mcmahon growled as he felt between Erika's legs.
"Ye've dug yerself into a hole as deep as the Firth o' Forth, lassie. Arson,
destruction of ship's property, desairtion. On top of mutiny and murther. But
we'll gie ye a dram o' shipboard justice the morra, lassie. And then ye'll pay
the piper. And it'll be Captain Andrew McMahon who's pipin' the tune! Take her
below, Slegg, and have her tend tae the leather that's gaun tae to stripe her
bonnie back come the morra!"
Chapter 142 Assault in a Passageway
If the evening before Erika's trial had been a nightmarish physical
ordeal, the long hours before dawn were to test her spirit to the fullest. At
Slegg's direction the two Malayan sailors who had pulled her to her feet soon
led her toward an aft stairwell that led down to the infirmary below. Erika had
breathed a soft sigh of relief when Captain McMahon had given orders not to
molest her further, but her respite from abuse was to prove ludicrously
short-lived. Her virile escorts, whose unfortunate lot it had been to have been
on duty throughout Erika's cock-stiffening exhibition in the Bird Cage, wasted
little time in making up for their previous bad luck.
Erika's bare feet were still on the bottom rung of the ladder-rail when
the thug who had preceded her down the ladder wrapped his hands around her naked
thighs and pulled her roughly into his heavily tattooed arms. "C'mon, Raka," he
growled in pidgin Chinese, "let's have our own little party with this wench!"
Erika cried out in surprise and struggled to free herself from his
grasp, but the well-built Malayan quickly cupped a brown hand over her mouth to
silence her. Thrashing furiously in his arms, Erika tried to bite at the hand
that gagged her and was repaid when the tattooed man seized her right wrist,
gave it an agonizing wrench, and then crushed it into the hollow between her
shoulderblades. Moments later, Raka, his companion, a short, squat,
broken-nosed deckhand, scrambled down the ladder and helped his comrade drag the
hammerlocked blonde into a dark corner of the narrow passageway.
Once there Erika could only flail away ineffectively with her left arm
as the ugly little man's hands reached for her naked breasts. The islander gave
vent to a series of amorous grunts as he attacked Erika's soft, creamy mounds
with unbridled enthusiasm, first using his nimble brown fingers to measure the
warmth and weight of each of her luscious breasts and then roughly mashing her
tender mounds together. Grimacing in discomfort, Erika slapped clumsily at
Raka's lust-contorted features again but succeeded only in angering the
diminutive seaman. Snarling angrily, Raka cocked his thumbs and drove them into
the tips of her breasts as if her pinkish-brown nipples were the stubbornest
of thumb-tacks.
As tears of pain formed in her eyes, Erika tried again to fight her
tormentor off by aiming a knee at his groin, but her blow glanced harmlessly off
his leg. The stocky sailor quickly retaliated by crushing his sweaty body
tightly against hers. While Tattoo jammed her imprisoned wrist into her spine
with back-arching pressure, Raka slid the slender fingers of his left hand
underneath an impudently upthrust pleasure-mound, and lifted it toward his
descending mouth.
Growling with carnal pleasure, he buried his broken nose between her
succulent breasts and attacked them with his mouth as if they were over-ripe
fruit, laving them with sweeping swipes of his tongue and lavishing them with a
series of sucking, slobbering kisses. Once Erika's superb pleasure-globes were
dripping with lewd saliva, he concentrated his attention on the glistening, half
erect tips of her breasts, which still bore the faint creases left by three
bouts with Jasper's Slegg's nipple-cords. Raka trapped each of Erika's tempting
love-nuggets tips between his yellowed teeth in turn, first tugging them gently
into full erection and then closing his teeth even more firmly around the tender
buds.
As he ground his teeth into Erika's tender left nipple, Raka reached
down and felt between her legs, giving her mons a virile squeeze before
thrusting a pair of fingers into her defenseless vagina. His plunging fingers
seemed to re-kindle the fire in the nuoc-cham, the red chilli paste Tranh had
swabbed on her genitals.
Erika doubled up in pain and revulsion only to feel the insistent
pressure of Tattoo's erection against the cleft of her buttocks. Writhing
furiously, Erika fought again to break free from the man whose tattooed arm was
clamped so tightly over her mouth that she could scarcely breathe, but it was no
use. The two men continued to manhandle her until they were startled by the
sound of footsteps clattering down the metal ladder, followed moments later by
the rasping voice of Jasper Slegg. Cursing the mate's interruption under his
breath, Tattoo let Erika slip from his grasp, while he stuffed his newly-freed
man-weapon back into his trousers. Meanwhile Raka backed away from her too,
wiping at the corners of his mouth.
As Slegg came around the bend in the passageway he eyed the two men and
their teary-eyed prisoner's saliva-covered breasts suspiciously. "Didn't you
blokes 'ear the cap'n! 'e said 'No more rough stuff,' " Slegg snapped, the
sharpness in his voice belied by the malicious smirk lurking at the corners of
his mouth. The ill-tempered mate gave Raka an amused glance -- the chunky
Malayan appeared to be oblivious to the fact that he was running his pink tongue
over his lips like a gourmet who had just sampled the most delectable of
tidbits. Snorting to himself, Slegg eyed the fresh indentations in Erika's
delectable areolae with ill-concealed interest.
But having been dressed down in no uncertain terms by Captain McMahon
less than a quarter of an hour earlier, Slegg contented himself with letting his
eyes wander over Erika's body admiringly for a moment or two before barking,
"Ye were supposed to take 'er to the infirmary, not turn 'er into a bloody
sandwich! Step lively, now!"
The Malayans, muttering inarticulate imprecations under their breath,
quickly muscled their comely prisoner to a half-opened door at the end of the
passageway and threw her roughly inside. Slegg watched from the doorway as
Erika landed face down across a foul-smelling cot in the small dark room.
Fearing another assault, she quickly turned to face her assailants, pulling
herself up on her haunches, pressing her legs tightly together and crossing her
fisted arms defensively over her heaving breasts.
Visibly trembling, she glared apprehensively at the Malayans as they
gave her sensuous body, seductively half-illuminated by an oil lantern hanging
in the passageway, a last lingering glance. Then, at a gesture from Slegg, they
sullenly followed the mate out of the little room. A moment later the door
closed, thrusting Erika into darkness, the ominous click of a latch informing
her that patients in the infirmary of the Yang-tze Dragon were not at liberty to
leave.
Chapter 143 The Depraved Bargain
Crushed by pain and fatigue and enveloped by the darkness of the room,
Erika fell back on the cot and dozed off for a short time, and then awakened,
her mouth dry as sand, to the sound of a distant pounding. She lay almost
motionless on the cot for a while, pushing away its only bedcovering, a thin
horsehair blanket no bigger than a large towel, whose skin-scratching coarseness
did her nude body as much harm as its warmth did her good.
Erika stroked her aching thighs and shoulders with gentle fingers,
trying to soothe the muscles that Slegg's carnival of bondage had stretched and
bent and contorted to their very limits. She wiped at the remaining traces of
the fiery nuoc cham that clung to her private parts, but she quickly found that
her sweaty fingertips seemed to spread the paste rather than remove it, and she
desisted, thankful that the irritation caused by the chili paste had lessened
considerably since it had first been applied to her body.
But the soreness resulting from her rough treatment and the
half-completed rapes by first Slegg and then the Malayans could not be so easily
dispelled. Her hands moved to her breasts and gently caressed the mounds that
Slegg and his men had handled with such barbaric brutality. She winced in pain
when her fingertips found her nipples; the thrice-applied nipple-cords had left
the tips of her breasts as sensitive as open wounds. Wounds into which Raka had
sunk his thumbs and teeth with virile delight.
As she tended to her injuries as best she could and tried to keep her
mind from dwelling on her raging thirst, Erika heard the clatter of footsteps
and the grunts and curses of men who seemed to be straining under heavy burdens
in the labyrinth of corridors on that level of the ship. She listened intently
as the ominous sound of hammering began again on the deck above her and
continued almost uninterruptedly for minute after anxious minute. At length it
struck her that the sailors were in the process of transferring lumber from the
Bird Cage, below decks, to the upper level of the ship.
Her nerves having been scraped raw by her long ordeal, Erika was plagued
by gruesome images of every engine of torment she had seen during her
enslavement to George Chan or that he had proudly pointed out to her in his vast
collection of sadistic erotica. Mongol chieftains, Chinese warlords, Japanese
shoguns, Indian rajahs, Persian sultans -- in the collection of George Chan,
none had been without exquisite young maidens who were entirely at their
disposal. Nor had they lacked for ingenious instruments of torture to deal with
the young beauties who had proved unwilling or rebellious.
Trying to rid herself of such dire imaginings, Erika pulled herself up
onto her hands and knees on the crude cot. She knelt there, shivering in her
nakedness for a few moments, smoothing her hands over her thighs, trying to
quiet the nagging ache in her muscles. At least, she consoled herself, these
last few minutes of self-examination had suggested that despite her long ordeal,
neither Slegg nor his bloodthirsty shipmates had so far done her body any
permanent injury.
Grimacing with discomfort, Erika eased her legs out from under her and
onto the hard floor of the infirmary. After taking a few deep breaths, she
lifted herself up and began to inch along a wall in the darkness, hoping to find
something in the tiny room that she could put to use to lessen her misery.
But the infirmary, she soon found, was not much better equipped to tend
to the sick or injured than a bare prison cell would have been. As she felt her
way around walls covered with years of accumulated grime, the pounding of
Deng's hammer continued to assail her ears. When she came to the first corner
she turned slightly and then continued to make her way along the adjoining
second wall until she stumbled over something in the corner of the room farthest
from the door. Wincing at the pain shooting through her stubbed toe, she bent
low and reached out into the darkness and used her fingertips to explore the
grainy surface of the object with which she had collided. After a moment or two
she concluded that she had stumbled upon a heavy leather-bound trunk.
Erika knelt on the cold floor in front of the trunk, and ran her nimble
fingers across its front, hoping to find a catch. Locating it, she fiddled with
it until she heard a faint click. She threw open the trunk and reached inside,
hoping to find an unguent, a salve, a bandage - anything that might help ease
her suffering. But, after running her hands around the interior of the trunk
she found nothing but a cork-stopped bottle lying atop some bits of cloth. She
opened the bottle and held it to her nose, but then quickly turned away,
repulsed by its foul smell.
Suddenly, the incessant hammering on the upper deck fell silent, and
Erika heard a faint rattle-like sound coming from the gloom to her left. She
shivered slightly and peered into the inky blackness, but saw nothing. Erika
rose and took a deep breath in order to steady her nerves and then resolved to
determine the source of the mysterious noise.
She tiptoed to her left, and reached out toward what she expected to be
the wall of the room opposite the cot, but instead found a heavy woolen blanket,
which someone had apparently hung to partition off the room. Trembling, Erika
slid through the opening between the blanket and the wall and inched her aching
body forward, feeling her way down the wall, as the dry, rattling sound grew
louder.
She had only taken another step or two when her knee struck a solid
object. Reaching out and down, she realized that she had bumped into a second
cot, one which bore the reek of sweat and disease. She slid around and eased
herself down onto the corner of the bed, still straining to hear the rhythmic,
rattling sound which seemed closer now than ever.
She rose again, intent on continuing her search, the second cot having
given her new hope of finding something useful in the pitch-black infirmary,
when she felt something hot and clammy brush against her thigh.
Erika recoiled in fear and surprise just as the rattle gave way to the
sound of a cough, a dreadful hacking cough that sent shivers through her body.
"Water!" a choking voice croaked in Chinese, as the feverish hand
tightened on her thigh.
Overcome with revulsion, Erika reached out and pushed the sweaty hand
from her thigh.
"Please ... water," the man gasped again as his body shook convulsively,
as if shaken by the cold hand of death.
Erika stood and turned away, anxious to retreat to the relative safety
of her own cot. But as she did so she remembered Daniel Kauffmann's caring
touch and Ju's gentle voice and healing hands. And she remembered how the two
of them had pulled her away from the twin precipices of madness and death and
patiently nursed her body and mind and spirit back to health.
"Forgive me," Erika whispered as she nervously edged closer to the
figure on the bed. "It is very dark, and for a moment I was afraid." She eased
herself down so that her hip pressed against the man's shoulder and slid her
fingers up his frail arm and then his shirtless torso. She pressed her hand
softly over his heart, but its beat was as faint as the cry of a distant
sea-bird. The man's bony hand fell across hers, holding her hand to his heart,
and this time, moved by the poignant intimacy of his touch, she did not pull
away.
The man on the cot tried once again to mouth the word, 'water' but this
time only a faint croak escaped his cracked lips. Despite the horrors of her
own predicament, Erika's heart went out to the stranger shivering in the
darkness. "I will try," Erika whispered, as she brushed a hand over the man's
brow and down his stubbly cheek. Though she could barely see the outline of his
face, she could feel that his skin was stretched as tightly as parchment over
his protruding cheekbones. She pressed her cool hand against his face gently,
as if somehow her touch could still the fever that consumed him. Then she rose
and stepped back through the gap between the blanket and the wall, and noticed,
for the first time, an almost imperceptible sliver of light coming from a crack
beneath the door through which she had been dragged earlier.
Crossing the room quickly, she snatched the skimpy horsehair blanket
from her cot, wrapped it hastily around her body and knotted it between her
breasts before reaching for the door. She felt for the latch, found it and
pulled at it, knowing in her heart of hearts that it was locked. When the latch
held fast, she pounded on the door with her fist hoping against hope that
someone was in the passageway outside.
"Water! Please! Can we have some water!"
A moment later Erika heard the odd, uneven gait of halting footsteps,
and then the metallic scrape of the latch being pulled through an ancient hasp.
There was a brief pause and then the door opened inward, forcing Erika to step
back.
"What's all the noise, wench?" The unaccustomed brightness of the
lantern the intruder held before his face blinded Erika for a moment. But there
was no mistaking the croaking voice of her jailer. Nor was there any mistaking
the sharpness of the fisherman's knife that the partially-lame sailor named
Froggy held in his free hand.
"Please ... can we have some water. The man over there ... seems to be
very ill."
"Water, eh? What's in it for me, sweetie?" Froggy growled lecherously,
his eyes riveted to the tops of Erika's breasts whose creamy paleness was
emphasized by the darkness of the blanket which only partly covered them.
As she glanced downward following the path of his lascivious glance,
Erika realized for the first time that the blanket wrapped around her body was
in the pattern of a Scottish tartan. She shuddered slightly, sensing the
chilling presence of Captain Angus McMahon in the tiny room. But she quickly
put the provenance of the tartan out of her mind, remembering that it had been
Froggy's powerful hands which had first brought tears to her eyes during the
Third Torment, when the fifteen crewmen had taken turns fondling and groping her
breasts.
Putting her finger to her lips in an attempt to get the brutish sailor
to lower his voice, Erika whispered, "It's not for me. It's for him," she added,
gesturing toward the much larger blanket which divided the room. I think ... I
think he is near death."
"Blackie?" Froggy snorted in a low voice, as he limped closer to the
retreating blonde while another fit of coughing made its way through the
blanket which divided the room. "I don't care if he coughs his lungs out,
sweetie. That bastard started in with me every time I tried to have a little
fun with one of the girls in the 'Cage'." Froggy's eyes never left Erika's
body as he placed the lantern on the floor in the center of the room and
fingered his knife fondly before playfully inserting it into the torso-long gap
in the blanket just below the knot that hugged her breastbone.
Fearful of making a quick movement, Erika could only stand there
trembling while Frogyy slowly wiped the shining blade back and forth across the
inner curves of her breasts as if they were whetstones of woman-flesh. The
predatory gleam in his eyes left Erika little reason to doubt that his idea of
'fun' with his female prisoners would surely have been degrading or painful or
both. "Aye, that useless pile of sea-scum even ratted on me to the Laird once
when he caught me and a couple of the boys breaking in a sweet little Filipina.
How were we to know that a cutie with a body like hers was only fourteen - and a
virgin?"
Ignoring Froggy's bout of self-pity, Erika instead turned her thoughts
to the man the sailor had called Blackie. Despite her hours-long shipboard
ordeal, Erika clearly remembered Slegg bursting into the captain's cabin hours
earlier {Chapter 128}, lamenting the fact that Blackie, the ship's stoker, would
be unable to man his station. It had been his hellish post in the bowels of the
ship that she had filled. The fact that they had shared that drudgery, and that
the stoker had apparently done his best to defend the prisoners of the Yang-tze
Dragon from the depraved attentions of Froggy and his mates strengthened her
bond with him even more.
"Water!" the voice from behind the blanket implored again, before dying
away in another seizure of coughing. Clearly Blackie's raging fever had
weakened him greatly in the hours since he had failed to report for duty.
"Please?" Erika tried again, looking at Froggy beseechingly.
Froggy placed the lantern on the floor at his feet and then plopped his
burly body down onto the edge of her cot, fumbling with his seaman's trousers as
he did so. "If it's water for Blackie you want, you'll have to earn it, Missy,"
he replied with a salacious grin. As Erika tugged awkwardly at the blanket,
trying to close the narrow gap between the two ends, Froggy stared straight
ahead hoping to catch a glimpse of her pale golden fleece, and enjoying the
play of lantern-light on her legs, which the blanket covered only to mid-thigh.
"How about a little private show for Old Froggy?"
"Please ... for God's sake, " Erika whispered passionately. "Can't you
just bring a pitcher of water to a dying man?"
"Why, sure I can, Missy," Froggy smirked. "But they say one good turn
deserves another." His visage darkened. "And you're going to do me ... a good
turn first. That is, you will," he added with brutal finality, "if you want
that pitcher of water for your new friend. And you can start, Missy," he added
with a lecherous leer, "by lifting that blanket. Nice and slow now, for uncle
Froggy!
Erika tried to conceal her fury as she returned the stare of the swarthy
Chinese, who sat so complacently on her cot, each of them knowing that he held
the upper hand. She had no choice but to submit to his obscene pleasures, not
if she wanted to provide comfort to the ailing stoker.
"V-very well," Erika replied nervously, as she bent forward slightly to
take the hem of the blanket between her fingertips, blushingly aware that this
slight inclination of her body exposed even more of her thrusting breasts. She
straightened and began sliding the hem of the tartan up her thighs.
"Closer, Missy. And do it nice and slow," Froggy cautioned her in a
rasping voice, as he opened the drawstring of his trousers and liberated his
swollen cock.
Biting her soft lower lip in shame and embarrassment, Erika edged closer
to the bed. She continued to inch the coarse blanket up her legs, watching with
revulsion as Froggy feasted his eyes on her thigh flesh, fondling the handle of
his knife with one hand and stroking his dark-veined member with the other. When
the hem of the tartan was only an eyelash from her sex, Froggy made a twirling
motion with the hand that brandished the knife. "Let's see that pretty ass!"
Grateful that she would be spared the sight of Froggy's disgusting
self-stroking for a moment, Erika slowly turned around and eased the fabric up
over the gentle slope at the base of her buttocks.
"Higher, wench! But slow. Nice and slow."
Erika continued to inch the blanket higher until it was well past the
midway point of her shapely buttocks, but she suddenly froze when she felt the
cold blade of Froggy's fish-knife sliding down the cleft of her derriere.
"Nice," he rasped, as he pressed the very tip of the knife against
Erika's nether orifice. "Very nice." Then he gave the knife a gentle twist
that send a shudder of terror through Erika's body.
"Now let's see that pretty pussy," he snarled, withdrawing the knife,
but pressing it against Erika's bare right hip and using it as a lever to turn
her body.
Trembling, Erika turned to face her tormentor. He was leaning forward
on the edge of the bed now, his swarthy face only inches from her golden-fringed
sex, caressing his meaty phallus with long smooth strokes.
"Touch yourself!" he whispered, his visage a mask of lust. "Do it!"
But as soon as Erika's fingertips had given the pink perfection of her
vulva a few tentative strokes, Froggy groaned like a rutting boar, and pulled
Erika's body closer, his hungry mouth brushing her dainty fingers aside.
Doing her best to conceal her revulsion, Erika managed to stammer,
"Didn't you hear the captain give orders that you were not to touch me?" She
held her finger to her lips again, indicating that she wanted Froggy to keep his
voice down so that neither the man on the other side of the hanging blanket nor
anyone in the corridor outside could hear them.
"Aye," Froggy obliged in a raspy whisper, as he inhaled the redolent
scent of her womanhood. "But the laird didn't say anything about you not
touching me, now did he?
Froggy chuckled lewdly as he leaned back slightly and fisted his rigid
phallus so that it pointed straight at Erika. "I've been carrying this big fella
around for hours, Missy," he muttered as he rolled his cupped fingers over the
knob of his erection. "Drop the towel, Missy and let's have another look at
those tits!"
Erika hesitated briefly, but when Froggy raised the knife menacingly,
her fingers attacked the knot that held the two ends of the tartan together.
She fumbled with it nervously for a moment or two before undoing it, and then
held the ends of the blanket against her chest, in the vain hope that some
miracle might cause her captor to abandon his carnal course.
But it was not to be. "You know, sweetie -- all during Slegg's show,
I was wondering what it would be like to feel those big sweaty tits sliding up
and down my ..."
Froggy's obscene reminiscence was interrupted by a dreadful fit of
coughing from across the room, followed by another groaning plea for water.
Torn between her stomach-turning disgust for her captor and her
heart-wrenching empathy for the dying stoker, Erika squirmed hesitantly as
Froggy fondled his swollen genitals and gestured for her to come closer. "In
Kowloon, where I come from, everything and everyone has its price, Missy. But
tonight I don't feel like haggling . A nice long tit-fuck for old Froggy in
return for a pitcher of water. "Besides," he gloated, "after all the coins I
threw in those breast-baskets of yours, I've bought and paid for those beauties
twice over!"
When Erika still hesitated, Froggy whispered. "Aw, come on, sweetie,
don't play the innocent virgin with me. Half the men on board have had their
hands on those beauties, and the rest'll see 'em tomorrow. What difference is
giving your jailer's prick a good tit-rubbing going to make? Now get on those
pretty knees, wench - or your friend can suck on the coal dust he's coughing up
for all I care!"
With the baleful sound of Deng's incessant hammering still reverberating
on the deck above, Erika shivered despairingly as she contemplated the
prospects for the morrow. As she considered Froggy's loathsome proposal another
plaintive moan from across the room made up her mind. What did it matter now,
anyway? "How do I know I can trust you?" she asked Froggy as she dropped to her
knees despondently on the tartan alongside the cot.
Froggy widened his thighs beckoningly. "Aww, you can trust old Froggy.
Tell you what. Do a good job, sweetie," Froggy croaked, "and maybe I'll have
that scrawny cook of ours whip up some nice soup for the poor bastard. Who
knows, maybe it'll fix 'im right up."
Erika edged closer, repulsed by everything about this horrid man, but
finding it impossible to turn her back on the last hope for the suffering
stoker.
"That's it, Missy," Froggy muttered softly as he stroked his shaft and
edged forward on the cot until he could feel the of Erika's sweet breath on the
sensitive tip of his cock. "Yeah ... that's a good girl. Snuggle up nice and
close. But rub 'em up for me first. Get those babies nice and hard," he added,
his dark, almond-shaped eyes darting from one tasty-looking nipple to the other.
"Just like Froggy likes 'em."
Her face crimson in the lanternlight, Erika did as she was bid,
caressing her breasts, still tender from all manner of abuse, until her
thrice-bound nipples jutted out pink and bold from the centers of her kissable
areolae.
"Now get to it, Missy. Quick, before somebody comes!"
Froggy did not stop stroking his phallus until he felt the gentle
pressure of Erika's breasts against his upright member. "Ahh, very nice. Now
scoop 'em together in your hands and.....oh, yeah," he groaned pleasurably as he
leaned forward and slid his prick into the deliciously soft, sweaty canyon
formed by Erika's pushed-together breasts.
"Work those tits!" he muttered through clenched teeth, sensing Erika's
lack of enthusiasm for her degrading task. "And work 'em good, you blue-eyed
slut - or that black-lunged son of a whore can choke on his thirst!"
********
As Erika pressed her sweat-sheened breasts against Froggy's meaty
erection she remembered the first time she had been subjected to this form of
abuse. She had only been George Chan's slave-mistress a short time when the
Vice-Lord of the Black Scorpions had invited Ming-tsu to his villa to enjoy an
evening of erotic pleasure with his new sexual plaything. Erika had served the
cruel but handsome couple an elegant repast, her splendid body clad only in a
tiny brassiere of white lace et un petit rien - a little nothing - a pair of
the indecently filmy French panties which George Chan found so provocative.
As the dinner progressed, Ming-tsu, noting the massive erection under
George's billowing robe, grew both envious and amused by George's preoccupation
with Erika's superb breasts, which were almost totally exposed by her
shamelessly low-cut brassiere. As she served the fourth course, George's eyes
had followed Erika's every movement. Grinning wickedly, Ming-tsu reached inside
his robe and caressed his manhood lovingly, stroking it from root to glans.
Measuring his excitement, the beautiful concubine had wagered him a quarter-hour
of analinguis that Erika could bring her excited master to climax using only her
breasts. Her breasts, Ming-tsu stipulated, and the cascade of shoulder-length
blonde hair that George had caressed so lovingly when he had forced her to
pleasure him with her mouth on the night of her arrival at his villa.
George had snapped up the bet with alacrity, and a few moments later he
was stretched out on a broad divan, naked, his erection pulsing with desire.
Her mini-brassiere and panties discarded, Erika knelt above him and began to
make love to him, using only her breasts and her hair. Whenever her efforts
slackened, Ming-tsu was quick to slash her bare backside with a ladylike, but
fierce-biting leather dog-leash.
Ming-tsu had interspersed stinging cracks with the leash with whispered
words of coaching that showed the attention to detail that only a virtuosa of
the erotic arts could have possessed. At which speed and at which angles Erika
should sweep her flowing tresses and her pendulous breasts along George's legs;
how much pressure to exert when she raked her bullet-hard nipples gently across
his quivering thigh-muscles, or bored them more firmly into his broad, hairless
chest. And finally, after a considerable amount of preliminary teasing and
tantalizing, how to envelop his sturdy cockstaff between her breasts so that she
could slide her soft globes forward and backward against his swollen erection in
order to excite her jaded master to the very pinnacle of pleasure.
Remarkably, George Chan's iron will (or more likely his fervent craving
to be the receiver, and not the giver of the depraved caress which was at stake
in his depraved wager with Ming-tsu) enabled him to withhold an orgasm for the
stipulated thirty minutes. Disappointed by losing the wager, Ming-tsu had
fulfilled the terms of her wager by servicing the Lord of the Scorpions with her
skillful tongue. But she had done so only after positioning her kneeling body
above a recumbent Erika Weiss, so that the German beauty could lick her
glistening clitoris while she snaked her own tongue daintily into the forbidden
orifice between Chan's widespread buttocks.
And even the sensuous oral caresses of that etreinte de trois were put
off until Ming-tsu had directed Erika to present her naked breasts - whose
negligence had caused the lovely Chinese concubine to lose her bet - for
punishment. Six searing, stinging slashes with the dog leash across the tops of
her superb breasts were Erika's introduction to the art of breast-discipline, a
subject whose fine points her masterful mentors took great pains to instill in
her during the arduous months which followed.
********
But Froggy possessed no greater fraction of George Chan's sexual
self-control than he did of his wealth and power. Erika, anxious to bring their
debasing encounter to a swift conclusion, had skipped the delicious
preliminaries she had learned at the tip of Ming-tsu's leather leash. Kneeling
submissively at Froggy's feet she guided the seated crewman's penis skillfully,
so that one moment his pulsing cock was fighting its way upward through the
delicious friction afforded by her sweaty love-globes, and then shifting
position slightly so that his every hip-thrust drove Froggy's prick forward,
forcing its way between her magnificent melons by way of a frontal assault, so
that his glans thudded against her breastbone at the end of each virile stroke.
"Oh, yeahhhh..." Froggy grunted softly, as he wriggled in animalistic
pleasure, meeting Erika's sensuous gyrations with rhythmic, rocking lunges. "By
the gods of Genghis Khan that feels good. Work those tits, blondie! ! Squeeze
'em tighter, you blue-eyed, big-titted whore!"
Just then Erika felt the sharp edge of Froggie's blade, which she had
all but forgotten, knifing between the slightly spread fingers which cupped her
breasts. A moment later it had found its way, by some dark, unerring instinct,
to the edge of one of the gashes in her left breast that Mao had inflicted with
the screwdriver.
"I said, 'Tighter', wench!" Froggy croaked, twisting the tip of the
knife briefly against the laceration, enforcing her compliance with his
depraved desires. Grimacing with pain, Erika pressed her stiff-nippled mounds
even tighter around Froggy's meaty member.
"Yeaahhh, that's it! Come on, come on!" he rasped excitedly, his
passion mounting. Erika, hoping to satisfy him quickly, began to move her upper
body even faster, complementing the inward pressure of her breast-flesh,
wrapping her sweaty lust-gourds ever tighter around Froggy's manhood.
"Yaah! Yaahh!" Froggy grunted ecstatically a moment later as he pumped
rope after rope of creamy sperm onto Erika's naked breasts. He fell back on the
cot and lay there, sated and somnolent for some seconds, until Erika, slowly
rising from the abyss of humiliation, reminded him of his promise to bring water
to her fellow inmate.
"All right, all right, don't rush me!" Froggy growled, leaning forward
and crudely wiping his cock on the pebbly aureole of Erika's right breast.
*********
But he was as good as his word and a few minutes later Erika was perched
on the edge of Blackie's cot, pulling a blanket tighter around the sweating,
shivering man and then pouring water from the flagon Froggy had brought into a
wooden cup whose handle looked to have been broken off long before she had ever
set foot in China.
"Thank you, thank you," the haggard Chinese rasped in a hollow voice, as
his trembling hand tried to guide the cup to his lips.
"Here, let me help you," Erika whispered, as she helped him to drink
from the cup."
"Who ... who are you?" Blackie gasped, gaping with half-seeing eyes at
the blonde vision illumined by the lantern Froggy had left. But there was no
lust in the dying man's eyes; only wonder that a golden-haired angel should
appear at his deathbed.
"I hardly know, anymore." Erika answered in the same rudimentary Chinese
with which she had spoken to Froggy. As she bathed Blackie's face with the
water she was dying to taste herself, she added, "I know only that we are
companions in misfortune." She stroked his hand, rough and callused from years
of shoveling, "and perhaps soon in death."
Blackie nodded and lay still for a few moments, still shivering, but the
water seemed to have restored a bit of his strength. "I am not afraid of
death," he began, but his voice cracked, and Erika could see tears in his eyes.
"It will be easier, perhaps," Erika whispered, "if we face it together."
Blackie's gaunt face and dark, hollow eyes seemed haunted by an unknown
spirit. "There is evil on this ship, great evil. But do not fear death; you
are young and beautiful. They will not let you die."
Erika shivered inside but gave the stoker's hand a brave squeeze. "I
would prefer to die than to live as a slave to men such as these."
"Only the gods know the hour of our death; we dare not alter their
design."
"How ... how did you come to this place?"
"Fate knows nothing of right and wrong; it knows only that what must be,
must be. I have offended the gods, and they are punishing me now. But you have
been sent to me at the moment of my death. This too is fate."
"But ... but, why?" Erika stammered.
"To hear my story."
Chapter 144 The Stoker's Story
As she considered these words, Blackie was seized by another coughing
spell, and Erika placed her hand over his lips to shush him, in order to
preserve his strength, but he pushed her hand away impatiently. "I have only a
little time. Please ... let me speak."
At first Erika had listened with only half an ear, as the sweaty,
shivering man told her a rambling tale of his childhood and youth. His name was
Gao Lan and he had been only a boy when the Taiping Rebellion had broken out in
1850, but had been conscripted years later when the bloody conflict dragged into
its second decade. It was only when he mentioned that he had served in a
regiment commanded by General Wang, that Erika began to listen more attentively.
From the haunted look in his eyes, she could tell that Gao Lan had seen and
lived all the horrors of war.
After the war he had returned to Shanghai, and found that his
sweet-heart had left him for another man, and this disappointment had darkened
his life, and he had never married. He did however take up residence near his
brother, who had several children, to whom he had become the fondest of uncles.
He had made a nice life for himself in Shanghai as a painter of water-colors and
portraits, sometimes setting up shop in an arbor near the European quarter and
doing quick sketches and portraits for the wealthy foreigners who promenaded
through the park each day.
Life had been pleasant enough until a few years ago when his brother, an
excellent carpenter, had become increasingly addicted to the dice games in the
gambling halls controlled by the Black Scorpions. Within weeks his brother had
gone through all of his own savings, and had borrowed from everyone he knew in
hopes of recouping his losses. But his luck did not change and one night, late
at night, his brother had appeared at his door, wild-eyed and desperate, flanked
by two black-clad thugs.
As the brace of Scorpions looked on, his brother had explained that he
could not make good his losses, and had nowhere else to turn. The only way he
could buy back his life, he said, was to agree to join the Scorpions and work
for them until the debt was repaid. But his own labor, he said, would only pay
the mounting interest on his debt; it would take another man's labor to pay off
the principal.
Gao Lan had known of the Black Scorpions of course. Who in Shanghai did
not know of their reputation for smuggling, extortion, and vice? Having no wish
to associate with them, he offered to help pay his brother's debts over time by
working harder and selling more sketches, but the gap-toothed leader of the
gruesome pair merely grinned at his massive, slab-faced companion, in a way that
suggested that an artist's pennies would be of little interest to the House of
Chan. But perhaps, the gaptoothed Scorpion leered, he had a young wife, or a
daughter? Sometimes in such cases, he grinned obscenely, special arrangements
could be made.
Blackie had shaken his head, 'No', but had instantly thought of his
brother's children, the oldest of whom, Peony, was a sweet and pretty girl in
her mid-teens, and he knew that he could not let her become ensnared by men such
as these. "For how long must I work for you to pay my brother's debt?" he had
asked, and the gap-toothed man had glanced at a column of figures, scratched his
chin, and finally mumbled, "Two years should do it."
And so the artist had been coerced into working for the Black Scorpions.
Not wanting to have anything to do with the less savory side of their many
interests, he had gotten himself assigned as one of the gardeners at George
Chan's villa, where he had used his artist's eye to create elaborate arbors and
beds of flowers.
********
Erika Weiss's jaw dropped at this revelation. How well she remembered
the beautiful gardens of the villa, the scented bowers which had provided her
only pleasure during her enslavement to the younger Chan. But as lovely as
those perfumed gardens had been, they had had a dark side as well. For George
Chan had not infrequently put some of its produce - fresh, stiff stalks of
young bamboo, and tough switches of willow to uses the goddess of nature would
never have approved.
As Blackie once again slurped noisily from the cup, Erika recalled one
moonlit summer night when George Chan had roughly escorted her to the pergola
which parted a red sea of perfectly aligned rosebushes on the south side of the
villa. Once there he had chained her wrists to hooks mounted high on a pair of
wooden posts which supported a trellis of climbing vines. After shredding her
filmy nightgown with a single violent wrench, George had stared at her naked
body admiringly while he had slipped on a pair of heavy gloves and clipped a
dozen long-stemmed roses from nearby bushes. One by one Chan had held the
rose-stems to her nose, letting her inhale their sweet scent.
But Erika was not only to smell their sweetness, she was to feel their
sting. Because George Chan proceeded to rake each of the thorny stems across
the curves of her nude body until the petals had spilled their sweetness on her
flesh and the creamy skin of her breasts and belly and her inner thighs was
criss-crossed with strands of crimson. When the rose-stems were all in ruins
and a blanket of rose petals covered the ground, Chan had placed his hands
behind her thighs, lifted and spread them and thrust into her vigorously while
his lips worshipped her blood-streaked breasts.
On the occasion of the next full moon her cruel Chinese master had once
again led her in chains to the fragrant garden. Upon arriving there he had
forced her to lie on her back on an ornately carved lover's bench in the very
center of the pergola, and then chained her wrists and ankles to the bases of
its sturdy legs. Erika had shuddered when he had donned the gloves again, and
with good reason. For that night he had flogged her breasts and belly with
stinging nettles until her creamy torso was rosy in the moonlight and her
breasts were shimmering in a lake of fire. Her soft moans had served as
counterpoint to the gentle metallic music her writhing body had played on the
chains. Those sweet sounds of suffering and the shameless dance of her taut
nipples had all served to inflame the ardor with which George Chan had had
driven his virile member into her spread-eagled body.
********
Erika almost began to speak, to tell Gao Lan that she knew his gardens
all too well, but then stopped herself, anxious to hear the rest of the stoker's
remarkable story.
He had only been a gardener for a short time, Gao Lan went on, when he
and his brother and another man who had had experience in building, were chosen
to build a sort of hunting lodge for George Chan in the distant mountains to the
north. They had labored in the cool forest for weeks, enjoying the fresh air
and the starlit nights. On the day the construction was complete, George Chan
and a beautiful concubine had arrived, with several bags in tow.
Gao Lan paused at this point in his narrative and fixed his pain-wracked
eyes on the lantern, as if its glimmering glow would help him to preserve
forever the mental image of that striking beauty, and then continued his strange
tale.
Her dark lustrous hair tossing lightly in the breeze, the young woman
had watched with interest as Chan directed the three workers to dig a deep pit
in the soft ground behind the house and then to bury the bags. No sooner had
the pit been dug and the bags safely stowed then the three men turned to see
that George Chan and his ravishing concubine had each drawn a pistol.
Gao Lan had watched helplessly as the two fired bullets into the heads
of his brother and the other man. "We can't have people knowing where we have
buried that which belongs to the Scorpions, can we?" George had asked him
rhetorically. "It would never do if my brother were to learn of this. But we
have generously given you another hour of life - because we need someone to bury
the dead and the treasure. And you, my friend, appear to have the strongest
back."
Shaken, Gao Lan had proceeded to bury his brother and the other man with
as much reverence as possible under the circumstances. He had lain the bodies
at one side of the pit and the bags at the other and covered both bodies and
bags with the soil they had unearthed. He had labored for hours, using all of
his gardener's skill, smoothing and raking the ground until there was no
indication that it had ever been disturbed. Then, still at gunpoint, he had
assisted Chan and the woman on the first leg of their journey homeward. When
they had reached the entrance to a familiar forest trail, he had judged that his
assistance was no longer needed and he made a sudden bolt for freedom, pushing
the woman into her companion with such force that she fell to the ground and
twisted her ankle slightly.
"But did Chan not fire at you?" Erika asked breathlessly. She had so
many questions to ask, and from the sound of Blackie's failing voice, so little
time.
"Yes, he did," rasped Gao Lan as another chill shook his body. He held
up his right hand and in the lantern-light Erika see that there were only stumps
where two of his fingers had been. "But the gun misfired and his shot only
shattered the hand I had lifted to my face. Then it jammed completely, and I
was able to get away." Blackie gave his maimed hand a grotesque wiggle. "I can
still just manage a shovel, miss; but my days as an artist," he added glumly,
"were over."
There was no place in Shanghai that was safe for a man wanted by George
Chan the Scorpions, Blackie continued, and he returned there, after an arduous
overland journey through field and forest, only long enough to tell his
brother's wife that her husband was dead. Having no money whatever, he then
hired himself to the docks, hoping to earn passage to someplace far from the
reach of the Black Pagoda. And so he did, only to find that his life as a
stoker on the Yang-tze Dragon, the vessel he had chosen by chance, was a life of
endless drudgery, made worse by knowing that in some small way he was assisting
in the enslavement of its ill-fated cargo, the beautiful young women who
languished in the Bird-Cage before being sold to one of the lurid flesh dens of
the treaty ports.
"But why," Erika asked, "have you told me this?"
"Because I heard someone say today that George Chan was dead."
"Yes, I have heard that, too," Erika replied thoughtfully, remembering
how Cheng, General Wang's young aide, had burst into the captain's cabin with
the news. {Chapter 118} "But what difference does that make to either of us
... now?"
"Because I do not wish that someone as young and kind as you should
die," Blackie mumbled, shaking his mangled fist, before giving way to a groan of
pain. "And I want to give you a reason to live. To fight. To survive."
"I ... I don't understand."
"Reach into my sock. No, the other one."
Puzzled, Erika reached across the man's body and felt inside a
threadbare sock. After fumbling around for a moment, she extracted a piece of
yellowed paper that had been folded over several times.
She pulled the lantern closer and began to unfold the paper as Blackie
signaled that he wanted another sip of water. Erika, her own throat parched,
gently laid the paper in her lap and filled the cup with the last of the water
in the flagon and held it to his lips. It was only when the feverish stoker had
nearly finished gulping the water down that Blackie noticed that Erika's lips
were as dry as his own. "Forgive me," he said, offering her the inch or so of
water which was left in the cup. "I did not know."
"Perhaps ... just a taste," Erika said thankfully, taking a small sip
before offering the rest to the feverish stoker. She swirled the mouthful of
water around in her mouth, savoring every drop, until she was forced to swallow
it so that she could reassure her patient. "Go ahead. Do not worry. The guard
promised to bring more," she lied, wondering what indignities she might have to
endure to coax a second flagon of water from a man like Froggy. "Go ahead and
finish this."
As Blackie slowly sipped the last of the water, Erika unfolded the
paper, expecting to find it covered with the Chinese characters which she still,
after all her time in China, had some difficulty understanding. But
surprisingly there was very little writing on the scrap of parchment. Instead,
the paper was covered with a diagram or a drawing of some kind.
"During the weeks we were building the lodge," Blackie whispered
faintly, "I amused myself in the evening by drawing little maps of the area. I
had this one with me, on the day they killed my brother."
Turning the map over in her hands until it was oriented properly,
realization slowly began to creep over Erika. "Ein See!" she gasped. "A lake!
The lodge is surrounded by a lake!"
"Of course ... did I not mention that? A beautiful lake in the
mountains. After I buried my brother and the treasure, they wanted me to row
them back across the lake you see, before they tried to finish me off."
"Der Bergsee! The mountain lake!" Erika whispered again in wonderment,
remembering her own sun-scalded journey {Chapter 7} across that sky-blue body
of water, and the erotic enslavement that had followed during her stay at the
lodge.
"The woman," she went on hurriedly. "Tell me about the woman you saw
with George Chan." And as Gao Lan went on to describe in rapturous terms the
lovely hair, the flashing eyes and the exquisite figure of Chan's companion,
Erika had little doubt but that it had been Ming-tsu, her own tormentress, who
had conspired to kill his brother and had very nearly killed him.
As her eyes pored over the diagram, Blackie gave vent to another
lung-wrenching cough, and then, upon catching his breath asked, "Have you ever
been to the mountains?"
"Once ... only once. I shall never forget my stay there. But, why... "
she began questioningly, holding up the map.
"I don't know what was in those bags we buried at the lodge. But for
them to kill us, in order to protect the secret ..." Blackie was interrupted by
yet another fearful spasm of coughing. "There must ... there must be something
of great value. Perhaps one day you can use that secret to buy your freedom."
The stoker fell back on the cot, his thin chest heaving with exertion. After a
moment he laboriously pulled himself up on one elbow and pointed a bony finger
at a spot on the diagram. "We dug here, in the afternoon shadow of this tree."
Erika remembered that tree well. She had hung, naked and defenseless,
from a stout limb of that very tree after her taxing rowboat journey across the
lake. And it was from that tree that her two tormentors had cut the switches
they had used to flog her from neck to knees.
"But what am I to do with this ... now ..., " she stammered clumsily as
she held up the diagram.
"Perhaps nothing. But it is all I have. Maybe one day you can use it to
buy your freedom. But you must promise me one thing," the gaunt stoker
implored, clutching Erika's hand in his with surprising strength.
Erika, trembling, looked around glumly at the grim, gray walls of the
infirmary that served as their prison. "I doubt that it is within my power to
keep any promises I could make."
"I know, I know." The stoker's mangled hand tightened around hers as
his feverish body shook violently. It would not be long now, Erika new.
The dying man raised himself up and fixed his rheumy eyes on Erika's.
"Promise me ... promise me ... that if you ever see Shanghai again, try to find
my brother's family. And tell the children - Peony, Ci-ci, and the little
ones..." A fearful bout of coughing wracked the stoker's frail body as his hand
clutched Erika's in a death grip. "Tell them ... tell them," he choked, "that
their uncle's spirit will look down on them from above."
And with those words Gao Lan's body convulsed in a final, fatal spasm
and then lay still.
Chapter 145 Prelude to Punishment
Erika Weiss murmured a silent prayer
as she smoothed Gao Lan's eyelids over his dead, staring eyes, and crossed his
emaciated arms over his chest. As she
pulled the thin blanket over his face, she hoped that he would find peace in
whatever world lay beyond the cruel one in which they had both suffered so
much.
Feeling her way in the darkness toward
the heavy trunk she had stumbled across earlier, she removed one of the bits of
cloth, which she presumed to be make-shift bandages, and slowly retraced her
steps to her cot. Easing down onto the humble bed, she spat on
one of the bits of cloth and spread her legs slightly so that she could dab at
the vestiges of the nuoc cham, Tranh's
irritating chili paste, which still clung to her labia.
She was posed in that indelicate position when the door flew open
and two men burst into the room. Tranh,
the Vietnamese ship's cook, led the way,
brandishing a lantern in one hand and balancing a covered basket precariously
in the other. He was followed closely by
Lucky, from whose belt hung a sheathed knife.
The second man staggered noticeably under the weight of the large pail
of water he was carrying. Both men wore the
bemused grins of mischievous schoolboys, and a moment later Erika understood
why. A dense cloud of alcohol had followed
them into the room. Since she had seen
them last, they had evidently found a dark corner of the ship to critique Slegg's
theatrical presentation and to offer numerous toasts to the magnificent body of
its voluptuous heroine.
Blushing, Erika closed her legs quickly and tried to cover her
pubis with one hand and her breasts with the other, but her modesty only amused
the intruders.
"Mishy," Tranh slurred, as his slitted eyes took in the
contours of Erika's nude body, "the
Captain he angry cause you not in too good shape. Tells me give you food and bath, and tend to
your bruises. He wants you ship-shape
for tomorrow, Missy," Tranh grinned crookedly. "Hurry up! Take bath!"
"Please … can I have some water?" Erika pleaded looking
thirstily at the pail of water Froggy had set on the floor.
"No drink that, Missy. Half
sea-water. Salt good for cuts in skin."
Erika's shoulders sagged miserably.
'No problem, Mishy," Tranh continued good-naturedly as he
reached into the basket and removed a stoppered wine-bottle. "Fresh water, Missy, you'll see. Froggy says you earned it." Tranh snickered and elbowed Lucky, who
chuckled in turn.
As Erika tipped the bottle to her lips she remembered how she had
been coerced into taking Froggy's swollen erection between her soft breasts and
bringing him to a shuddering climax in order to earn water for the dying Gao
Lan. The lecherous, hoarse-voiced seaman
had apparently already regaled his pals with the story of his conquest. But,
there was nothing she could do about that now and Erika swallowed the water
greedily, trying her best to ignore the two visitors who were ogling her
luscious breasts, and probably picturing themselves defiling them just as
Froggy had done.
"Hurry up, Missy,"
Tranh urged her. " Shooner you take
bath, shooner I can patch you up and shooner you get food. I got nice soup for you, Missy. Special herbs
make you strong again. You gonna need to
be plenty strong tomorrow," he grinned, winking at Lucky, who snorted his
assent. "Besides you got work to do
tonight, too."
Erika, still half-dazed, tried to take in the slightly-slurred
words of the Annamese ship's cook.
"What … what kind of work?"
"Me not supposed to say. Slegg tell you later on, you
bet. But first you need bath," he
said pointing at the bucket which Lucky had deposited in front of the primitive
bed. "Reach in water – bathing
cloth there. You'll shee."
Erika pulled herself to the edge of the cot and reached into the
water and winced. Not only was the water
quite hot, but she could feel the sting of the salt.
Erika shivered but guessed that Tranh's comment about the salt
water had been accurate. The salt in the
sea water would probably greatly reduce the risk of infection, and she knew
that her skin had been broken when Mao had gouged her breast with the
screwdriver. For that matter, Slegg had whipped her buttocks to the blood in
the stoking room as well. Swirling her
hand around in the water, she brushed aside a brick of primitive soap that
smelled of lye and lard, and finally located the rag she was to use as a
washcloth. She glanced up at the two
men, foolishly expecting them to leave the room while she bathed, or at least
to turn their backs or avert their gaze, but Lucky and Tranh merely grinned
back at her.
"Hurry up, Missy," Tranh urged, his eyes sparkling. "Lots to do tonight."
Erika wanted only to sleep, for hours or forever, but there was
nothing for it. She pulled the rag clear
of the water, wrung the water from it and stood up, so as not to drip water on
the cot. Then she unbraided the bit of
fabric and smiled forlornly as she recognized it. The bedraggled piece of cloth in her
hands was all that was left of the shirt
that Captain McMahon had given her in his cabin what seemed a lifetime ago. But
she held it to her breast briefly, cherishing it, because it was, in a sense,
her only belonging. The men of the Yangtze Dragon had stripped her of
everything else – clothing, pride, dignity.
Conscious of the men's eyes on her but doing her best to ignore
them, Erika pressed the warm cloth to her face and breathed deeply. Even with the salinity of the water, it was
the first pleasant sensation she had felt in many hours. Not giving any thought to the fact that while
her face was unblemished her body was not, Erika dipped the cloth again,
wringing it out less thoroughly this time, and brushed it across her neck and
throat.
This time, as the excess water streamed down onto her chest, she
felt the microscopic grains of salt gnawing at her irritated flesh with
dagger-like teeth. She groaned audibly,
to the amusement of her jailers, and was far more careful after that.
But as she daubed gently at her tender breasts, removing the sweat
and grime and traces of dried blood, she could not but think back on the grim
irony of her situation. Could it have
really been less than twenty hours ago that she had lain in the luxurious tub
at the German embassy, while Ju had soaped her naked body to the brink of
desire with her feathery touch? And now
here she was, re-enacting those same feminine ablutions, but under the
rapacious gaze of a pair of grinning brutes.
Erika could only console herself that it could have been worse – at
least she had been spared the tender mercies of Orang, the ape-like Malayan, or
Khasar, the powerfully built Mongolian.
She bathed quickly, starting nervously each time the staccato
rhythm of Deng, hammering away on the deck above, began anew. As her hands moved the soapy cloth over her
nude body, Tranh and Lucky nudged each
other and exchanged murmured exclamations of approval. Their gaze, it seemed to Erika, was as hot as
the steaming bucket of water.
When her bath was done, Erika signaled to Tranh that she'd like to
wash her hair, and he obliged her, even dispatching Lucky to find a piece of
cloth large enough for her to dry her hair.
Captain McMahon, Erika thought ruefully, as she used her nails to scrape
the dirt and sweat from her blonde mane, apparently wanted her looking her best
for the proceedings.
Lucky returned with the towel just as she finished washing her
hair, and he offered her a bit of broken comb that had apparently been left
behind by one of the earlier prisoners of the Yang-tze Dragon. Erika
thanked him and after she had toweled her hair, she stared fixedly at Tranh
daring him to stop her as she knotted the skimpy towel around her waist. But the two men did not try to stop her from
partially veiling her nudity, seemingly content to ogle the creamy perfection
of her bath-moistened breasts.
When Erika's bath was done, Tranh opened the trunk in the dark
corner of the infirmary, and removed the vial of foul-smelling liquid that
Erika had sniffed earlier. He removed
the cork, and sniffed at the pungent odor of the chemical within. Then he put the stopper back in the bottle
and directed Erika to stretch out on the
cot. Erika looked at her unwanted guests fearfully, but Tranh shook his head
reproachfully and held up the bottle.
"Herb medicine, Missy. Good
stuff. You'll shee. Now lie down."
As Erika leaned back on the cot apprehensively Tranh went on.
"On stomach first, Missy."
Erika rolled over on to her stomach warily, trying to keep the
skimpy towel in place. She half expected the two men to jump her but
McMahon had apparently given the men strict orders to refrain from any more
rough treatment, at least until after the trial, for they made no move to
attack her.
A moment later she sensed Tranh leaning over her, and she heard the
faint pop of the cork being removed from the vial. A moment later she felt a
cool splash of liquid on her shoulders. For an instant the sensation was
refreshing, but as Tranh bent over her to rub the foul-smelling lotion into her
flesh it began to sting like the devil, and Erika tried to push him away.
"Be still, Missy," Tranh muttered as he straddled her
body and worked her muscles with knowing fingers. "Old folk medicine. My grandmother used to brew it from grasses
that grew in the marshes. She call it 'Mekong Lightning'. Very good.
You'll see. Sting a little, but
fix you right up."
'Brewed, indeed,'" thought Erika, visualizing a cackling old
crone fermenting the evil liquor The way
the tonic stung it felt as if Tranh were rubbing her back with Mekong River
schnapps. But she had to admit that,
after the first minute or two, the stinging rub began to take effect. The muscles in her arms and back and shoulders
had been sorely tried by Slegg's seven torments, but gradually the dull
ache began to melt away.
"Ah, you see, Missy?
Very good medicine." Tranh
worked his hands lower, massaging the warm planes and hollow of her lower back
for a minute or two, before sliding one oily hand under the towel Erika had
wrapped around her waist, while he fumbled at the knot with the other.
"Very pretty," he cooed, as he undid the towel, and
peeled it back, baring her behind, spanking clean from her bath.
"Can't … can't he wait outside?" Erika murmured as Lucky
edged ominously closer to the cot. She could feel his eyes devouring the
enticing curves of her buttocks, still crisscrossed with the dark striations
Slegg had carved with his rope-whip down in the stoking room.
"Sorry, Missy. Not yet.
Might need his help, you'll see," Tranh observed. A moment later he splashed her rounded
backside with the pungent balm, and the alcohol seeped into her abraded flesh
and set fire to every fissure and pore in her shapely derriere. Erika's beautiful backside shivered like a
mittenless schoolgirl, but she bore up well enough until the Mekong Lightning
slithered into her enticing buttock cleft and set her most secret places on
fire. Tears filled her blue eyes and her
back arched in agony as she tried to rise up and throw Tranh' to one side, but Lucky stepped forward to pin her wildly
thrashing shoulders to the cot.
"Easy, Missy. Only burn
for a minute, you'll see." With
Tranh straddling her thighs and Lucky pressing her bare shoulders firmly to the
cot, the cook was able to continue his medicinal ministrations, rubbing the
stinging, but healing, liquid, deep into the pores of Erika's resilient
bottomflesh.
"Hey, Tranhie – let me know if your fingers get tired!"
Lucky chortled as he watched the old cook's bony yellow fingers knead Erika's
rounded butt-cheeks.
"Tranh old, but he not tired yet!" the Vietnamese replied
gleefully. He used a bony knee to wedge
Erika's thighs apart and a moment later he inserted his middle finger,
well-moistened by his rubbing potion, deep into Erika's bottomhole.
Erika gasped and cried out softly and then her body convulsed again
when Tranh extracted his bony knuckles from her anus, only to plunge his fiery
finger into the warmth of her quivering love-slit. Erika's nude body arched in anguish again as the
stinging liquid found the myriad of tiny cuts the snakegourd had gouged in her
vaginal tissues, but after half a minute or so, the dreadful burning sensation was replaced by
the same cooling numbness that had eased the soreness in her back and buttocks.
Meanwhile Tranh had slid down the backs of her legs and begun to
massage the burning liniment into the resilient flesh of her thighs and calves.
The wily Vietnamese spent a minute or two smoothing the balm into
each of Erika's long legs and then he stood up, put the stopper back in the
bottle, set it on the floor and signaled for his partner to help him flip his firm-fleshed
patient over.
Strong-armed and eager, Lucky had little difficulty rolled Erika
onto her back. The beautiful blonde
gasped as she felt the coarse blanket against the tingling flesh of her back
and legs. Lucky took advantage of her
momentary shock by grabbing her wrists
and pinning them to the cot on either
side of her head. Meanwhile Tranh climbed back on top of her and straddled her
waist, rubbing his hands lecherously as he eyed the pink-tipped prodigies of
nature which rose so majestically from Erika's
chest.
"Bet the girls in the rice-paddies didn't have tits like that,
did they Tranhie?" Lucky cackled.
"No way," Tranh grinned, ogling Erika's proud-jutting
melons while he reached down for the bottle.
"But Mekong Lightning fix 'em up good, you'll see!"
"Bitte … " Erika implored, dreading the thought of the
Mekong Lightning being used on her throbbing breasts which had already suffered
so much in the last few hours. It had
been Lucky, she recalled, who had proposed the Third Torment, when each of the
crewmen in the Bird Cage had been granted two minutes to manhandle her firm
young treasures {Chapter 136}. Her
breasts were still raw sore from their gouging fingers, their clawing nails,
their gnawing teeth, their crushing hands,
Khasar's punishing slaps and later, Froggy's cruel breast-rape. Her tender nipples had three times endured
the bite of Deng-shan's nipple-cords, not to mention bearing the oppressive
weight of the coin-baskets. And now,
after all that abuse, her sensitive girl-globes were to be bathed in Tranh's
volcanic potion? "Bitte" she
begged again. "Please … no…"
But the grinning, bright-eyed cook paid her no attention. Tranh began by pouring a little of his
infernal concoction into the alluring notch of Erika's navel, and then
smoothing it into her bellyflesh, beginning just above her golden thatch. His weathered yellow hands flew over Erika's
torso lightly at first and then more firmly, smoothing the lotion deep into
stomach and rib muscles that had been sorely tried during the Seven Torments.
"C'mon, Tranhie. Stop
teasin' the poor girl. Can't you see she
wants you to work on those big papayas!" Lucky guffawed.
Erika shook her head frantically from side to side and tried to
rise up in protest. But in her weakened
condition, Lucky had no difficulty pressing her back down against the cot,
while Tranh inched his butt closer to her quivering mounds.
Repulsed by the reek of
stale alcohol on his breath, Erika squirmed futilely as the half-inebriated Vietnamese
giggled and moved the bottle directly above her quivering breast-globes and
tipped it until it was almost horizontal.
The mouth of the bottle
hovered directly above the tip of
Erika's right nipple, which was still excruciatingly sensitive from its three
bouts with the nipple cords.
The threat posed by the opened vial forced Erika to cease her resistance. She lay utterly still, holding her breath as Tranh elevated the lower end of
the bottle with infinitesimal slowness, each degree of elevation bringing her
closer to the moment when the liquid fire would drip from the vial and splash
onto her quivering nipple-bud. Erika
watched spellbound as the aromatic liquid crept into view in the neck of the
vial and then at its mouth. For a long
moment a large droplet hung suspended from the lip of the bottle, and then, as
if catching sight of the inviting target waiting below, it threw itself into
space and dove downward toward Erika's inflamed love-nugget.
When the drop of Mekong Lightning splashed against her breast-tip,
Erika's upper torso bucked violently. It
felt as if acid had been dripped on her raw breast-flesh. Holding the bottle safely upright, Tranh
watched Erika's frenzied contortions for a moment. When her writhing slowed, suggesting that the
burning had subsided somewhat, he lowered his wrist and let a second large
droplet splash down onto Erika's other nipple, and was rewarded as his
voluptuous patient's peaches-and-cream breasts began a second frenetic tarantella
on her chest.
"No worry, Missie," Tranh cackled. "Burning stop soon, you'll see," he
added good-naturedly as he doused each of Erika's breasts in turn with a
liberal splash of the liquid fire and
cackled delightedly when her shuddering lust-melons responded as if he'd
touched them with a hot iron. When her
agonized squirming at last had calmed to a gentle oscillation, Tranh replaced
the stopper and set the bottle aside.
Then his hands flew to her breasts and he began working the liquid fire
into Erika's tingling pleasure gourds.
He slid his hands up Erika's belly and attacked her moistened
mounds from below, sliding his hands beneath the underslopes of her breasts,
and lifting them gently with the V formed by the crotch of his thumb and forefinger. Then his slender fingers
curled around the sides of Erika's glistening breasts, working the stinging
tonic deep into the flesh of Erika's firm pleasure-gourds.
"Hey, Tranhy – let me give you a hand!" Lucky smirked,
from the head of the cot, where he continued to pin Erika's hands to the
bed. "It's not right that you
should get stuck with all the work!"
Even in her helpless position Erika noticed that the prospect of
fondling her nude body had snapped her tormentors out of their
semi-inebriation. There were no slurred words now. There were only the intense voices of virile
men.
"No problem, buddy – she got two. One apiece! We can share!"
"Now you're talkin'!" Lucky chortled.
And a moment later there were two pairs of male hands working the fiery liniment into Erika's throbbing
breasts. Tranh attacked from below and
Lucky from above and behind her, each man sinking his greedy fingers deep into
Erika's melony mounds. As Tranh leaned
forward to massage her breasts, Erika could feel his swollen erection pressing
against her belly.
After a few minutes of this obscene breast-fondling, Tranh spun
around so that he straddled Erika's body facing her feet. While Lucky continued to manhandle her
luscious breasts, Tranh attended to the rest of her body, quickly giving her
ankles and shins a once-over and then spending much more time massaging Erika's
creamy thighs. He smoothed the aromatic
liquid into her thigh-flesh assiduously, beginning at her knees and slowly
making the pleasant progression up her shapely legs.
Erika held her breath as Tranh's fluttering fingers moved closer
and closer to the V between her legs, but mercifully he refrained from dousing
her genitals with the Mekong Lightning.
Erika endured more shame than anguish as his yellowish fingers lingered
on her sex.
"OK, Missy! All
done," Tranh exclaimed as he climbed off of her. "Feeling better, I bet?"
To her surprise Erika was
forced to admit that the restorative powers of Tranh's liquid fire were
remarkable. Her flesh tingled from head
to toe, but the muscular soreness was all but gone. Even the tender flesh of
her backside, which Slegg had flogged so thoroughly in the stoking room, and
the delicate tips of her breasts, which had suffered the constricting grip of
Deng-shan's fiendish cords, seemed, at least for the moment, to be free from
pain.
"Yes, th-thank you." Even though she was feeling much
better, Erika found it difficult to vocalize her gratitude to the man who had
rammed the rough-skinned snakegourd into her vagina with such enthusiasm not so
long ago.
But even in her relief she remained filled with a sense of
dread. Because up on deck Deng-shan was still pounding away
at whatever hellish device he was constructing.
Tranh reached into the basket he had
brought and offered her a covered bowl of pho – the noodle soup of his native
land. He also produced a cup of steamed
rice and some strong green tea. Erika
stared at the food hungrily, waiting for Tranh to offer her chopsticks or spoon
but none was forthcoming. Seeing her
questioning glance, Tranh squeaked – no chopsticks for you, Missy. Might use as weapon. Stab old Tranhie in the eye."
The Vietnamese winked at her lecherously, and watched as Erika
downed the tea in one long gulp, and then held the soup bowl to her lips, first
drinking some of the broth and then biting hungrily into the long noodles and
slurping them noisily into her mouth, her hunger having transformed the simple
meal into a dish fit for royalty.
"Good pho, you bet!" Tranh grinned proudly. "Pho with beef very old recipe, but
chicken broth make feel better!"
Despite her plight Erika was forced to smile at the universality of
Tranh's belief. She and Daniel Kauffmann
had joked about how often he had had Ju bring her chicken soup during her days
of recovery. It was his only
'superstition'. Despite his years of
medical training, and his uncertainty as to how it worked, he still swore by the restorative powers of
chicken soup, which his own mother had used to nurse him through a number of
childhood ailments.
Erika sipped at the broth again, and then, having no implements,
she dug her fingers into the bowl of
rice and scooped fingerfuls of the fluffy food into her mouth, heedless of the
grains that fell from her hands and spilled down her front.
Trahn watched with amusement as the ravenous prisoner wolfed down
the rice in little more time than it had taken him to fill the bowl. When she was done, Erika handed him the bowl
and picked at the stray bits of rice that had spilled on her shoulders and
breasts, popping them into her mouth hungrily.
"Need any help, Missy?" Lucky chuckled. "I wouldn't mind licking her clean,
would you, Tranhie?
"Count me in," Tranh cackled, extending his tongue and
wiggling it obscenely. But then he grew
serious once again. "Here,
Missy." He said as he dipped into the basket again. "Captain say you gotta have clothes for
trial. These all I could
find." The ship's cook threw Erika
a bundle of clothing.
"But what about my own clo…"
"In Captain's cabin, I think.
But he sleeping now. You want me
to wake him?" Tranh's evil grin
made it clear that only a fool would suggest waking the wrathful Scotsman from
a sound, alcohol-induced sleep.
"N-no.
"Then put these on, Missy.
Chop chop. We no got all
night. And you still got work to
do. Lotta work."
Erika took the clothes from the ship's cook. They were clearly those of a man and
consisted of a pair of thin gray leggings and a short-cropped shirt. She turned her back to the two men and let
the towel around her waist slip to the floor.
When she stepped awkwardly into the leggings, she found them almost
impossibly tight. It was only with
considerable difficulty that she was able to pull them over her thighs and her
rounded hips. When at last she managed
to snap the button at the waistband shut, she felt as if the leggings had been
painted on.
"Fit nice, Missy," Tranh chirped, his eyes staring
hungrily at the unmistakable outline of her buttock cleft against the thin gray
fabric. "Now try on shirt."
The yellow shirt was of a pullover style, and cropped so that the
wearer's belly would be bare. Tug though
she might Erika was unable to pull the hem of the shirt down more than halfway
between her breasts and her navel. The shirt, too, was several sizes too small
for her, and moth-eaten and made of the flimsiest fabric imaginable. Nudity itself was hardly more shameless than
the obscene jut of her breasts against the thin cloth.
"Mao's Revenge," Lucky snorted.
The meaning of Lucky's words words struck home. No wonder the
clothes were so small! Mao, the man she
had crushed against the furnace of the stoking room, had been a tiny little
man, and given that his job was shoveling coal in the infernal heat of the
stoking room, it was no wonder that his shirt was thin and brief. Well, Erika reasoned as she glanced down at
her skintight shirt, he wouldn't be needing the garments any more.
Just then the door to the infirmary flew open and the menacing
figure of Jasper Slegg loomed in the doorway.
"Nice togs you found for 'er, Tranhie," he smirked,
eyeing the bold thrust of Erika's breasts against the flimsy top. " 'as
the wench done 'er job of work yet?"
"Not yet, boss."
"Well, put 'er sweet arse to work, Tranhie" Slegg
snarled, sweeping the rice cup out of Erika's trembling hands and sending it
flying across the room. "The slut
can eat later!"
"Sure boss," said Tranh nervously. "I go get the rope now!"
"Better do a good job, wench!" Slegg growled, as he slid
his hands under Erika's tight shirt and fondled her ripe breasts. "Or it'll be the worse for you
tomorrow!" Slegg gave her tender
nipples a parting twist and then released her just as Lucky pushed her roughly
back down onto the cot. But Erika breathed a sigh of relief when he made
no further move in her direction.
A few minutes later Tranh re-appeared, carrying a length of heavy
rope. Borrowing Lucky's knife he hacked
off an arm-long length of rope.
"Ever make whip, Missy?
No? Not to worry – Tranhie teach
you how."
Erika watched fearfully as Tranh used his yellowed nails to attack
the rope, unbraiding two-thirds of its length.
Thick rope, she learned as Tranh tore at the coarse hemp, was nothing more than three strands of thin
rope braided tightly together. And each
of the three strands of thin rope that made up the thick rope were in turn
formed by braiding three strands of tough hempen yarn together. The little Vietnamese's fingers unraveled the
rope expertly and within a few minutes the ship's cook had fashioned a whip
whose handle was a foot-long length of thick rope and whose business end was
comprised of nine slender, but venomous-looking, strands of hemp.
"See, missy? Cat of
nine tails. Easy as 'mot-hai-ba'. "
Erika swallowed glumly. The
numbers ein-zwei-drei had never sounded
so ominous as their Vietnamese counterparts did at that moment. Tranh, holding
the whip firmly by its thick handle, trailed the thin strands of the whip
lightly across the flimsy fabric covering Erika's breasts.
"What you think, Lucky? Good job, eh?"
"Looks OK, Tranhie," Lucky assented grudgingly.
"How about it, boss?" Tranh asked Slegg nervously.
"Maybe you'd better let
me try it out, Tranhie," Slegg said with an evil grin. "We wouldn't want to give the captain a whip we hadn't
checked out now, would we?"
Erika looked fearfully from one man to the other and retreated
until she felt the frame of the cot pressing against the backs of her legs. As
Sleggy eyed her body possessively she murmured, "I… I'm sure there is no
need…."
"I'll be the judge of that!" Slegg snorted. "Turn around wench! Hands against the wall! As high as you can reach!"
"Please…"
" 'Turn around!' I said," Slegg barked again, and having
no choice, Erika turned so that she was facing the wall. Pressing her knees against the edge of the
cot, she had to incline her upper body forward in order to press her hands
against the dank wall.
Jasper Slegg fingered the tough strands of the whip as he drank in
Erika's provocative pose. The
forward-bending inclination of her body thrust the curves of her shapely
buttocks, covered only by Mao's skin-tight leggings, into shameless relief.
THWACKK!!! Slegg snapped the
nine-tailed whip down hard across Erika's saucy bottomcheeks.
"Aaaahh!" Erika
moaned and reached back to caress her burning bottom-globes. Despite the leggings, the nine tails of the
whip had stung like scorpions. She
dreaded to think of the effect the cat might have on her bare skin.
"Seems OK, Tranhie," Slegg mumble grudgingly, as he let
the coarse-textured tails of the whip sift through his fingers. "But remember – she tried to steal the
dinghy. The Laird'll want the 'Thief's
Cat' for her."
'The what?" Erika
turned to face her three captors, her lovely face a picture of perplexity.
Tranh scratched at his tapering chin. "Aye, boss. You
right. He'll want the 'Thief's Cat' for sure. Here, Missy," the cook snapped, tossing
the whip to the beautiful blonde who had just felt its sting. "But no funny ideas," he intoned
menacingly, as he brandished Lucky's knife.
"I …I… don't understand." Erika murmured softly as she
turned the ugly-looking instrument of punishment over in her pale hands.
"Nothing worse than a thief on board ship," Slegg
growled. He crossed his arms over his
chest and leered at Erika hungrily. It seemed hardly possible but her ripe curves
seemed every bit as delectable encased in Mao's skin-tight shirt and leggings
as they had been when she'd been stripped naked in the Bird Cage. "In 'er Majesty's navy we always 'ad a
special whip just for light-fingered blokes.
And the Cap'n always insisted that the culprit would learn 'is lesson
better if 'e 'ad to make the whip that would take the skin off 'is back."
Erika felt the blood drain from her face. Her knees were wobbly,
and only the support of the cot kept them from failing her altogether.
"Aye, the Cap'ns got
something special planned for you, dearie, I reckon," Slegg grinned
maliciously. "But you'll find about
that soon enough. For now, take that
whip and tie a series of knots in each tail, about a finger's length
apart."
Erika sank back down on the cot, trying to conceal the terror she
felt. She singled out a strand of hemp
with nervous fingers and clumsily formed the first knot, about four inches from
the end of the whip stock, looping the free end of the strand around the fixed
end and then pulling the free end through the loop, forming a small knot.
"Tighter, wench!"
Erika glared at Slegg and pulled harder on the ends of the strand,
so that the loose knot she had fashioned thickened into an irregular bead of
knotted hemp.
"Aye, that's better!" Slegg snorted approvingly as he
reached down and rubbed the ugly lump between his fingers, testing its size and
thickness. "That'll make a nice
stinger." He winked at Tranh. "She catches on quick, Tranhie."
"Good job, Missy," Tranh grinned. "You can get seven knots in each strand.
Try it. You'll see."
Erika formed another loop with the free end and then pulled it
through, forming a second knot a few inches closer to the tail of the whip.
"Don't forget, Missy," Thanh said grinning as he fondled
his knife. "Make knots tight or
…" And he feinted with the knife, jabbing it to within a centimeter of the
fabric hugging her ripe breasts.
Erika nodded miserably and gripped the whip stock with one hand and
tugged on the knotted strand with the other, until the second knot was as tight
and menacing as the first. Already,
after tying only two knots, the coarseness of the hemp had begun to abrade her
soft hands.
"Good girl, Missy. Now, five more knots in that strand, and
then you go to the next. See? Just like
I told you. Easy as mot-hai-ba!"
Erika quickly did the math in her head. Seven knots, nine strands. By the time she was done tying the knots
which gave the Thief's Cat its distinctive character her hands would be raw.
But it was not the soreness of her hands that concerned her most. The cat had clawed her mercilessly threw her
thin garments even without the knots.
She shuddered at the thought of those sixty-three punishing nuggets
striking her bare flesh …
"Stop day-dreaming, wench!" Slegg hissed. "Get to
work!"
And Erika Weiss, her heart pounding with dread, began to tie the
next knot….
Chapter 146
Slegg's Revenge
Jasper Slegg approached Erika Weiss, an
evil leer etched into his homely visage.
She was so beautiful and yet so helpless, her arms extended outward and
slightly upward, her bare feet well parted on the scaffold Deng-shan had built,
and, like her wrists, lashed to the uprights of the wooden whipping frame.
An eerie morning fog had settled over the deck
of the Yang-tze Dragon, and the faces of the keyed-up crewmen, who had gathered
in small groups around the raised scaffold, were featureless in the murky
mist. High above Slegg, on the bridge of
the Yang-tze Dragon, the upright figures of Andrew McMahon,
flanked by General Wang and Hsi Fong, were no more than dark shadows in the
fog. And yet, somehow the sun's golden
eye had been drawn to Erika, for in the middle of that thick swirling fog, the
young beauty struggled against her bonds in a fragile shaft of sunlight.
Jasper Slegg eyed Erika's body
hungrily. Tranh, the ship's cook had
prepared her well; his salubrious potions and ointments had masked, if not
healed, the many marks and bruises on Erika's body almost magically. Erika had been freshly bathed as was evident
from the pleasing glow of the fair skin of her face and wrists and ankles. Her golden, shoulder-length hair, too, was
clean and brushed to a glossy sheen that made a captive of the early morning
light. But despite the beneficent kiss
of the sunlight, Erika's long limbs were extended in an unforgiving X that
portended nothing good, and the crisp morning air had chilled her nipples into
flinty points that pressed boldly against her ragged shirt.
Jasper Slegg clenched his jaw tightly as
he fingered the makeshift bandage over his eye, wincing at the still-aching
wound which Erika Weiss had opened with a shovel's edge the day before. He owed this statuesque beauty a debt of
pain, and he was about to repay it.
Erika's blue eyes blazed with silent
fury as Slegg extended his hands and seized the front of her pale top. His thin lip curled into a malevolent sneer
as he tore at the flimsy garment, opening it from neck to navel with a single
violent wrench. Grinning lewdly, he
spread the fabric wide, baring her superb breasts to the eager eyes of the
crewmen. "Du schwein!" Erika
hissed, as a raucous cheer of delight exploded from the sailors who had
gathered, to a man, to watch and enjoy
the sentence being carried out on their golden-haired prisoner.
"Why so touchy, princess?,"
Slegg gloated as he stripped the rest of her shirt from her nude torso and
tossed it toward a huddle of men
hovering at the starboard rail.
"All of the lads are out on deck early, just to see you."
Erika's azure eyes darted around the
fog-shrouded array of onlookers frantically, in hopes of a sympathetic glance,
but found none.
"It was good joss for me, dearie,
that the Cap'n chose me to swing the lash," Slegg snarled under his breath
as he ran his fingers up Erika's bare belly before seizing her pink-tipped
mounds in his bare hands. He fondled her
firm young breasts roughly for several seconds and then added, "but maybe not such good luck for
you!"
"Squeeze those big tits, Sleggie! Soften 'em up for the lash!"
After receiving an approving nod
from Captain Andrew McMahon, Slegg obliged his cronies, working his
fingers deep into Erika's yielding tit-flesh.
What a pair of beauties they were!
After squeezing them roughly for a moment or two, he slapped Erika's
left breast lightly, marveling that nature had not only endowed Erika's
pleasure-melons with such size and shape and resilience, but had blessed them
with skin so soft and fair. He slapped
her pink-nippled mound again, much harder this time, reddening the sweet swell
of its creamy contours, and drawing a
soft gasp of pain from his voluptuous prisoner.
"Lovely," he whispered,
cupping Erika's succulent lust-hillocks in his hands again and sliding his
wind-weathered thumbs roughly across the coin-sized halos at the very center of
her breasts, teasing her half-taut nipples into an even-more enticing arousal.
"So ye like to play with fire,
d'ye?" he taunted the mutinous young beauty who had started the
conflagration below decks. The fire had
swept quickly through the Bird Cage, the hold for the purchased and purloined
young beauties that the Yang-tze Dragon delivered
to the steamy brothels of the Treaty Ports, but had done only minor damage before
being extinguished by the crewmen.
"I'll tell ye true, princess," he growled as he drove his
ragged thumbnails into the tips of her breasts, "I'm going to take these
big beauties through the fires of hell!"
Slegg took up the whip he had chosen for
the occasion, a menacing, thick-handled instrument whose six braided tails
would test Erika's courage as it had never been tested before. Each of the slender, foot-long fingers would
sting like the devil; together, he knew,
they would transform Erika's proud young tit-globes into throbbing hemispheres
of suffering, but would not tear them to
shreds or ruin them for future pleasures.
Leaning toward her, Jasper Slegg snapped
the tip of the whip across Erika's bare belly. She gasped in pain, and then cried out softly
when he struck her again, this time much harder, finding the sweet notch of her navel.
Noting by the agitated rise and fall of
her peaches-and-cream breasts that Erika's breathing had quickened, Slegg
circled behind her, slashing her lightly across her sculpted shoulder blades. A moment later he delivering a stinging cut
that found the tender hollow at the small of her back, an eyelash above the
ratty, tight-fitting leggings that clung to her rounded hips. Erika's body was still writhing from side to
side from the impact of that blow when he swept the lash forward again, raking
her back with a diagonal slash and then adding a rib-searing backhand for good
measure.
Erika's groans were audible now and the
evasive undulations of her nude torso
above her ragged leggings sent thrills of pleasure through his genitals.
His trousered erection throbbing, Slegg
slipped in front of his hourglass-figured prisoner again and delivered three
quick-slashing strokes to Erika's midriff that caused her knees to buckle ever
so slightly. She dipped forward
slightly, her luscious breasts bobbing
enticingly, and Slegg chose that moment to strike, first sweeping the six tails
of the lash with moderate force across Erika's pendulous breasts and then
bunching the wicked tails together in
his hand and sling-shotting them downward across the top of Erika's luscious
tit-mounds.
CRACKKK!!! "Aaaaghhhhhh!!" Erika threw her head back and screeched in
agony as her well-toned arms strained furiously at the bonds which held her
fast.
Slegg consolidated his upper hand by
launching a side-arm blow that knifed diagonally across Erika's left nipple,
eliciting another cry of pain from the beleaguered beauty. As she writhed in misery, he stepped nimbly
to his right and swung again, a rising stroke which sent the six strands of
leather rocketing toward the outer aspect of Erika's left breast.
SMACK!!
Slegg grinned triumphantly as the stinging tails of the whip wrapped
themselves around Erika's creamy mound, bathing it in suffering. His follow-through sent the lash flying
across his body and he wasted no time in ripping a come-backer that left a
livid weal on Erika's other breast.
SMACK!!
"Aaiiiaaahhh!!"
A
litany of German expletives streamed from Erika's lips, and Slegg, confident
that they had been directed at him, decided to silence her. "I suspected I might have to gag ye fer
a foul-mouthed whore," he muttered as he took a fishing knife and hacked
off a short length of rope from the coil Deng-shan had used to bind her. He crammed the midpoint of the rope roughly
into Erika's open mouth and then wrapped the ends around behind her head and
jerked on them brutally before knotting
the cord so tightly that Erika was on the verge of choking on the
rope-gag.
"That'll shut the wench up!" a
voice cried out.
"Let's see her arse, Sleggie!"
another cried.
"Aye! And the whore's cunt!" a
third voice bellowed from the midst of the swirling fog.
Slegg lifted an arm to acknowledge the
cries from the crowd and then he inserted his hands into the waist-band of Erika's
ragged leggings and ripped them downward, baring the upper halves of her
spankable buttocks. Cupping his fingers,
he squeezed her creamy bottomcheeks with greedy hands as he eased the fabric
downward, revealing a teasing inch of bottom-cleft at a time, until he had
reached the base of her bare buttocks. Then he tore at the fabric again,
pulling it southward until her spread-eagled stance frustrated his
intentions. Striding around to face Erika,
Slegg used his knife to cut the fabric down the entire length of both of her
legs, finally stripping the garment way and tossing it through the mist toward
the larboard shadows, one of whom caught it and waved it proudly above his head
as if it were the new ensign of the Yang-tze
Dragon.
Buoyed by the cheers from the boisterous
crew, who were agog at once again seeing Erika Weiss stripped to the skin for
their pleasure, Slegg took up the whip again.
The young German beauty tried desperately to turn away from him, but he
was too quick, slashing downward at his newly-naked prisoner, letting the
braided tails of the whip etch a trail of fire across Erika's shapely thighs
only a hand's-width below the vertex of her golden triangle. Erika's pretty feet danced in place on the
scaffold, as she groaned into the gag and tried to shake off the pain. Circling
to his left, Slegg lashed out again, targeting the sensuous curve of Erika's
right buttock and leaving a rosy patch of bottom-flesh in its wake.
SMACKK!! "Nnngghh!!"
Circling back in the other
direction, Slegg swung again, this time
from Erika's right side, raking the flank of her upper torso with the whip as
the tip of its fierce-biting tails stretched for and reached the softness of
her right breast. He followed that stroke
with a quick slicing backhand that left a jagged diagonal streak on the creamy
plane of her back.
Still circling like a vulturesque sea bird,
Slegg was back in front of Erika now. The
frothy bubbles of saliva at the corners of her mouth made it plain that the
cruel hempen gag was causing her some
distress. Tightening his grip on the
whip-stock, Slegg renewed his attack on her pink-nippled melons, mixing up the
three distinct strokes afforded by the whip he had chosen.
He gave her a 'Tingler' first, a
light-to-moderate sidearm stroke which allowed the six strands of leather to
spread out and wrap around Erika's majestic pain-globes, enveloping them in a
venomous six-tongued kiss.
He followed with a 'Stinger', a nasty sidearm stroke delivered to the side of Erika's left breast
with enough force to drive her breast inward.
The centrifugal force caused by
the greater speed of the stroke caused the tails of the whip to bunch more
closely together and to land with sharper impact than the smoother motion of
the Tingler.
Slegg aimed another Stinger at the inner
curve of Erika's right breast, and then a back-handed Tingler in a sweeping arc
that enwrapped both of Erika's luscious pleasure-mounds in its clawing
six-fingered grip. But he followed that
almost gentle stroke with a wicked 'Slicer',
using a chopping overhand motion delivered at near-blinding speed. As the tails of the whip whizzed downward
they seemed to fuse together with hellish intent.
CRACKK!! "NGGHHHHH!!" When the whip ripped
into the creamy upslope of Erika's luscious
breast it left a livid weal and drew from her tightly-gagged lips a gurgling
shudder of pain that send jolts of virile pleasure through Slegg's swollen
genitals.
Slegg paused for a moment to drink in
the sight of Erika's bound body writhing in torment, her wrists straining
desperately at the ropes which held her fast, the sheen of perspiration that
dampened her love-nest and gave a lovely glow to her lovely thighs, the
inviting shimmy of her burning breasts, the tasty perfection of her puckering nipples.
Presented with such a pleasing array of
targets, he tossed a mental coin and struck again, giving the wriggling blonde
a nasty Stinger across the fronts of her well-toned thighs.
Erika groaned into her rope-gag again
and then a look of horror crossed her face as she realized which part of her
defenseless body Slegg had chosen for his next target. She screamed, "NNNGGHHH" into the
gag and tried to twist her body out of harm's way, but Slegg was too
quick. He followed the thigh-scalder with an upsweeping
Tingler that found the very core of her feminity.
"NNNGH! NGGHHH!!
NGGHHH!!" Erika grunted miserably as the strips of leather traced
the puffy outlines of her labia and stung
her sensitive bud of desire.
"How about another, dearie?"
he snarled and lashed out again, once again whistling the whip upward between
Erika's bare legs. When the tails of the
whip found their clitoral target, she twisted her body from side to side
furiously, trying to lessen the pain, and Slegg helped her along, firing a
fusillade of cross-bodied Stingers that drove her tender breasts in whichever
direction her body happened to be moving.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Again and again the side-swung lash found the
outer slopes of Erika's breasts, forehanding her oscillating breast-mounds in
one direction and then backhanding them in the other, as Erika's nude body
pivoted back and forth in a titillating frenzy of pain. The silence of the shadows in the fog around
him, he knew, resulted from the rapt concentration of the crewmen on the
athletic coiling and uncoiling of Erika's torso and limbs. Their eyes feasted on the ceaseless bobbling
of her superb breasts, and the exhausting torque of her sweaty, defenseless
body as it sought to escape the sting of his lash. The knowledge sent shivers of pride and
desire coursing through Slegg's body.
Moving to one side so that he could
deliver a frontal blow, Slegg delivered a flesh-stinging forehanded Tingler to
the very centers of Erika's breasts. The
stroke seemed to set her distended nipples on fire, for Erika threw her head
back in agony, her nude breasts pointed skyward as if seeking solace in the
warm rays of the sun.
But that position left Erika vulnerable
to a southern assault and Slegg fired a
dreadful Stinger at her golden fleece, and then circled yet again, flogging
twice at the backs of her unmarked thighs, before aiming his sights higher and
giving her three flesh-searing Slicers across the dark, inviting cleft that
separated her wriggling buttocks. He
followed those dreadful strokes with another uprising Tingler, enjoying Erika's
shudder of anguish as the tails of the whip clawed at her sensitive love-slit.
Circling until he stood at right angles
to his naked prisoner, Slegg unleashed a downward arcing Tingler that splatted
noisily against the tops of Erika's sweat-sheened breasts. The tails of the
whip seemed to try to cling to Erika's tempting love-gourds, fighting the
indomitable pull of gravity as best they could before slowly sliding downward
over her quivering mounds.
Slegg continued with a strong-armed
nipple-searing Stinger that caught Erika at mid-breast, driving her backward so
violently that it would have knocked her off her feet if her wrist-ropes had
not held her upright.
A bit arm-weary, Slegg stuffed the
whipstock in his belt and moved behind the exhausted blonde. Slipping his hands beneath the undercurves
of her whip-reddened breasts, he hefted
them gently, as if committing their warmth and size and shape to digital
memory. Then he gripped her lust-globes
tighter and pulled her back against his body, almost intoxicated by the
pleasurable pressure of her rounded buttocks against his ragingly erect
phallus. He kneaded Erika's breasts with
punishing fingers as he ground his erection into the tempting cleft between her
buttocks. What he wouldn't have given to
take her where she stood, to bask in the roars of encouragement from his
crewmen, while he pumped his cock into her naked body! But the red-bearded Scotsman's cruel sentence
came first.
Slegg ground Erika's tender
nipple-buds between his thumbs and long-fingers for another moment or two, and
then released her inflamed nuggets.
Reaching for his whip, he noticed that Erika's breasts, which only
minutes ago had been so pale that he could see the faint outlines of the veins
pulsing beneath her tit-flesh, were now well-rouged from the whip.
He struck from behind again,
viciously, SMACKKK!!! wrapping a Tingler
around Erika's ribcage, an inch or two beneath the undercurves of her rosy
breasts.
As Erika's body shuddered in
misery, Slegg noticed that she had
positioned her feet as closely together as the ropes binding her ankles would
allow. Annoyed by this attempt to shield
her feminine treasure from his view, he ordered Erika to spread her legs.
Her response was both slow
and half-hearted and he rewarded her with a vicious stinger to her left inner
thigh. "Wider!" he barked
Still fearful of his
purpose, Erika made only a token effort to comply with his command.
Furious, he lashed out again,
backhanding the inside of Erika's right thigh with another CRACCKK!!ing
Stinger.
"Ngghh!!" Erika
groaned, but her moan was still on her lips when the whip struck again, high on
her left thigh.
"If you won't spread
'em, I'll spread 'em for ya,!" Slegg snarled as he whipped at the backs of
her legs with unbridled ferocity, lashing them repeatedly until Erika's bare
feet were nearly a yard apart, and the puffy petals of her sex glistened in the
morning light.
Transferring
the whipstock to his left hand, Slegg approached the spread-eagled beauty from
behind. Standing alongside her he
fondled her with obscene gusto, thumbing her anal orifice even as he fondled
her vulva with probing fingers.
Distracted by his pleasurable explorations, he never saw the elbow
coming.
Infuriated
by his lascivious groping, and driven to folly by pain and humiliation, Erika
took advantage of what little slack her wrist-bonds permitted and threw an
elbow at her tormentor's head, an elbow which by some strange chance found the
shovel-wound above his brow.
Slegg,
maddened by this new pain to his eye, retreated a few steps and then snapped
the whip upward, so that the tails of the lash clawed at Erika's naked pussy.
She
screamed into her gag, and tried to close her legs, but Slegg was too fast,
sending another six-thonged uppercut into the delicate tissues between Erika's
legs. Erika's nude body shuddered in her
bonds, the staccato clenching and unclenching of her rounded buttocks communicating
the agony which had been silenced by the rope-gag.
Erika
fought desperately to narrow her stance, to reduce the vulnerability of her
target, but Slegg slashed at her thighs mercilessly until the searing pain
forced them to part once again.
Grinning
triumphantly, Slegg twirled the whipstock in his hand and lashed out with
another uprising Tingler that swept
across Erika's tender genitalia like a fiery rake.
Erika's nude body cringed
again, her dipping knees denoting her exhaustion and despair. Slegg, sensing frowns on the faces of the
three shadowy figures on the bridge, decided that it would be foolhardy on his
part to risk permanent damage to Erika's golden-fringed money-maker. He moved cautiously to his right and curled a
Tingler around Erika's ribcage that permitted the very tips of the whip-thongs
to nip at her firm young breast.
The mutinous
blonde wriggled so alluringly in her bonds that he could not resist
taking another step or two to his right and launching a wicked hacking Slicer
at Erika's right breast. The fast-flying
strands of the whip united as one and CRACCKKK!!!ed deep into Erika's
lust-mound, leaving a lurid diagonal weal across its curved surface .
"UNGGNHHHMMPHHH" Erika groaned in misery, gurgles of agony
contending with her gag for voice. Slegg
watched amusedly as the slobber of fear and pain leaked out of her mouth around
the corners of the rope gag, and formed rivulets of saliva which ran down her
chin, past her throat and onto her pain-wracked breasts.
Slegg let fly another
over-hand Tingler that found the tops of Erika's creamy love-goblets and
atomized the perspiration and saliva that had accumulated there. Then, noting
that the mark left by the last Slicer had darkened to an angry red, he decided
to make an X of the diagonal gash he had left earlier. He bunched the tails of the whip in one hand
in front of his face and took careful aim before slashing the whip downward
toward Erika's left breast.
Erika tried to turn away, but the whip was too
quick, for Slegg had managed to carve
his X across Erika's breast, just above her left nipple. An X at whose
intersection, a tiny bead of scarlet
began to form.
Erika's wound inspired
Jasper Slegg to new efforts. He
continued with a withering series of right-to-left Tinglers into the curvature
of her left breast.
Smackk! The force of the first blow caused the
bead of scarlet to shimmer on Erika's quivering breast.
Smacckk!! After the second such stroke the moist red
dot began to widen into a circlet of crimson.
SMACK !! SMACCKK!! Slegg whipped forehand and backhand Stingers
across Erika's other breast, deepening its rosy glow.
Smacckkk!!! Jasper Slegg slashed another punishing
Stinger at Erika' bloodied breast. The
impact of his stroke drove her love-mound inward even as it shattered the red
circlet into whisper-thin streamlets of scarlet that trickled down over Erika's
crinkly aureole.
Smaccckkk!!!! A backhanded Tingler to the inside of the same pale breast. The trickles of blood had now christened her
nipple with its crimson kiss.
SMACKKK!! A fearful Stinger to the outer slope of
Erika's left breast, delivered with such
force that it sent a fine spray of blood across her chest, speckling her other
breast.
Slegg edged to his left,
drawing a bead on Erika's taut nipples, one pale and pink, the other moist and
bloodied. He tightened his grip on the
whipstock and clenched his uneven teeth as he took the whip back. He felt the muscles in his arm tense as he
swept the lash forward toward Erika's proud-thrusting breasts, his senses heightened
in anticipation of the thrilling sound of leather slapping against female flesh
when ….
"Slegg! SLEGG!!"
"Unh? Wha??"
"Slegg, wake up! The captain'll be on deck in ten
minutes. It's time to get the girl. "By the sword of Genghis Khan, man, you're
sweating like a pig. What were you
dreaming about?"
Slegg sat upright in his
hammock grumbling irritably, annoyed
with Deng-shan for waking him from such a pulse-poundingly exciting dream. He shook his head slowly from side to side,
trying to chase away the cobwebs that clouded his brain. As consciousness returned, he rubbed gingerly
at the bandage over his eye. Except for the bruise over his eye, he thought ruefully, it had all been a
dream. The girl in the sunlight, the
eerie fog, the faceless onlookers. But
what a dream, he thought, conscious of his huge erection, as he rolled out of
his 'bed'. A shame that it had not been
real.
On the other hand, he mused,
the real trial of Erika Weiss was yet to come.
And given the taste for cruelty of Captain Andrew McMahon perhaps the
reality would not fall far short of his arousing nocturnal fantasy ….
Chapter 147 Trial and Sentencing
"Thare will be order
in this court or I'll ha'e ye all in irons!" Captain Andrew McMahon thumped the flat side
of one of Deng-shan's hammers on the top of a wooden barrel, silencing the
chatter of the assembled crewmen.
Thirty-odd sailors were scattered haphazardly around the deck of
the Yang-tze Dragon, eagerly craning their heads in order to get a better look
at the comely defendant. Only minutes
earlier Jasper Slegg had dragged Erika Weiss up on deck, and the men were still elbowing each
other seeking better vantage points from which to observe the trial of the
stunningly beautiful blonde.
Her face pale from fatigue, Erika stood facing the improvised
bench, her wrists roped together before her.
The tumultuous rise and fall of her splendid breasts under Mao's
indecently tight shirt betrayed the agitation she sought desperately to
conceal.
Although Jasper Slegg had wrapped the tattered remnants of the
captain's shirt around her eyes before bringing her on deck, Erika Weiss could
almost feel the hot gaze of the crewmen on her body. Their gaze, she felt sure, roamed leisurely from her jutting
breasts which were so tightly encased in the belly-baring shirt, to the skin-tight gray leggings which felt as
if they'd been painted onto her hips and thighs.
She wondered why she had been blindfolded. It was almost as if the blind goddess, Justice, had wanted to share
her sightlessness. Or was it, perhaps,
that that chaste goddess was ashamed of the legal travesty that was about to be
carried out in her name on the deck of the Yang-tze
Dragon.
Erika wondered, too, what had become of the dreadful whip she had
been forced to fashion. She had worked
long into the night tying the punishing knots in the Thief's Cat and her
girlishly soft hands were raw from handling the coarse rope. But she knew that the soreness of her hands
was as nothing compared to the horrors that lash was capable of inflicting on
her tender flesh.
Erika's musings were interrupted when, in front of her, Captain
McMahon gaveled the Scotch barrel, silencing the murmuring assemblage. The red-bearded mariner cleared his throat
noisily and then declaimed, "The accused is hereby charged, under the Navy
Discipline Act of the
year of oor Lourd eighteen hundred and sixty-six, with desairtion, arson,
mutiny and murther." McMahon glared
at Erika, his fierce, bloodshot eyes blazing with righteousness. Hou d'ye plead,
lassie?"
And Erika Weiss felt the icy hand of Andrew McMahon's notion of
maritime justice tightening around her slender throat.
*********
She had been awakened thirty minutes earlier, after little more
than an hour's sleep, by the grip of a callused hand on her shoulder.
"Out of your cot, wench, and on your
feet!" The voice
had been harsh, menacing.
Feeling as if her head had touched the cot only moments earlier,
Erika had sleepily rolled over to face the men who had come for her.
"Is it morning already?"
"Aye, it's morning in the Salt Box, Missy, that it is,"
Jasper Slegg volunteered good-naturedly.
It was strange, Slegg mused. He
hadn't given thought
to the Salt Box, the condemned cell at Newgate, in many years. When he was just a lad his father had taken
him to the forbidding prison to pay a final call on an uncle. Uncle Silas, he recalled, had stabbed a man
over a gambling debt and had been sentenced to dance with Jack Ketch at
dawn. Knowing that he was to meet the
hangman, not to mention his Maker, Slegg's uncle had babbled like a baby
during those last hours.
But to her credit, despite
her fatigue and a slight quaver in her voice, there was no sign of tears or
despair on the face of Erika Weiss as she awaited the judgment of Andrew
McMahon. "Still a bit knackered, are
ye? Stand 'er up, Froggy! 'is lairdship don't like to be kept
waiting!"
As she gazed at her
visitors through bleary blue eyes, it was evident to Erika that Jasper Slegg
and Froggy were the bailiffs who would escort her to the dock of the Yang-tze Dragon, the
bar of shipboard justice, where she would learn her fate.
" 'On your feet,' he said!" Froggy barked as he seized the rounded nape
of Mao's collarless shirt, and yanked Erika roughly to her feet. She staggered awkwardly, almost losing her
balance, conscious of the fact that Froggy's powerful grasp had caused the
yellow middy shirt to ride halfway up her chest.
"Christ! Don't I arf wish the
cap'n wasn't waitin' for us," Slegg growled as he eyed the gleaming
expanse of Erika's bare belly and the outlines of her jutting breasts against the
threadbare shirt. "That's a fine
cant o' togs, Tranhie's given ye, Ladybird," he
muttered sarcastically, still aroused by the electrifyingly like-like dream
from which he had been awakened.
"That bloody shirt looks a lot better on 'er, than it did on the
Mouse, don't it, Froggy? Tranhie must
have had to use a jemmy to cram those big tits into that moth-eaten shirt. 'ow about we
just 'ave another quick look at those
beauties before we take 'er topside? What d'ye say,
matey?"
Froggy quickly grunted his assent, and pinned Erika's arms to her
sides, enabling his partner to place his palms flat on her bare midriff. Grinning diabolically, the English mate
began to slide his fingers upward over Erika's creamy belly until his
fingertips reached the hem of her cropped shirt. Licking his lips, Slegg eased his fingers
under the skin-tight shirt and slid it up over Erika's pink-tipped melons. "Froggy tells me you and him had a nice little swa-ray last night."
From behind, Froggy pulled Erika close against his body, letting
her feel the solidity of his erection, while Jasper Slegg cupped her ripe
breasts in his rough, wind-weathered hands and hefted them gently. "How come you put out
for 'im, but not for me, dearie?" Slegg asked in a cajoling
voice. "I was on the randy, down in
the Bird Cage," he confided crudely to Froggy, "
and I was 'avin' the time o' me life, 'til this sweet-arsed toffer
knocked over the lamp and started that bloody fire."
Erika's frantic attempts to
liberate herself from Froggy's grasp went for naught and Slegg continued to
knead Erika's breasts with insistent fingers, flicking her stiffening nipples
roughly with his thumbs until they stood out with teasing impudence. "Now if you'd played yer cards right,
Ladybird, you
and me could have …"
"Slegg!!" a voice roared from above. "Quit yer` footerin' aboot
and fetch the lassie oop here!" A
dark shadow crossed Slegg's face when he heard Captain Andrew McMahon's bellowing
voice. "
Sometimes that arf-pissed red-bearded barstard thinks he's Admiral
bleedin' Nelson. 'e's in a foul mood, today, dearie,
no two ways about it."
Slegg angrily tugged the
flimsy yellow shirt down over Erika's swollen breasts. "Let's go see what the laird's got in
mind, Froggy. But first, Missy, the cap'n
said I should blindfold you to keep you from getting any ideas. Hmm," he muttered as he picked up
Erika's bathing cloth, which had once been a piece of the captain's shirt. "This'll do as well as anything, I
expect."
Slegg quickly knotted the improvised blindfold behind Erika's
head, and moments later, leaving the infirmary behind them, the two men marched
Erika to the ladder-rail that led topside.
Slegg scurried up nimbly, followed by Erika, who was followed closely in
turn by Froggy, who couldn't take his dark eyes off Mao's grey breeches, which
hugged Erika's shapely buttocks like a second skin.
As she emerged through the hatch topside,
Erika Weiss felt the damp coolness of the morning mist, stirred by a westerly
breeze, against her face. Slegg took her arm and then waited for Froggy
to join them before marching her toward the bow, where Andrew McMahon stood in
all his magisterial magnificence, his reddish beard tossed by the breeze. In front of him, rising to the level of his
waist, was an upright barrel, imprinted with the name of one of
"Deng! Where the de'il is me gavel?"
Deng-shan, the muscular ear-ringed master carpenter of the Yang-tze Dragon quickly stepped forward and
handed the red-bearded sea captain a short-handled oaken mallet from the
arsenal of tools he wore around his waist.
"This maritime coort is nou in session. Present the
accused!"
"Right 'ere, sir," Slegg answered, placing a hand on the
bare strip of skin between the top of Erika's breeches and the bottom of her
middy shirt, "
'ere's the culprit."
As he pushed Erika, sending her lurching forward, Jasper Slegg
glanced around. The captain's bellow had
attracted the attention of every man on board, whether on duty or off. From every part of the ship unsavory-looking
seamen had begun to form a semi-circle around her on the main deck, while
others had gathered at the railing of the poop deck overlooking her as she faced
the stern of the ship. Each man nudged
his neighbor as they ogled the beautiful blonde who was encased in garments so
flimsy that they seemed to have been painted on the curves of her young body.
********
"The chairges are arson, desairtion, murther and mutiny. Hou daes the
preesoner plead?"
Erika Weiss trembled as Andrew McMahon enumerated the counts of
the indictment. She turned her head from
side to side, trying to catch some of the mumbled comments from the crewmen who
had assembled for the trial, but heard only ribald remarks and not a word about
charges or evidence.
"I – I am innocent, sir," Erika spoke out as bravely as
she could. But having heard Deng-shan's
nocturnal pounding, his laboring long into the night preparing the engines of
discipline which awaited her, she could not altogether still the quaver in her
voice. "Or if I have committed some
infraction, have done so only in self defense."
"Innocent!" she heard Froggy snort gruffly to Slegg, who
grunted in amused assent. "Not after last night, she ain't!"
"INNOCENT?"
McMahon's voice was leonine in its wrath. "Is there no a man dead, lassie? Did ye nae hagger my first mate wi the blade of a shuil?
Did ye no try tae mak the Bird Cage intae a ragin' inferno?"
"I-it is true that I killed the man in the stoking room,
Sir. But they - he - had done things to
me … horrible things…."
"This coort will be the juidge of that, lassie!"
********
The tribunal, for all of Captain's McMahon's love of pomp and
ceremony, had been a mockery. Jasper
Slegg, the first mate of the ship, had been the principal witness, and he had
outlined Erika's transgressions quickly.
Erika had protested each allegation, but McMahon had been
implacable. Was not one man dead, and another, Slegg,
injured by her mutinous assault below decks?
Had she not started the fire which might have sunk the ship? Had she not then tried to desert the ship by
taking its only rowboat, leaving her shipmates to drown or die aboard a burning
ship?
Again, Erika protested that it was the cruelty of Jasper Slegg and
the others who had driven her to such deeds.
But Slegg had countered by contending that while he may have laid on a
few strokes of the rope-whip in the stoking room, he had only done so to curb
the accused's willfulness and laziness. He was merely enforcing good shipboard
discipline, he added, and that it had been Erika's unprovoked attack upon him
with the shovel which had prompted the resulting melee. As for the Bird Cage, while he might have
paraded her about to entertain the men, where was the harm in that? Had not the charms of its female cargo long
been the chief recruiting tool of the Yang-tze
Dragon? Had any of the Dragon's other shipboard 'guests' tried
to incinerate the ship in order to preserve their modesty?
When Slegg finished his rebuttal, there was a brief pause before
Andrew McMahon intoned, "Haes the accused ocht further to say on her own
behalf before I pronoonce sentence?"
Erika tried to speak, but her mounting despair was heavy on her
heart and the words would not come. Twenty-four
hours earlier, she had been writing her grateful farewell to Ju, saddened by
having to leave Daniel Kauffman, but looking forward to seeing her homeland
again. And then the baron's betrayal,
the general's cruelty, the captain's tyranny, and Slegg's mercenary
ruthlessness had propelled her from one dreadful predicament to another.
"Captain … please … I did not mean to harm any one of
you. I only … I only wanted to be
free."
Andrew McMahon stared at the blind-folded beauty silently for a
few moments, his brow wreathed in thought. Then he cleared his throat and
announced, "this coort haes reached its verdict," and his resonant bass-baritone voice
proceeded to rumble out the counts of the indictment.
"As for the first count, Desairtion – Guilty as charged. Since this is an offense against ever
man-jack aboard this vessel, the preesoner will be made tae Run the
Gauntlet."
As this verdict was read, Erika heard a murmur of excitement
surging through the assembled crewmen.
She knew not what the sentence meant, but clearly the crew was excited
about carrying it out.
"As to the second count, Arson –
Guilty! The prisoner will Kiss
the Wooden Lady for an oor's time."
Once again, Erika was at a loss to understand the meaning of the
captain's words.
McMahon cleared his throat again and continued to enumerate the
bill of indictment. "As to the third count, Mutiny –
Guilty. The preesoner is
sentenced to a dizzen with the nine against the grating!"
Again, Erika could make no more sense of the sentence than she had
of the charges.
As to the fourth count, Murther – Guilty.
But," and here McMahon glanced sternly at Jasper Slegg, "with
some provocation. The preesoner shall be
hanged by her bonnie neck, but the drop shall nay be released. Insteid, the preesoner shall receive a flogging of the
bells while wearing the hangman's noose."
"What is the meaning of all this?" The steely voice of General Wang cut through
the morning mist like a knife.
"Och, mon, hae ye joined the living
then?" McMahon bellowed. "And
I see that ye brought yer dour cronie wi' ye."
General Wang and Hsi Fong, both looking like men whose stomachs
had yet to grow used to the sea, and whose heads had not quite recovered from
the opiates they had taken to quiet their stomachs, stood uneasily on the deck
queasily eyeing the captain. "The
woman is mine, captain, not yours," General Wang snapped in as sharp a
voice as he could muster.
Captain McMahon returned the general's stony stare. "The
lassie may be yours, but she's gang tae pay the piper all the same. This vessel
is mine, general, and I'll sae to it's maintenance and
defense. Ye're free tae lave it, if ye
like," he offered ominously, inclining his shoulder toward the choppy
white-caps which lifted the Yang-tze
Dragon and set it back down again in the ceaseless rhythm of the sea.
Wang looked doubtfully at the endless expanse of churning waves
and the glowering faces of McMahon's cut-throat crew, but tried again. "How do I know that you and your men
won't tear her apart?"
"Well, that's an easy one, laddie. What d'ye say we let ye gie her the whiskin'
yerself? Efter the gauntlet, that is, o'
course. We couldn't very well hae a
one-man gauntlet, could we nou? Dae nae
worry yerself tae much, General; the lads mannin' the gauntlet'll rough 'er up
a wee bit, but she'll survive. And then
the whiskin'll be
on yer watch – ye can mak it as rough or as smooth as ye like."
General Wang eyed the captain warily and stole a glance at his
prized possession. Even though she was
blindfolded, the tension in Erika's limbs and the blush of color burning in her
cheeks gave her posture an air of defiance.
A defiance, the general thought, as his upper
lip curled into a cruel sneer, that it would be an inestimable pleasure to
crush.
Wang felt a tremor of excitement rising in his loins as he
stripped Erika's skimpy garments from her splendid body with his eyes. He well remembered the lush roundness of her
breasts, her deliciously spankable buttocks, the suppleness of her thighs, and
the enticing treasure between them. His
right hand clenched and unclenched at his side, itching to administer whatever
punishment this almost unintelligible Scotsman had ordained. After all, would he not have given the
ripe-breasted beauty a sound flogging upon welcoming her to his island
citadel? He had not been pleased by the
thought of McMahon's sailors tearing Erika's delicious body to pieces, but with
the whip in his own hand, he would retain control of the situation. What would be the harm in beginning her subjugation
to his will today
instead of tomorrow?
"Very well, Captain," the dark-eyed general
assented. Now what exactly, is this
Gauntlet?"
McMahon nodded approvingly as he regarded Wang and Fong. "I'll e'en let the tae of ye be the
lassie's escorts, General." Then McMahon turned and bellowed to his crew,
"Form tae rows, ye lubbers! Deng, cut the
lines! Slegg, prepare the
prisoner!"
Chapter 148 Gauntlet of Cruelty
Andrew McMahon looked on with a solemn countenance, trying to
maintain the dignified bearing of a chief justice while his men made the
preparations for the Gauntlet. But he found it difficult to remain stoic when a
loud tearing noise drew his attention toward Jasper Slegg.
The first mate was tearing at the flimsy fabric of Erika's obscenely
tight-fitting shirt with the energy of a miner scraping the last bit of ore
from a gleaming golden nugget. McMahon felt his erection harden like a
For her part, the blindfolded beauty was helpless to defend
herself as Slegg ripped the top from her torso. She heard a coarse babel
of Chinese, Vietnamese, and Malayan as the sailors cheered her semi-nudity, and
she blushed in shame as she felt the chill of the sea air stiffen her nipples.
"Look at the wench, lads!" Slegg
sneered as he slipped behind Erika and cupped her naked breasts in his
sea-weathered hands and ground her taut, pinkish-brown nipples between his
thumbs and index fingers. "She's
ready for the gauntlet, she is!"
As Andrew McMahon feasted his eyes on Erika's nudity, he felt
tremors of pleasurable anticipation course through his body. During his long
shipboard career in her majesty's navy he had seen a number of bare-chested men
run a gauntlet of their shipmates, usually for shipboard thievery, a crime despised
by everyone from captain to cabin boys.
But never had he seen a woman, much less a luscious beauty like Erika
Weiss, subjected to the harrowing ordeal of the gauntlet.
He tore his eyes away from Erika for a moment and glanced
starboard where Deng-shan had begun cutting two-foot lengths from a coil of finger-thick
nautical rope. "Ye'll
need but thirty-four, Deng, nou that wee little Mao is
gone." The ship's carpenter nodded
his assent.
"Tranh!"
McMahon bellowed to the ship's cook.
"Aye captain?"
"Hie yer skinny
erse to me cabin and fetch
the two swuirds in my storage bin!"
"Aye, sir!" Tranh answered
and sped off toward the stern.
Meanwhile the crewmen of the Yang-tze
Dragon had formed a
disorderly line and were filing past Deng, bumping into each
other clumsily as they gawked at the bare-breasted miscreant who stood
trembling but erect a few yards away, her long golden hair fluttering softly in
the breeze. Tiny beads of nervous
perspiration had begun to dapple her pale torso, and her pink-tipped love-mounds
seemed to glisten in the sunlight. While
they ogled Erika's semi-nudity, each of the sailors took one of the lengths of
cord Deng had cut and then joined one of two lines that had formed along the
length of the foredeck.
Erika, still blindfolded, saw nothing of this, and could only
suffer in shame as she felt Slegg slide her
tight-fitting leggings down a few inches.
She could feel the morning breeze rustling the uppermost tendrils of her
pubic fringe, even as the cool air tickled the inch or two of buttock cleavage
that Slegg's lecherous fingers had now put on
display.
Jasper Slegg slid a hand into the back
of Erika's leggings and fondled the naked bottom he had sought to ravage in the
Bird Cage the night before. "Aye, it's the gauntlet for yer pretty arse, dearie," he whispered into Erika's ear. " 'oo
says a poor sailor's dreams can't come true?"
Meanwhile, Slegg noticed, as his fingers
slid deeper into Erika's leggings, Captain McMahon had been in conference with
the two Chinese, explaining their roles in the proceedings. A moment later Tranh burst into view, returning with the pair of cutlasses
for which he had been dispatched.
As Slegg pushed Erika toward the two
rows of sailors brandishing their freshly cut lengths of rope, he heard the Captain's
voice thunder. "Ye're
tae close thegither, ye fuils!
It's a gauntlet for the luv o' Jaysus,
not a Chinee fire brigade. Ye'll
be bashin' each ither with
the raips.
Step back, mon!" he yelled pulling Froggy away from the other row of men. "Step back the lot 'o ye."
Erika shivered. Though she
could not see the two columns of men stretching for perhaps twenty yards in
front of her, she could hear the bloodthirsty sailors, growling like sea
wolves, snickering at her nakedness.
"What about it, Lucky?" the blind-folded beauty heard Froggy's deep voice reverberate from the front of the
line. "You gonna
help me work on those big tits?"
"By the gods of Genghis Khan, I will!" interrupted the
deep voice of Khasar the Mongol from the middle of the
wolfpack.
Erika shuddered with trepidation. Of all the men in the Bird Cage, the
mustachioed giant from the
The clamor of raucous voices grew louder as the moment of
punishment grew nearer. She recognized Lucky's voice, and the excited jabbering of Raka and Tattoo, the Malayans who had molested her in the
corridor before taking to the infirmary. Further in the distance she could hear
the bestial grunts of Orang and Tiger, the peculiar
high-pitched chattering of Tranh the cook, and Deng's
gruff baritone. To a man, the sailors
of the Yang-tze Dragon seemed
impatient for her punishment to begin.
Suddenly Erika noticed that Slegg's
lecherous hands were no longer on her body.
Probably, she reasoned, he had joined the ranks of the men who had
formed the gauntlet.
But his place behind her had been taken by something else – cold
hard steel; one of the cutlasses, no doubt, which the captain had sent
for. Erika held her breath as she felt
the sharp tip of the cutlass pressing into the deep groove between her
buttocks. The blade was being held
there, no doubt, by one of the Chinese mandarins who had been proclaimed her
'escorts'.
"Be sure to walk nice and slow, wench," she heard Slegg call from the far end of the line. "So that every man
gets a couple of swings."
"Time!" McMahon's bellowed. "The escorts may begin the
procession."
Erika felt faint, and weak at the knees. Clearly she was going to
be forced to walk (or hopefully run) between the two lines of sailors, each of
whom had armed himself with one of the thirty-four weapons Deng had prepared.
She tried to compose herself, to think clearly.
Seventeen men to a side, spaced perhaps a yard
apart. Twenty yards of torment, she
knew, but, since there was to no escaping her fate, she might at least make the
best of it. How long could it take to
run twenty yards, after all? As long as she did not fall …
Erika took a deep breath and was about to take a quick step
forward, resolving to ignore the pain and to race through the gauntlet as
quickly as possible, when she felt the tip of the sword jabbing into her
buttocks, propelling her toward the two columns of attackers.
Knocked a bit off balance by the prod of the cutlass, Erika had
taken but two strides before coming abreast of the first men of the line and
receiving the first of the lashes. The
stinging blows came from both sides and then, as she gamely struggled forward,
from both fore and aft, each man targeting the front of her body as she
approached and directing his cruel lust at her back as she passed.
Froggy had fired the first shot, lashing
furiously at the ripe breasts which only hours earlier had cradled his lusty
cock. He had marked them with his semen
last night and now he meant to mark them with his lash.
THWICKKK!!! Erika groaned as the rope-whip slammed into
her naked breasts.
"Double up your rope and aim for those tits, boys! Make 'em dance!" Froggy growled, taking aim at Erika's heart-shaped buttocks as she edged
past him.
THWICK! The blow rekindled
the flames in Erika's bottom-cheeks, still tender from Slegg's
vicious flogging in the stoking room.
THWICKK!! "Aahhh!" As she moved
forward, Erika felt the slender cords of the rope-whips biting into her breasts
and back and shoulders. She bit her lip,
fighting off the pain as she tried to accelerate, to move more quickly through
the fusillade of firepower which awaited her.
Until the felt the sharp point of the second cutlass against her
left breast and was forced to slow her stride.
"Not so fast, fraulein!" General Wang's icy voice snapped from a
yard or two in front of her, as the rope-whips continued to fall on Erika's
naked flesh. "It is I who shall
set the pace, not you. Would you cheat
these honest sailors of their pleasure?"
THWICK!! THWICKK!!
"N-no," Erika gasped in strangled tones, as a pair of lashes,
delivered in tandem by Raka and Tattoo, seared the
soft feminine flesh of her flanks.
THWICK !!
Raka lashed at
her shoulders as she staggered past him.
THWICK!! While
Tattoo delivered a slicing downstroke to the tops of
her shapely bottom-ovals.
As the blows rained down Erika continued to trudge forward slowly,
now fully appreciating the utter dreadfulness of her plight. In front of her,
General Wang was still walking backward at a measured pace with cutlass
extended so that every blow from behind drove her soft breast against the point
of his saber. Behind her, Hsi Fong
followed closely, the sharp tip of his sword jabbing repeatedly at her yielding
buttocks, forestalling any thought of flight or retreat.
And so it was that the golden-haired, bare-breasted sea-nymph had
no choice but to walk forward, slowly, into the withering crossfire of lashes….
THWICCKK !! – a wicked belly
burner that found the edge of her golden fringe.
THWICKK !! --- a cutter
across the top of her hips
THWICKK!! A searing cut across her left breast that caused Erika
to lift her roped wrists to protect her treasures.
"Hands down!" the general snapped, as he flicked the
cutlass at her left wrist, drawing blood.
Erika cried out in pain and lowered her hands only to feel blows
from either side slicing into her tender breasts.
"Aghh!! Aghhh!! She cried out in agony, the pain for a moment
halting her progress,
giving the men around her time to strike again.
THWICKK!! TWHICKK!!! A pair of backhands across her buttocks and shoulder blades
were struck with such force that Erika was driven forward, into the path of
fresh lash-wielders.
THWICKK!! Another stroke across her throbbing tit-globes.
THWICKK!! A thigh-burner
that tore open the flimsy leggings.
"Stand back!! Give me room!!!" It was Khasar's
voice, just ahead. Summoning all of her
strength Erika stumbled forward, hoping to escape the wrath of the giant
Mongol.
But once again she was frustrated by the keenness of the sword-point pressing
against the undercurve of her breast.
THWIIIIIICKKK!! An audible whoosh of air gave Erika a
split-second's notice of the Mongol's mighty blow. But there was no time to evade the vicious
stroke which struck her full across both breasts with such force that she was
driven to her knees.
"AAAGHHHH!"
Erika cried out in agony, her right nipple ablaze with pain. The hulking Mongol was every bit as strong sa he looked. 'Get up!
Get up!!' Erika screamed silently to herself. 'Keep moving!!'
She struggled to her feet and felt Khasar's
doubled-over whip snap across the sensitive tips of her breasts yet again, but
she surged forward bravely, wincing in pain as the swarthy Mongol lashed
viciously at her bare back.
THWICKK!! The hellish
impact knocked her sideways into the waiting arms of the two men on her
left. The seamen seized their
opportunity gleefully, grabbing her and enveloping her in a sea of clutching
hands and prying fingers. One pair of hands fondled her naked breasts while
another hand dove inside the front of her leggings and clawed its way through
the ringlets of pubic hair toward the soft lips of her sex. When she felt a finger inside her she tried
to spin out of the reach of the two men and did so, but her tender breasts paid
a stern price as she twisted free of their gouging grip and back into the
opening between the two rows of sailors.
Disoriented, Erika
staggered forward, only to find that she had stumbled headlong into the men on
the other side of gauntlet.
"Grab her, Orang!" she heard a
man yell from behind her. A moment later
Erika felt Orang's powerful hands on her shoulders,
holding her in place, while Tiger, the man opposite him and behind her,
delivered a trio of lightning-like lashes to her bare back and the top of her
buttock crease.
"Let 'er gae!" thundered the
voice of the captain. "Hou is the lassie tae run the gauntlet if ye're holdin' on tae her like a
ewe at a sheep-shearin'!"
Erika staggered forward as Orang propelled
her back into the gap.
THWICKK!! THWICKKK!! "Aiiiiiii!!"
A stinging overhand found the tops of her breasts just as one of the men she
had passed whipped a diagonal stroke that left a trail of fire from her left
shoulder to her right hip.
"Aaahhh!!"
Erika gasped in pain. She was on
the verge of exhaustion but forced her legs to push forward again. How many more can could there be, she
wondered. Her course of doom was only
twenty paces long, but every step had been a frightful ordeal.
"THWICCKK!!
THWICKK!! Two more blows, a
breast-cutter from the left and a belly-burner from the right.
'Keep moving! Keep
moving!!' she screamed to herself as she felt Hsi Fong's sword jab into her
plump buttocks.
"Guess who?" snarled a voice as yet another stroke from
a rope-whip stung her taut nipples and stopped Erika dead in her tracks. "I may be last -- but not least," growled Slegg as he took the whip low and launched a vicious
uppercut at Erika's vulnerable crotch.
THWICKKK!! The lash burned
through the thin leggings like a hot knife through butter, setting Erika's
vulva on fire. She stumbled blindly
forward, trying to get past Slegg, but Deng-shan, his
counterpart on her left, slowed her with a powerful stroke that scalded her
ribcage and almost drove her to her knees.
"Aaaaahhh!"
Erika cried out, praying that she would not go down, not at the feet of
Jasper Slegg.
She lurched forward again, trying to get past this last pair of men, but fell heavily
face down on the deck when Slegg extended his leg and
tripped her.
THWICCCKK!! Slegg slashed at
the ripe curves of her buttocks and then at her naked shoulders as Erika, using
her last bit of strength, crawled forward on her belly, her bare, burning,
breasts scraping against the ship's metal deck with every inch of her
progress. Slegg
aimed a third stinging blow at her back, and then unburdened himself
of a litany of vile curses, as Erika, with unshakable courage, continued to
struggle forward.
Slegg delivered a final wicked slash to the backs of her legs,
shredding the tattered remnants of her leggings, before Erika, inching forward like a
salamander, passed him, thus completing the grim course of the gauntlet. A moment later she collapsed face down on the
deck, panting, more dead than alive.
"Well done, lads," thundered McMahon. "And well
done, lassie" he added under his breath as he glanced at his watch and
then at the beautiful young woman quivering on the foredeck. It had taken her one
minute and forty-six seconds to negotiate the dreadful gauntlet. Not bad at all. In his time he had seen strong men do worse,
much worse. This girl had a spirit to
match her looks. But, he smiled grimly to himself, it remained to be seen
whether her indomitable spirit would survive the three remaining parts of her
stern sentence.
General Wang, too was pleased. At first he had been a bit disappointed that
the beautiful blonde had not been stripped naked before being forced to run the
gauntlet. But the whistling rope-cords
had savaged her upper legs front and back, and the skin-tight fabric was now in
ruins, clinging patchily to her pale, half-revealed buttocks and her sun-kissed
thighs. Nudity could hardly have been more enticing.
And while the rope-whips had surely stung, the red-bearded captain
had known his business. The slenderness
of the cords, the tight spacing of the men, and the predictable impatience
which had led many of them to rush their blows had kept even the worst of the
lashes from doing any lasting damage to Erika Weiss's creamy flesh. But it had been a spectacle, the sight of
that topless temptress fighting her way through the withering crossfire of
lashes, which he would not soon forget.
Still prostrate on the deck, Erika Weiss felt Jasper Slegg's toe thump against her tender ribcage. "On yer feet, milady,"
the gravelly voice rasped. "Time to Kiss the Wooden Lady!"
Chapter 149 The Wooden Lady
Her
dreadful passage through the gauntlet completed, Erika Weiss groaned audibly as
she struggled to her hands and knees and tried to catch her breath. Blindfolded and dripping with the sweat of
suffering, she could feel the warmth of the morning sun, but she could not see
the golden orb as it slipped free of the soft embrace of a cluster of cottony
clouds.
Directly above her head Erika could hear flags
whipping westward on the ship's mast.
She remembered seeing those two flags, the fierce-looking dragon eyeing
the scarlet sun on the Chinese ensign and the brightly-colored British Union
Jack, when the Baron had escorted her to the gangplank of the Yang-tze Dragon what seemed half a
lifetime ago. But now the crisp snapping
sounds made by the banners, those symbols of power and pride,
seemed to mock her own
powerlessness and humiliation. Even so,
the wind that whipped the flags felt cool on her flesh and Erika turned
slightly to face the sea breeze head on, hoping that its brisk caress would soothe
her burning flesh.
Abaft of her, their backs to the stern, their
rope-whips now dangling harmlessly at their sides, a dozen excited sailors eyed
the blindfolded blonde hungrily, their primitive
passions roused to a fever pitch by the savage flogging they had inflicted on her
half-naked body. Their flesh-searing
weapons had left garish streaks on Erika's creamy skin from her smoothly
rounded shoulders to the inviting inch or two of buttock cleft which peeked at
them above the upper rim of her partly-lowered leggings.
Sensing the
focus of their gaze, the bare-breasted sex slave of the Yang-tze Dragon tugged at the waistband which Jasper Slegg had lowered for the whip. But Erika soon found that
her position on all fours offered her little leverage to pull the leggings up. There was no easy way for her to deprive the
sailors behind her of a glimpse of the tantalizing groove that bisected her saucy
buttocks.
The
laughing, leering men alongside and in front of Erika were treated to an even
more enviable view of their shapely captive.
They too were in position to run their eyes over the irregular
latticework of whip-marks on her back, but even more eye-catching were her
ripe, pendulous breasts, pleasingly pink from the glancing blows laid on by
several hasty or inexperienced floggers. The 'lines' the seamen had used – the slender
lengths of rope which Deng-shan had cut and distributed to the men of the ship
– had been light in weight, but that very lightness had allowed them to be
swung with flesh-stinging ferocity. The
streaks of dark crimson dappling the upslopes
of Erika's glistening pleasure-mounds were telling evidence of the punishment
the rope-whips could inflict when wielded by men practiced in the art of discipline.
Erika's inflamed nipples, normally a
tempting hue of pinkish-brown, were now slightly swollen and several shades redder,
indisputably confirming the skill and savagery of Froggy,
Khasar the Mongol, and a few others.
Still panting from her exertions, Erika let the
bracing west wind sweep across her body.
The blindfolded beauty felt her fine-spun golden hair swirling about her
head and shoulders as she settled back on her haunches and explored her reddened torso gingerly. She traced the sensitive edges of the lash-marks
using the sightless braille of her fingertips, her gentle
hands undercupping her soft breasts, soothing her
whip-ravaged treasures and shielding them as best she could from the satyr-like
gaze of the crewmen.
But
unfortunately for Erika Weiss, she was the only sightless creature on the deck
of the Yang-tze Dragon. Up on the bridge Captain Andrew McMahon,
wrapped in his blue coat, stroked his bristling beard thoughtfully as he let
his eyes play over the crimson-streaked curves of Erika's body. The bare-breasted blonde's harrowing trek
through two lines of wild-eyed, whip-wielding cutthroats had exceeded his every
expectation. He had fully expected the beautiful young transgressor to collapse
into a cowering ball of flesh after a handful of well-delivered strokes. But so far, to his surprise, Erika's stamina
and spirit had proved a fine match for her stunning beauty. Even so, McMahon ruminated grimly, only one of the
four counts of her harsh sentence had been carried out. The arduous journey lying ahead of this trouble-making
young temptress would likely prove even more taxing than the difficult road
behind her.
Flanking
Andrew McMahon, fresh from the gratifying task of escorting Erika Weiss through
the gauntlet at cutlass point, were General Wang, stern and stiff in his olive
green uniform, and his partner in villainy, Hsi Fong, elegantly garbed in the rich robes
of a mandarin. They, too, squinted down
at the sun-splashed blonde hungrily, each man silently imagining the depravities
to which he would subject this sublimely beautiful creature once they arrived
at the general's island citadel.
As General Wang's domineering gaze swept over Erika's
near nudity he recalled that she had been instructed in the arts of erotic
discipline by none other than that great master of sexual cruelty, George Chan.
It would not be easy to find new ways to subjugate this enticing young woman,
to find new instruments and methods of correction, new scenarios of sexual
enslavement. But how intriguing, how
rewarding, would be the attempt! And
there was no shortage of time-tested torments for the nights when his
imagination failed him…
General Wang mentally tipped his officer's cap to
George Chan, giving him kudos
for Erika's superb conditioning. What grueling paces he must have put this
beauty through to keep her limbs so lithe, her belly so flat, her torso tapering to a tiny waist before broadening into
lush womanly hips! A thin smile creased the general's stern
visage as recalled how he and his cronies had abused and exploited Erika's
magnificent body to their heart's content during Chan's unforgettable dinner
party{Chapters 18-22}. But even that
orgy of debauchery had given little hint of the young woman's courage and endurance.
To General
Wang's boundless delight the exquisite blonde kneeling on the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon seemed to possess
reserves of physical and sexual stamina whose limits he looked forward to
testing again and again in the weeks and months to come. It would be a relentless but rewarding exploration
of the darkest frontiers
of pain and pleasure. Erika's
pain, needless to say, and his pleasure. How could he ever have
imagined, the general mused as he scrutinized Erika's nearly nude body like a
collector admiring a favorite butterfly, when he had chartered a small vessel a
few days earlier, that the short journey to his island fortress would have given
birth to the enthralling erotic spectacle which was now taking place on the
deck of the Yang-tze Dragon?
A
few feet to the general's left, Hsi Fong gave his uniformed comrade a sidelong
glance which bespoke the wary respect and the half-concealed envy a man used to
wielding authority often has for one of even higher station. The imperious
general, Fong knew, would no doubt reserve for himself the leading role in
Erika's sexual subjugation. But in all likelihood, the part he himself would play in the
depraved drama that would be enacted out in the weeks to come, would be one
which would satisfy even the most jaded of appetites.
His rust-colored robes rustling softly in the sea
breeze, the gray-haired mandarin smiled grimly as he turned his thoughts to one
of the general's favorite sexual pastimes. Once a month by the lunar calendar, the
warlord would celebrate the coming of the full moon by positioning himself in a
massive, throne-like chair in a room in a remote corner of his sinister citadel. The chair invariably faced a great bay window
in a room whose only other furnishing was a tiny stand on which stood a miniature
sandglass. Then, as the iron-jawed
general watched the grayish dusk of twilight melt into the blackness of
nightfall, an unlucky concubine would be made to straddle his towering manhood,
facing away from him toward the window.
Her slender wrists gathered high over her head by cords securing them to
an overhanging beam; her nubile young body clad only in starlight.
Hsi Fong's first
duty in these carefully staged dramas was invariably the rather mundane one of securing
the girl's wrists to the rafter overhead.
But his second task offered him a much more prominent part in the
general's salacious soiree. For once the newly full moon had
risen in the heavens Fong would overturn the sand-glass. From that moment forward, on the sixtieth
second of every minute, the implacable mandarin would lash the front of the nude body of the defenseless
young maiden who was impaled on the
general's rutting erection.
As each minute neared its end, the general's virile upthrusts would become more intense, more penetrating, more
punishing. When the last of the
sands began to trickle down the sides of the minute-glass, the helpless,
agitated victim would begin to twist and turn in her bonds more and more
frantically, trying desperately to protect her soft thighs, her tender belly
and her whip-reddened breasts from the coming blow. But every squirming gyration of her sweet
young body served merely to transport the general closer to the pinnacle of pleasure
and to stoke the ardor of his whip-wielding accomplice. For Hsi Fong's right arm would begin its
forward motion the moment the last grain of sand had fallen, as surely as night
follows day. There was no escaping the
thongs of his pitiless lash.
During the
intervals between Fong's well-spaced and well-placed strokes, General Wang
would fondle the tearful concubine's whip-warmed breasts with merciless
fingers, releasing the tender tit-globes just before the last few grains of
sand settled in the lower chamber of the minute-glass. Then it was time for Hsi Fong to strike
again, using the short three-thonged whip he called
the "Hornet," and for the dark-eyed concubine's frenzied dance of
pain to begin anew. The general's sexual stamina was legendary. Any number of unlucky young women had seen
the sinister sandglass turn thirty, forty, even fifty times, each inversion of the crystalline container affording
Hsi Fong another opportunity to lash the
defenseless torso writhing in the moonlight.
The
denouement of these two-man odysseys into the dark world of pleasure and pain was
always much the same. The general, his
cruel talons often red-stained from contact with his victim's blood-smeared torso,
would hold the girl's hips in a iron grip while he fired
volley after volley of semen into her love canal. Even as Hsi Fong's virile cock-staff,
nurtured to a prodigious length and girth by the lewd oral caresses lavished
upon it by their unwilling victim, spat endless ropes of semen onto her
scarlet-spattered breasts….
Fong's
cudgel-hard erection pressed against his robes and his tongue snaked across his
dry lips as he visualized Erika Weiss's voluptuous body restrained for the
exciting ritual of the full moon. For she
was no slender, small-breasted Asian sylph, but rather a voluptuous Teuton whose opulent breasts, capped with such provocative pink bull's-eyes,
would provide inexpressibly alluring targets for the whip.
Hsi Fong closed
his eyes for a moment, imagining Erika's slender arms raised aloft by
wrist-ropes, her moonlit breasts lifted high on her chest, her distended
nipples straining toward the luminous globe in the heavens. He pictured the beads of fear-sweat that
would form on Erika's lush melons, and the exquisite dance of dread her shuddering,
pink-tipped nipples would dance each time he drew the Hornet back. He would vary his attack, of course, occasionally
blazing a trail of fire across a quivering thigh or her trembling belly, but he
had no doubt that an irresistible magnetism would draw the biting thongs of his
whip to Erika's superb breasts again and again and again….
Hsi Fong clung
to that sublime image for some time before opening his eyes once again. He quickly glanced down at the mouthwatering
beauty kneeling on the deck, her long, golden hair aswirl
in the breeze. But after feasting his
eyes on her sweat-sheened young body for a
half-minute or so, he cast his gaze upward at the azure sky, and calculated the
number of days until the next full moon ….
********
"None of that, Missy!" barked Jasper Slegg, irritated by the fact that Erika's skin- soothing
fingers were shielding her ripe-nippled globes from the
view of his comrades. He motioned to Deng-shan and the two men each grabbed a
wrist and tore Erika's concealing hands away from her breasts. Responding to a subtle gesture from General
Wang they held her arms outstretched for a moment, allowing the warlord to
picture his ripe-breasted lust-slave 'en crucifix'. When the olive-garbed officer indicated that
he had had his fill of that pose, Slegg nodded and
growled, "The
boys want a good look at these big beauties, don't ye, lads?"
A
chorus of lusty "Ayes!"
greeted his words.
As good as his word, Slegg,
while keeping Erika's wrist fully extended in one hand, pressed down on her
shoulder with the other. Deng quickly exerted the same pressure on her other
limb, bending Erika forward in the most servile position imaginable, bottom up,
head down, arms outstretched, her luscious breasts hanging down like
branch-bending fruit, her shamelessly distended nipples nearly touching the
deck.
It seemed to Erika that the two men held her in that
degrading pose, eliciting a cascade of obscene jibes from the crewmen, for what
seemed like an hour, but was in reality not much longer than a minute. When the catcalls died away Slegg and Deng attempted to shift their grip in order to lift
Erika to her feet, but the golden-haired gauntlet-runner's arms were so slick
with perspiration that she nearly slipped free of their grasp.
"Worked up a sweat, didn't ye, on yer little promenade?" Slegg
snarled as he grasped Erika's mane of blonde hair. "Ye're
slipperier 'n a ruddy river eel, you are!"
The two men proceeded
to re-grip her wrists, twisting them into a painful double hammerlock before
hoisting her to her feet.
As Erika rose to her full height, her body bathed in
sweat, the coolness of the sea breeze washed across her torso, stiffening her
tender nipples into pink peaks of pleasure that re-kindled the passions of
every man on deck.
"What's the matter, princess?" Slegg growled from behind her as his free hand slid lightly
over her bare flank and then upward over her rib cage before fastening on Erika's
right breast. He squeezed it gently for
a moment, kneading it with his wind-weathered fingers. Then, without warning, he gouged his fingers deep
into Erika's creamy lust-gourd and tightened his grip until the veins in his
neck grew dark and swollen. Soon Erika's
soft gasps of suffering were accompanied by tears seeping through the corner of
her improvised blindfold before making their way down a sculpted cheekbone.
"So ye're a bit
tit-sore, are ye?" Slegg sniggered mockingly,
easing his grip.
When Erika failed to answer the detestable little man,
his fingers closed again and dug into her breast until the pain compelled her
to nod in the affirmative. When she finally did so, Slegg
jeered, "Why, they just need a bit of sunlight and fresh air, that's all,
sweetie." Releasing her breast, Slegg tightened his grip on her elbow, and he and Deng forced
Erika into a slow pirouette which was greeted with raucous cheers by the men
behind her. Ever the showman, Slegg turned the statuesque blonde at such a measured pace
that each member of the crew was able to feast his eyes on Erika's proud
breasts and her
audaciously out-thrust nipples. Her
impudent breast-nuggets seemed to tilt upward to welcome the healing warmth of
the sun, even as they quivered in protest at the coolness of the breeze.
The thirty-odd sailors who had manned the cruel
gauntlet hovered around her, some so close that Erika
could almost feel their hot breath on her body. The men of the Yang-tze Dragon had abducted and enslaved many a slender, almond-eyed
beauty while in the employ of Andrew
McMahon, but never a European woman, much
less a young, ripe-breasted Rhinemaiden like Erika
Weiss. To a man, they gazed at her with lust-filled eyes, drinking in the sight
of the blonde demi-goddess as Slegg
continued to turn her slowly, as if she were a plump bird on a roasting spit.
"
'at was a good lick you gave the wench, mate," Slegg
muttered to Khasar grudgingly as he ran a finger
along the slender streak of scarlet the Mongol's rope-whip had painted across
the pebbly pink aureoles of Erika's breasts.
The
thick-set brute grunted, but did not reply. But a certain swagger in his posture made it plain
that the swarthy man of the
"Tell
you what, lads! Cut off 'er leggings, Deng, and let's see that pretty arse!"
Erika cringed
in shame. Despite the fact that Mao's
threadbare leggings were so tight and soggy with perspiration that they clung
to the curves of her body like wet tissue, she despaired at the thought that in
a moment they, too, would be stripped away, leaving her clad in nothing more
than her dignity. She could feel the
Chinese carpenter's hot breath on her bare belly as he bent down, tugged at the
waistband of her leggings and pressed his fisherman's knife against her crotch.
Erika held her breath, praying that an unexpected sea
swell would not hamper Deng's knife-work.
She trembled when she felt the sharp point of the blade against her mons but relaxed when Deng turned his wrist and tugged at the knife so that it
slid easily through the muslin bunched at the juncture of her legs. Then she felt the tip of the knife scoring
the fabric as he drew the blade down the length of her left thigh, and followed
with a similar cut down her right leg.
As the fabric fell away from her bare thighs, the
muscular handyman pressed the blade against the material that still clung to
her partly-revealed buttock-cleft. After another quick flick of his wrist, Deng
grabbed the leggings with both hands and stripped them away with a single
violent wrench.
Erika gasped softly as she felt the morning breeze
sifting through the golden tendrils of her pubic hair, its crispness cooling
her sex even as it had chilled her nipples.
Raucous catcalls in half a dozen tongues filled the air as the smugglers
of the Yang-tze Dragon reacted
excitedly to Erika's nudity.
At a gesture from Captain MacMahon,
Tiger and Orang stepped forward from the circle of
men and half-carried, half-dragged Erika about ten yards across the deck. Her stomach still queasy from the pitching of
the choppy sea, Erika grimaced as she felt her shins bang against three or four
wooden steps as they mounted a platform.
A platform that had not been there the day before. A platform that was surely
the result of Deng-shan's noisy nocturnal hammering.
The huskily-built sailors dragged Erika roughly across
the raised platform, and forced to her knees.
Her heart pounding with trepidation, the blindfolded prisoner found
herself kneeling upright on the ship's deck atop a thick bundle of fabric which
felt as if it might have been a stack of folded-up blankets. In front of her,
Erica could feel the rectangular solidity of a sturdy wooden post wedged between her shapely breasts.
She edged her abdomen closer to the post, despite its roughness against her
tender flesh, in order to shield the lips of her sex from the view of the jeering
crewmen.
Captain Andrew McMahon looked on approvingly as Erika
made her acquaintance with the Wooden Lady. Although he doubted that Deng-shan
had ever spent so much as a single day in a school room, the ship's carpenter
was a genius with rope and lumber.
'Kissing the Wooden Lady', like 'Running the Gauntlet', was a
common enough punishment in the British Navy of the Victorian period, typically
administered to men who had fallen asleep while on duty. But Erika's predicament was far different
from than that of the average sailor. Traditionally offenders were made to
stand facing a wooden mast, i.e. The Wooden Lady, with arms encircling it and wrists
lashed together. There they were
subjected to the jibes and mockery of their shipmates. Shipboard custom permitted sailors on board
to approach the wrongdoer and kick the offender in the backside as they passed
by.
But Deng had been up much of the night
manufacturing a special version of this apparatus, cunningly engineered with
the dimensions of Erika's superb body in mind.
The post against which she was pressed was to play only a small part in
his ingenious contrivance. Several nasty
surprises still awaited the beautiful young woman whose bottom was being so
lasciviously fondled by Jasper Slegg.
Erika struggled
to suppress her revulsion at Slegg's groping hands,
but then gasped in surprise when she felt Deng-shan bend her right leg at the
knee and lift her lower leg up so that her bare heel was pressed against the
outer curve of her right buttock. The
carpenter skillfully wrapped a coarse rope around her upturned ankle and bound
it tightly to her upper thigh. Within
moments, he had done the same with her other leg, and the long-legged beauty
now found herself balanced precariously on the points of her knees.
"Have ye ever seen such a fine arse, lads?" Slegg grunted as he gave Erika's tempting derriere, its
shapeliness enhanced by her doubled-under calves, another squeeze. Slegg licked his
lips as he eyed the shadowy groove between Erika's rounded buttocks. He'd
half-buggered that shapely bottom the night before,
and he'd have finished the job if the trouble-making wench hadn't started that
blasted fire.
The rope-master quickly wrapped another length of rope
around Erika's slender waist. After
completing the loop he pulled her belly so snugly against the four-inch-thick
post that she could feel the rough-hewn surface of the wood scraping against
the inner curves of her breasts. Erika
had to arch her neck slightly backward to pull her face away from the
post. She knew now what Captain McMahon
had meant by kissing the Wooden Lady.
"Let's
see if she likes the Ladyfingers, Deng!"
Jasper Slegg's voice was icy, implacable.
A
moment later Erika felt a downward pressure on her shoulders and, almost
simultaneously she felt the thick stack of blankets being yanked out from
beneath her knees. An instant later, as
her body sank downward, she groaned audibly as she felt the sensation of the
Ladyfingers – a misnomer if ever she had felt one -- pressing into her most
private places.
For the Lady's fingers were a pair of thick, slightly
curved phalluses which Deng had carved
from a block of hardwood. They protruded
upward, their knobby heads slick with a foul-smelling fish oil, like the arms of
a hat rack, from a massive horizontal beam which extended outward at right
angles from the post that the captain had dubbed 'The Lady'.
Andrew McMahon nodded approvingly at Deng-shan's cantilevered creation. The ship's carpenter's
imagination and workmanship had
rarely disappointed him. His engineer's eye
had positioned the phalluses at just the right height for Erika's kneeling
posture now that the elevating blanket had been swept away . The blindfolded
blonde was positioned so that the inescapable pressure of gravity would slowly
force the slippery knobs of wood deeper and deeper into her, stretching her
most intimate muscles.
Erika
writhed in shame and misery as the weight of her body caused her pelvis to sink
slowly downward onto the two rigid members as they continued their inexorable
infiltration into her bodily cavities. The
painful descent was hastened when the Yang-tze
Dragon, as if guided by the hand of a cruel fate, suddenly breasted a
series of rough swells, each rise and fall of the vessel on the untamed sea driving
the wooden shafts deeper into her sensitive passages. Erika's plaintive moans drew a fresh series
of catcalls from the crewmen of the Yang-tze
Dragon.
" 'ard enough for ya, are they, Missy" Slegg
snarled, his gravelly voice cutting through the cacophony of Asian
dialects. Erika's involuntary groan as
the stern-most phallus plunged still deeper into her resisting anus was all the
confirmation he needed.
Standing
alongside General Wang, Captain McMahon watched with a sly smile as Deng undid
the rope around Erika's wrists. But only for a moment.
Taking a huge coil of rope, Deng proceeded to enmesh Erika's semi-nude
body in a vertical hogtie. It took the Chinese
bondage-master the better part of a
quarter of an hour, but when he was done half a dozen strands of rope were
wrapped around Erika's chest with meticulous care, just above the tops of her
jutting breasts. Each loop of cord
abutted, but did not overlap, its neighbor, giving the cocoon of rope a
pleasing symmetry and texture. The
braided strands of rope only enhanced the creamy splendor of Erika's naked
breasts which were crushed against the sharp edges of the wooden post.
Behind her,
the extensions of those same chest ropes cinched Erika's upper arms so tightly
that she was sure that the cruel imprint of the cords would last for days. In turn the taut web of arm-ropes provided
another anchoring point for the ropes Deng had used to bind her uplifted calves
to her thighs. The carpenter proceeded to wind yet another rope around her wrists,
trapping them painfully behind her back.
Finally, with the painstaking precision of a spider, the carpenter
connected the three bindings with an intricately interwoven linking rope, gradually
drawing Erika's chest and wrist and calf-ropes tighter until there wasn't a
centimeter of slack among them.
And
so it was that Erika knelt before the leering sailors, a beautiful priestess
sacrificed on the altar of the cruel brother gods, Bondage and Discipline. The
seconds stretched into minutes with agonizing slowness as she endured the
obscene jibes of the crewmen who ogled her rope-enmeshed body with undisguised
delight. The points of her knees bore
every ounce of her weight, and the slightest attempt to shift her center of
gravity forced the two
wooden knobs ever deeper into her anus and vagina. Every muscle of
her tightly bound body seemed pitted against another.
"Aye,
a fine job that, matey," Slegg
growled appreciatively to Deng.
"Look at that lovely arse, lads! And those sweet tits!"
There
was little need for Slegg to call the finer points of
Erika's bondage to the attention of the crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon. The tension
on her doubled-back calves enhanced the pleasing curvature of her deep-cleft
derriere and the vertical hogtie bowed her spine slightly forcing her
magnificent breasts to jut forth even more boldly than usual. Jasper Slegg used
his dingy sleeve to wipe a few pearls of lust-induced saliva from the corners
of his mouth and once again turned his attention to Erika's quivering,
red-streaked mounds.
After pressing his fingers against his temple in an
attempt to ease the stabbing pains which had once again begun to shoot through
the nasty gash over his right eye, Jasper Slegg
approached the kneeling beauty. He crouched down
facing her so that her proud-thrusting breasts, their natural cleavage slightly
widened by the wooden post which separated them, were within easy reach. His throbbing
wound inciting him to vengeance, a malicious leer crossed Slegg's
face as he reached forward and gently touched Erika's well-spaced
pleasure-melons with his fingertips, marveling that firmness and softness could
be so enticingly conjoined.
Sliding his callused hands under Erika's creamy
mounds, Slegg cupped them lightly and pressed his
rigid thumbs against the outer ring of her textured aureoles. Grunting with virile pleasure, the first mate
began to run his thumbnails around Erika's pebbly, pinkish-brown haloes in slow,
menacing spirals. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he gradually narrowed the
circles until the ragged edges of his thumbnails pressed against the very tips
of her breasts.
Despite the soreness resulting from the stringent grip
of the nipple-cords of the night before and the onslaught of stinging blows they
had received when Erika had run the gauntlet, her sensitive nipples, which had softened
while Deng had been enmeshing her in his cocoon of cordage, blossomed
anew under Slegg's rough touch. Pleased with his ability to elicit a response
from his blindfolded victim, Jasper Slegg gripped the
stiffening buds between his fingers and tugged them gently, pulling Erika's
body closer against the rough post.
Crouching down to her level, his face only inches from
hers, Jasper Slegg worked her nipples between his
fingers. "I've been neglecting
these beauties, 'aven't I, luv?" he whispered menacingly as his fingertips
tightened on Erika's swollen breast-buds.
Erika winced and gritted her teeth as Slegg increased the pressure. He rolled her tender nubbins between his
fingers for another moment, stimulating the nerve-rich buds into full
arousal. Then, after giving Froggy a malicious wink with his good eye, Jasper Slegg gouged his nails into the sensitive flesh at the base
of Erika's nipples.
The golden-haired beauty cried out in pain and whipped
her blonde tresses from side to side feverishly as she tried to escape from Slegg's punishing grasp.
But her smirking tormentor merely tightened his claw-grip on Erika'
swollen breast-tips, and tugged at them so that the soft inner curves of
Erika's beautiful love-melons scraped against the abrasive post which separated
them.
As his blood-shot eyes drank in the sight of Erika's
nude breasts crushed against the post, Andrew McMahon growled, "Well done, Slegg. But nou let's ha'e the bonnie lassie kiss the Lady. Step lively, Deng!"
"Aye, sir!"
A
moment later Erika heard an odd grinding sound and then she felt and tasted
splintered wood pressing against her lips and smelled something that reeked of
carbon and coal dust. "No … " she gasped
as the turned her head away from the intruding object.
"Open
yer gob, Missy!" snarled Jasper Slegg. "So ye
can taste the Lady's tongue! Open it,
wench!"
"No!"
Erika cried out again as she felt Slegg's hands on
her neck as he tried to force her resisting head into place around the
intruding shaft. But her scream was her
undoing, because it gave her heartless nemesis an opportunity to cram the cylindrical
knob into her open mouth.
Erika
gagged and tried to spit the foul-tasting object from her mouth. She pulled her head back and twisted it to one
side, away from the ghastly device which unaccountably seemed to be turning in
her mouth. But as she did so, the
blindfolded beauty heard Slegg snarl, "Get the slut-collar,
Deng!" That'll 'old 'er pretty 'ead in place, or
I'm the Duke of Bleeding Wellington!"
A
few seconds later, still fighting against the pressure of the foreign object in
her mouth, Erika felt a leather band encircling her neck and sensed that her
captors were about to lash her neck to the post so that she could not avoid the
Lady's ashy, bitter-tasting third finger. And then, in a sudden flash of
insight, Erika realized what it was that was choking her. It was the shovel
handle! The handle of the shovel she had
swung at Jasper Slegg, now broken off near its blade end, its
once-smooth length shattered into a splintered stump. The length of the handle, as she had noticed
yesterday, was encrusted with a residue of coal-dust which countless sweaty
hands had compacted into a Stygian cement. And now Slegg was
using the filthy implement to extract a grim revenge.
She felt the splintered shaft bore deeper into her
mouth, but then the pressure eased when General Wang's domineering voice cut
through the morning air like a knife.
The general, his military bearing as ramrod stiff as
his swollen erection, had been watching Erika's struggles with mounting
interest. In his estimation most of the
sailors on board the Yang-tze Dragon
were little more than savages. But the
vessel's captain was clearly a man of some imagination, the ship's carpenter,
the one called Deng-shan, was a man of many talents, and even the brutish first
mate had the instincts of a showman. But
needless to say the general's attentions were focused primarily on the
glistening flesh of the young beauty whose long, supple thigh muscles strained
so alluringly each time she tried to free herself from the embrace of the penetrating
cock-shafts.
But
as he watched Deng tighten the collar on Erika's neck, a thought occurred to
him, and he stepped down from his perch on the bridge and strode toward the
platform. Upon arriving alongside Erika
he had snapped the words that had put her on edge. "You have tied her
well, Deng-shan, but here you lack imagination.
Have you no fine cord?"
"Dinna gawk at the general, mon,"
McMahon's voice boomed out, "Fetch a coil of the marline!"
A
few moments later Erika, her mouth and upper throat still filled with the
blackened shovel-shaft, heard the general observe in an almost reverential
voice, "So you call this thin cord, "marline", eh? It is quite soft, and yet it seems very
strong. Yes, it will do very well for the Knots of Nakamura.
Erika shuddered
at the hint of pleasurable anticipation in the general's voice, knowing that it
could only spell further misery for her. The 'Knots of Nakamura,' he had
said. She felt that she had heard that
name somewhere before, but in her present condition, all the events of the past
seemed enshrouded in a murky fog.
Meanwhile the general continued whispering
instructions in an undertone to Deng-shan.
"Do you see now what I had in mind?
You have only to twist the cord like … so, and then form the loop. When it is snug, you simply pull the strands tight and
anchor them … here … and here …. And
then … when you turn the device in either direction … Do you see? It is simplicity itself, is it not?"
Erika's
mind raced as she tried to unravel the meaning of the general's cryptic
remarks. She shifted around on her aching knees, trying in vain to pull away
from the shaft which had enslaved her unwilling mouth. Failing in that attempt, she tried once again
to lift her hips clear of the tireless phalluses on which she was impaled, but
the more she struggled, it seemed, the deeper they probed into her most private
places.
Despite her misery, Erika tried to clear her
head. What exactly had the general meant, she
wondered, when he had spoken of pulling the strands tight, of anchoring them,
and turning them in either direction?
But her thoughts were soon interrupted when she felt Deng's hand sliding
under her left breast.
General
Wang looked on approvingly as Deng-shan fitted the noose he had fashioned from
the marline snugly around Erika's breast.
The beleaguered blonde's golden hair tossed from side to side in protest
as Deng proceeded to wrap the loose end of the cord around her swollen
girl-globe twice more before cutting the rope, leaving a length of cord
dangling from her breast. Then the
clever Chinese sailor slid around to Erika's right side and repeated the process, encircling
her other breast as he had the first.
When both of Erika's succulent globes were encircled with the pale cord,
Deng-shan took the ends of the snug-fitting breast-ropes and wound them tightly
around the shovel-handle which turned the mouth-filling tongue of the Wooden
Lady. As he did so, Erika's torso was
pulled forward, crushing her belly and chest against the rough-hewn post.
But
the post was now the least of her problems.
For the third phallus, the truncated shovel-handle from the stoking room, had been given the power of locomotion. The coal-black shovel-handle fit snugly into
the threaded grooves of a circular opening in the wooden upright. Through that opening, which had been cut
jaw-high to the kneeling prisoner, the mouth-raping cylindrical shaft
could be screwed either forward or in reverse, by turning the iron handle-grip at
the intact end of the shovel.
By
turning the crank clockwise, Slegg could force the
'Lady's Tongue' deep into Erika's aching mouth.
By cranking it in the other direction ….
An
anguished groan from the tightly bound prisoner punctuated McMahon's
musings. For as soon as Deng-shan had
finished knotting the ends of Erika's breast-ropes securely around the handle
grip, Slegg had positioned himself in front of it and
begun to turn the handle. As Slegg cranked the handle in a counterclock-wise
direction, the choking shaft slowly retreated from Erika's pretty mouth. But as soon as the trussed-up blonde began to
feel grateful for that slight reprieve, her relief was more than offset by an
ominous tightening of the cords around the bases of her breasts. Slegg, mimicking a
helmsman, continued
to turn the improvised crank, and the tight-gripping breast-ropes slowly began
to tug Erika's bulging mounds forward, away from her body. Her misery was heightened by the fact that the
wooden upright prevented her torso from being pulled forward. Thus, in accordance with the merciless laws
of physics, each ounce of torque that Jasper Slegg applied
to the shovel-handle was converted into pressure on her throbbing breasts.
The
result was a spectacle that would have titillated even the most jaded
connoisseur of cruelty. The Knots of
Nakamura had enslaved Erika Weiss's proud-nippled
breasts in a dreadful double bondage. The snug-fitting loops encircling the
bases of her breasts squeezed her ripe mounds into tantalizing hemispheres of
bulging tit-flesh even as the cords leading to the handle-grip tugged her swollen
orbs farther and farther away from her body each time Slegg
turned the shovel handle.
"Harder, Slegg! Give those big tits another crank!"
Slegg answered Froggy's lecherous
exhortation with a feral smile, but he was in no particular hurry. He gave the shovel-handle another
quarter-turn, causing Deng's ingeniously-constructed screw to creak ominously
as it turned in its threaded passageway.
The grinding sound of the screw was almost drowned out by the muffled
groans emanating from Erika Weiss as Jasper Slegg
ratcheted up the pressure on her superb breasts.
Blindfolded
as she was Erika could not know the precise nature of her torture. All she knew was that the withdrawal of the
wooden cock from her mouth was somehow linked to the horrible grinding noise
and the fiendish ropes that tugged on her breasts. Time and again she tried to inch forward on
her aching knees in order to ease her suffering, but each time the upright of the Wooden
Lady thwarted her efforts.
"Bitte …" she moaned softly. "Please …"
Slegg glanced up at the red-bearded skipper. Seeing McMahon
make a circular gesture with his hand, Slegg nodded and began cranking
the handle in the other direction.
At
first Erika was relieved to feel some relaxation of the excruciating pressure
on her breasts. But it was only a matter
of a few more cranks before the loathsome shovel-handle was once again pressing
against her lips.
"Ram
it down her throat, Sleggie!" Froggy's
deep-voiced croak was unmistakable.
Moments
later it seemed Froggy's desire was about to come to
pass as Slegg once again began screwing the thick,
splintered knob deep, deep into her mouth.
"Wrap
your tongue around it, sweetie," Slegg
growled
"Suck it,
wench!" Deng-shan snarled as he pressed her golden hair from behind,
forcing her mouth down on the jagged piston.
Erika
gagged anew as Slegg screwed the thick wooden knob
deeper into her mouth, "Ngh!! Nghh!!" she screamed, her frantic cry muffled by the
foul-smelling shaft. Erika continued to
fight desperately for every breath, but the throttling wooden shaft in her
mouth was every bit as unwelcome as the shafts in her vagina and rectum.
Slegg continued to violate her Erika's mouth for another
half-minute or so and then paused, sweating profusely, to ask his
half-strangled prisoner, " 'ad enough, wench? Want me to take it out?" he
snarled.
Choking
miserably, her inability to draw so much as a single unhindered breath forcing
her to choose another bout of breast-torment as preferable to slow
strangulation, Erika bobbed her blonde
head up and down, affirming her desire.
"Right
you are then, dearie," Slegg
chuckled, and once again began to turn the crank in the other direction.
Erika
gasped in relief and rejoiced inwardly as she felt the dreadful phallus being
withdrawn from her aching mouth. She
spluttered profusely and her chest heaved convulsively as she fought for the
air which the choking shovel handle had denied
her. She gulped down great draughts of
oxygen in time with the retrograde creaking of Slegg's
crank.
But her freedom from suffering was to be
short-lived. After being permitted a
brief interval in which to catch her breath, she soon began to hear the
tell-tale rubbing of wood against wood that signaled that a new cycle of
suffering was about to begin. Within seconds she felt fresh waves of agony coursing
through her breasts as the ropes began to tug on her swollen lust-globes once
again, elongating them into jutting, pink-tipped fruits, the agonizing pressure
mounting each time Slegg turned his wrist.
It was just as well that Erika was blindfolded and
thus could not see the gloating grin of vindictiveness on Slegg's
face as he twisted the shovel handle. It
was bad enough that she could hear his gravelly whisper.
"I was a bit begrudgin'
o' the lads when they was 'avin' their fun with these
beauties last night. But it's Sleggie's turn to work on those big tits now, dearie," he rasped as he gave the handle another
wrench.
"Aaahh! Aaaggghh!! No more!!" Erika pleaded. It felt as if
the inexorable tightening of the breast-cords might tear her breasts from her
body at any moment.
His
eyes gleaming with lust-vengeance, Slegg continued to
turn the handle in slow gradations, once again stretching Erika's throbbing
breast-melons into shameless torpedoes of tit-flesh. "Good choice of rope, yer honor," he muttered grudgingly, inclining his head
toward the watching general.
"Stretches tight as a fiddle string, don't it?"
Slegg wiped his brow and looked skyward. The sun was well into its daily journey across
the heavens, but it seemed to have paused, fascinated by the nude beauty on the
deck of the Yang-tze Dragon. Some pagan sun god, no less
lusty than mere mortals seemed to be staring down at the kneeling nymph,
enfolding her splendid body in his light and warmth.
Erika's perspiration-slick body gleamed in the
sunlight, her every straining muscle thrust into bold relief. Slegg glanced
around the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon and was hardly surprised do see that his
comrades were as mesmerized by Erika's cruel bondage as he was.
General Wang, especially, stared hungrily at the
blonde goddess whose
every agonized movement caused her body to sink deeper onto the twin phalluses
of the Lady. Despite the coolness of the
morning breeze, which chilled her nipples so alluringly, Erika's body was
bathed in a glistening patina of perspiration. The ropes of Deng's hogtie
seemed etched into her bare arms and the
kissable flesh of her thighs pressed so tightly against the wooden post that
her mons was scarcely visible save for a few wispy
tendrils of golden hair. That same post
was wedged between her delicious breasts, rosy now from the constant pressure
of the marline cords which encircled them and tugged them away from her body.
Erika could only stand the dreadful pressure on her
breasts for a few minutes at a time, and soon she had no choice but to beg Slegg to relent.
"Bitte … please …I beg
you … no more …."
"You should have asked, "Please" before
you ripped my head open with that shovel," Slegg
snarled. He gave the shovel-handle
another cruel twist, increasing the tension on Erika's breast-ropes.
"Aaaughh!!"
"Or before you threw little Mao against the
furnace," Slegg growled as he gave the handle
another twist.
"Gott… please … I can't
stand it!"
"Or before you tried to set the
bloody ship on fire!"
Erika heard the awful grinding of the wooden screw in
its thread a fraction of a second before she felt a third wave of agony
coursing through her swollen treasures.
"AAAGHH!! Mein Gott!! Please!!!!"
Jasper Slegg put the
beautiful young blonde through two more cycles of this dreadful double torture,
first choking her to the brink of asphyxiation, and then, when his quivering
captive was reduced to begging for air, obliging her frantic pleas for relief
by stretching her luscious breast-globes until tears of suffering streamed out
from beneath her blindfold.
Erika's pain-wracked breasts were under siege for the
fourth time when Captain McMahon's gruff call of "Time!" signaled
that her hour at the Wooden Lady had finally elapsed. Deng-shan quickly set about freeing her from
the dreadful hogtie, but when he and Slegg lifted her
off the impaling rods, her legs, which had been bound for the better part of an
hour, could not support her weight and she slumped weakly to the deck.
Captain McMahon stared down at the nude body of the
prostrate blonde, whose upper arms and sleek thighs bore the cruel imprint of
Deng's bondage ropes, for a long moment.
Above her stood Jasper Slegg,
leering down at her nakedness. "On yer
feet, wench!" he growled. When the
exhausted blonde did not immediately respond, Slegg
used his foot to roll her over on to her back. When Erika continued to lay
almost motionless on the deck, Slegg wedged his foot
in between her splayed legs and pressed the flat of his shoe against her
golden-tufted mons.
"On yer feet, Missy," he snarled again as he shifted his
weight slightly until Erika began to feel the pressure of his weight on her
mound of Venus.
Erika emitted a low groan and once again struggled to
her knees, her vision still obscured by the makeshift blindfold.
Andrew McMahon was not a man given to veering from a
course he had set for himself, but as he stared at the image of blonde
loveliness at his feet, her magnificent breasts wreathed with rope-marks and
rising and falling majestically in time with her every ragged breath, he
reconsidered the timing of his cruel sentence.
On the one
hand, neither his own experience nor naval protocol
allowed for the suspension of a punishment once began. But on the other hand the cock-throbbingly beautiful miscreant kneeling on the scaffold
was clearly near the end of her rope.
Her exhaustion was so plain that he suspected that Slegg
had disobeyed his orders of the previous evening, and had sorely tested her
endurance in the hours following last night's squall.
But who could blame the little English bastard,
McMahon ruminated as his eyes feasted on the sleek lines of the blonde's
body. The long, shapely, sun-kissed
legs, the trim waist, the flat stomach, the golden fleece
which beckoned every man on board to picture himself atop her, pounding his
manhood into her feminine sweetness. And
most of all, those superb breasts which, even in her state of near exhaustion,
rode so proudly on Erika's heaving chest, their pebbly areolae
encircling a tasty pair of pinkish-brown nipple-tips which would have seduced a
saint. Old John Knox himself, the stern
and joyless father of the
Having made up his mind, Captain Andrew McMahon tugged
at his beard and then bellowed. "Tak' the lassie
below, Tranh, and clean 'er oop. Gi'e her a bite to eat and some brandy and let her rest for a wee
bit. But bring her back topside at the
end of the forenoon watch."
Hearing muffled murmurs of displeasure, McMahon
addressed his men. "Ye bloody fools! She'll feel
the Cat all the more when she's 'ad a bit of rest. Tak' her below, Tranhie!"
As Tranh
approached her, jabbering cheerfully in his high-pitched voice, Erika's spirits
sank to a new low. Her mouth ached, her
breasts were on fire, and the punishing nether-cocks of the Wooden Lady had
left her feeling as if she had been raped fore and aft by a savage
Minotaur. And now the captain's words
had reminded her of that which she had all but forgotten during the harrowing
ordeals of the Gauntlet and the Wooden Lady -- the evil, nine-tailed whip she had been
forced to fashion in the small hours of the morning.
But in just a few short hours she would finally feel
its sting….
Chapter 150 Lewd Caresses and Whispered Words
Erika Weiss's horrific ordeal on the
Wooden Lady completed, Tranh, the ship's cook, slipped
a pair of manacles on her pretty ankles and led the otherwise nude and
exhausted sex slave of the Yangtze Dragon
back to the infirmary. Upon arriving there Tranh lit
an oil lamp and placed it near the cot and then quickly bathed and fed his
beautiful beleaguered prisoner.
When Erika had finished
slurping the last noodle from a steaming bowl of pho,
she collapsed on the cot onto her side, cradling her rope-ravaged breasts in
her arms before drifting into unconsciousness. But her moment of peaceful
solace lasted only a moment or two before Thanh revived her by
tugging one of her arms away from her pleasure-globes and passing the foul-smelling bottle of liniment
under her nose.
"Not sleep yet, Missy!" he
had chided her. The wiry little man
directed her to lie face down on the cot as he prepared to give her another
rubdown with the stinging but healing liniment. "Captain want me
to fix you up ship-shape for the general, Missy!" Tranh
cackled as he rubbed the stinging lotion into her shoulders, occasionally
letting his fingertips graze the soft smooth skin on the sides of her
breasts. "Captain like you, Missy. He like you plenty –
I can tell. He think you very pretty girl. And strong too!"
Erika Weiss found more cause for
concern than comfort in these words but she did not resist as the Vietnamese made short
work of massaging his Mekong Lightning into first her shoulders and arms and
then her back and legs.
Tranh slowed his pace noticeably as he worked the liniment into
the curved mounds of her buttocks.
Smiling with lecherous delight, he massaged Erika's resilient
bottom-cheeks with the energy and passion of a man digging for buried
treasure. He cackled softly under his
breath as he dug his liniment-moist fingers into Erika's demi-ovals
and squeezed and slapped and massaged them until they were slick and
glistening. Then, shifting his weight
slightly, he edged her fettered ankles apart and insinuated a bony hand between
her legs and daubed the liquid fire into the sensitive portals which the sturdy
cocks of the Wooden Lady had so cruelly abused.
Erika flushed at the rudeness of his touch, but lay still knowing that Tranh's fiery
When Tranh
had finished attending to her pelvic area, he paused and chirped, "Missy's
titties plenty sore from ropes, I bet!" in his
peculiar high-pitched voice.
Erika's silence was an admission of
the truth of his words. The dreadful
pressure of the Wooden Lady's breast-ropes had left dark rings around each of
her aching love-mounds and her nipples were still sore from Jasper Slegg's punishing grip.
"No worry, Missy! Tranh fix 'em up, you see!"
After glancing at the door warily as
if fearful of an untimely interruption, the scrawny cook scooted Erika's nude
body forward on the cot until her head and shoulders and upper torso extended
well past one end of the crude bed.
Puzzled by the cook's behavior, Erika balanced herself by placing her
outstretched hands flat on the dingy floor of the infirmary.
Meanwhile Tranh had eased himself off the
cot and moved the oil lamp so that it cast its pale halo of light on Erika's
upper body. Then he settled into a
cross-legged position on the floor between her widespread arms. Facing the door so that he could not be taken
by surprise, the grinning cook inched forward until Erika's silky blonde hair
was pressed against his scrawny chest.
It was only then that Erika saw how hungrily the little Vietnamese eyed
her plump breasts which hung downward like over-ripe fruit.
As the little man rubbed his palms together gleefully, Erika
realized that the lecherous cook had positioned her as he had not so much to
treat her injuries, but for his own pleasure.
Licking his lips with anticipation, Tranh poured an ounce or so of the liniment into one cupped
hand, re-corked the bottle with the other and then rubbed his hands together
until they were evenly coated with the liquid fire. His crooked teeth bared in
a wolfish grin, the little man's moist hands reached for Erika's pendant
tit-globes. Stifling Erika's murmured
protests with a snarl, he proceeded to knead her firm young breasts with an
avidity that belied his years, rubbing the liniment deep into her pore of her
gleaming breast-flesh.
Erika gasped when she felt the fiery unguent on her sensitive
mounds, but by now she realized that the awful burning sensation would prove
only temporary. But what was not
momentary was Tranh's assiduousness in working the
tonic into her love-gourds. When the first handful of liquid was all but
absorbed Tranh splashed a second, and later a third
helping of the tonic on his yellowed fingers before attacking Erika's swollen
pleasure-gourds with fresh élan.
As Tranh
continued his carnal caresses, his manhood hardened until it dented his dark
leggings like a tent pole. The ship's
cook could not believe his good fortune.
For all their dark-eyed beauty, the women of his homeland were typically
small-breasted. In his years on the Yang-tze Dragon he and his salacious shipmates had stripped
hundreds of brothel-bound beauties for their manly pleasure. But of all those delectable creatures, only
two or three had been endowed with breasts which could begin to rival the warm,
ripe mounds he held in his cupped hands at that moment. And those had been women eight or ten years
older than this blonde demi-goddess. Those women had still been eminently
desirable, of course, but their pectoral muscles had lost a bit of the
delicious tone of youth, and their skin had been neither so soft nor so fresh as the flesh he now fondled with such unbridled
delight.
As he continued to cast occasional fearful glances toward the
infirmary door, Tranh kneaded and squeezed Erika's
pendulous pink-tipped melons as if he were a man possessed. Becoming more excited by the moment, his
breathing speeded up and a film of perspiration dampened his face and
forehead. The little man mashed Erika's
liniment-slick mounds together and then, pressing her nipples firmly with his
thumbs, pushed them upward against her chest until Erika winced in discomfort.
Tranh paused to wipe the lust-sweat from his brow and then cupped
Erika's pert-nippled beauties again. This time he tugged on them with a downward
motion and then pulled them apart, using his thumbs to flick Erika's tempting
breast-tips until he felt her nipples straining, proud and firm, against the
heels of his hands
"Nice tits, Missy. Nice
tits, for sure," he chortled in his reedy sing-song voice.
As she watched Tranh's
almond-shaped eyes constantly flitting from her breasts to the doorway, Erika
was grateful that the little man was apparently fearful of discovery. For only that fear, no doubt, prevented the little man from
undoing his trousers and forcing her to fondle the aroused maleness that
pressed so ardently and obviously against the fabric of his leggings. A momentary wave of nausea passed through her
body as she pictured herself being force to bring the lecherous Vietnamese to
climax with her hands, or worse yet her lips and tongue, while the little
yellow man manhandled her breasts with such diabolical glee.
As if he had read her mind, the
moist-browed little man muttered a strangled, "Eyah!'
and his left hand abandoned Erika's right breast, and flew to his crotch. Tranh threw another
furtive glance at the doorway, and then opened his fly, liberating his
dark-veined phallus, which bobbed in the air only inches from Erika's face,
quivering in the final throes of arousal.
"Unghhh! Ungghh! Unghhh!"
The Vietnamese grunted as he fisted his swollen erection with urgent
fingers. Handicapped by her awkward
position, Erika tried to pull away, but the little man's right hand tightened
its grip on her left breast.
"Suck,
Missy, suck!" he hissed urgently, as he gripped his
throbbing cock and pressed its glistening tip to Erika's lips. "Now! Chop-chop!
Before somebody come." When
Erika hesitated, Tranh dug his talons into her left
breast with such punishing force that Erika was on the verge of surrendering to
the little man's perverse cravings.
But just then a sharp rap on the door put off, for the moment, at
least, Erika's further degradation. "Tranhie! It's me!"
Erika breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the ancient door
behind her creak open. Meanwhile Tranh unburdened himself of a litany of muttered
imprecations as he hastily stuffed his moist-tipped penis back inside his
trousers and struggled to his feet.
Freed of his grasp, Erika slid her body back onto the bed and
turned toward the doorway in a sitting position, with her back against the
wall. She gripped her shins a few inches
above her ankle-shackles and drew her knees up against her chest defensively.
"Tranhie - did you hear? Did you hear what Slegg's
up to?"
Erika recognized the newcomer.
It was Lucky, the man who had talked Slegg
into giving each of the crewman a minute or two to fondle or abuse her breasts
during the Night of the Seven Torments.
'My God,' Erika thought, as it struck her that despite all that had
befallen her since, she had endured the dreadful Seven
Torments not much more than twelve hours ago.
"How could I hear?" Tranh
snapped angrily. "I tending to Missy. Taking good care of
her."
"Tending to 'er, eh?" Lucky smiled roguishly as he ran
his eyes over Erika's bare legs as she chastely tucked her knees up under her
chin. "Can't say I blame ya, Tranhie. I
wouldn't mind giving her a little "tending to" myself!" he chuckled. "She was a pretty sight on the 'Lady'
wasn't she? The Emperor himself never
had it so good! Slegg's
a prick, but he can sure put on a show, can't he? I swear on my father's honor
that if Slegg had given that shovel handle one
more crank he'd have torn her tits off!"
Erika's naked body shivered uncontrollably, for the Chinese sailor's
vulgar discourse had captured her own sentiments. That was precisely how she had felt when the
breast-ropes of the Wooden Lady had tightened that last, dreadful time.
"Never mind that," said Tranh irritably. "Why you here?
What was that you said about Slegg?"
"Well, Slegg
was up on deck …." Lucky paused and
glanced at Erika doubtfully, and then beckoned to Tranh
to join him in the doorway.
Erika strained to hear the whispered
mutterings of the two men as they whispered excitedly in Chinese, but
could only make out the words "General Wang" and "whip" and
"Slegg."
As Lucky mouthed the mate's name, Tranh
slammed the door panel with his fist and
snarled "the greedy bastard."
But finally the two men turned toward
her and stared at her
thoughtfully. "What
do think, Tranhie?
Think she's up to it?"
Tranh gave
Erika the kind of long, soul-searching stare that one sees in a gambling den
when a player tries to judge whether his opponent is bluffing. The kind of stare that tries to pry into the depths of one's soul. Not knowing the purpose of his inquisitorial
stare, Erika met his gaze defiantly.
After Tranh
had stared into Erika's azure blue eyes for some time, he crossed his arms over
his chest and closed his own eyes. He
stood stock still, swaying almost imperceptibly for another minute or so as
Erika and Lucky looked on in puzzlement.
Finally Lucky, tapped him on the shoulder, reviving Tranh from his meditative state. The ship's cook's eyes fluttered open and he
stared fixedly at Erika again for some moments.
Finally he exhaled deeply and whispered in a voice that seemed to have
been sipped from the well of wisdom during his period of almost mystical
concentration, "Yes, I think she's up to it." He thought for another moment and added. "She has every reason to hate him."
"Should I take him up on it,
then? The amount is considerable."
Tranh stared
into space thoughtfully again before making his decision. "My friend, I
was born in the year of the Rooster.
Last night, when we raced up on deck and cut short this lovely
creature's attempt to escape,
I noticed that the stars were favorably aligned for one of my birth. Very good joss. All will be well."
"Are you sure? If we are wrong…"
"There is no certainty in this life, my friend. And no certainty of a next life either.
Sometimes one must take a chance."
Lucky nodded. "Very well. I shall take him up on it, then." Lucky turned to leave and then turned back
and ran his eyes hungrily over Erika's curled up nudity and winked at Tranh. "How about a quick look, mate? No harm in that is there?"
Tranh, still
preoccupied with his own thoughts, said nothing.
"How about it, Tranhie," Lucky whispered cajolingly. "What are
pals for? Have her spread those pretty
legs for me."
Erika flushed and tried to inch away
from Lucky's prurient gaze, but there was no place to
go, no place to hide.
"C'mon, Tranhie,"
Lucky implored him again, as the Chinese sailor moved closer to the cot. "Are we pals or ain't
we?"
The Vietnamese ship's
cook ogled Erika's nude body for a moment, his momentary brush with philosophy
behind him. "Sure we are," he
giggled, his voice once again pitched high and thin. "Spread 'em,
Missy," he smirked.
Erika shook her head, 'No,' but Tranh hissed, "Do it Missy. Or we'll do it for
you."
As the two men stepped closer, Erika
surrendered to the inevitable and shifted her pulled-up feet an inch or two
apart, opening her legs slightly.
"Wider, Tranhie,"
Lucky whispered as he inched closer. He
was standing at the edge of the cot now directly in front of Erika. He crouched down to improve his view of
Erika's exquisite genitalia.
"Lucky's
done you a good turn today, Missy. Time you showed appreciation. Spread legs for
him," the cook whispered. "Nice and slow."
Still mystified by the two men's
enigmatic conversation, Erika had no clear idea what good turn Lucky might have
done for her, but she did know that only these two, of all the men on the Yang-tze Dragon, had showed her even an
ounce of sympathy. A poor alliance was
better than none at all. Doing her best
to smile at the almost drooling Chinese, she parted her legs a little more.
"What do you think, my friend!" Tranh enthused as he
slapped his crouching comrade on the back.
"Sweet dim sum, you bet!"
Lucky, meanwhile, was transfixed by
the sight of Erika's liniment- moist pussy and reached out and put his hands on
Erika's narrowly-parted kneecaps and spread them further, giving himself an
unobstructed view of Erika's glistening lotus.
"Ai, what a
beauty!" Lucky whispered reverently as his roving eyes scrutinized
the tempting, golden-fringed folds of flesh between Erika's parted thighs. He
wiped traces of lust-induced spittle from his mouth with a filthy sleeve. "Look at it, Tranhie! I bet it tastes as sweet as it …"
Lucky's
simile was interrupted by another knock on the door, this one much louder. "Hurry up, Tranhie!"
growled a voice that Erika couldn't place.
It's lunch time and the men want their
rice."
Lucky glanced at his friend and saw
that Tranh had already begun to move toward the
door. The Chinese cursed under his
breath regretfully, straightened and backed away from the cot.
"Maybe later," Tranh consoled his partner before turning back to wink at
Erika, who had cradled her legs together again.
"You get rest now," he said as he and Lucky made their way to
the door.
"She's going to need it,"
Lucky muttered. "Should I tell
her?"
Tranh paused
in the doorway and thought for a moment. "No, not now. Let her sleep. Like you say, she gonna
need it." Then he stepped back into
the room and seized the oil lamp that had bathed Erika's pink-tipped breasts in
its pale light. Crossing again to the
door he pulled it shut behind him, leaving Erika trembling
the darkness, trying to sift some meaning from her captors' enigmatic words.
Chapter
151 Stripped
and Spread-eagled
After Tranh had left her alone in
the inky blackness of the lightless infirmary, Erika lay on the narrow cot
trying to piece together the whispered fragments of the conversation she had
overheard. But Tranh
and Lucky had given few clues and her suspicions and theories had no more
substance than a
cobweb. Soon the overwhelming physical
fatigue brought on by her morning ordeal lulled her into the healing embrace of
Morpheus.
Despite
her numerous aches and pains Erika slept for several hours, but the blessedness
of repose was disturbed by frightful memories and horrible premonitions. In her first dream she relived, at the
lightning speed of dream-thought, her entire shipboard odyssey. Her betrayal and sabre-lashing
by the baron, her cruel enslavement in the stoking room, her sexual
exploitation in the Bird Cage, her desperate attempt at escape, her recapture,
and her confinement in the infirmary, during which Froggy,
the limping, croaking Chinese sailor had debased her body and crushed her
spirit. In her troubled sleep Erika ran her hands across her naked breasts
again and again, trying in vain to wipe away the remembered detritus of Froggy's depravity.
Her
second dream was in some ways even more haunting. In her second dream Erika relived the
psychological torture of being forced to fashion the Thief's Cat, the whip
which would soon be used to flog her. In her imagination she was forced to tie
and tighten each skin-searing knot of the cat o' nine tails again and again
under the watchful eye of Jasper Slegg, until the
evil first mate was satisfied that every knotted bead was as tough and hard as
her rope-worn fingers could manage.
But
even Erika's memories, ghastly as they were, were less frightful than her premonitions. The last hour of her restless sleep was
filled by images of pain and punishment yet to come, of nightmarish visions of
bloodthirsty sailors pursuing her, catching her, and subjecting her to
indescribable bouts of depravity and abuse.
When
Tranh, carrying a brightly burning oil lamp,
re-entered her dingy cell at the appointed hour, Erika's nude body was still
thrashing frenziedly from side to side on the cot as she fought off hordes of
ghostly mariners whose only appetites were for rape and torture.
The scrawny
Vietnamese fondled his swollen erection as he watched Erika's erotic writhings for a moment or two. Licking his dry lips at the sight of Erika's
wriggling body, Tranh was sorely tempted to throw
himself upon her, to spread her soft, creamy thighs and finish the sexual
assault that Lucky's untimely appearance had
interrupted hours earlier.
He inched
closer, holding the lamp so that it would shine brightest on the wispy golden
strands of her pubic hair and her impossibly inviting pinkness of her niche
d'amour. But a sudden clatter of
footsteps overhead reminded him that time was short.
Cursing
under his breath, the diminutive cook reached down and let his garlic-seasoned
fingertips brush lightly across Erika's right breast before seizing her
shoulder and shaking it roughly.
"Wake
up, Missy!"
Erika
started up from the bed in wild-eyed terror, certain that her dreadful
nightmare and reality had become one.
But upon seeing that Tranh was alone and not
armed with tools of torture as her nightmarish pursuers had been, she shook her
golden mane sleepily and fell back on the bed, hoping for a few more minutes of
rest.
The
Vietnamese jailer was insistent. "Now, Missy!
Everybody on deck waiting! Hurry up – or
I go get Slegg!"
Knowing
that the summoning of Jasper Slegg would only lead to
added suffering, Erika clambered unsteadily to her feet. To her surprise she
found that, notwithstanding the mental horrors that had attended her hours of
rest, she was much restored physically.
As she rose Tranh
gave her shapely body a final visual once-over. He had bathed her earlier, and
washed her hair and massaged her, and the healing powers of his Mekong
lighting, coupled with a few hours' rest had restored the freshness of youth to
her superb body. Only the faint reddish ropemarks encircling her proud-thrusting breasts and a few well-scattered
abrasions and lacerations gave evidence of her matinal
ordeal.
The
cook handed her the robe which had been designated for her appearance on deck
and watched a bit glumly as Erika hurriedly knotted its elegant sash around her
waist, thus concealing her shapely young body from his view.
********
A
few minutes later Erika found herself striding across the deck, flanked by her
stern sentinels Lucky and Froggy, with Tranh bringing up the rear of the grim cortege. As she marched toward the reassembled sailors
of the Yang-tze Dragon, she was once
again a vision of blonde beauty, her eyes bright, her step firm, her flowing tresses gold and glistening in the noonday sun.
At the request of General Wang, Tranh
had cloaked Erika, for however brief a time, in an exotic sky-blue robe
supplied by Hsi Fong, a man of her own height.
The robe, the sea, the sky, and Erika Weiss' beautiful blue eyes, freed
now from the blindfold which had veiled them earlier, seemed all to have been
painted by the same brush, by a master equally accomplished in portrait and
seascape.
But the brightness in Erika's blue eyes could not mask the
fear that haunted them. For behind the
imposing figures of General Wang and Hsi Fong, occupying a fair portion of the
deck amidships, loomed the product of Deng's late-night labors.
A scaffold-like platform crowned with an
evil-looking gibbet was outlined against the azure sky. Erika shuddered as she saw, for the first
time, the Wooden Lady on which she had suffered so terribly while blindfolded –
the kneeling-board, the post, the twin phalluses, and the horrible shovel
handle which had threaded its way through the opening in the post to violate
her mouth, and which, on its retraction, had wreaked such havoc on her
rope-ringed breasts.
On
the other side of the scaffold, opposite the Wooden Lady, a crude iron grating,
perhaps a foot taller than herself, had been propped
against the hull of the ship. Erika
shivered as she remembered the third part of Captain McMahon's cruel sentence
-- "a dizzen with the nine against the
grating."
But
it was neither the nightmarish memory of the Wooden Lady, nor the forbidding
aspect of the iron grating which took hold of Erika Weiss' imagination at that
moment. For between those two malevolent
objects rose the inverted wooden L of a gibbet, its dark horizontal arm
anchored by a diagonal cross-brace which had been hammered into a massive
upright, giving the frightful device the aspect of a tall, Gothic 'seven'. Erika felt her throat constrict as she
watched the noose hanging from the end of the grim device toss gently in the
morning breeze.
"General," Captain
McMahon's voice boomed across the deck. "As I promised, ye may administer
the dizzen yerself. Slegg! Whaur's the whip, mon?"
"Got it right 'ere, Cap'n!" Slegg replied smartly,
stepping aside to reveal a sturdy wooden rail which Deng-shan had affixed to
the hull of the ship. Erika Weiss's
knees nearly turned to jelly as she stared at the chest-high wooden beam. From
its yard-long row of hooks hung a gruesome panoply of
instruments of discipline: an assortment
of whips, leather straps of varying length and thickness, a pair of menacingly
tapered canes, a rough-surfaced paddle, and one or two implements whose like
Erika had never seen before. On the hook nearest Slegg hung a lumpy-looking canvas sack.
"Ye may lat the cat oot
of the bag!"
Slegg
reached for the sack, undid its drawstring and removed the menacing-looking
Thief's Cat, on which the beautiful young miscreant had labored so long into
the night. 'ere
it is!" the mate bellowed as the crewmen craned their necks to get a
better glimpse of the whip that would be used to flog their ravishing captive.
"Was it made by the prisoner's awn hand, as I
ordered?"
Slegg
cast a lecherous glance at Erika Weiss. "Aye, cap'n. It
took the lazy wench most of the night, but I kept arter
'er 'til she finished the job.
"And the knots – are they weel tied?"
"Tight
and 'ard as rocks they are, cap'n.
Seven knots on each of the nine tails. Altogether that
makes…" Jasper Slegg
frowned and began counting on the fingers of his left hand, stopped and started
over. On his second attempt to calculate
the number of knots the frustrated first mate made it as far as his other hand
before becoming confused and giving up in disgust. " Altogether
't makes for a narsty whip, it does, cap'n, is what I was meanin' to
say."
McMahon
stared at Slegg unbelievingly for a moment, not quite
crediting his
first mate's ignorance of the multiplication tables, but then returned to the
matter at hand. "General,"
McMahon's baritone rang out again, "are ye ready tae administer the dizzen?"
General
Wang, his posture as erect as his uniform was crisp, frowned. "The 'dizzen', captain?
I'm afraid I don’t understand."
"The dizzen!" McMahon boomed in an exasperated voice. "The dizzen strokes of the cat," he roared, indicating the
nine-thonged whip which Slegg
was slapping crisply against the Wooden Lady while he glared meaningfully at
his blue-gowned prisoner.
When General Wang continued to stare at him
uncomprehendingly, McMahon thundered, "D'ye nae ken the nummer 'twal,' mon? Hae ye nay haurd
of a cat o' nine tails?"
This
time the general was able to wade through the boggy patches of McMahon's
Caledonian brogue. "Ah! A 'dizzen' of the cat. Of course. I am at your service, captain," Wang bowed
to McMahon before striding toward Jasper Slegg and
taking the whip from his hands.
Slegg had
wrapped the ten-inch whip handle, which was nothing more than one end of the
length of inch-thick rope from which the tails of the cat had been unbraided,
in sailcloth so that its wielder would be at no risk from blisters. The general turned the whip over in his
hands, inspecting with an expert eye the thickness and coarseness of the nine
tails and the toughness of the many knots.
As he fingered the wicked beads he grudgingly nodded his approval;
Europeans, too, had
studied the dark arts of cruelty.
"It
appears to be an excellent instrument, captain," Wang conceded with a bow
to the blue-jacketed mariner. "My compliments."
Then
the General removed his stiff service-dress cap, baring his shaven skull. He
handed his cap to Hsi Fong and turned toward Erika Weiss, his piercing eyes
black with menace, while he waited for Captain McMahon to formally initiate the
punishment for the third count of her sentence.
As
the red-bearded mariner removed a sheet of parchment from the pocket of his
jacket and proceed to read from it, every gruff syllable added to Erika's
mounting panic. "The accused, haeing been justly
convicted o' mutiny agin this ship, its officers and
men, shall be bound tae the grating and given… " Here he paused to glance at General
Wang who was clenching and unclenching the handle of the vicious looking whip
impatiently, "twal
strokes o' the cat." McMahon
carefully folded up the paper and returned it to his pocket and then turned his
blood-shot eyes toward the trembling figure of Erika Weiss.
"Strip the preesoner!"
The
malice in the captain's voice was no less daunting than the bloodthirsty roar
of approval from the crewmen which greeted it. Icy fingers of panic clawed at
Erika's courage as she tried to break free from her captors, but to no avail. Lucky had little difficulty pinioning her
flailing arms to her sides, while Froggy, with a
growl of lustful pleasure,
undid the colorful sash around her waist, allowing the shimmering
blue robe to fall open in front. The arc
of sailors arranged around the deck cheered the sight of the inner curves of
Erika's opulent
breasts and the exquisite golden triangle whose nether apex
pointed toward her prominent labia.
Being
careful not to damage the magnificent robe, Froggy
spread the panels of the blue gown further apart, exposing Erika's tumultuous,
proud-tipped breasts to the amorous gaze of his cronies. Greeting her sneer of disdain with one of his
own, he pushed the robe back over Erika's rounded shoulders. The fabric clung
there momentarily, as if reluctant to part company
with such alluring female flesh, before beginning its slow descent and
slithering silently to her waist. At
that point Lucky released his grip on Erika's arms, so that the sleeves could
slip easily down her wrists. When the
sleeves fell free, Lucky caught the gown and set it safely to one side, leaving
Erika's luscious body naked to the noonday sun.
Her
nakedness, made even more humiliating by the chorus of lewd and threatening
catcalls that greeted it, sent Erika's rising sense of panic spiraling to new
heights. Seeing an unguarded expanse of
the ship's rail, she took two quick strides toward a gap in the semi-circle of
sailors. But Orang
quickly blocked her path to the rail and a speedy, nearly painless death. Grinning wickedly, the muscular Malayan pressed
his meaty paws against her full breasts and shoved her unceremoniously back
into Lucky's waiting arms. Erika fought valiantly to
free herself from Lucky's grasp, but her frantic
side-to-side gyrations accomplished little more than to send her splendid
breast-mounds into a shameless shimmy and to give the randy onlookers brief
glimpses of the golden-fringed grotto between her legs.
"Seize
her up!" The assembled seamen
buzzed with excitement as Erika's warders responded to Captain's McMahon's
stark command with alacrity. Erika felt
the heat of thirty-odd
pairs of avaricious eyes on her bobbling breasts and sleek thighs as Lucky and Froggy gripped her arms more tightly than before. She tried again to pull free and when her
nails drew blood from Froggy's wrist, he cursed in
pained disbelief.
"Well,
you're a defiant little bitch, ain't you?" Froggy
snarled. He waited until Lucky had
pinned Erika's arms behind her and then he backhanded Erika across both nipples
with a vicious sweep of his arm.
"'Aurrgghhh!! Oohh, mein Gott!!"
The
ferocious force of the blow drove Erika to one knee. She knelt on the deck half-dazed, waiting for
the pain coursing through her young breasts to ease.
"Get
up, wench!" Froggy croaked, and as further
punishment for her fractiousness he gave Erika's offending arm an extra twist
as Lucky helped him jerk her upright.
Then,
suddenly remembering that Erika was the property of General Wang, and wondering
whether he had overstepped his authority, Froggy
turned toward the glaring officer. "You saw what the accursed whore did!
The wildcat tried to claw my arm off!"
The
shaven-skulled general inclined his head forward slightly, indicating with a
wordless gesture of approval that rebelliousness, particularly rebelliousness
in beautiful young women, should invariably be met with harsh discipline.
Meanwhile
Lucky and Froggy were turning Erika in a slow
pirouette so that every deckhand could get a good look at the lurid imprint
that Froggy's blow had left on Erika's pale breasts.
When every man had a chance to savor the livid marks on Erika's tempting
pleasure-globes, they muscled their stunning prisoner toward the massive iron
grating and forced
her to stand facing it.
As
Erika stood naked and trembling before the ominous framework, Andrew McMahon
signaled Yim, the hulking ape-like sailor who had
toiled alongside Mao in the stoking room, to join the men at the grating. His
grief and rage at his friend's death still etched in his face, the Malayan giant
skillfully entwined Erika's slender wrists in a sturdy leather thong. A moment later, as Lucky and Froggy lifted her slightly, Yim
tugged at the other end of the thong, stretching Erika's nude body taut against
the metal framework. Then, with a mighty
grunt, he wrapped the leather strap around the top of the grating several times
before tying it off.
And so it was that Erika found herself suspended,
hanging from the sturdy toprail of the grating, her
bare feet dangling some six inches from the deck. The moment her naked body had touched the grating,
Erika had gasped out a plaintive, "Aaaah!" Because hours earlier Jasper Slegg had cleverly positioned the iron trellis where it
would capture the brightest rays of the morning sun, and now, at mid-day, its
metal bars were palpably hot to the touch.
Erika twisted and turned feverishly in an
effort to keep her gently swinging body an inch or two away from the hot iron,
but Froggy would have none of it. Emboldened by the general's earlier nod of
approval, Froggy grunted with obscene pleasure and slammed the
heel of his hand into the valley between Erika's shoulder blades, forcing her
quivering pleasure-globes against the sun-heated metal.
"Aaaahhhh!" Erika moaned through gritted teeth as the
teakettle-hot framework transferred its heat to her breasts, belly, and
thighs. Again she tried to pull away,
and for a moment with some success as Froggy seemed
to ease the pressure on her back. Once again she squirmed invitingly as she
tried to keep her naked body away from the hot metal. Finally, when Froggy removed his hand from her back altogether and
retreated a step or two, apparently to give his comrades an unobstructed view
of hers nakedness, Erika managed to press her bare feet against the grating,
and used that bit of leverage to pull her upper body away from the framework.
Erika hung from the leather thong helplessly.
Already, after only half a minute or so, she could feel the muscles in her
rounded shoulders beginning to burn from the strain of her suspension. She tried to ignore the ache by focusing on
her relief that her breasts and belly were no longer pressing against the hot
metal. But no sooner had she relaxed her guard than Froggy
limped forward again and with a long sweep of his arm swatted her feet away
from their tenuous foothold and an instant later Erika's sensitive nipples once
again felt the hot kiss of the metal.
"Aaaah!" she gasped again, her body flailing helplessly
against the iron bars until her feet were able to regain their precarious
purchase. She hung there, panting heavily from her exertions, until Froggy struck again.
"Time to snuggle up nice and close, Missy!" he croaked.
Favoring his bad leg, he limped closer and then pounded his ham-fist into the
middle of Erika's spine, crushing her heaving breasts against the hot iron
latticework.
"AAGHHH!!!!!" This time Erika's cry of suffering was audible from
the bow of the ship to the stern as Froggy maintained
the pressure for
second after hellish second. Erika's
misery was compounded by the fact that not only was the grating painfully hot,
but that its latticework of bars had never known the smoothing touch of file or grinding
wheel. The metal was encrusted with a hundred minute imperfections, some merely
rough, others painfully jagged. The burrs gouged and tore at her bare breastflesh like hundreds of angry hornets..
"Attaboy, Froggy! Warm those big tits up!" rang out a voice in
heavily accented Chinese as Erika's struggles to free her ripe-nippled breasts from the cruel embrace of the iron bars
stirred the ardor of every man on deck.
The voice, Erika knew, was that of Khasar the Mongol, who had edged forward so that he stood
at right angles to her.
She
could feel the heat of the Gobi-dweller's barbaric gaze on her breasts as she
tried desperately to lift the heat-stung tips of her breasts so that her tender
aureoles and nipples were positioned opposite one of the openings in the metal latticework.
But she could only do so by inching her body upward on the rough grating with a
heroic effort. The relief she felt when
she finally managed to lift her nipple-nuggets clear of the hot iron bar was nearly
offset by the sting of the abrasions she had sustained in doing so.
"Excellent
work, sailor!" General Wang purred to Froggy in
a voice tinged with honey and malice, as his thin-slit eyes drank in the sight
of Erika dangling in the breeze.
"Now, if you would be so good as to spread her legs."
"Bitte … nein … " Erika murmured, retreating to the
German of her youth, the still small voice of girlish modesty not having quite
been stifled by all of the abuse she had undergone.
But
her words, if understood at all, went unheeded. Lucky and Froggy
made short work of pulling her ankles toward the sides of the grating, and
encircling them with rope. That done, it
was only moments before they had looped her ankle-cords through openings in the
grating and wrapped them tightly around
the bars of the lattice-like framework before tying them off. While they bound her ankles, Yim amused himself by reaching toward the gaps in the
grating, pinching Erika's puckering nipples between his thumb and forefinger
and tugging on them so that, try as she might, the soft flesh of Erika's
breasts could not escape the hot, abrasive touch of the iron bars.
With
Erika now securely spread-eagled for the next phase of her punishment, Froggy backed away, pumping his big fist triumphantly in
response to the raucous cheers of the crewmen.
Yim, too, finally relaxed his punishing grip
on Erika's nipples and retreated toward a small group of his countrymen who
pounded him enthusiastically on his broad back, congratulating him on his good
luck and good service.
But Lucky lingered for a moment at Erika's
side. He gave Jasper Slegg
a furtive glance and then, after receiving a subtle nod from Tranh, leaned against Erika from behind, his erection thick
and hard against her buttock cleft. He reached up, pretending to test the
fastness of the binding which secured her wrists. As he did so, he whispered softly into her
ear. "Missy!
Slegg has gone around among the men and bet all of
last night's profits. He's giving heavy
odds that you'll scream your lungs out under the lash. Thought
you might like to know."
A wave of realization swept
through Erika – at last she understood the purpose of Lucky's
visit to the infirmary and the meaning of his muffled conversation with Tranh. She inclined
her head slightly, indicating that she had heard and understood him. Partly in
pursuit of pleasure and partly in order to disguise the purpose for his
lingering stay at the grating, Lucky fondled Erika's squirming buttocks for a
moment or two and then slid his questing fingers between her spread-eagled
thighs There was nothing feigned about Erika's wriggling attempts to elude his
prying fingers, however, and after a few seconds Lucky was confident that his
attempt at misdirection had been successful.
He stepped back and gave Slegg a final nervous
glance before retreating toward the larboard rail.
While a taut-stretched Erika Weiss considered the
implications of Lucky's whispered intelligence, the
lust-crazed crewmen of the Yang-tze
Dragon buzzed with with ill-suppressed
excitement. What a spectacle awaited
them! Erika Weiss's nude body was
suspended from the iron bolt in a shameless inverted 'Y', her creamy flesh
naked for the lash, glistening deliciously in the noonday sun.
A few feet behind her the menacing figure of
General Wang surveyed Erika's
voluptuous body with the expert eye of a connoisseur of
cruelty. As he gripped and re-gripped
the handle of the whip, he considered his uniformly attractive options. To which part of Erika's perfect body should
he deliver the first searing stroke of the whip? Should he attack her soft, rounded
shoulders? The smooth-skinned planes and
hollows of her tapering back? Her long, lithe thighs, temptingly taut-stretched by her bondage? Or perhaps that sumptuous deep-cleft backside
whose fear-wracked muscles twitched more invitingly with each
passing second?
A
sneer of malicious pleasure crossed the general's face. The divers
attractions of the tantalizing young body so cruelly bound to the grating
reminded him of a Chinese banquet of many courses.
And
he, General Wang, the most feared warlord in
But not with chopsticks, the grim-faced
general chuckled sadistically to himself. This magnificent banquet of female
flesh would be attacked with other, sterner implements, he mused, as he
tightened his grip on the whip….
Chapter 152 Whipped by the
Warlord
The creaking hull of the Yang-tze Dragon shuddered noticeably as it breasted a wave in the
suddenly choppier sea. But despite the
freshening wind, the merciless noonday sun continued to beat down on the
foredeck of the Dragon,
and on Erika Weiss's nude body as she struggled against her bonds. Her long blonde tresses tossed lightly in the
breeze as Erika tried time and again to tear her wrists free from the leather
thong which bound them to the top of the crude iron grating. But time and again she failed. Her struggles, however, had not been for naught,
at least so far as the excited crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon were concerned. For the strain of her exertions had bathed
her taut-stretched body in a perspiration whose
inviting glow contrived to enhance the perfection of her matchless physique.
A stride or two aft of her left shoulder, the menacing
figure of General Wang feasted his eyes on the succulent curves of Erika's body.
His right arm, poised to strike, held the venomous-looking cat o' nine tails
which the girl on the grating had been forced to fashion with her own soft
hands. Arranged haphazardly behind him, the
sailors of the Yang-tze Dragon, to a
man galvanized with voyeuristic lust,
milled around their voluptuous prisoner like a pack of wolves, each man jostling
his neighbor in
order to improve his line of sight. They
jabbered excitedly in a babel
of Asian tongues as they waited for Captain Andrew McMahon to give the signal
for the flogging to begin.
"You there!" There was a
steely ring of authority in General Wang's voice. "You! The big one!"
Yim, the
ungainly giant who had strapped Erika to the grating moments before and still lingered nearby, pointed his thumb at himself questioningly.
The
general nodded irritably. "Yes, you! Her hair – move it out of the way."
Yim nodded
dimly and moved back toward the grating. He took the long mane of blonde hair
that spilled over Erika's rounded shoulders and parted it with his big hands.
"Remove
it from her shoulders, you fool!" Hsi Fong snapped impatiently. "So that it does not become entangled in
the general's lash.!
The
oafish collier glanced at him uncertainly and then threw the long pony tails he
had created over Erika's shoulders, partly obscuring the proud jut of her breasts.
"Hey,
dummy! What are you doing? We want to see those juicy tits!" Erika cringed at the brutal callousness of Khasar's voice. The Mongol
had taken a stance to one side, so that he could enjoy to the fullest
the one-sided duel between Erika's inexpressibly soft breasts and the
unforgiving roughness of the bars of the grating.
Yim
scratched his chin stupidly for a moment or two before arriving at a solution
to his dilemma. He placed his meaty hands
under Erika's uplifted arms, letting them rest for a moment on the subtly
sensuous protrusions of her ribs. Then, realizing that the sea breeze had begun
to cool the metal bars, the giant slid his hands forward, wedging them into the
narrow gap between Erika's chest and the grating. With his thick fingers just touching the
undersides of Erika's splendid he eased his fingers slowly upward over the sweet swell
of her breasts before brushing her honeyed tresses away from her swollen
globes. Then, pleased with his accomplishment,
Yim slid his big paws back under Erika's lush mounds and
cupped them with greedy hands while he ogled Erika's tempting backside. He kneaded and squeezed Erika's tantalizing tit-flesh
in his sea-weathered hands for several cock-pleasing seconds before being
called to task.
"Out of the way, Yim!"
Deng-shan called out in half-joking Chinese from near the front of the pack . "Do you
think you're the only one who wants to see that sweet ass!"
The hulking Malayan scowled
and answered the ear-ringed handyman with a gruff rejoinder and an obscene
gesture, but after giving Erika's puckering nipples a parting pinch, he backed
away and crouched down on one knee so that those behind him could get a better
look at Erika's ceaseless struggles to free herself from the grating. Some of the men, among them Froggy and Khasar, had edged to
one side so that they could catch a glimpse of her thrusting breasts, which she
strove mightily to keep clear of the rough-edged bars of the grating. But the cruel twosome and their neighbors on
that wing had little doubt that a few well-applied strokes of the whip would
soon drive the coral-brown tips of Erika's tempting mounds into the cruel
metal.
But
most of the sailors of the Yang-tze
Dragon were quite content to remain in the irregular semi-circle of men
which had formed behind Erika, a vantage point from which they would be able to
savor to the fullest every twitch of her back muscles, every oscillation of her
shapely buttocks, every tremor of the sweet, soft flesh between her creamy
thighs.
"Drummer! Man your drum!"
Ribald cheers from the men of the Yang-tze Dragon greeted the booming voice of Captain Andrew
McMahon.
"Aye! Give the wench some
music to dance to!" Froggy croaked.
"Hang on tight, Missy!" Jasper Slegg taunted Erika in a mocking voice. "But wiggle that pretty arse all ye like! Right, boys?"
Another raucous roar of approval washed across the foredeck
as a blush of humiliation cast a rosy glow over Erika's glistening back and
buttocks.
Slegg clenched his fist
exultantly. He could scarcely believe
his good fortune. He had cleverly finagled
Tranh and Lucky into accepting his bet that Erika Weiss
could not endure twelve strokes of the whip without screaming for mercy. The fools! He had had to give heavy odds of
course. In fact, he had had to stake his
share of the profits from the Night of the Seven Torments. But General Wang's skill with a whip was
known from
"Drummer!" McMahon
bellowed again impatiently.
Raka the drummer was
one of the Malayans who had manhandled Erika in the passageway outside the
infirmary following her abortive attempt at escape. The squat little man had been eyeing the
inviting groove separating Erika's shapely buttocks with such rapt
concentration that he had not heard the captain's first command. But when his
accomplice in the prior evening's assault elbowed him sharply in the ribs he
snapped to attention and saluted the master of the ship. Then, responding to a curt gesture from
McMahon, the broken-nosed islander began to beat out a pagan tattoo on a crude
drum whose wooden frame and tight-drawn skin had been cut from the flora and
fauna of a Javanese jungle.
Erika's well-toned body tensed with trepidation as the
pounding of the drum slowly grew louder.
Glancing over her left shoulder she saw that General Wang had drawn
still nearer, his demonic visage ablaze with cruelty. His fingers stroked the knotted strands of
the whip with perverse pleasure while his soulless eyes ravished her sun-kissed
nudity.
"The preesoner will coont the straiks!" boomed the
stentorian voice of Andrew McMahon over the pounding of the drum.
The pulse-pounding drumming had all but silenced the
raucous crowd of seamen, and so it was that when McMahon gave Raka the signal to cease, the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon was, for an instant, as
silent as the ocean floor.
But only for a moment. As Erika steeled herself for the lash, the
momentary silence was interrupted by the dry hiss of the cat as it cut through
the air and then shattered by its explosive impact against the soft skin of
Erika's bare shoulders.
WHFFTTT!! CRACKK!!!!
The
spread-eagled blonde answered the sharp smack of the whip with a muted groan of
anguish. Erika's naked body shuddered against the grating, the soft planes and
hollows of her upper back having been wrapped in a blanket of fire. As she
squirmed, the lecherous crewmen whose eyes were glued to her nudity gave voice
to a excited shouts of approval.
"A good 'un, that was, yer
honor." Slegg's
gravelly voice cut through the boisterous catcalls with little difficulty. His
smirking, gloating tone was almost as difficult for Erika to bear as the pain
of the lash. She fought back the tears
that had begun to fill her eyes and tightened her jaw, praying that she could
find the strength to endure the twelve strokes of the cat without crying out.
For if by some miracle she could manage to do so, she could cheat Slegg of the blood money he had earned by exploiting her in
the Bird Cage.
As the general drew back the slithering tails of the whip,
he studied the lurid imprint the cat had left on Erika's creamy flesh. The
corners of his mouth curled into the satisfied smile of an artist pleased with
a skillful brush-stroke. Earlier that
morning he had been primarily an observer during Erika's frightful ordeal of the gauntlet. How
stimulating it had been to see the blindfolded beauty stripped to the waist and
forced to stagger through the withering crossfire of blows delivered by the
crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon! Even so, it was far more thrilling it was to
see her naked body twisting and turning in response to his
own lashes.
The wicked warlord had delivered the first blow at only
three-quarters strength, but even so Erika's hourglass-shaped torso seemed to
rise up slightly against the grating, as if the sensuous stretching of her body
could somehow soothe her suffering. In
actuality, however, her wanton movements were driven by a desperate impulse to lift
her heaving breasts away from the rough-edged metal of the framework.
But in her haste to spare her breasts,
Erika had forgotten the conditions of her flogging.
"You have forgotten to count the blow,
fraulein. Shall I begin again?"
"No! Bitte…" Erika gasped. "Eins … eins."
"I know little of your barbarian tongue, fraulein, and
these ruffians," General Wang paused to indicate the bloodthirsty
semicircle of sailors with a wave of his hand, "know even less. Be so good as to
count in Chinese, so that your admirers can follow the progress of your
flogging."
Panting breathlessly and trying to ignore the flames
searing her shoulder blades, Erika mumbled an almost inaudible, "Yi"
– the Chinese word for 'one'.
At a nod from the captain, Raka
began beating his drum again, slowly and softly at first, and then, by degrees,
increasingly louder and faster, with
each beat of the drum bringing Erika Weiss a heartbeat closer to new
agony. When the swift percussion had reached its crescendo in volume, McMahon
silenced the drummer with a glance, and the general's ghastly whip took flight
again. The cruel warlord aimed the second stroke at the creamy, unmarked skin
just below Erika's reddening shoulder blades.
WHFTTT! CRACKKK!!!
The
nine claws of the cat tore at the blonde's bare flesh, clinging to it for a
dreadful instant in time, before sliding down her torso, leaving an irregular trail of fire
across her naked back.
"Urgghh!!" Erika groaned again, still softly, but louder than
before. The force
of the second blow, like the first, had driven her upper body into the
rough-burred grating and once again her defenseless breasts felt the abrading
kiss of the bars.
Wang
watched the pale body writhing against the crude iron grating with mounting
excitement. Erika's efforts to keep the
front of her body away from the bars of the grating had forced her to bow her
back outward slightly, enhancing the natural curvature of her body. Her beautifully shaped buttocks, cleft by a shadowy
groove that promised forbidden pleasures, undulated in sensuous circles as her
body reacted to the shock of the lash. What an addition to the harem of sex-slaves at
his island fortress this blonde demi-goddess was
going to make!
The
general's shaven skull glistened in the sunlight as he waited a few seconds for
Erika to tally the stroke. He was
scarcely surprised that the searing pain had caused her to forget her
obligation to count each lash aloud.
"You disappoint me, fraulein.
Yet again you have forgotten to count the blows. A slave must learn obedience," he
whispered softly, as he slashed at her again.
The knotted strands of the cat revisited Erika's upper back, scalding
flesh already ravaged by the whip.
WHFFFTTT!! CRACKKKKK!!!
Having had no prolonged drumbeat to brace
herself, Erika was taken by surprise . Her head recoiled in suffering, her golden
hair bouncing gently on her whip-reddened shoulders. Her long, low moan of anguish, while not
loud, testified to
the power of the general's stroke. " 'Er',"
she gasped. And then
"'san'".
"No, fraulein. Since you did
not count the second stroke, I will not count it either. I implore you not to be so careless
again."
Jasper
Slegg chortled under his breath and threw Tranh a gloating glance.
The extra lash the general had delivered was bound to make the success
of his wager even more certain.
As Raka started his frenzied drumming anew, the general
noticed that the second stroke to Erika's bare shoulders had broken the skin in
several places leaving perceptible pinpricks of blood. He glanced down at the whip and noticed that
a few of the knots were stained with fresh scarlet. An excellent whip, he admitted grudgingly, to
break the skin after only two strokes to the same location.
As
the drumming grew louder, Wang eyed the sweet vertebral indentation that
bisected the peaches-and-cream flesh of Erika's back. When Captain McMahon's stern nod to Raka produced an eerie silence, the general swept the
nine-tongued whip across Erika's mid-back with purposeful savagery.
CRAACCKK!!
"Enngghhhh!!"
Erika grunted through clenched teeth, suppressing her agony. The soft skin lining her spinal column felt
as if it were a bridge of flesh across a lake of fire. Once again the force of the blow drove the
tender tips of her breasts into the rough edges of the grating. As she struggled to pull her torso away from
the framework, the look of unbridled blood-lust in Khasar's
eyes was proof that the abrasive burrs had encrimsoned
her tender breasts.
Out of the corner of her eye, Erika saw that
the general had lifted the whip again.
She remembered just in time. "San!" she gasped breathlessly, counting the third stroke
again. "San!"
As Raka once again took up his drum, General Wang's crony, Hsi Fong, ogled
Erika's unintentionally lascivious writhings against
the iron grating with a lecher's amorous eye.
Although the sea had grown decidedly more choppy in the hours since her
ordeal on the Wooden Lady, the mid-day sun still bathed Erika's remarkable body
in a warm glow, casting a patina of perfection on her flawless flesh: the
muscles of her long, shapely legs, stretched taut by her bondage; the tempting
clenching and unclenching of her sumptuously curved buttocks; her ripe-nippled breasts driven by the withering whip-strokes to
play peek-a-boo with the onlookers with every torment-tossed twist of her
body. What a lust-arousing contrast
this sensuously shaped European posed to the exquisite, but more petite charms
of his slender, shorter Asian concubines. He had envied the Englishman, Slegg,
earlier when the libidinous first mate of the Yang-tze Dragon, had used the threaded
shovel handle to wreak havoc on Erika's superb breasts, and he envied his old
comrade-in-arms now as Wang lifted the whip to rake it across her back once
again.
It
was remarkable, Fong thought, how this exhibition of erotic cruelty had
restored his spirits. When they had come
on deck that morning both he and the general had been green from a night of
violent seasickness brought on by the sea-churning squall of the night before. But even though the sea was growing rougher
now, the sight of Erika Weiss's nude body wriggling against the grating had swept his miseries
away like a sea breeze from the south.
As
for his old friend, Hsi Fong mused, the black-eyed general seemed to have
sipped from the fountain of youth.
Earlier that morning, he had moved like a man of his years, a man of
middle age. But now, inspired by the
beauty of the blonde temptress lashed securely to the grating, the general's eyes were bright, his step was
light, and he was delivering each stroke of the lash with the vigor of a man
half his age.
Pom!-Pomm!-Pommm!-POM!!-POMM!!-POMMM!!! The drum
thundered and then, when it suddenly fell silent, Hsi Fong's fellow-sadist struck
again. Grunting furiously, General Wang
lashed Erika across the small of the back with a ferocity that sent her narrow
waist and billowing hips into a paroxysm of suggestive squirming that warmed
the blood of every man on deck.
WHFFFTTT!! CRACKKK!!!
"Nggghhhh!" Every fiber of Erika's being longed to
release some of her suffering with a primal scream so loud that it would
reached the mainland she feared she would never see again. She might well have given into the impulse if
Jasper Slegg had not found that moment to taunt her
anew.
"Look
at the way the wench wriggles that sweet arse! She likes a bit of the whip, like the tart
she is!" Jasper Slegg's
rasping insinuations added a brush-stroke of humiliation to Erika's canvas of
woe. But it reinforced her determination
to keep him from profiting from her agony.
Erika's
fortitude could not, however, still the agitated side-to-side tossing of her
rounded hips which so inflamed the ardor of her virile audience. "Si…" she
groaned, remembering to count 'four' … "si."
"Would
ye look at that, boys?" Slegg rasped to his
fellow crewmen. The bloody whip's improving 'er memory!" The mate fingered the bandage over his aching
eye as he watched the sensual undulations of Erika's behind with mixed
emotions. He was delighted to see her
writhing in agony, but he was still furious that his attempt on the prior
evening to cram his randy cock into the sweet suction of her churning rectum
had been cut short by her attempt at arson.
Worse, he was beginning to grow concerned that his wager, which until
now he had regarded as nearly a sure thing, might possibly be at risk.
"Give 'er another, yer honor," he blurted
to General Wang. "And lay it on
hard! The boys want to hear our golden
canary sing, don't ye lads?"
Erika
trembled in despair as many of the sailors voiced their support for Slegg's incitements to even greater savagery.
"Right! The wench tried to set the ship on fire,
didn't she? She could have killed us all!"
"Aye!
No mercy for the slut!" The throaty
croak of Froggy's voice was unmistakable.
"Whip
the whore! Make her pay!" As was the cavernous bass of Khasar the
Mongol.
Erika
tried to take solace from the fact that a tiny handful of the crewmen, among
them Tranh and Lucky, did not join in. But in her heart of hearts she knew that
their seeming clemency had more to do with their wager than her welfare.
She
glanced over her lash-reddened left shoulder and saw that General Wang was
glaring at Jasper Slegg as if the mate, in
questioning the force of his blows, had insulted his manhood. As the general's right hand tightened its
grip on the menacing whipstock, Erika knew that she
would pay the price for his irritation at Slegg's
insolence.
As Raka re-commenced his dreadful drumming, Erika struggled
anew at her bonds, twisting and turning her wrists frantically, trying to free
them from the thong which imprisoned them.
But Yim had knotted the thong well and the
provocative gyrations of her well-toned body served only to season the appetite
of the diners at this maritime banquet of flesh and flagellation.
Pom!-Pomm!-Pommm!-POM!!-POMM!!-POMMM!!! The drum
bellowed boldly into the breeze, before suddenly falling silent once
again. Every muscle in Erika's body went
tense. She was a vision of blonde,
taut-fleshed loveliness as she waited for the next blow to fall.
The
general's face was a mask of fury as he drew the whip back. He took dead aim at
the base of Erika's delicious derriere and swung the beaded whip-knots at her
deep-cleft buttocks at blinding speed.
WHFFTTT!! CRACCCKKK!!!
"Nrrgggghhhh"
Erika's guttural groan was that of a wounded animal. For the general, irritated by Slegg's insinuations and sorely tempted by so luscious a
target, had finally struck with his full strength. "Funf!"
Erika sobbed softly. The terrible knots
had bored deep into her buttock-flesh and driven her burning pelvis into the
ridges of the grating for a lacerating second or two. It was only after she
tore her upper thighs free from the framework that she remembered to translate
the count into Mandarin. "Wu!" she gasped in a voice racked by
suffering. Wu!"
No sooner
had she stammered out the count, than Raka began
pounding on his drum anew. Each cycle of drumming was faster and louder than
the one before, making sure that Erika's fear and terror were unceasing.
Although
half-blinded by tears of pain Erika could sense the lust-crazed seamen pressing
closer. Many of the Chinese sailors,
their dark queues trailing partways down their
slender backs, were huddled closely together on her left, their intense gaze
fixed on her nude body. A cluster of
sun-bronzed Malayans encircled Raka the drummer. Their eyes bright with jungle passion,
several of them danced lightly on their feet in rhythmic accompaniment to Raka's percussion.
The men in both groups jostled their neighbors constantly, each man
anxious to get a better view of the lurid streaks the thief's cat had painted
on Erika's churning bottom-ovals. Erika
tried valiantly to contain her reaction to the prior blow, but from her
high-strung wrists to her wide-spread ankles, her succulent young body
shuddered in pain and her derriere wriggled in protest.
Pom!-Pomm!-Pommm!-POM!!-POMM!!-POMMM!!!
The
rising, racing crescendo of the drums promised new horrors and the muscles in
Erika's arms and back and legs once again tensed defensively. But there was no defense, for when the drums
fell silent, the general's strong right arm struck again, whipping the knotted
cords into the ripest curves of her behind.
CRACCCKKKK!!!! Once again the report of the whip on soft
female flesh reverberated across the deck of the tramp steamer like a rifle
shot.
"Ngggghhhhhh!! Mein Gott!!" The lowest strands of the cat had overlapped
the previous blow, exacerbating Erika's agony and dotted her quivering lower
buttocks with specks of crimson. "Liu," she groaned, counting off the
sixth stroke. How, she wondered, how
could she endure another six strokes from the hellish lash she had been forced
to fashion?
The
violent shock of the last two blows had rewarded Froggy,
Khasar and the others who had positioned themselves
at right angles to Erika alongside the grating.
For each blow had been delivered with such force that Erika's mouthwatering
breasts seemed to leap upwards from her chest in tantalizing fashion before
crashing into the rough edges of the grating.
The cooling breeze had taken the heat-sting from the metal bars, but the
jagged burrs that pitted them still greeted Erika's bare breasts with claws of
iron.
With
the barbaric punishment only half completed, General Wang wiped at the sweat on
his brow. An unimaginative whip-wielder
might have delivered a dozen strokes in ninety seconds or so; but a man of his
experience well knew how to expand two minutes of exquisite pleasure into
twenty.
The
sun was almost directly overhead now, both glowing witness and accessory to
Erika's torture. For the heat of the
noon-day sun on her whip-ravaged body only added to Erika's misery.
And
to the onlookers' delight. Thin rivulets
of perspiration, spawned by the cruel conjunction of sun and savagery, but
unable to keep pace with the rhythm of Raka's drum,
dripped down Erika's back at a glacial pace, commingling with faint streaks of
crimson. Together the blood and sweat
decorated the most beautiful canvas imaginable – a nude female body, writhing
under the lash.
As Raka approached his seventh crescendo, General Wang drew
the whip back, his soul-less eyes once again fixated on the plump curves of
Erika's backside.
Pom!-Pomm!-Pommm!-POM!!-POMM!!-POMMM!!!
WHFFTTT!! CRACKKK!!!!!
The hiss of the whip was followed by the violent smack of the nine tails
against the tops of Erika's huddling bottomglobes,
etching yet another trail of fire into her burning buttocks.
Erika's
long, low groan, muttered through teeth bitterly clenched in the hope of
cheating her tormentor of satisfaction, seemed to linger in the sea air for
some time. With each blow it was
becoming more difficult to pull her crimson-smeared torso away from the
lacerating bars. Out of the corner of
her eye she saw that Wang had lifted the whip again. "Gi!" she
gasped belatedly, remembering her obligation to tally the strokes.
But it was too late.
The nine-tailed cat had already again taken flight.
WHFFFTTT!! CRACKK!!!
Wang's
lust-swollen testicles throbbed with virile pleasure as he jerked the whip
back, unveiling the livid weal the punishment stroke had left on the back of Erika's left
upper thigh.
The
sex-crazed assemblage was once again treated to the sight of Erika Weiss's
shapely backside churning against the grating, her sweat-moist gluteal muscles clenching and unclenching spasmodically as
she suffered the ravages left by the penalty stroke. "Gi," she
gasped again, recording the seventh 'official' stroke.
General
Wang let the rising rhythm of Raka's drum continue
longer than usual before the next stroke, allowing the ominous clamor to build
and build and build before unleashing a horrific side-arm blow that drove the
leather knots deep into Erika's quivering buttock-flesh yet again.
WHFFFTT CRACCKKK!!!!
"Nggghhhh!!" It was all
Erika could do not to scream her suffering to the sea and the sky, and to whimper for mercy like an abject slave. The latest stroke, searing anew flesh which
had already been raked by the lash, left her nude body clawing against the
grating, as she fought to contain the cry of agony on her lips. "Ba!" she muttered grimly through tight-clenched lips,
mouthing the Chinese word for 'eight'.
Once again Erika's involuntarily sensuous
writhing provided a feast of voyeuristic pleasure for the men who had planted
themselves nearest her. Froggy, Khasar and their
neighbors devoured her every salacious movement, every jiggle of her luscious
breasts and every wriggle of her golden mons with
ever-deepening delight.
"She
felt that one, didn't she?" Froggy
gloated.
"Aye, that she did! Look
at her wriggle like the whore she is!" Khasar
countered.
"Ooohhhhhhhh!" Erika moaned softly as the pain searing her
scarlet-streaked buttocks continued to mount. She tried to force herself to
lift her body free of the abrasive ironwork, and was able to do so for a moment
before her strength failed her and her body slumped forward against the
grating. But to Jasper Slegg's dismay, her lips had
still not parted with the cry that would line his wallet. And there were now but four strokes to go.
While
the general, who seemed intent on prolonging Erika's suffering as long as
possible, paused again, ostensibly to wipe the sweat from his brow, Jasper Slegg considered his situation. As he pressed the back of his hand against
the throbbing cut above his eye, he could see that suffering and fatigue had all but stripped the
vitality from Erika's sky-blue eyes.
Clearly on the verge of exhaustion, if not collapse, she no longer had
the strength to keep the front of her body away from the rough-edged grating.
But
along with the exhaustion, he thought he saw the hint of a sly smile in the
eyes of the proud prisoner. Somehow, he
felt certain, Erika Weiss had gotten wind of his ill-considered wager and was
determined to see him lose it, no matter how much it cost her in pain and
suffering. He knew that the blonde vixen
hadn't taken it upon herself to swallow her agony as part of some mystical personal
challenge; it was the treacherous wench's way of getting back at him.
Slegg
cursed himself for offering the heavy odds he had ventured, but who would have
believed that this golden-haired temptress could have endured five flesh-searing strokes of the cat,
much less ten, across her bare back and rounded buttocks without screaming
bloody murder. Especially
after having undergone the rigors of the gauntlet, and the triple impalement on
the Wooden Lady.
Jasper
Slegg cast a glance at Tranh,
who was shifting his weight from one foot to the other nervously. 'The yellow bastard!'
Slegg raged under his breath. He had a hunch that the
wily ship's cook, had found some means of tipping off the blonde whore whose
blue eyes glared at him so contemptuously.
He had grown more suspicious when Tranh,
normally a chatterbox, had been so uncharacteristically silent while the men
had bellowed their encouragement to the general. And now, since the crafty ship's cook seemed
to be avoiding his glance altogether, he was sure of it.
But what to do about it? With only four lashes to go, how to turn Erika's pretty
mouth, with its mocking half-smile, into an instrument that would proclaim her
suffering to the world? If it was up to
him, he would have Yim untie Erika's ankles from the
grating and twist her around on the rack so that the front of her body could
taste the full fury of the lash.
Jasper Slegg
recalled his incredibly vivid dream of the night before, and the intense remembered
pleasure of whistling the thongs of that braided whip across the ripe curves of
Erika's breasts. Blood, the rich, raw
blood of male mastery, surged through his swollen genitals as he pictured
himself clutching the cat, clenching his jaw, and slamming those
scarlet-spattered leather pellets into Erika's naked breasts.
Or
maybe he'd have Yim hang the sexy slut from her
heels, lashing her ankles to the upper corners of the grating. "Bloody hell!"
Slegg cursed under his breath, as another wave of
pain coursed through the wound over his eye. How he'd love to grip the whip and
exact his revenge by targeting the soft, warm folds of flesh between Erika's
creamy thighs! THWACKK! THWACKK!!
THWACKK!!! In his mind's eye he
envisioned Erika's smooth thighs quivering, her belly muscles contracting
spasmodically, her superb breasts oscillating enticingly as the cat's terrible
tails ravaged her sensitive vulva and clawed at her moist clitoris.
Unfortunately,
as Jasper Slegg was well aware, there was a better chance of the Yang-tze Dragon colliding with an
iceberg in the warm waters of the
Slegg
wiped at the lust-sweat that had collected on his brow and scowled as he watched General Wang
conversing with Hsi Fong in low tones.
The two men took in with gloating smiles the sight of the magnificent
young woman suspended from the grating, her body alluringly taut, the
well-toned muscles in her arms and legs stretched to their limits. Their feral grins hinted at the nature of
their conversation, which surely had to do with the depraved pleasures they
would extract from their blonde slave once she was a prisoner in the general's
island citadel. Slegg
glared at them enviously. What he
wouldn't give to have such a plaything as a slave to his own dark desires!
********
For
his part, General Wang was indeed enthralled by the beauty and stamina of his
new slave. He had interrupted the
flogging briefly to whisper to Hsi Fong that their erstwhile host and sometime
rival, George Chan, had certainly trained her well. Most of the women of the male-dominated
realms of east Asia, were of a docile nature, their
soft brown eyes accustomed to the downward glance of submission. But even though Erika was poised at the very
brink of exhaustion, a fire, a fierce inextinguishable fire, raged in the
bright blue eyes of the long-legged blonde who was pinned to the grating like a
beautiful butterfly. It was almost
inconceivable that a woman of Erika's beauty and spirit could fail to have an
ardent nature, a nature that would make possessing her in every way imaginable
an even greater pleasure.
His
passion roused to a fever pitch, the grim-faced general inclined his head
toward Hsi Fong as the latter, whose stern visage was fixed on Erika's nude
body, complimented him on his dexterity with the whip. The general bowed to his crony and then turned,
whip in hand, and approached the grating
once again, just as another cresting wave buffeted the Yang-tze Dragon, knocking him slightly off stride.
The
general quickly righted himself though and Erika's body tensed noticeably when
she felt his hands on her hips.
"No… " she protested vehemently,
stiffening in revulsion when he inverted the handle of the whip and pressed it
between her legs, cramming its knobby end between the soft petals of flesh
guarding her vagina.
"Do
not let it drop, fraulein," he warned her sternly. "Or you will have cause to regret
it."
When
her glistening eyes fired blue daggers at him, the general worked the whip
handle deeper into her clutching sex and whispered, "Foolish wench! Do you think that such maidenly displays will
repel me once you are on my island?"
As the
evil warlord, his hands now freed, seized Erika's whip-warmed buttocks in his hands, she willed
her vaginal muscles, which under the stern tutelage of George Chan had been
trained to please a man in every way imaginable, to clutch the whip
firmly. Meanwhile Wang squeezed her
bottom-cheeks roughly, his talons gouging deep into her springy derriere, while
the men of the Yang-tze Dragon looked on with vicarious delight.
"Soft
as a baby," the general murmured appreciatively as his fingers spread over
Erika's behind like spider legs, fondling every square inch of her ass-flesh
lasciviously. He stepped closer and
moved his hands to her hips, and then pulled her bottom subtly against his
swollen erection. Then he clutched her ass-cheeks
again, pressing his thumbs into the rounded flesh on either side of her butt
cleavage, and spread her shapely demi-ovals apart, so
that he could inspect the winking rosebud between them.
The
shaven-headed warlord emitted a sigh of pleasurable anticipation as he admired
the inviting orifice whose elasticity his lust-engorged manhood longed to test. Grinning wickedly, General Wang spat on his
middle finger and pressed it firmly against Erika's muscular ringlet. Finding her nether passageway as tight and
resisting as a virgin's, he pursed his thin lips and whistled softly. O what orgies of depravity awaited him at his
island citadel!
"Du Schwein!" Erika's abject humiliation caused the insult
to escape from her trembling lips before she could summon the good sense to
suppress it.
"You
have more spirit than sense, wench," the general replied with a cruel
sneer, roughly jerking the whipstock from her pussy
just as another cresting wave rocked the Yang-tze
Dragon. Stepping back angrily, he signaled for Raka
to take up his drum, while he eyed Erika's taut-stretched body and the
scattered traceries of scarlet that dappled her sweat-soaked back and
buttocks.
Pom!-Pomm!-Pommm!-POM!!-POMM!!-POMMM!!!
Erika's
wrists tugged on the leather thong as she tried to brace herself for the whip,
but there was no way to prepare naked flesh for the fiendish WHFFTTT!! CRACKKKK!!! that
resulted when General Wang slashed the blistering beads of the cat into the
already rosy base of her buttocks.
"Yesss!!!" he whispered exultantly as he felt the
delicious sensation of recoil a whip-wielder feels when he lashes the one
female backside in a hundred that is superbly rounded, springy and resilient. A
jolt of manly pleasure traveled up his arm, down through his shoulders and
chest and belly before finding its way to his throbbing manhood. His mind raced as he pictured his insolent
captive bound in a dozen provocative poses, each more shameless than the last,
in his
As
for Erika the flames of anguish that the general's punishing whip-stroke had
send coursing through her spread-eagled body finally outstripped
her heroic stamina. But even in
mid-faint from the cumulative shock and pain of her ordeal, she managed to keep
from screaming, gasping out only a pitiful, strangled 'jiu'
to tally the ninth blow. Then a final
paroxysm of suffering swept through her hourglass-shaped torso and her nude
body slumped against the grating as she succumbed to the sweet solace of
unconsciousness.
Still
furious at being insulted, and anxious to continue the taming of the
traumatized temptress, General Wang turned to Andrew McMahon inquiringly to see
if British naval custom or tradition held that an unconscious prisoner was to
be spared further punishment.
"Are
ye daft, mon!" thundered the captain. "If preesoners
knew that fainting would spare 'em a thrashing,
they'd swoon like a schoolgirl after the first stroke. I ordered a dizzen,
by God, and a dizzen she shall hae!"
"I
quite agree, Captain," General Wang replied baring his teeth in a wolfish
grin as he let the scarlet-smeared beads of the whip trail through his fingers,
testing the knots carefully to make sure that they had lost none of their
tightness, none of their sting. "Firm
discipline is the cornerstone of leadership."
As
the general strode menacingly back in the direction of the sweat-drenched body
on the grating, Slegg's mind raced as he tried to
conjure up a way to extract a wager-winning scream from Erika Weiss without
incurring the wrath of her new masters.
Luckily Erika's fortuitous collapse suggested a means by which he might
yet win his bet. But it was imperative
that the final lashes be delayed until she had regained consciousness. He had to act quickly to buy some time.
"Beggin' yer pardon, yer lordship!" Slegg called out, directing
his comment to General Wang who had paused once again to confer with Hsi Fong.
"What
is it?" General Wang's voice positively
dripped with disdain. He was not used to
having his conversations interrupted by men of Jasper Slegg's
station in life.
"Just wanted to say, your honor, that a bucket or
two of water – nice cold sea water – would revive the prisoner before you can
say Jack Robinson. Ain't that 'ow we usually do it, sir?" Slegg
asked, turning toward the red-bearded captain. "Five shillings
'll get you seven that the wench is
play-acting anyway."
Ignoring
Slegg's proposition, Andrew McMahon extracted a
pocket watch from the recesses of his threadbare blue jacket, and then glanced
at the position of the sun in the heavens to confirm the time. "Aye, Slegg. Ordinarily I'd let the preesoner
come to on her ain.
But in the interests of time – and seein' as hou we hae
a fourth count still to come, ye may proceed."
" 'ave Yim lower two
buckets!" Slegg rasped to Deng-shan. "And tell 'im
to be quick about it."
Within
a minute or two, the ape-like sailor and a companion had lowered two
four-gallon buckets over the side, filled them near to the brim with sea water,
hoisted them back up on deck and manhandled them over near where Erika's
lividly-lashed body still lay motionless against the grating.
"This'll
wake 'er up, yer honor," Slegg
explained to General Wang. "Sure as
sunshine." He strode forward and
seized a handful of Erika's golden hair. He pulled her head back hard, hard
enough to cause Erika to moan softly but without fully regaining
consciousness. Then, stepping back so
that he held her upturned head with a fully extended arm, he signaled for Yim to empty the first of the two wooden pails.
Yim
hoisted the first of the two brimming buckets as if it were no heavier than a
thimble and emptied it over Erika's upturned face. The icy torrent of cascading sea-water revived Erika
instantly and she spluttered profusely as she tried to move her head out of its
path. Slegg's grip on her blonde mane was rock-solid,
however, and
she was forced to endure the entire four gallons splashing down onto her head
and face.
It was only a heartbeat later when Erika felt the first
sting of the salt as the water poured down over her shoulders. Every muscle in her body went taut as she
began to feel the sea-water seeping into every abrasion and every laceration on
her whip-ravaged shoulders and back.
The dreadful brine found her breasts, too, and coated her shapely
love-turrets, pinpricked in a dozen places by the burrs in the iron bars, with
its saline venom.
"Aiiiiaahh!!"
Erika gasped softly as she was seized by a convulsion of agony that left her
naked body quivering from outstretched wrists to spreadeagled
ankles. "Ooh….Oooohhhh! Mein Gott!
"Aye. That woke the little faker up right and
proper, your lordship," Slegg snarled. The Englishman stepped back and joined the group
of men standing nearest the grating and nudged Froggy's
elbow triumphantly as Erika continue to thrash against the iron meshwork. Slegg ogled the enticing
shimmying of Erika' s whip-reddened buttocks with
lustful eyes, but his salacious pleasure was tempered by the knowledge that he
still had yet to come up with a scheme to extract a wager-winning scream from
the suffering blonde
As the numberless particles of salt seeped into her wounds, Erika's
moist-dripping body continued to shudder violently against the grating. Her frenzied contortions caused the iron
framework to rattle noisily against the bulkhead against which it was propped,
and to slip downward ever so slightly from its nearly upright position.
As Jasper Slegg watched the
grating sliding down to a less upright, somewhat unstable-looking angle, his
eyes were drawn to the pool of brine on the deck beneath it, and a sly smile
creased his thin lips. For an idea had come to him, an evil, twisted idea,
which might yet win his wager. He reviewed his plan quickly – yes, with Froggy's reputation for clumsiness – often induced by
alcohol -- and Yim's painfully obvious slow-wittedness, he just might pull it off!
Slegg glanced around
surreptitiously to see if anyone was watching and then, confident that all eyes
were on Erika's luscious body, he whispered a few hurried words of instruction
into Froggy's ear. At first Froggy
looked doubtful, his lip curling in disfavor, but when Slegg
added some whispered words of explanation, not to mention a share in the
profits, Froggy's frown brightened into a cunning smile.
"Here, let me straighten that thing!" Froggy announced loudly as he limped forward in an ungainly
fashion, seemingly intent on returning the grating to its former upright
position. But as he approached the
framework, he seemed to lose his footing on the brine-soaked deck, and timing
his slip perfectly he fell forward clumsily, his left foot striking the bottom
of the grating and dislodging it from its precarious perch.
Erika gasped in horror as she saw the grating begin to
slide downward, and did her best to brace herself, but a moment later the iron
frame slammed into the bepuddled deck with
bone-jarring violence. With a supreme
effort of strength and will, she had managed to protect her head and face from
the worst of the impact. But her efforts
could not stop the force of the collision from sending waves of pain shooting
through her outstretched limbs. Worse by
far, the grating's swift descent had left her defenseless breasts, which had
already suffered so much, to absorb the brunt of the impact.
Erika's coral-tipped treasures exploded with pain the
instant the grating hit the deck. The
metal framework, which she had fleetingly thought might cushion the impact of
her fall, seemed almost to exacerbate it.
Her misery was heightened by the realization that the sailors of the Yang-tze Dragon had once again greeted
her groans of anguish with enthusiastic cheers of delight. For even though Erika's mouth-watering melons
were crushed against the unforgiving lattice and largely concealed from their
view, the most myopic man on deck could see that the impact had sent fresh
waves of pain coursing through Erika's half-concealed breasts. Thirty-odd imaginations raced with virile
pleasure as they pictured the instant Erika's ripe-nippled
treasures had slammed into the abrasive bars of the grating and the havoc the
rough-edged metal must have wrought on her sumptuous pleasure-globes.
Meanwhile Froggy had righted
himself after narrowly escaping the falling framework and he gestured for the
muscular Yim to help him return the grating to its
former position. Froggy
muttered something under his breath to the slow-witted giant and then the two
men, after sliding around rather comically on the wet deck managed to return
the grating to its upright position.
But with one dreadful difference.
The framework was now inverted, with Erika's bound wrists
perhaps a foot from the deck and her spread-eagled ankles forming the upper
vertices of a 'Y' that would have tempted the chastest
monk in
"Ye bloody fools!" Slegg began, hoping
to disguise his part in Erika's erotic inversion. "Set 'er up
proper."
Froggy and Yim
put their hands on the framework as if to return it to its original
orientation, but they were waved off by an imperious gesture from General Wang.
"Wait!" he hissed, in a voice whose malice sent icy
chills through Erika's defenseless body.
"Leave her as she is."
Knowing that the humiliating parting of her thighs exposed
her sex to the General's menacing stare, Erika struggled anew to free herself
from her bonds. But even the grating's
violent collision with the deck had failed to loosen the thong around her
wrists.
"Excellent!"
whispered the General in a satanic voice.
Why was it, the warlord wondered, that female skin looked so inviting
when wet? A thousand droplets of water
clung to Erika's creamy body lovingly, as if they hated to release their
fragile grasp on her girlish flesh. The immutable laws of gravity had taken
hold and the circlets of water which only moments earlier had been sliding
toward her ankles had now reversed their course and slid down her newly
inverted body in red-tinged streamlets, slithering slowly across the smooth
planes of her shoulders and back. Two
tiny rivulets, more lascivious than the others, trickled down her inner thighs,
and joined together in a brief embrace at the juncture of her legs, before
finding the delicious fissure of Erika's buttock cleft. The miniature river seeped into that sweet
riverbed, anointing her anus and perineum with its brine while the men of the Yang-tze Dragon looked on with envious
eyes.
The
shaven-skulled general eyed the involuntary clenching and unclenching of
Erika's moist-glistening buttocks for a long moment, savoring every tremor of
her shapely demi-ovals. The saltwater had washed the streamlets
of crimson from the shallow lacerations on her behind, leaving her rosy,
deep-cleft buttocks fresh for new whip-strokes.
At a
signal from Captain McMahon Raka the drummer began again, his sparkling eyes focused on
Erika's backside, his dark hands furiously spanking the taut-stretched skin of
his tambour, which was such a resonant but lifeless substitute for Erika's alluring
backside.
Pom!-Pomm!-Pommm!-POM!!-POMM!!-POMMM!!!
Raka's hands were a blur as his frenzied drumming reached
its crescendo. When they fell silent the
General struck again, his right arm moving with such swiftness that the
nine-stranded whip was almost imperceptible as it knifed through the sea air. But the near silence ended the moment the
whip's progress through the air was halted by its collision with Erika's
shapely derriere.
WHFFFFFFTT!!! CRACCKKK!!!!
The
sixty-three knots struck at once, exploding against the moist film of seawater
glistening on Erika's bottom.
"Ngggghhhhhhh!!" Erika had done
her best to brace herself for the force of the lash, but falling as it did on
flesh already reddened by the whip, the blow was excruciating. Her body recoiled in a paroxysm of agony and
continued to quiver uncontrollably as the pain radiated through her pelvis like
an electric current. The general's
whip-stroke seemed to have atomized the cooling moisture of the brine while
leaving its salty venom behind. The
smooth skin on Erika's backside was ablaze as a thousand microscopic grains of
salt clawed their way into the abrasions left by the whip and began filling
them with their poison.
"Scream,
you fucking whore! Scream!!" Jasper Slegg
ordered the tortured blonde telepathically, as the thongs of the whip, more
than a few of them tinged with fresh scarlet, fell away from Erika's quivering
backside.
But
the only sound that escaped Erika's lips was a choking, sobbing,
"Shi!" as
she tallied the tenth stroke in a strangled voice. Two more, she thought. If she could only endure two more
flesh-searing strokes of the whip without crying out, she could take some
slight revenge on the villainous first mate who had
caused her so much suffering.
But Jasper
Slegg had one more card to play.
"She's
got a pretty puss, yer honor," Slegg muttered insinuatingly. "I bet the boys'd
like to see it wriggle." He turned
toward the frenzied crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon. 'ow
about it, lads? 'ow'd
ye like to see 'er cunt dance a little jig for us?"
A
chorus of cheers greeted Slegg's words, with only
those who had taken Slegg's heavy odds withholding
their approval.
The
general gave Slegg a peculiar glance, resenting his
effrontery in suggesting a course of action to a man so far superior in rank
and privilege. And yet
…
The general's shaven skull glistened in the sunlight as his
snake-like eyes were drawn to the delicate folds of flesh between Erika's
legs. He smiled evilly as he draped the
nine-tailed whip over Erika's delectable feminity and
let the blood-smeared knots slither over the sweet slit of her sex.
"N-no… please …." whispered Erika in a tremulous
voice.
"Let 'er 'ave it, yer honor!" Slegg whispered
satanically. "ave ye forgot that she set the ship on fire? We're lucky to be standing 'ere. She could 'ave sent
us all to the bottom of the bloody sea!"
The general threw Slegg a
piercing glance. There was a mysterious
dynamic at work on the deck of the Yang-tze
Dragon, some unknown agenda that had made the feisty first mate even more venomous
than usual.
"I… I never mean to hurt anyone," Erika murmured
truthfully enough. She had only sought
to escape Slegg's brutal anal assault.
"Let 'er ave it," Slegg repeated. "Right between those pretty legs!"
Erika's body shivered uncontrollably as the shaven-skulled
general drew the tails of the knotted whip through her crotch with infinite
slowness, allowing the beaded pellets to reconnoiter the fertile valley between
her legs. Erika gasped under her breath
as the felt the tough knots of the whip scraping across the delicate folds of
her flesh, probing her femininity, seeking its most sensitive and vulnerable
regions.
"Look at the whore wriggle," Slegg
sneered as the deep V formed by Erika's wide-spread thighs quivered in response
to the strokings of the whip. "Give 'er what she wants, yer Lordship!"
As the General considered Slegg's
prompting, his thin-slit eyes feasted on the delicious view afforded by Erika's
inverted spread-eagle. Her sleek,
brine-moistened thighs and golden-fringed genitals sparkled in the brilliant
sunlight. The soft, pink folds of flesh
trembled invitingly as he pulled back the whip and slapped it lightly against
Erika's delectable vulva, drawing a muted gasp from his helpless captive. Erika's labia were still rosy from her
harrowing ride on the Wooden Lady, and their blush deepened in response to the
touch of the whip. General Wang's
stone-hard erection grew even more obdurate as the talented muscles that lined
the portals of Erika's vagina performed an involuntary but sensual dance that
made her exquisite love slit wink invitingly at him.
As the sadistic warlord drew the lash toward
him again, the knots seemed to cling to Erika's prominent clitoris, as if
reluctant to part company with the succulent sentinel
they had aroused with their touch.
"Do not worry, my little friends," the general admonished the thongs
of the whip under his breath, "your reunion with your pretty hostess is
not far off."
General
Wang's arm shot up and the nine-tailed whip leaped skyward. But just as the grim-faced officer's arm
began its swift descent, the Yang-tze
Dragon was buffeted by a swell dispatched by a merciful god of the sea and
the ghastly CRACCKKKK!!! of the lash ravaged the
delicate flesh on the inside of Erika's left thigh, missing her girlish
treasure by the narrowest of margins.
Even
so, the pain was nearly unendurable, and Erika drew blood from her lip in
trying to suppress a scream of anguish.
The intense vibration of her legs and abdomen rattled the grating so loudly
that she feared that the framework would crash to the deck once again.
But
still she did not scream. "Shi yi," she
gasped, tasting blood as she tallied the penultimate stroke.
Jasper
Slegg silently cursed the wave crest which had caused
the general's usually unerring aim to falter.
"Bad luck," he rasped encouragingly to the suddenly
queasy-looking general. "Easy does
it, your honor. Take a deep breath or two and ye'll
be fit as a fiddle." 'And split the
bloody whore in 'arf with the next one,' he muttered
under his breath.
As
the tails of the whip fell away from the defenseless V of her crotch, Erika's
long, lovely body shuddered in a final paroxysm of dread, for she knew that she
still hovered at the gates of hell. With
her head inverted, she could see only the eerie shadow of the whip as it
described an arc across the brine-wet deck.
For an instant the ghastly shadow seemed to be moving in slow motion as
the general continued his slow backswing, and then the shadow hesitated for a
portentous moment as her tormentor extracted another moment or two of virile
pleasure from this final stroke.
"C'mon,
yer lordship, give 'er a good 'un! Right atwixt those
pretty legs."
The
viciousness of Jasper Slegg's goading words stiffened
Erika's flagging resolve, and in the instant the shadow began its forward arc,
she bit down again on her bloodied lip and prepared herself for the final
clawing of the cat.
The
General's heart was pounding with excitement, and his testicles were charged
with erotic electricity as he swept the whip downward toward Erika's defenseless
crotch. As the whip flew through the
air, the luscious blonde's pelvis jerked spasmodically but this time there was
no merciful swell of the sea.
WHFFFTTT!!! CRACCKKKK!!!!
And the whistling cat o nine tails found the
very core of her womanhood, raking her clitoris with hellfire.
All
but a handful of the men of the Yang-tze Dragon roared with obscene gusto as
Erika's enticingly crimson-smeared buttocks jerked once and then again. All but one of the sailors exulted at the
sight of her tantalizing body writhing so sensuously against the grating as she
tried to soothe her suffering.
But there was one man who, for the moment was taking little
joy in Erica's misery. For, despite the
fevered writhings of her body, Erika had managed to
suppress the screams of anguish which would have doubled his profits, even as
her silence had stolen them. When he saw
Tranh and Lucky striding toward him, an amused
expression on their faces, a sullen Jasper Slegg
slammed his fist against the ship's rail and cursed the golden-haired beauty
who had thwarted his schemes once again.
A few minutes later, after an irritable Jasper Slegg had paid off the men who had out-witted him, he was
distracted by a rustling sound overhead.
Slegg glanced up and saw that the noise had
come from the noose dangling from the forbidding gibbet overhead. {see Chapter 151). The
gibbet whose presence on deck he and the other men who had been so mesmerized
by Erika's 'dizzen at the grating' had all but
forgotten.
The thick circlet of rope tossed ominously in
the sea breeze, just a few feet above the wooden rail which Deng-shan had affixed
to the hull of the ship. Slegg stared at the instruments of flagellation hanging therefrom {Chapter 151} and grinned
a ghastly grin. For one count of Erika's
guilt still remained to be punished.
Slegg had
been mystified when Captain McMahon had sentenced the blonde temptress to a
cryptic 'Flogging of the Bells' {see Chapter 147}. But given Andrew McMahon's taste for feminine
chastisement, and from the look of the gruesome implements of discipline
hanging from Deng-shan's hooks, he sensed that he
might soon have a chance to make good his revenge.
Chapter 153 The Flogging of the Bells
"Let
'er have it!"
Jasper Slegg's coarse bellow roused Erika from the faint to which
she had succumbed when General Wang's final whip stroke had found the delicate
folds of her sex. Her azure-blue eyes
fluttered open just in time to see Yim, the hulking
Malayan, muscle the second barrel of
brine to shoulder height, and a moment later she felt the chilling splash of another
four gallons of sea-water cascading down her face and chest.
Still
only half-conscious, Erika staggered under the shock of the onrushing water and
wondered dazedly why the massive onslaught of water had not driven her to her
knees. Half-blinded, she spluttered and
tried to shake her head from side to side to dispel the brine from her face;
she was surprised to find that it was difficult and painful to do so.
Deng-shan,
the carpenter and bondage rigger of the Yang-tze
Dragon looked on proudly, pleased with his conception. It had taken him only a moment to free an
unconscious Erika Weiss from the thongs that bound her to the grating, and not
much longer to ensnare her in the cruel bondage in which she was now enmeshed.
And
what a sight she was! Although the
The statuesque blonde stood upright on
the scaffolding Deng-shan had erected
overnight, the noose hanging from the midpoint of the crossbeam of the 7-shaped
gibbet above her tight around her throat.
Inch-thick hawsers of marine rope were knotted tightly around her
upraised wrists, tugging her arms and shoulders into an eye-catching Y. High overhead the ends of those same ropes
had been drawn through sturdy rings in the corners of the overhanging gibbet
and then pulled down to shoulder height.
There, a pair of dark-queued Chinese, their feet planted firmly on the
deck of the Yang-tze Dragon, tugged
on them manfully, lifting Erika onto her toes and stretching her well-toned
arms to their limits.
The
strain of that suspension flattened Erika's stomach deliciously and lifted her
mouthwatering breasts into superb prominence.
Her puckering nipples, firm and wet from the chilling brine, seemed to
challenge the Asian sky. Her legs were
slightly parted, her thighs still trembling slightly in response to the blast
of icy sea-water, her flaxen pubic air drawing every eye to the enticing slit
between her creamy thighs.
As her
awareness returned, Erika became more conscious of the constrictive noose
gripping her throat and of the men of the Yang-tze
Dragon gaping at her statuesque body. Despite the many indignities of her
long ordeal, a flush of shame washed over her nakedness, bathing her nude body
in a rosy glow. The salty brine had all
but washed the blood from her burr-ravaged breasts, but it nipped at the
countless abrasions on her body like a
hundred hornets.
Erika
shuffled her bare feet in an attempt to
stabilize her taut-stretched position, only to discover the true
direness of her predicament. For
Deng-shan had positioned her feet, not on the floor of the scaffolding itself
but on a pair of wooden blocks. The
blocks were perhaps ten inches square and six inches thick, and made her
position even more precarious. Erika
shivered as the realized that, given the tightness of the rope around her neck,
if she were to stagger even slightly she would be in imminent danger of
slipping off the blocks and dangling from the gibbet until she was freed from
the hangman's knot.
But as
Erika stared as the slippery platform she realized that the shallowness of the
blocks was such that such a slip would not grant her the quick, merciful
fatality of a broken neck. Rather, she
would hang by her neck, her long, bare legs flailing convulsively, futilely, slowly strangling until such time as her
captors, amused by her helplessness, restored her footing so that they could
continue her punishment at their leisure.
When a massive
sea swell caught the Yang-tze Dragon
amidships, Erika Weiss had to struggle to maintain her footing. When she righted herself she saw General Wang
and Hsi Fong swaying awkwardly near the starboard rail, both of them decidedly
paler than they had been only minutes earlier.
Erika remembered that they had retired early on the prior day due to
seasickness and she wondered if they would soon be sidelined by illness
again. Why, wondered Erika miserably,
couldn't the spiteful gods of the have sea seen to it that these waves of
nausea had overtaken the two warlords before General Wang had flayed half the
skin from her back and buttocks with the thief's cat?
Just
then a pale-visaged General Wang made an abrupt
signal to the two Chinese sailors holding the ends of her festooned
wrist-ropes. The seamen gave the ropes a
fierce tug that nearly lifted Erika off her feet. She hung, suspended, her shapely thighs
straining to keep her toes in contact with the wooden blocks.
As
Captain Andrew McMahon cleared his throat before announcing the imposition of
the fourth count of Erika's sentence, Jasper Slegg
slithered from one side of the deck to the other. The son of a seedy
As he
circled to larboard, Slegg noticed that the tautness
of Erika's wrist ropes gave the backs of her thighs the tense curvature of the
dancers who had teased the toffs at his father's
sleazy shows. Her dripping,
whip-reddened buttocks were of a roundness that Medusa-like, turned his rutting
erection to stone. In profile in the
bright noonday sun, every line and curve
of her body had the chiseled perfection of a statue carved to appease a priapic god of lust.
When he had completed his leering
circuit of Erika's taut-stretched body, Slegg once
again positioned himself at a frontal angle, where he feasted his eyes on the
shapeliness of her straining thighs, the slimness of her girlish waist, the
womanly roundness of her pelvis, and the proud thrust of her luscious,
pink-tipped breasts which rose and fell enticingly with her every panting
breath. Between her parted legs the
delicate petals of her golden-fringed sex were moist and inviting.
Erika
glanced from one to the other of the lust-hardened faces of the crewmen
encircling her. To her right Khasar, the brutish Mongol, and Froggy,
the croaking Chinese, were ogling her bold-jutting breasts like ravenous wolves
eyeing a tender fawn. Behind her she
could hear Yim, Raka,
Tattoo, and the other Malayans chattering excitedly in their strange tongue.
Lucky and Tranh and most of the Chinese were arrayed directly
in front of her, licking their lips as their eyes made the pleasant excursion
from her naked breasts to her blonde-tufted loins and back again.
Just then a wan-looking General Wang
crossed her line of vision, brandishing the blood-smeared cat o' nine tails
that had ravaged her back and buttocks.
He gave her the brief, contemptuous smile a slavemaster
gives to a slave and continued on toward the board Deng-shan had hammered to
the hull. The board from which hung
eight hooks, seven of them laden with various instruments of discipline.
The general raised the whip triumphantly, as
if it were a battle standard, and received a raucous cheer of support from the
sailors of the Yang-tze Dragon, before hanging the nine-tailed whip on the
vacant hook. Erika cringed at the seeming
certainty that her naked body might once again have to endure the
flesh-ravaging fury of the cat o' nine tails.
"Give the cap'n
your attention!" barked the gravelly
voice of Jasper Slegg, as the burly figure of Andrew
McMahon stepped forward.
"The preesoner,
haein been duly convicted o' four felonies at sea,
shall noo suffer the penalty o' the fourth count, the
murther o' little Mao. Knowing the wee bastard as I did I ha'e scarcely a doot that 'e
provoked the bonnie wench, but that is nayther here
nor thare. "
The red-bearded sea captain paused to
clear his throat and continued in a voice nearly loud enough to be heard on the
mainland. "The preesoner
shall hang by the neck while members o' the crew administer the flogging of the
bells during the afternoon watch. Deng,
prepare the preesoner! The rest o' ye thraw
yer names intae the
tam!" With that, McMahon reached
deep into the pockets of his pea-coat and removed a faded tartan cap of blue
and green. Stepping to his left, toward
a rough-hewn table, he pushed aside
several lengths of lumber and some coils of rope and chain to make room for the
tam on the workbench Deng-shan had used during the construction of the scaffolding.
As the captain's voice died away and the
men of the Yang-tze Dragon made their marks on the bits of paper that Slegg and Deng had passed among them, Erika took stock of
her situation. The afternoon watch, she
knew, began at
Erika glanced at the robust red-bearded
ship's captain. McMahon in turn was
staring intently up at the helm, where a pig-tailed Chinese was gripping the
rope that would sound the ship's bell.
Andrew McMahon glanced at his pocket
watch, and nodded to himself with satisfaction as the bell-ringer sounded the
bell at precisely the moment the second hand passed the
The immediacy of her impending
punishment sent a chill through Erika's naked body, but she tried to focus on
the moment. Apparently, the strange
ritual of 'the flogging of the bells'
permitted the prisoner to choose the order in which the eight ghastly
instruments hanging from the hooks would be used on her body. That being the case she did her best to focus
on the implements of correction that would be used to punish her.
From the first hook hung a gleaming
leather strap, dark, slender and supple.
From the second hook hung a long, coiled, braided leather whip which looked
as if it were powerful enough to strip half the flaking paint from the hull of
the Yang-tze Dragon with a single
stroke. Erika shuddered inwardly and
resolve to defer the lash of the fearful whip for as long as possible.
A broad brown belt fashioned from punishingly thick leather hung from the third hook and a
slender cane hung from the fourth. An
inch-thick length of split bamboo hung from the fifth. George Chan, she remembered, had whipped her
with bamboo rods from time to time, usually on her bare thighs, and the sting
of his strokes had lingered for days.
Perhaps it was only an illusion fostered by dread, but Erika could feel
the noose tightening around her neck as she contemplated the awful implements.
From the sixth hook a short but menacing
whip hung limply, its tough leather
thongs tossing gently in the stiffening breeze.
The seventh hook held a menacing
instrument unlike any Erika had ever seen before. Several thin, freshly cut switches had been
laboriously interwoven into a fearful device encased in a stout leather
handle. At first Erika was puzzled as to
why a bundle of switches would need a handle – but upon closer inspection she
saw its purpose. For each of the slender
switches, was as studded with spines and thorns as the rosebushes that George Chan had grown in his
pleasure garden.
From the eighth hook, of course, hung
the thief's cat, which had already driven her to the precipice of agony and
beyond a dozen times.
As Erika pondered her choice, the men of
the Yang-tze Dragon shuffled past her at a snail's pace. En route to dropping their names in the hat
on the workbench, each man lingered to admire close up the deep, dark crease
between her rounded, reddened buttocks, her fleece-lined pussy, and the sweet,
succulent mounds of her voluptuous breasts.
"By the sword of the Great Khan, I
hope I get another crack at those beauties," Froggy
croaked loudly as he limped past her.
And then, in a whisper only Khasar and Erika
could hear, he added, "And she knows how to use 'em,
too," he leered, winking knowingly at Khasar.
Erika flushed with fury, remembering how
she had been coerced into worshipping Froggy's ugly,
swollen cock with her ripe young breasts.
In her long nightmare of sexual subjugation she had rarely felt so
shamed.
The swarthy Mongol grunted enviously,
picturing himself astride Erika's naked torso, using the heels of his powerful
hands to crush Erika's malleable melons against his throbbing erection, while
he tormented her swollen nipples with his thumbnails.
"Chuise,
lassie, or I'll double the score!"
Captain McMahon's gruff voice was brusque, impatient.
As the two crewmen she feared most moved
past her, Erika's mind whirled . The cat
o' nine tails had left the flesh of her back and backside raw and burning, and
now her body was destined to receive another stroke with each of the evil
implements hanging from the ugly hooks.
But which one first? She could
not bear the thought of one of the whips tearing her ravaged flesh just
then. Later for them, surely, when her
tender flesh had had an hour or two to recover from the savage punishments of
the morning. And the cane and the
thorn-whip – surely they would be used on her burning buttocks. Perhaps the …
CRACKKK!!!
"Aaaaghhh!!" Erika's naked body shuddered in pain. At a gesture from Andrew McMahon, Deng-shan
had snatched a length of nautical rope from the workbench. Then, in less time than it takes to describe
it, the tattooed carpenter had doubled up the rope and dealt Erika a blow that
left an angry reddish trail from the base of her right kidney to the center of
her left buttock.
The force of the lash caused Erika to
stagger slightly on the blocks. She felt
the hangman's noose tighten around her neck.
The unexpected blow had taken her completely by surprise and her
anguished cry was loud enough to have won Slegg's bet
had she uttered it earlier.
" 'Chuise',
I said", McMahon bellowed. "D'ye think we're going to stand around wi'
ayr thumbs up ayr arse waitin' for ye, lassie? Chuise, damn
ye!"
"Th-the
strap," Erika stammered through
gritted teeth, as she prayed for the flesh-searing sting of Deng's lash to
subside. She really didn't know which
instrument of discipline to select first, but the strip of leather hanging on
the first hook seemed no worse than any of the others.
"Aye, the strap it shall be, then,
for the first bell. " McMahon turned toward the crewmen. "Ha'e ye all thrawn yer name intae the tam?"
Hearing no dissenting voices from the
crew, McMahon reached into the hat and pulled out a slip of paper. He unfolded
it clumsily and squinted disapprovingly at the markings on the paper before
handing it to Deng-shan, who glanced at the Chinese characters and then
whispered into McMahon's ear.
"Tiger shall deliver the first
blow!" the captain boomed. "Step lively now, laddie!"
Erika remembered the muscular,
sallow-skinned Malayan from her ordeal in the Bird Cage. She recalled how he Tiger dug his fingers
deep into her breast-globes and clawed at them with all of the animalistic savagery
of his namesake.
"The strap, laddie!"
McMahon grunted, gesturing toward the long, black strap hanging from the first
hook.
The brown-skinned islander grinned
through his bad teeth and swept the strap from its place on the hook. When he turned toward Erika, his eyes blazing
with excitement, she saw that he was chewing on betel nut.
Seeing her grimace of distaste at the
uncouth habit of his people, Tiger frowned and flicked Erika's thighs lightly
with the strap while he took in the gentle rise and fall of her tempestuous
breasts. Then he giggled in a strange
high-pitched voice and turned to his countrymen and cackled something in
Malayan. When his comrades shouted out
their encouragement, he threw his head back and spat a thick globule of
foul-smelling betel juice into the valley between Erika's close-set breasts.
Erika cringed in disgust, but the
Malayan had only just begun to degrade her.
Doubling up the strap in his left hand, he approached her and used his
right to smooth the oily reddish sputum into her tit-flesh, while his depraved
fellow islanders cheered him on. When
both of Erika's breasts were slick and rosy from his spittle, he gave them each
a smart slap and then stepped back and circled around behind her.
As Tiger took his position, the two
Chinese manning Erika's wrist ropes gave them a stiff jerk, exacerbating the
pressure on her shoulders. As the
jabbering of the Malayan contingent grew louder Erika sensed that the first
stroke would not be long in coming.
She was right.
"EEYAHHH!" Tiger's bestial cry drowned out the sound of
the dark strap cutting through the air, but an instant later Erika felt the
venomous bite of the strap across her upper back, and in the tender area under her arm. Worse, the very tip of the long strap had reached
for and found the sensitive outer curve of her right breast.
"Ahh-aaahh!"
Erika gasped, her nude body jerking violently in the neck-noose as the sailors
looked on with delight.
"A gud
strake it was, mon," boomed Andrew McMahon. "See to your duties, lads and we'll gaither
taegither agin at twa bells."
As the men shuffled back to their posts,
General Wang looked around irritably.
"What is this?" he snapped, his sallow complexion growing
paler by the minute as the creaking Yang-tze
Dragon contended against the
cresting waves.
" 'Tis a floggin' o' the bells, laddie,
and the neist bell is thirty minutes awa'. We'll conteena then."
Erika relaxed a bit as the grumbling
sailors went back to their posts; the pigtailed coolies who had been manning
her wrist-ropes tied them off securely, leaving her stranding tall on the
blocks, but without the added counterweight of their own strength.
"So you're just going to leave her
out here for half an hour?" the ill-tempered general barked.
"For four hours, mon. Dinna ye ken the meanin' o' the
afternoon watch? The lassie will stand
on the scaffold, bound by 'er wrists and her bonnie neck until the start o' dog
watch. " The veteran sea captain
stared contemptuously at the obviously befuddled warlord. "That's four o' the clock for ye
land-lubbers."
Just then a powerful wave lifted the Yang-tze Dragon high on the water and
when the ship pitched downward, the general and Hsi Fong staggered sideways and
covered their mouths with their hands until they made their way to the ship's
rail and added the contents of their stomachs to the timeless refuse of the
sea.
"Got
Davy Jones' collywobbles, d'ye?" McMahon asked
gruffly. "Perhaps ye'd better hae a lie-down."
Despite
her own misery, Erika was able to take some small satisfaction from the
general's miseries as he and Hsi Fong lurched toward their cabin. 'Schadenfreude' they called it in her own
country – the malicious pleasure one sometimes takes in another's misfortune.
"Cap'n?"
Erika's momentary triumph quickly
reverted to a deepening anxiety as she
heard Slegg's gravelly voice and his approaching
footsteps behind her. She tried to glance over her shoulder, but the chokingly
tight neck-noose prevented her from doing so.
"Aye, Slegg,"
McMahon snapped irritably. "What is
it noo?"
"Seein'
as 'ow the general is going to be below decks for a
while, 'ow about we 'ave
Deng make up a Mermaid's Necklace for the pretty wench?"
Erika wriggled in revulsion as she felt Slegg's hand gliding up and down her upper left thigh.
McMahon looked doubtful, but Slegg scowled and went on,
"Don't forget, cap'n. She kilt little Mao deader'n
Lord Nelson."
The red-bearded skipper seemed to
contemplate the blackness of Erika's soul for a moment before nodding his
approval.
"Ye won't regret it, cap'n. Besides, a
pretty girl likes a few trinkets. Isn't
that so, princess?" Slegg smirked as he
insinuated his groping fingers into the crease between Erika's spread-eagled
legs.
Erika writhed miserably in her
bonds. The noose, the ropes and the foot
blocks had rendered her helpless to resist Slegg's
vile caresses. She felt his thumb forcing its way into her anus even as his two
longest fingers probed the entrance to her vagina.
"Deng, whyn't you make up a nice little necklace for our
blonde princess," Slegg barked to his versatile
partner-in-punishment, as he slid his hands up Erika's flanks.
The ship's carpenter nodded and
retreated toward the workbench on the starboard side that he had used while
constructing the Wooden Lady and the scaffolding. As he sifted through a variety of sizes and
styles of chain, Jasper Slegg slid his hands under Erika's tender breasts from
behind and cupped them in his wind-weathered hands. "Ye didn't think we
were going to neglect these beauties, did ye, princess?" he growled, as he
gouged his fingers into Erika's flesh.
Erika could only whimper in abject
misery as the first mate fondled her ripe-nippled
treasures with obscene gusto, alternately crushing her soft breasts together
and then kneading them separately. Slegg devoted special attention to her nipples, tweaking
and twisting the pink nubbins until they stood out proud and firm, and then
pinching them some more. Erika was
almost grateful to see Deng coming toward her, carrying two yard-long lengths
of fine-meshed chain.
Upon Deng's approach, Slegg stopped manhandling Erika's creamy pleasure-melons,
deferring, for the moment, to his cohort in cruelty.
Upon his returning to the scaffolding
Deng-shan draped the lengths of mesh across the upslopes
of Erika's luscious breasts. Erika noted
that the two strips of flat, wire-thin chain were of slightly different
dimensions. Deng studied them with a
workman's eye, his intense gaze slowly comparing the size of the openings in
the respective strips of mesh to the fullness of Erika's aroused nipples.
When he had made his decision, he tossed
one of the lengths of chain to one side and took the one he had retained back
to the workbench, where he proceeded to
attack it with hammer and wirecutters. Meanwhile the villainous first mate resumed
his assault on Erika's naked breasts, standing behind her and reaching under
her out-stretched arms. He slapped the
outsides of Erika's wet breast-globes repeatedly, peppering them with a series
of crisp blows that provided a most entertaining show for Khasar
and Froggy.
The two sadistic crewmen had momentarily abandoned their duties to watch
Erika's succulent tit-mounds bouncing crazily on her chest.
Slegg continued
his assault on Erika's pinkening pleasure-gourds
until he noticed that Deng-shan was putting the finishing touches on his
handiwork. " 'Arf
a mo' luv,"
he chuckled gloatingly into Erika's ear, "and we'll 'ave
some pretty baubles for your boobies," before re-directing his attention
to the swollen tips of her breasts.
Erika could feel his hot breath on her back as he ground her
pinkish-brown buds between his fingertips until her nipples were once again
standing out boldly from her brine-damp breasts.
Moments later, Deng finished his
pounding and cutting and returned to face Erika holding the length of flat,
fine-meshed chain link. As he moved
closer Erika noticed that the Chinese handyman had cut the links on each end of
the chain. She stared fixedly at the
broken links for a moment, wondering at their purpose, until Deng pressed one
of the broken end-links against the base of her elongated right nipple.
Slegg, having
massaged the tips of Erika's breasts into eye-catching erectness, moved his
hands lower, under-cupping Erika's succulent globes while Deng-shan tried to
force the narrow jaws of the broken link around Erika's tender breast bud.
"Aaaahh!"
Erika's audible gasp as Deng pressed the sharp, unfiled
edges of the newly-cut link against her nipple drew the attention of the seamen
of the Yang-tze Dragon who had been
attending to their various duties. Erika
could see the men pointing and hear them chuckling with manly pleasure as
Deng-shan worked the jagged edges of the broken link back and forth against her
firm nipple until the swollen nugget was
imprisoned by metal on three sides.
Deng grasped the chain by its midpoint,
and gave it a swift upward tug, drawing another gasp of pain from Erika as she
felt the metal band tighten around her
nipple.
"It'll never stay," Slegg muttered disapprovingly. "It's already starting to come
loose."
"Patience, my English friend,"
Deng muttered softly as he worked the link back to its pre-tug position. Then he reached into his toolbelt
and withdrew a small pair of pincers.
"No … for God's sake," Erika
whispered, but there was no staying the Chinese handyman from his craft. He placed the ends of the pincers against the
sawed-off ends of the chain link and then pressed down, forcing the two prongs
of the cut link closer together.
"Aaaah! Aaaaahhh!!"
"Aye, now ye're
talking!" Slegg gloated as Deng's pressure
forced the ends of the link together around the outer aspect of Erika's nipple,
trapping its plump perfection in the tiny metal opening.
Deng continued to apply the pressure
until two thin strands of metal touched, and tears of pain we're streaming down
Erika's cheeks.
Once the link was secure, Slegg began to goad the ear-ringed Chinese.. "Give it
a bit of a twist, laddie; tighten it up."
"No… please … no…"
Returning Slegg's
evil grin, Deng took the pincers and deftly pinned the two ends of the link
together. He paused to admire the
perfection of Erika's entrapped nipple-nugget for a moment before adjusting his
grip with surgical delicacy and slowly rotating his hand, braiding the two
strands together, and enclosing Erika's breast-nubbin in the merciless vise he
had fashioned.
"Aaghhh! Agghhhhhhhh!!!" Erika thrashed in her bonds, but there was no
escape
Deng pulled back the pincers to examine
the imprint of the flat side of the chain on Erika's aureole and the way the
link compressed her plucky nipple.
"Christ, that's luvly,
inn'it? Her
nip's trapped tighter than a shillin' in a banker's
fist! Nice job, me boy. But don't go on holiday now, lad -- give 'it
another twist!"
A cruel grin passed across Deng's
face. He brandished the menacing pincers
in front of Erika's azure-blue eyes, relishing the fear that he found there.
Consumed by panic, Erika tore at her
bonds as best she could while still maintaining her precarious perch on the blocks
but Deng's wrist-ropes yielded not an inch.
The wily carpenter trained his hooded eyes on her naked body enjoying
her every contortion as Erika twisted and turned lasciviously, her long blonde
mane whipped gloriously by the winds of the
Finally, when Erika had exhausted
herself, Deng gently brushed away the golden tresses which a protective breeze
had draped defensively across Erika's breast.
He slid his left hand under her breast and lowered the pincers toward
the braided strands of metal.
Erika's blonde hair tossed wildly
from side to side as she tried to evade the terrible pincers, but the choking
neck noose held her firmly in place.
Closer, closer, closer the evil pincers came, until they were just touching the metal.
Erika, her creamy nude torso glistening with
fear-sweat, could only watch in horror as the jaws of the pincers closed again
on the braided barb that imprisoned her nipple.
"Bitte … bitte …" she implored the almond-eyed handyman, but
Deng ignored the plaintive whispers.
Moving with infinite deliberateness, Deng gave the braided link-ends a
quarter turn that slowly tightened the vise on Erika's nipple.
"Aahh! Aaaahhh!! AAAHHH!" Erika threw back her head as
far as the noose would permit and gasped in agony as Deng increased the
pressure. But, urged on to greater
villainy by a leering Jasper Slegg, the crafty
carpenter did not ease the crushing pressure on Erika's tortured love-bud until
both were startled by the clanging of the ship's bell.
Deng pulled the pincers back, and released the
other end of the chain, leaving the length of metal mesh dangling from Erika's
throbbing nipple.
"Twa
bells, lassie!" Andrew McMahon
rumbled as he emerged from the
forecastle behind her, while the sailors re-assembled to watch the second phase
of the flogging of the bells. "Chuise your instrument!!"
Erika, tried to ignore the strands of
metal imprisoning her nipple and focus on the matter at hand. Half-blinded by tears of suffering, she
scanned the seven hooks, knowing full well that any delay in her choice might
lead to another penalty stroke. But she
could not choose. Not the whips, not
yet, she decided frantically, and certainly not the frightful
thorn-switch. But which? But which?
"Chuise!!"
bellowed the red-bearded mariner, his Scottish accent all but intelligible to
everyone except Slegg.
"Das Rohr," Erika muttered miserably
at last. The cane.
By this time McMahon had lumbered across
the deck toward the hat which held the names of his crewmen. He reached in and removed one and frowned at
the Chinese characters. He handed it to
Deng-shan, who glanced at it briefly before calling out, "Li Piao!"
Within an instant one of the two dozen
pigtailed Chinese who manned the Yang-tze
Dragon stepped forward, grinning delightedly. McMahon gestured toward the cane and the
skinny little man picked it up and held it aloft for the approbation of his
shipmates.
A chorus of obscene catcalls ensued, as
the wiry Chinese man took his position behind Erika. He gave every appearance of being dreadfully
far-sighted as he placed the slender rod lightly against Erika's whip-reddened
buttocks, like a blind man feeling his way with a cane. Meanwhile the two Chinese manning the
guy-ropes gave them a powerful tug, stretching Erika's nude body, and bowing
her back slightly, accentuating the delicious curvature of her buttocks.
"Give 'er a good 'un!" Slegg's gravelly voice cut through the cacophony of
jabbering Chinese, and Li nodded excitedly.
But, intent on prolonging his brief moment of masculine glory, the
sailor turned his wrist so that the rod poked into the sweet crease at the base
of Erika's bottom-globes. Then, his eyes
bright with virile lust, Li drew the tip of the cane up Erika's tempting
buttock-crease with obscene glee.
Erika shuddered in revulsion as the
gleeful Chinese worked the cane back and forth, poking and prodding her
derriere, while his mates leaned closer to get a glimpse of the stiff tip of
the cane testing the fleshy ring guarding her nether opening. Erika gasped as she felt the tip of the rod
pushing inside her and was grateful when she heard McMahon boom out, "Get
on wi' it, mon, or we'll
all be here tae midnacht!"
Responding to the captain's impatience,
Li drew the cane back. He shuffled his
feet slightly, squaring his stance. Then, reaching out with the cane, he
addressed Erika's twitching bottomglobes with the
slender cane. Once, twice, three times
he took the cane back quickly and then brought it forward slowly, grooving his
stroke, letting the edge of the cane just kiss the crowning summits of Erika's
tempting nethercheeks. Then, after the fourth
backswing, he struck, whistling the cane forward in a blinding blur.
A split second after Erika heard the
telltale Whooshh! of the cane she felt it slam into
her burning asscheeks with a dreadful impact.
THWICKK!!! "Aaaiiyahhh!!"
The rod ravaged buttock flesh already
rose-red from the cat. The force of the
sailor's blow drove Erika's nude body forward with such violence that she
nearly fell from the blocks. The
noose-cords tightened ominously around her neck until she managed to right
herself and regain her balance
Erika's magnificent breasts heaved violently
and she exhaled a long breath of air as Li handed the cane to Andrew
McMahon. Two strokes down, she consoled
herself, and only six more to go, with
the next not due for another half an hour.
And then, perhaps, some hours of blessed rest until the docking of the Yang-tze Dragon's arrival at the general's island citadel, a
landing which would no doubt inaugurate yet another chapter in her odyssey of
sexual slavery. But for a blessed half
an hour, at least, she would have peace.
But a moment later an icy shiver of terror
coursed through her nakedness. For
Andrew McMahon was reaching into the cloth hat once again. And once again the burly, blue-coated
navigator squinted at the markings on the slip of paper he withdrew, shrugged
and handed the paper to Deng-Shan.
"Tattoo!" the carpenter called
out, and the brown-skinned sailor emerged from the circle of Malayans, several
of whom pounded him on the back excitedly.
Erika stared speechless as the animated
Malayan took the rod from McMahon's outstretched hand. It was Tattoo who had painfully pinned her
arms behind her while Raka the drummer had gnawed at
her nipples in the dark passageway leading to the infirmary.
"But the b-bells,' Erika stammered
frantically to Captain McMahon.
"You said it would be a flogging of the bells. Eight bells …
eight instruments."
"Aye, Lassie," McMahon
glowered at the squirming blonde who had redoubled her efforts to free herself
from her bonds, but without result.
"Eight bells and eight instruments.
But air ye sich a daft fool that ye thowt thare'd be only ane whang for each bell? For sich a wrang-daein as murther?!?" The heavy-set skipper chortled with such
infectious derision that his crewmen joined him in mocking laughter even though
most had little idea of what he had said.
"Sorry, Princess. It'll be ane stroke
for the first bell, twa for the second, threy for the third and so on." The captain turned toward Tattoo, whose
muscular forearms bristled with tattoos of naked women in obscene poses.
Erika's mind reeled with terror as she
tried to evaluate this new, far harsher interpretation of her sentence, but she
was unable to concentrate as Tattoo shot Andrew McMahon a bad-toothed grin and
ran the tip of the cane down the length of her spine, pressing more firmly when
he came to the cleft in her buttocks.
With his Malayan comrades cheering him,
he stepped closer, grabbing both of Erika's rosy-pink buttock cheeks in
his greedy hands.
He fondled her bottom-globes with
obvious relish for a few seconds and then stepped back and laid the end of the
cane across the uppermost curves of Erika's quivering backside. Just at that moment the two Chinese manning
her wrist hopes gave them a sharp tug, stretching the muscles of Erika's limbs
and torso deliciously.
"Give 'er a good 'un!" hissed Jasper Slegg.
Tattoo nodded to the first mate and drew the
cane well back to give his stroke ample time to pick up speed. "Yaahh!!"
he grunted as he swept the rod forward, delivering a cane-stroke that CRACKKed ferociously into the defenseless flesh of Erika's
whip-reddened buttocks.
"Aiaaaahhh!!"
the spread-eagled blonde gasped, as the pain radiated through her burning
bottom.
"Mon your stations, lads,"
bellowed Andrew McMahon. "We shall gaither agin at three bells!"
As the Chinese rope-tuggers
eased the tension on her body, Erika tried to ignore the pain searing her backside
by concentrating on the nature of her plight.
She reproached herself for having been so foolish as to assume that
there would only be eight strokes in this fourth and final round of punishment. Worse still, she had compounded her folly by
selecting what she believed to be the mildest of the eight instruments of
discipline for the first two iterations of the flogging of the bells.
Her tear-filled eyes regarded the ugly hooks with horror. The six instruments remaining - the braided leather whip, the belt, the
length of bamboo, the thonged whip, the
thorn-switches, and the cat – were all fearsome indeed, and it was those
implements which would now deliver all of the remaining strokes.
The two cane-strokes across her buttocks
had almost made Erika forget about the chain-link biting into the nipple of her
left breast, but as the flames in her bottom-globes cooled in the sea air, the
pinch of the wire band digging into her nipple seemed to grow ever tighter.
Erika slowly turned her shoulders from
side to side, offering her aching nipples to the coolness of the quartering
breeze. But her motions only served to
set the chain to swaying to and fro in the sunlight in a way that attracted the
eyes of the laboring crewmen's eyes to the swaying of her ripe breasts.
Flushing, Erika forced herself to remain
still, resigned to the fact that the fierce-gripping nipple-link would gnat at
her breast-nugget during every moment of the half hour or so she had to prepare
herself for the next round of her ordeal. The next cycle would call for three strokes,
she mused, cringing inwardly, followed by rounds of four, five, six, seven and
eight strokes. Counting the blows with
the strap and the cane she had already endured, the Flogging of the Bells would
consist of thirty-six strokes in
all. The punishment of the fourth count
of her sentence, which she had deemed to be the lightest of all only moments
ago, would likely prove to be the worst of all.
And a quick glance at the twisted grins on the
faces of Jasper Slegg and Deng-shan suggested that
they would do everything in their power to make it so….
Chapter
154 Sharp
Thorns, Soft Flesh
"Chuise,
lassie!" The third clang of the
ship's bell was still echoing ominously in her eardrums when Erika Weiss heard
Captain Andrew McMahon bark out the command in his coarse Scottish brogue. She had had nearly half an hour to gather
herself for the next cycle of punishment, but that respite from the lash had
given Deng-shan, the crafty Chinese carpenter, ample time to put the finishing
touches on the Mermaid's Necklace.
During the first interval Deng had merely
crimped the broken link at one end of the length of wire-thin chain tightly
around Erika's right nipple, leaving the long strip of mesh to dangle downward
from her firm breast. During the second
interval, however, he had taken the
loose end of the yard-long length of chain, wound it around behind her neck,
and then pulled the chain mesh down over her other shoulder until the loose end
was draped over her left breast. Then,
after using his nails to pinch and twist Erika's nipple-bud into a tempting firmness,
Deng positioned the broken link at the loose end of the chain around her left
nipple.
With meticulous cruelty Deng proceeded
to work the jaws of the broken link against the base of Erika's sensitive
breast-nugget until the tasty morsel was trapped between the edges of the metal
link. His terrible pincers finished the
job, compressing the ends of the link around Erika's swollen teat until tears
of suffering had formed in the corners of her azure blue eyes.
When he stepped back, it was clear to Jesper Slegg and the rest of the
crewmen that Deng
had calculated the length of the chain with his usual precision. The nipple-gripping chain elevated Erika's
firm young breasts slightly, lifting them upwards, but without unduly
distorting their succulent shapeliness.
Erika bit her lip, trying to swallow the
pain. She cursed Deng's thoroughness
under her breath; much of the discomfort inflicted by the 'Mermaid's Necklace'
could have been remedied if only she were able to bow her head slightly. But
the hangman's noose around her neck kept her head and neck fully upright,
exacerbating the strain the Mermaid's Necklace placed on her tightly clamped
nipples.
"Chuise,
wench, or I'll chuise for ye!" McMahon's voice
thundered across the deck again.
Erika, her nude body stretched taut by
the guy-ropes binding her wrists, forced herself to examine the row of
instruments of discipline hanging from Deng-shan's
hooks once again. The three bells that
had just sounded indicated that the coming round of punishment would involve
three strokes with one of the implements.
But the round after that would call for four strokes, and then five, and
so on until "eight bells", signaling the end of the afternoon
watch, had sounded. So it was necessary
that she choose wisely – so that she did not have to endure more strokes than
necessary with the most punishing instruments.
The cruel paradox of her dilemma was that she was virtually forced to
resist every instinct of nature and select the most dreadful weapons first.
Three different whips were left -- the braided singletail,
the thonged whip and the thief's cat which had
already brought her so much suffering --
as well as the bamboo rod, the broad leather belt and the
ghastly-looking thorn-switch. Her mind
raced – the cat and the thorn-switch seemed clearly the worst, but whichever
one she chose now, she would have to endure at least four strokes with the
other. 'Choose, Erika!' she screamed to
herself silently, as she saw Deng-shan eyeing the rope-whip he had used to punish
her earlier indecision.
"Th-the …
thorn-stick," she stammered finally.
And then instantly regretted it. Three strokes with the thorn-switch would
mean four more strokes of the cat – the cat that had already turned her back
and backside into a lake of fire. But
four with the thorn-switch – would not that have been even more
unbearable? Erika was seized by a sense
of panic as the psychological pressure mounted.
How terrible it was to be compelled to choose the manner of one's own
torture!
"Aye, three with the thorn-switch
it shall be then, lassie." The
burly figure of Andrew
McMahon lumbered unsteadily toward the woolen cap which held the names of the
crewmen who had yet to take their turn.
As he passed Erika, her heart sank as she recognized the reek of alcohol on his breath. The red-bearded mariner had evidently been using
the intervals between the sounding of
the bells to quench his rapacious thirst. The captain's fondness for the bottle could
not bode well for her. Despite the
savagery of his sentence, the captain was the only man on deck who seemed to
have any interest in maintaining a semblance of shipboard discipline. Only he stood between her and complete and
utter degradation.
As McMahon reached into the tam, Jasper Slegg leaned back against the starboard rail, a mocking
leer etched across his homely face. The
villainous first mate let his eyes wander lazily over Erika's luscious nudity
as he did his best to shut out the shrill calls of the yammering seabirds that
hovered above the ship. Occasionally a white-winged
gull would swoop down to get a better look at the strange sight of the
golden-haired sea nymph, stripped to the skin and roped to the scaffold, on the
deck of the aging freighter. When yet another
snowy-white seabird fluttered down in front of Erika's face, peering at her
with his piercing eyes, Slegg pondered how ironic it
was that gulls of such a virginal whiteness, had been drawn to such a savagely
sinful ritual! Was it the smell of blood that had drawn them, he wondered, or perhaps the
staccato counterpoint of tough leather cracking against girlish flesh? Or was it the soprano gasps of suffering
that for this one day accompanied the rhythmic and sonorous sounds of the sea?
During the interval, while Deng-shan had
been crushing the chain links tight around Erika's swollen nipples, Jasper Slegg had had a few minutes to reflect on the events of the
prior twenty-four hours. He and Deng and
the two colliers had given the blonde tart a good working over in the Stoking Room
after she had clubbed him with the shovel.
Later, he and Deng had pocketed a few quid and given the boys a good
show when they had subjected Erika to the Night of the Seven Torments on the
prior evening. How gratifying it had
been to bind
the golden-haired wench in a series of erotic positions that had tested her
flexibility and stamina to their limits!
Even so, he
was coming to the conclusion that the rigorous punishments Captain Andrew
McMahon had imposed for the 'crimes' Erika had committed while aboard the Yang-tze Dragon had proved, if anything,
even more stimulating. He had cleverly managed
to position himself at the tail end of the fearful double column for Erika's electrifying run through
the gauntlet. From there he had had a
perfect vantage point from which to watch Erika's stagger bravely through a dozen yards of hell, while his
sex-crazed shipmates had lashed her fore and aft, targeting her creamy thighs,
her rounded buttocks, her trim, tapering belly and her luscious, proud-nippled breasts.
Deng's imaginative contraption, the
Wooden Lady, had been a great success as well. How the delectable young blonde
had squirmed when he and Deng had impaled her on the twin-phalluses at the base
of the device! What a sensation of
masculine mastery he had felt when he had rammed the third wooden phallus
halfway down her throat! How arousing it
had been to watch as Erika's superb breast-melons, bound and bulging,
had been stretched to their limits with every torturous turn of the crank.
The punishment for the third count, the
whipping with the cat o' nine tails had cost him a bundle, it's true. Somehow Tranh and
Lucky had found a way to inform the deceitful wench about the bet and she had
cheated him of all his earnings in the Bird Cage. But it had almost been worth it to see
Erika's nude body writhing against the metal grating as the general had
delivered lash after lash to her lovely body.
Best of all, the sentence for the fourth
count, which had only just begun, promised to be the most entertaining at
all. The general had wielded the cat so
skillfully that every inch of Erika's back and backside was deliciously rosy – primed for further
punishment. And there were still
thirty-three strokes to be administered – beginning with three with the
thorn-switch.
"Cheng Lao, Kai Pu,
Orang!"
An icy chill ran down Erika's body as the captain called out the names
of the three men whose names he had drawn.
For it would be this trio of men who would wield the
thorn-switch.
By a strange coincidence, Cheng and Kai
were the two men who had been manning Erika's wrist-ropes. As they beckoned to a couple of comrades to relieve them while they did their
manly duty, Erika arched her neck upwards and followed the path of the guy-ropes
as they wound their way through the rings in the corners of the gibbet's
cantilevered crosspiece before wending their way back downward toward the
waiting arms of Cheng and Kai.
When the ropes were safely handed off,
Cheng and Kai, clad in ragged shirts and sooty leggings, approached the
taut-stretched prisoner, their almond-shaped eyes drinking in the lush curves
of her body as they moved past her toward the rack of implements. Erika had not noticed it before, but while
Cheng was taller and a few years older, the two seamen were as alike as
brothers; no wonder they had found it easy to work together to jerk her bonds,
orchestrating the movements of her naked body like satanic puppet masters.
Deng-shan muttered something to Cheng
and the latter nodded grimly and removed the thorn-switch from the hook. As he turned it over in his hands, Erika got
her first good look at the ghastly instrument of discipline.
In truth the thorn-switch was not really
a switch at all, but rather a two-foot length of inch-thick bamboo which had
been cut from a young shoot which had not fully hardened. Some anonymous, well-gloved soul had wound
several long strands of sharp-thorned rose stems
around the bamboo in spiral fashion, so that many of the thorns were firmly
lodged in the spongy bamboo. But so
numerous were the braided rose stems and so tightly packed were they, that the
bamboo itself was scarcely visible. Even
more alarming was the fact that dozens of
outward-facing thorns were poised to wreak havoc on anything they
touched. Roughly six inches at one end
of the bamboo baton had been left bare and wrapped in tough leather to form a
makeshift handle, so that the dreadful weapon was one a schoolboy could grip
safely, but wield with fearful effect.
And the three sailors whose names Andrew
McMahon had called
were hardly schoolboys.
Like the other seamen of the Yang-tze Dragon, they were steeped in lust
and villainy.
Cheng Lao rotated the handle of the
thorn-switch in his hand, still not quite believing the length and sharpness of
its spines, some of which reached half an inch in length. Suitably impressed, he turned his gaze back
to Erika. The gusty winds of the China
Sea which caused her long golden air to dance lightly on her shoulders had long
since dried the brine which had soaked her body not so long ago. But now her succulent flesh was bathed in a
fear-sweat that positively glistened on her lovely skin.
Cheng's dark eyes, narrow-slitted but brimming with virile ardor, swept upward over
Erika's bare thighs, lingering briefly on the enticing feminine treasure at
their juncture, before journeying upward toward the appealing indentation of
her navel and the mouthwatering perfection of her jutting, sweat-moistened
breasts.
Despite the constant upward pressure the
chains were putting on her aching nipples, Erika was grateful that the
'Mermaid's Necklace' provided her tender breasts with some slight defense
against the thorn-switch. Cheng eyed her
majestic love-gourds hungrily for a long moment, mesmerized by the sight of her
ripe young pleasure-mounds struggling against the fiendish grip of the
Mermaid's Necklace. Cheng's dark eyes
narrowed as he focused on the taut, quivering buds themselves, once such an
appealing shade of pinkish-brown. Now,
after being crimped and crushed by the wire links, they were the color of
toasted cinnamon.
Erika was almost paralyzed with fear as
Cheng stared fixedly at her swollen nipples.
But finally, after a beckoning word from Kai Pu,
Cheng seemed to abandon the enticing notion of whipping the thorn-switch into
her throbbing breasts and he slipped around behind her. Erika exhaled a short-lived sigh of
relief. Short-lived because now she was
face to face with Orang, the third man to have won
the honor of wielding the thorn-switch.
Shirtless, his skin nut-brown and matted
with dense body hair, the muscular Malayan's brown eyes were ablaze with lust
as he ogled Erika's sweat-sheened nudity. Erika remembered how the beast-man had
wrapped his long hairy arms around her in the Bird Cage and squeezed her
breasts with the ferocity of the jungle-dweller he once had been.
Meanwhile the two kinsmen had positioned
themselves behind her. The Chinese
sailors were in no hurry to rush their moment of virile mastery. Erika winced in pain as Kai traced his
fingertips across the
lurid marks the general's lash had left on the planes and hollows of her
tapering back. Cheng,
for his part, could not restrain himself from running a filthy hand over the
curves of her rosy, deep-clefted buttocks and sliding
his fingertips into the shadowy cleavage between them.
Encouraged by the boldness of the two
Chinese, Orang moved closer, until his face was only
inches from hers and Erika could almost taste the foulness of his breath. He threw a furtive glance toward the hatchway
through which the general had retreated.
Seeing no sign of the brooding warlord, Orang
held up a hairy hand, letting a thick-knuckled middle finger spring free from
his clenched fist. Erika could not help
but stare at the repulsive digit, which was proportionate to her tormentor's
ape-like arms in length and thickness. Orang gave his helpless prisoner a gloating grin and then
he lowered his hand. An instant later
Erika felt that fat finger between her legs, driving inward and upward as if
her cervix was the Holy Grail.
Erika squirmed on her blocks, trying to
repel the probing fingers of Cheng and Orang, while
Kai Pu continued to search for an unblemished expanse
of naked flesh on which he and his cousin could leave their savage imprint.
Finally Kai Pu
drew his kinsman's attention to the soft, sensitive crease where Erika's upper
thighs melded so sweetly into her shapely backside.
Cheng grunted with obscene pleasure,
nodded and signaled to the men holding Erika's wrist-ropes to relax their grip slightly
so that her nude body would be free to twist and turn in response to his
blow. The crowd of sailors held their
breath as one as Cheng slowly drew the thorn-switch back. One could have heard a pin drop on the deck
of the Yang-tze Dragon as the Chinese sailor paused imperceptibly at the top of
his backswing, giving Orang an opportunity to thrust
his invading digit even deeper into the musky moistness of Erika's love
canal. Just as he did so, Cheng swung the
thorn-switch with a windmill motion that brought it down low before sweeping it
upward into Erika's creamy thigh-flesh.
THWUCKK!!
"Aaagghhhh!!"
"Haahhhhhh!!!"
The three sounds – the thorn-stick
savaging Erika's naked flesh, her anguished cry of agony, and the bloodthirsty
roar of approval from the crewmen – followed upon each other in rapid-fire
succession, each one drowning out its predecessor.
Erika groaned loudly as she lurched
sideways, the impact of the blow twisting her lovely nude body into a delicious
contrapposto. Only the choking grip of her neck-noose and
her impalement on Orang's rude finger prevented her
from losing her footing altogether and falling off the foot-blocks.
Cheng tried to pull the thick-handled
weapon back, but had some difficulty in doing so, because a number of the
piercing spines had embedded themselves deep in Erika's burning flesh. In the
end the pigtailed sailor had to give the weapon a sudden jerk to free it. Upon doing so he held the barbed thorn-switch
aloft, allowing his cohorts to see that some of the thorns on one face of the
prickly baton bat were tinged with scarlet.
Many of the rest were still imbedded
deep in Erika's creamy flesh.
Buoyed by his comrades' cheers of
approbation, Cheng
Lao bowed and proffered the thorn-baton
to his kinsman. Kai bowed ceremoniously
in return and, seizing the bloody baton, took up a position on Erika's other
flank. The sailors were still buzzing
from the impact of the first blow when Kai delivered the second, using a long,
sweeping backhand stroke that propelled the bristling spines of the thorn-stick
into the soft flesh at the apex of Erika's right thigh.
THWUCKKK!!
"AAUGHHHH!!" Once again, Erika's torso reacted to the
impact of the inside-out swing by twisting salaciously to the extent her
neck-noose would permit. As her upper body torqued on
its axis, pivoting on Orang's thrusting finger, the Mermaid's
Necklace tightened its grip on her nipples.
Erika gave a second gasp again as darts of pain shot through her
imprisoned breast-nuggets even as the spiny thorns bit into her upper thighs.
The two kinsmen backed away from Erika's
writhing body, letting their fellow-sailors have a clear view of the brown,
broken-off thorns that remained embedded in Erika's freshly-bloodied flesh.
As the sailors cheered, Kai extended the
thorn-switch to Orang and then he and Cheng returned
to their posts and took the guyropes attached to
Erika's wrists from the man who had relieved them. Their substitutes pounded them on the back,
applauding their labors. Cheng bowed in
appreciation again and then winked at his kinsman. With perfect timing, the two men gave Erika's
wrist-ropes rope a powerful jerk that once again stretched her still-shuddering
body tall and taut.
There was a half-crazed look on Orang's face as he brandished the thorn-switch. The sailors edged closer, waiting to see how
the brutish refugee from the Malayan jungles would deal with the fair-skinned
beauty.
Orang began by
raking the thorn-switch back lightly down Erika's back in a swirling motion, allowing the sharp
spines to scrape at the livid
lacerations left by the general's whip. That pleasant circuit accomplished, the
shirtless Malayan slowly slid the thorn-switch down through the shadowy crease
bisecting Erika's luscious backside, making certain that the spiny barbs caught
and grabbed at her sensitive inner cheeks.
After raking the barbed baton through
Erika's nether groove, the hairy Malayan dragged the thorn switch across the
base of her buttocks, irritating the bloodied pinpricks left by the two Chinese.
"Du schwein!" Erika
hissed audibly, as the thorns tore at her flesh.
Orang was hardly
a linguist, but there was no mistaking the venom in Erika's voice.
Seizing his opportunity, Jasper Slegg threw fuel on the flames of Orang's
sadistic lust. "She called you a pig, mate," Jasper Slegg said in a voice loud enough to challenge the brute's
manhood. Slegg
knew that Orang, like nearly all of the Malayans on
board, was from a locale where Islam was the principal faith. To be likened to a swine was a supreme
insult. "A dirty,
filthy pig."
Orang's ears perked
up at those words and his lips formed themselves into an ugly scowl. His long left arm reached toward the back of
Erika's neck and he seized the Mermaid's Necklace and gave it a vicious twist
that sent flames of agony shooting through Erika's beleaguered nipples.
Slegg, who had
positioned himself so that he could see every contortion of pain work its way
across Erika's lovely face, felt his man-shaft thicken in his trousers as the
Necklace put excruciating tension on Erika's uplifted breasts. Then he leaned forward, straining to confirm
what he thought he had seen.
For Orang, enraged
by Erika's insult, had inserted the thorn-switch lengthwise into the inverted V
formed by her slightly parted legs. The
hairy Malayan growled and gave Erika's breast-chains another hellacious jerk
and at precisely the same moment he ripped the thorn-switch backward, dragging
the spiny barbs through the wisps of golden floss that adorned Erika's feminine
treasure.
Erika's
agonized cry of protest was almost drowned out by the lust-crazed tumult that
swept across the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon.
The seamen, astounded by Orang's boldness and
brutality, edged closer, hoping to get a glimpse of the traces of crimson that
dotted Erika's tempting love-nook. The
muscular Malayan, meanwhile, re-gripped the thorn-switch and fastened his gaze
on Erika's whip-ravaged demi-ovals. He drew the thorn-stick back, extending his
long hairy arm to its fullest, and then swung it forward viciously, targeting the ripe,
rosy curves of Erika's huddling bottom-globes.
"Aaaaghh!!" Erika
screamed again as the force of the blow threw her body forward, and this time
she lost her balance altogether and slipped off the footblocks. Her cry died away into an ugly choking gurgle
as the noose tightened around her throat. She hung there, strangling, her bare
legs flailing helplessly, for some seconds until Andrew McMahon signaled Slegg to step forward and help her regain her footing on
the blocks.
"Did
ye think we was going to let you strangle, luv?" Slegg muttered to her
venomously, as he leaned into her swaying body and lifted her until her bare
feet were positioned awkwardly on the blocks.
"Not a bit of it. The boys
and I are 'avin' too much fun for that, ain't we lads?"
The
sailors roared their agreement as Erika struggled to right herself and to catch
her breath, Cheng
and Kai quickly punctuated Slegg's dire warning by
giving Erika's wrist-ropes a violent jerk that lifted her tortured body back
into position. She hung there, bathed in
pain and perspiration, a vision of erotic beauty that no man aboard the Yang-tze Dragon would ever forget, her
proud breasts still tugged upwards by the links of chain that crimped her
swollen nipples. The brisk sea breeze
whipped the silken tresses of her blonde hair around her shoulders even as it
began to dry the teardrops of scarlet between her legs. And even the violent convulsion of her body
when she had fallen off the blocks had failed to dislodge all of the thorns
which fought for purchase in her shapely thighs, her ripe-rounded buttocks and
in the supremely delicate tissue of her vulva.
The
third stroke of the three bells delivered, the men of the Yang-tze Dragon
reluctantly turned their backs on their lust-arousing prisoner, so temptingly daubed with blood and
sweat, and returned to their labors.
Erica, gasping for breath, was grateful that she would have a few
minutes to regain her strength. But she
was fearful, too, for before too many minutes had elapsed the ship's bell would
toll once again and a fourth round of suffering would begin.
Chapter
155 The Claws
of the Cat
During
the interval between the final searing stroke of the thorn-switch and the sounding of four
bells, Captain Andrew McMahon, alarmed by the way Erika had nearly strangled
when she had slipped off the blocks, ordered Deng-shan to remove the hangman's
noose that encircled her pretty neck.
In
order to do so, though, Deng had to undo the Mermaid's Necklace first.
The
handyman of the Yang-tze Dragon approached Erika, gratified by the tugging
upward pressure the nipple-chains of the Necklace had put on her luscious
tit-mounds. He stared hungrily at her upthrust breasts, transfixed by the way the crimping chain
links had compressed the delicate pink tips of Erika's voluptuous
pleasure-globes into thick, throbbing buttons. Earlier, when he had used his
pincers to crimp the edges of the wire mesh painfully tight around the bases of
Erika's swollen nipple buds he had given little thought to how he would undo
them. His only interest then had been to insure that the bits of metal bit into
her engorged nipples with merciless tenacity.
Taking
up his pincers Deng began the job, and to Erika's dismay, she found that the
removal of the nipple-crimpers was every bit as distressing as their
emplacement had been. The long-legged
beauty gasped in pain as Deng-shan tried to insert the edge of the jaws of the
pincers into the infinitesimal gap between the slender ringlets of wire and
Erika's inflamed right nipple. Time and
again his efforts misfired, and he managed only to stab Erika's aching nugget
with the edge of the
sharp-pronged pincers.
Finally, however, Deng managed to secure a grip on one end of the
slender metal band, and he slowly began to peel it away from Erika's throbbing
nubbin.
Staccato
bursts of pain accompanied the rebirth of the nerves in Erika's newly liberated
nipple as Deng, still holding the end of the chain in his pincers, unwound it
from Erika's pretty neck. Then, after
giving Jasper Slegg a furtive wink, he let the end of
the chain slip through the jaws of the pincers. The free end of the chain slid
quickly down the front of Erika's body until its descent was pulled up short by
its other anchor – the tip of Erika's left breast.
The
tenderness of Erika's nipple multiplied the scant weight of the chain several-fold. Every instinct, every muscle, every nerve in
her body directed her to lean forward to ease the stress on her swollen
love-button, but the noose around her neck precluded any such notion.
Smiling
wickedly, Deng-shan swatted at the end of the chain, making it swing back and
forth like a pendulum, adding to Erika's misery, while he unknotted the noose
around her neck and slipped it off.
Moments later he kicked out the foot-blocks on which she stood, allowing
her nude body to swing free. Erika's
long, shapely legs flailed futilely in the air for a long moment before Cheng and Kai eased their grip
on her wrist-ropes, lowering her slightly so that her bare feet could just
reach the brine-moist deck of the ship.
And
there Erika waited, naked, panting, defenseless, on the restlessly rising and falling deck of the Yangtze Dragon, her lash-marked body a
sailor's offering to the capricious gods of the
As Erika struggled in her bonds, her blonde
hair tossing lightly in the wind, she tried to take sustenance, as
sun-worshipers have done since the dawn of time, from the healing warmth of the
sun, hoping to coax from the golden globe in the heavens enough strength and courage to endure the next cycle
of her punishment….
********
During
the interval Jasper Slegg had puttered about on deck,
pretending to supervise some of the routine shipboard activities, but his
thoughts – and his
eyes – never left Erika Weiss's nude body for long. Despite the considerable liberties he and his
fellow crewmen had taken with their stunning young prisoner, Slegg still found it a bit remarkable that the men of the
Yang-tze Dragon hadn't already brushed aside Captain McMahon's orders and
gang-raped their full-breasted captive on the spot. Clearly it was as much the promised
pleasures of the General's island citadel as Andrew McMahon's stern discipline
that had kept the crewmen more or less in line.
Apparently the more level-headed members of the crew had instructed
their brethren that it was far better to wait for the legendary carnal delights
of
But
as Jasper Slegg eyeballed Erika's ripe, tempting
breasts, her long, supple legs, her well-whipped buttocks which would have
seduced a saint to sodomy, and the enticingly furry grotto between her
widespread legs, he still considered it something of a miracle that the men of
the Yang-tze Dragon had been able to confine their sexual pleasures to what
amounted to foreplay, however violent.
**********
For
the lusty mariners of the Yang-tze Dragon the interval between three bells and
four seemed to take an eternity. But for
a beaten and bloodied Erika Weiss, the minutes raced by all too swiftly, and
soon Erika heard the first of the four ominous bells that signaled the renewal
of her seemingly endless ordeal.
Moments
later the now-familiar bellow of the Laird of Dornoch, rumbled across the
deck of the Yang-tze Dragon. "Chuise! Which shall it be, Lassie?" barked Captain
Andrew McMahon.
Erika's
sky-blue eyes moved disconsolately toward the array of instruments of
discipline that had not yet been used during this final phase of her
punishment. Three whips were still
there, including the dreadful cat o' nine tails which General Wang had used to
inflict the punishment for the third count of her sentence. There was also an odd-shaped leather belt and
a nasty-looking bamboo rod. The
nine-clawed cat seemed by far the most menacing of the implements, which meant
that Erika really had little choice. It
would be far better to suffer four more strokes of the cat than five or six or
seven.
"The
… the …." Erika stammered. She could not bring herself to say the word.
"Speak
up, Lassie!" McMahon was several
feet away from her, but even from that distance she could detect the robust
aroma of Scotch whisky on his breath.
"Can't ye see ye've gat thray dizzen men o' the sea a-waitin' on ye?"
Erika
was well aware that the sailors had gathered around the scaffold again; she
could feel the heat of their lustful gaze on her body. But her throat, still dry from an hour in the
noose, failed her and she still could not find her voice.
"Daft wench! What'll ye hae?"
Mcmahon fumed. "The Lochgelly?" The captain's blue-sleeved arm
gestured toward the peculiar belt.
"N-no."
"The blacksnake?" He pointed to the menacing single-tail so innocently
coiled around one of the hooks.
Erika
shook her head, 'No.'
"Will
ye ha'e the cat, then?" McMahon boomed, grabbing
the handle of the cat o' nine tails?
A shudder of fear swept Erika's naked
body, but she nodded her head resignedly.
"Well,
it's aboot time ye made up yer mind, lassie," the red-bearded mariner
asserted. "Nou where's that cursed tam?"
A
gust of wind had tossed the colorful woven cap which contained the names of the
men on deck off Deng's workbench and onto the deck of the ship. Tranh hastily
retrieved it and replaced it on the bench..
"Fower bells, wisn't it?"
mumbled Andrew McMahon who leered at Erika as he moved toward the cap. "That means fower
lads'll get tae swing the cat." He reached into the cap, and grabbed a few of
the scraps of paper residing therein. Then, upon seeing that he had grasped
only three, he reached in a withdrew a fourth.
As before McMahon stared at the markings on the paper
uncomprehendingly for a moment or two before handing them to his trusty
translator, Deng-shan. Deng sifted through the slips of paper, and
whispered the names into McMahon's ear one by one.
Nodding,
McMahon rose to his full height and announced, "The fower
will be Buddha,
Yong Li, Mahlik and Mongkut." The captain scanned the ranks of the watching
sailors with bloodshot eyes.
"Where's the Buddha?"
" 'Ere
'e is, cap'n," Slegg
replied, pointing abaft.
Erika
lifted her head to look sternward. Barebellied, a saturnine scowl embedded deep
in his jowls, the man they called 'Buddha' waddled across the deck, swathed in
an off the shoulder orange robe the size of a tent, his multiple chins and
immense belly jiggling with every stride.
Despite his immense girth and his tortoise-like gait, the Buddha's broad
shoulders gave undeniable
evidence of his prodigious strength. He took up the cat-o-nine tails and held it
in his fat fist as if it were a child's toy, before swishing it lightly across
the sensitive skin of Erika's upper back. Erika trembled uncontrollably as her lacerated
flesh renewed its acquaintance with the knots she had been forced to tie with
her own delicate fingers.
"Give
the wench summat to meditate on, yer
holiness," Jasper Slegg snarled mockingly out of
the corner of his mouth.
The
imposing figure they called 'Buddha' glowered darkly at Slegg
and planted his ponderous bare feet firmly on the deck of the ship, slightly
behind and to the left of Erika. He
stood there silently for what seemed to the impatient crewman a long time, his
heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Erika's tempting bottom-globes. Then he closed his
eyes, and brought his hands, one of which held the knotted whip, together in
front of his chest as if he were praying.
For many seconds he stood motionless, the only clue to
his consciousness being the gentle rise and fall of his huge belly. His face was completely expressionless,
leaving every man on board to guess whether he was addressing a solemn prayer
to some ancient kami or enjoying some sort of
depraved mystical vision.
Perhaps
because of his monkish reticence – a week in which the 'Buddha' spoke twenty
words was considered chatty aboard the Dragon
-- shipboard
rumors about the Buddha's past ran the gamut of human experience. Some held that the pot-bellied deckhand had
once been a holy man whose faith had crumbled under the weight of human
suffering. Others, far more cynical,
whispered stories that the orange-robed behemoth had been banished by his holy
brethren for subjecting the nubile and trusting young virgins of his
mountainous homeland to unspeakable depravities.
And indeed, when the obese giant finally
parted his hands and opened his eyes, the cynics were sure they were
right. For the thick-lidded gaze of the
man they called 'Buddha' was fixed on
Erika's inviting buttock cleft as if his silent mystical vision had consisted
of himself spreading those delicious demi-ovals so
that he could bury his huge yak-like
phallus in her forbidden passage.
But aside from the fixedness of his stare and the
prodigious swelling just beneath the waistband of his robe, the former monk was
as impassive as ever. He appeared to mutter a strange chant under his breath as his
massive arm drew the whip back as if it were a toy. Then with a mighty lunge, he swept the nine
tails of the whip across the bare skin of Erika's upper back, with a thunderous CRACCKKKK!!!! that shot flames of
agony across Erika's gently protruding shoulderblades.
"Aaaiiiaaahhh!!" The claws of
the cat were no less sharp than they had been before and the mighty swing of
the Buddha drew fresh blood. The men to
her rear could see that the once-fair skin of Erika's whip-reddened back was
once again flecked with crimson. For
Erika the pain was mind-bending. General
Wang was a strong, solidly built man.
But the Buddha was a man of twice his size, and nearly twice his
strength.
Freed
from the constricting grasp of the noose, Erika's nude body spun around
slightly, and she saw that her shudder of agony had transformed the Buddha's
morose scowl into a mocking smile. His labor completed, the huge man silently
placed the whip on the workbench and without a word or a glance he began his
slow trek back to the stern of the Yang-tze
Dragon.
"Yong
Li!" McMahon called out, his voice
growing thicker by the minute. A moment
later, another Chinese stepped forward, baby-faced and bashful. A crooked smile
blossomed on his face as he approached Erika from behind. His roaming eyes
drank in the
irregular patches of crimson and streaks of scarlet on her back and buttocks
with adolescent ardor. But as he passed
her en route to the whip-rack, Yong observed that there were only faint
striations on Erika's breasts, belly and thighs, souvenirs of her frantic run
through the gauntlet in the morning.
Viewed from the front her body was peaches and cream perfection save for the swollen, cinnamon-colored nipple that peeked
out of the chain dangling from her left breast.
"Show
us what ye're made of, chappie,"
Slegg snapped.
Yong
took up the whip, regarding it uncertainly.
Then he stepped closer to the fair-skinned beauty hanging so helplessly
from the scaffold ropes. The celestial
arc of the afternoon sun had swung around to the west and Erika's blue eyes
squinted slightly in the brilliant sunshine.
The heat of the day had coated the front of her body with a glistening
film of perspiration; the bare skin of her breasts and belly seemed infused
with an almost palpable warmth.
Shyly
at first, and then more boldly, Yong studied every inch, every curve, every contour,
every pore of Erika's taut-stretched body. From even a few feet away the faint rings
encircling the bases of Erika's breasts had seemed no more than subtle shadows,
as if an erotic artist had created them to enhance the shape and size of
Erika's opulent mounds. But now that he
was closer, Yong Li could make out the textured pattern of hempen rope embossed
in her creamy pleasure-globes.
Like most of the crewmen, Yong had watched
from some distance while Deng had coiled the rope around Erika's breasts during
the ordeal of the Wooden Lady. It was only now, seeing the telltale imprint of
coarse-grained rope on soft flesh, that Yong could
appreciate how cruelly the cords had bitten into Erika's succulent
tit-globes. Yong Li's fingers were
almost twitching with desire to caress her soft flesh when he turned to Slegg and
gave the ferret-faced first mate an imploring "Do you mind if I …" glance.
"Sure,
laddie, give 'er a bit of a rub-up if ye like. She's not bloody likely to catch the next
train to Paddington, are ye, luv?"
Erika
threw an icy-daggered glance at her tormentor, but with her arms stretched high
over her head, she was powerless to rebuke the first mate's insolence.
The
smooth-cheeked Chinese held the whip in his right and reached out with his
left, the back of his fingers lightly grazing the soft, sweat-damp skin of
Erika's stomach. His hand jerked once or
twice, as if he expected a shock, but when none came, Yong stepped closer and
turned his hand over, letting his fingertips feel the warmth and softness of
Erika's bare flesh.
He
caressed her stomach in slow circular motions for a moment or two, pausing
briefly to explore the silken notch of her navel. He grinned playfully when his hand brushed
against the chain hanging from the nipple of her left breast. Erika's wince
seemed to embolden the young man and his free hand began moving in wider
circles, smoothing her trim belly-flesh from her waist to the top of her
ribcage, the tips of his fingers just kissing the baby-soft undersides of
Erika's proud-jutting breasts.
Yong
Li soon grew bolder, sliding his bare hand into the mossy triangle atop Erika's
mons, and then lower still, supinating
his hand so that it was palm upward as he felt between Erika's legs. Though not intentionally brutal, his
insistent fingertips probed sensitive tissues which had been raked bloody by Orang's thorn-stick. When he continued to paw Erika's
lacerated flesh, she unburdened herself of a stream of German invective and an
angry stare that provided ample translation of her words.
Irritated
by the venom in her glance, Yong decided that as long as the beautiful blonde
despised him anyway, he might as well give her reason for her enmity. Stuffing
the handle of the cat into the waistband of his leggings, Yong took hold of the
chain hanging from Erika's left nipple and wrapped it around his wrist several
times, coiling the chain tightly around his lower forearm. Then, after signaling Cheng and Kai to
tighten their grip on Erika's wrist-ropes, he began to pull on the chain.
"Ahhh….aghhh … agghhhh!!" Erika groaned softly as Yong increased the pressure,
slowly tugging her left nipple, so tightly crimped by the bent, broken ends of
the chain link, away from her body. With
her arms stretched high by the wrist-ropes, Erika was powerless to stop her
tormentor as he reached behind her and seized a handful of her blonde
mane. Then he jerked her head backwards
and down, while still maintaining his grip on the breast-chain.
Erika's
body was torn between the opposing pressures of the ropes that pulled her arms
upward and Yong's grip on her hair, jerking her neck downward. The terrible strain bowed her spine in a
sensual arc, and tightened the gluteal muscles in her
buttocks and the well-toned muscles of the back of her thighs into an alluring
tautness. Erika's right breast was thrust skyward, its rounded perfection
seeming to challenge the admiring sun and sky.
His
diffidence conquered, Yong tightened his grip on the chain imprisoning Erika's
left nipple even as he lowered his mouth to her other breast. He fed on it greedily, moving his open mouth
in aggressive circles around the sweet, succulent orb. The other sailors of the Yang-tze Dragon
watched enviously as Yong attacked Erika's breast with his lips and
tongue. He seemed intent on taking her
entire breast into his mouth, as he had dreamed of doing a hundred times to the
pert-breasted Asian beauties who had been transported
to dens of sexual slavery in the Birdcage.
Try
though he might, though, Erika's pleasure-globe was too big for his gaping
mouth and Yong had to be content with mouthing it hungrily. The scent and taste of Erika's breastflesh was intoxicating and Yong lapped at her sweaty
mound like a thirsty dog. When Erika's
entire breast was coated with his slick saliva he curled his tongue into a
stiff prod, and worked his way slowly around Erika's aureole, exploring every
millimeter of its grainy texture.
Without easing the pressure he was applying to the chain dangling from
the tip of Erika's left breast, Yong circled the pebbly halo of her right
breast with the tip of his tongue again and again, teasing the tasty nipple at
its core with his hot breath.
Despite
her predicament and despite the continual pressure on her left breast, Erika's
sensual nature could not help but respond to Yong's oral caresses. She felt her
wanton nipple responding to his ministrations, thickening and swelling,
offering itself to his greedy mouth. As
the delectable bud stiffened, Yong stabbed at it with his long, predatory
tongue, teasing it until it stood out proud and firm and quivering. Then he moved in with his lips, capturing it,
tugging it, sucking on it like a starving infant.
When
at last Yong had nursed Erika's nipple into bold and quivering erection, he
unwound the chain from his wrist, letting it hang free for a moment. He watched the chain sway lightly in the
breeze like wind chimes at the portal of a shrine. For her part Erika breathed a sigh of relief
that at last the dreadful tugging pressure on her left nipple had ceased, at
least for the moment.
But
Yong was not quite done.
He
seized the chain still dangling from Erika's swollen nipple at is midpoint,
combining his motion with a quick tug that once again sent darts of pain
shooting through her breast. Every muscle
in Erika's body contracted in response to the harsh treatment and she shifted
her feet slightly, trying to ease the pressure.
It
was just as well that she could not see Mahlik and Mongkut, the men who were next in line, edging closer
behind her. Both men were short but
solidly built, their dark complexions suffused with an ill-suppressed
eagerness. Each man was tantalized by
the spasmodic clenching and unclenching of Erika's brick-red buttocks. And each
was impatient to take his turn, to play his own small part in the cruel
subjugation of this long-legged beauty
The
struggling blonde watched, puzzled, as Yong Li, holding the chain by its
midpoint, lifted his wrist up to the level of her face. It was only when he cocked his wrist,
flipping the lower part of the chain back over his forearm and gave her a
gloating smile that she divined his malicious intent.
He
was going to whip her breast with the end of the chain!
WHAPPP!! Yong snapped the foot-long length of mesh
down on Erika's right breast, aiming for the nipple he had teased to a
succulent tautness. Only Erika's
reflexive shying away from his blow caused him to miss his target, the chain landing flush on the upper slope of
her breast, an inch or so north of her nipple.
The
young Chinese flipped the chain back and prepared to swing again. WHAPP!!
"Aaaghhhh!" Again Erika's desperate lurch threw off his
aim but the whizzing metal mesh still found the sensitive rim of her
areola. Erika cried out in pain, for not
only was the chain-whip a fearful weapon, but her every attempt to escape its
cutting fury exacerbated the biting grip bite the other end of the chain had on
her left nipple.
WHAPP!!
"Unggghh!" The metallic whip was very light, but it
struck with cutting force, biting deeply into Erika's luscious tit-flesh. Her breasts were quivering uncontrollably
now, the faint bluish tracery of the veins beneath her lovely skin more
pronounced.
"Please
… please …. No more …" Erika moaned. Every nerve ending in her sensitive
love-mounds was awash in a sea of fire.
From a few yards away, Jasper Slegg looked on with grudging admiration. Despite his
inexperience at sea, the young swabbie seemed to have
an instinct for how to handle a trouble-making tart like Erika Weiss.
WHAPP!! 'Ngghhhhhh!!" Once again Erika's nude body shuddered in
agony. The sound of the wire mesh making
impact with Erika's firm young breast sent jolts of erotic electricity surging
through Slegg's lust-heavy lugnuts.
WHAPPP!! "AAIAHHHH!!"
At last Erika tortured writhings had slowed enough
for Yong to find his true target. The
venomous end of the chain-whip bit fiercely into Erika's bold-thrusting nipple,
drawing an agonized cry from his victim.
"All
right, ye've had yer fun, laddie," Captain McMahon bellowed. "Deliver yer straik and let anither man hae his shot."
His
eyes ablaze with predatory lust, Yong released the nipple chain and stepped
back. He reached into his waistband for
the handle of the cat and pulled it out.
Erika glared at him defiantly, seemingly daring him to do his worst.
And
that he very nearly did. The smooth-cheeked Chinese swept the cat in a powerful
arc, aiming for the inviting vertex of Erika's sweat-moistened thighs. Only Erika's frantic last
second quarter-turn spared her delicate sex from the fury of the cat. Even so the fearsome CRAACKKK!! of the whip left a
fiery trail across her flank, stretching from her rounded hip halfway across the smooth flesh of her thigh.
.
An
exultant cheer rose up from the ranks of the sailor and Yong saluted his
comrades with an upraised fist. Then he
quickly tossed the cat to Mahlik, the squatly built Malayan who had positioned himself behind
Erika.
Mahlik, who had been waiting impatiently
while Yong had worshipped and whipped Erika's breast, wasted no time. Erika's nude
body was still trembling from the impact of Yong's punishing lash when Mahlik struck. The
wild-eyed deckhand slashed the cat o' nine tails across Erika's huddling bottomcheeks with every ounce of strength in his
possession.
CRACCKKK!!! "AHAIAAHH!" Mahlik's lash
seared flesh already ravaged by the whip and Erika nearly swooned in agony. Her
naked body twisted and turned in a lascivious dance. Entranced by the salaciousness of her
movements, Cheng and Kai skillfully eased their grip on the wrist-ropes
allowing Erika to crumple to her knees.
She knelt there for a moment on the hard-edged planks of the scaffold,
her ripe breasts pendulous and heaving, her red-wealed backside ablaze.
"Aye,
that's where ye belong, ye filthy whore.
On yer bloody knees!" Slegg's voice
dripped with malice. He leered down at
the tortured blonde as he pictured her on her knees servicing the throbbing
cocks of the crewmen of the Yang-tze
Dragon with her soft lips and delicate tongue. He moved closer so that only
she could hear his gravelly whisper.
"Ye know, luv, if I was master o' this floatin' palace, I'd 'ave ye on
those pretty knees until until every bloke aboard 'ad
'ad his fun."
Her
stomach churning with revulsion at Slegg's words,
Erika struggled to rise from her position of debasement. She had just managed to lift herself on one
knee, and was
still slightly off balance when Mongkut took the
blood-smeared scourge from his comrade and delivered a withering blow that
strafed her tender flesh from the small of her back to the top of her
buttocks.
CRAACCKKK!! "Aaaaaaaaagghhh!"
The
violence of the blow sent Erika sprawling face down on the scaffolding, her
soft, tender breasts crushed against the rough-timbered floorboards. With perfect timing the men holding the
guy-ropes had let them go completely slack just as the blow by the man from
Mongkut
raised the whip aloft, so that all could see that a third of its knots bore
traces of crimson. A robust roar of acclamation greeted this revelation. The Siamese was greeted with another cheer
when he straddled Erika's prostrate body, facing her feet, and dragged the
bloodied whip between her legs, daubing Erika's parted thighs and genitals with
blood he had whipped from her buttocks.
"Good
work, lads," Slegg muttered to the two Asians
who hovered over their fallen prisoner congratulating themselves on the
effectiveness of their strokes. At their
feet Erika lay gasping, for the moment too weak even to bring her wide-spread
legs together. The sight of Erika's nude
frame lying flat against the scaffolding led every man aboard to picture himself atop her body, his pelvis grinding against her bare,
bloodied buttocks while he drove his cock-weapon into her tempting love-sheath
from behind.
"Fower bells doon, and fower tae gae!" Captain Andrew McMahon thundered, as the
Laird of Dornoch turned to head back to his cabin and
his waiting pint of Dalmore. Just before reaching the forecastle, he
turned back and called out, "Seize 'er up!"
At
these words Cheng Lao and Kai Pu grasped the
guy-ropes and with three mighty heaves they jerked Erika's tortured body back
into an upright position.
Once again she hung from her wrist-ropes, her
limbs stretched taut, her bare feet just finding purchase on the floor of the
scaffolding, the
fierce-biting teeth of the nipple chain still gripping the tip of her left
breast. Although her body was ravaged
with pain, Erika congratulated herself for having survived the thorn-stick and
the cat o' nine tails. But as she looked
around at her leering admirers, among whom the likes of Froggy, Yim, Khasar, Deng, and Jasper Slegg had yet to strike, she knew that lesser weapons did
not automatically preclude heavier blows.
Her cruel ordeal was far from over.
Chapter 156 Slave to the Bamboo Cane
During the interval between Monkut's devastating lash and the tolling of five bells Deng-shan came forward to pry the Mermaid's Necklace away from Erika's left breast. Once again he had to grip her breast tightly while he manipulated the sharp-jawed pincers around until he was able to grasp the tiny bits of wire gripping her swollen nipple.
As Jasper
Slegg watched Deng take the pincers to Erika's breast his thoughts turned to
the moment when Mahlik's lash had driven her to her knees. He had been captivated by seeing her in such
a humiliating pose, and he had taunted her cruelly. Now, in the ensuing interval his thoughts
ran wild, as he imagined
how things would be if he were master of the Yang-tze Dragon.
There would be no kowtowing to that bastard chink general, for starters. The wench was a prisoner on his ship, and he'd be the one calling the shots. And since Erika Weiss looked so bleedin' tasty on 'er knees, that's where 'e'd keep 'er.
He'd divide
the men into two columns, one along the starboard rail, and one on the larboard
side of the deck. But this time, instead
of running between them, as she had done during the morning's Gauntle, he make her go back and forth between the two rows of men. And by God, he' make her service every
man-jack of them. On
her knees.
As captain of the ship he'd claim first honours, of course, and it wouldn't be a quick wank down the throat either. He'd position himself at the aft end of Deng's wooden workbench and then make the saucy wench kneel-walk across the broad deck of the Dragon on her knees. That'd teach the tart 'er place! And during every inch of that slow, debasing trek, she'd 'ave to keep her arms clasped fingertip to elbow behind her back, so that 'er her big, juicy tits stood out right and proper – just like the lads liked 'em.
When she reached him, he'd grab two handfuls of her long blonde hair and pull her closer, until he could feel her nipples hard and hot against his legs. Then he'd offer her 'is Lord Nelson and he'd make her tongue it from stem to stern, until it stuck out as hard and firm as a bloody bowsprit. He'd force the tart to lick his hairy bollocks too, and to take 'em into 'er mouth and suck on 'em as if they was three-for-a-penny candies.
By then 'is cock-shaft would be thick and throbbing and 'e'd feed it to 'er nice and slow, so she could worship his one-eyed monster with the proper devotion. He'd make her roll 'er pretty tongue around the head of his cock for a while, licking its purplish tip 'til it sparkled with her saliva. And if the bare-breasted wench failed to show the proper enthusiasm for licking his lust-heavy genitals, why he'd see to it that she got a bit of encouragement. He's simply reach into Deng's brimming toolchest and find a nice pair of pliers. Then he'd signal a couple of the lads to stand 'er up and he'd go to work on 'er impudent nipples 'til she promised to be a little more enthusiastic about 'er cock-sucking.
. She'd suck him off right and proper then, she would! He'd 'ave 'er head bobbing up and down on his willie like a hand-puppet. Later, when he felt himself read to explode from her oral pleasuring, he'd squirt half of his load down her soft warm throat and spew the rest on her creamy tits.
And then he'd let the rest of the lads have a go at her. But rather than 'avin her work her way down each row of men, 'e'd have 'er service a man from the starboard column and then a man from the larboard side and then back to starboard and so on. That way the sex-crazed barstards of the Yang-tze Dragon could watch her ripe-nippled breasts jiggle each time she kneel-walked across the deck.
Maybe he'd offer a prize to the man who could hold out the longest once his John o' Gaunt was in her pretty mouth. A sadistic smile crossed Slegg's homely visage as he pictured Erika's lovely face impaled on one rutting cock after another. How he'd enjoy watching her cheeks suctioning frantically as she worked on brown cocks, yellow cocks, circumsized and not, in order to stave off the terrible pliers! Oh, to see her gag as each man erupted and spat gushers of lust down her throat! To see streamlets of man-juice dripping from her inviting lips and slender ropes of semen decorating the slopes of her superb breasts! Aye, Slegg mused, if he were skipper of the Dragon, that's how it would be. General Wang or no General Wang.
**********
Slegg's musings were interrupted by a gasp of pain emanating from the blonde hanging from the scaffold-ropes. Deng-shan, armed with his fiendish pincers, was in the final stages of prying the Mermaid's Necklace from Erika's tortured nipple. But apparently when he had tried to strip the mesh away with a last quick jerk, a single prong of the wire had objected to being evicted from its lovely lodgings and had embedded itself even deeper in her swollen lust-bud. Deng had to give the chain a fearful jerk to liberate the barb buried in Erika's breast, and when he finally tore it free, Erika's cry of anguish was accompanied by a single pearl of crimson oozing from her aching nipple.
As Deng tossed what was left of the Mermaid's Necklace onto his workbench, Slegg moved closer, his eyes on Erika's heaving breasts. He stuck out his hand and used his thumb to swab at the bubblet of blood that had formed on her left aureole and then he ran his bloody thumb around each of Erika's sweat-sheened mounds, smearing her creamy tit-flesh with the bright scarlet of nipple-blood.
********
As the last echo of five bells dissipated into the sea air, Andrew McMahon emerged from his cabin again, his steadiness not improved by his having kept another quarter hour's company with his beloved Dalmore.
"Chuise!" his voice boomed for the fifth time, drawing Erika's glance to the four implements still hanging from the horrible hooks. The bamboo rod, the thonged whip, the wicked-looking singletail, and the peculiarly-shaped leather strap would mete out five, six, seven, and eight strokes among them, but in the demonic democracy of the Yang-tze Dragon it had been left to the golden-haired slave to decide how many strokes she would receive with each.
Her left nipple still ablaze with pain, Erika once again considered her options. Of the four remaining instruments the broom handle-thick bamboo rod and the coiled blacksnake seemed the worst. But which should it be? The thumping thunder of the rod or the crackling lightning of the whip?
"Make up your mind, wench!" Slegg snapped. "Five o' one and a half dozen of the other.
"The r-rod," Erika stammered fearfully, her eyes and face cast downward despondently. Her voice was nearly inaudible.
"Quiet, boys!" Slegg called out to the crewmen with faux chivalry. "Can't ye see that a lady is trying to ask for something? Go ahead, princess. Tell the boys what ye'd like next.
Erika swallowed hard. Her mouth was parched and dry. It had been hours since her last sip of water. "The rod… the bamboo rod," she mumbled, no louder than before.
Although he had edged close enough to hear her, Slegg pretended not to have done so. "Speak up, dearie! So that everyone can 'ear ye!" Slegg grabbed a handful of Erika's blonde hair and lifted her head so that she had do look him in the eye. "What is it ye want?" he barked again.
"The rod!" Erika spat the words at him with proud fury.
" 'ear that boys? The wench wants a taste of the bamboo." Slegg leaned closer, his face a mask of heartless cruelty. "Don't worry, Frowlein. The boys 'll see that ye get yer fill of it!"
Within moments, Andrew McMahon had called out the names of the five men who would wield the bamboo rod, "Bashir, Deng-shan, Umar, Patch, Tranh!"
Bashir, another of the Malayan roughnecks who made up nearly half the crew of the Yang-tze Dragon, made his way to the scaffold deliberately. One side of his face was disfigured by a hideous scar he had sustained years ago in a knife-fight in a waterfront brothel. A brooding, silent man, Bashir had ever since harbored a grudge against young and beautiful women – like the teasing, taunting pleasure girl who had betrayed him that long ago night near the docks of the Strait of Johore.
Bashir took up the bamboo rod and turned it over lowly, his weathered hands exploring its tough, fibrous surface. Satisfied with the weapon's sturdiness, he leered at Erika and slid the stiff rod upwards along her naked torso, occasionally tapping the smooth, girlish flesh that her shoulder-lifting suspension had drawn taut over her ribcage. He worked the bamboo shaft under Erika's pleasure mounds, propping them up and bouncing them gently – to the delight of Raka and Tattoo and the rest of the Malayan contingent.
"Get on wie it, mon!" Captain McMahon thundered.
The ferocity of Bashir's scarred visage was little improved by the scowl he gave the red-bearded captain, but he grunted and swung around behind the taut-stretched body of Erika Weiss. Her back was crisscrossed with lurid marks, and her fair skin was broken here and there where one stroke of the whip had intersected another. Erika's buttocks, too, were already well-striped, but it was to those tempting, thorn-embedded bottom-globes that Bashir devoted his attention.
Once, twice, three times the frightfully disfigured sailor addressed Erika's shapely derriere with the bamboo rod, slowly taking the rod back and then bringing it forward until it just kissed Erika's bare behind. Only the sharpest-eyed of the crewmen could see that when the rod touched Erika's backside it formed a bridge across the narrow gorge of her butt-cleft – a bridge that linked two of the brownish spines that were still lodged in her enticing derriere. Each time they felt the rod, Erika's bottomcheeks, sensing the sharp, slashing pain that was to come, quivered tremulously.
But on his fourth attempt, Bashir's drew the
bamboo back not in a slow, measured movement, but in a swift arc. The tip of the rod pointed at the
Whhhshttt! CRACKK!!! The bamboo ripped into Erika whip-ravaged behind with a vengeance, bisecting her tempting buttock-crease with almost mathematical precision and hammering the thorns even deeper into her flesh.
"Aauughhh!!" Erika groaned in agony. The force of the blow drove her body forward a half-step, treating the men in front of her to the sight of her ripe young breasts bouncing deliciously on her chest.
"Deng-shan!" After he called the name of the man who had won the next stroke, Captain Andrew McMahon licked his lips lasciviously. Erika was bouncing lightly on her toes, hoping that somehow her agitated movements would ease her suffering. With every incremental stroke, every added bit of agony, the writhing of his shipboard slave grew more provocative. He made a subtle gesture with his hand and Cheng and Kai gave Erika's wrist ropes a powerful jerk, stretching her naked body taut for the blows that were yet to come.
Before rejoining his comrades at the rail, the scar-faced Malayan tossed the cane to Deng-shan. Deng-caught it deftly and surveyed Erika's body with an expert eye. Her back was criss-crossed with lash marks and her buttocks were a deep, blushing pink sprinkled here and there with protruding thorns and flecks of scarlet. But her thighs, her long, shapely thighs, were almost unmarked. Deng-shan frowned to himself. He had only one stroke to deal with those two sleek columns of girl-flesh.
He made his decision quickly, taking a coil of rope from the workbench and hacking off a short length which he wrapped tightly around Erika's ankles before tying it off. He knotted a second cinch around her legs just above her knees, and then a third, well above the mid-point of her thighs. The double tourniquet not only brought Erika's thighs together so that both were within easy reach of the rod, it enhanced the wonderful roundness of her derriere. The dimple at the apex of her buttock cleft made his thumbs itch, so badly did Deng want to pry apart the forbidden cleavage of her nether-globes. But most of all the thigh-ropes constricted Erika's shapely legs to splendid effect; within thirty seconds her bare legs had begun to pinken as a result of the interrupted circulation in her shapely thighs.
Once Erika's thighs were flushed with color, the tattooed carpenter took his stance behind her. He playfully slid the tip of the cane down through Erika's shadowy, sweat-moist buttock cleft, enjoying her futile attempts to escape the probing rod. His pleasure was redoubled by her salacious squirming and her low moans of protest when the end of the cane made contact with her tiny rosebud. Lubricated only by her pain-sweat, the probing rod vaporized the last vestiges of Erika's dignity.
Catching an impatient 'hurry-it-up' glance from the captain, Deng withdrew the invasive rod and shifted his feet, squaring his stance. Erika, half-expecting another measured preamble like Bashir's, relaxed slightly. She was completely unprepared when Deng swung the cane at Erika's tightly bound thighs as if he intended to slice them in half. Erika's only warning consisted of the tell-sound of the rod knifing its way through the air. There was no time to brace herself for the blow.
Whssssshhttt! CRACCKKK!!!
"Aaaaiaahhh!!" Erika glorious mane of blonde hair danced on her bare shoulders as her head flew back. Maddened with pain and fury, her knees buckled slightly as she cried out to the heavens.
A tumultuous roar rose from the onlookers, for Deng's stroke had surely been one of the best of the day.
Deng acknowledged the ovation and
then muttered, "Give her a good one!" to his successor, a brown-skinned
Singaporean named Umar, as he handed him the shaft of bamboo.
Umar, the next competitor in
Erika's endless relay of suffering, wasted no time in taking the baton from his
leering comrade. He slapped the bamboo
rod against the palm of his hand loudly twice, as if to gauge its punishing
impact, and then he crouched down low and lashed wildly at the backs of Erika's
thighs.
Whisssshhttt!! CRACKKK!!!
Umar's blow was two inches higher
than Deng-shan's but not an ounce weaker.
With her feet and legs bound, it was left to Erika's upper body to
express her agony. Her shoulders
shuddered violently, and her luscious pleasure-mounds shimmied shamelessly as
she tried to absorb the wrath of the rod.
"Patch!" When McMahon called out his name, a round-faced
Chinese with graying hair stepped forward, his empty right eye socket covered
by a bit of fabric that looked as old as the freighter on which he sailed.
The moon-faced seaman bowed
politely as he reached awkwardly for the bamboo while Umar continued to mug
triumphantly to his countrymen. Patch's
lost eye seemed to have cost him something in depth perception because he
brought his hands together clumsily in order to grasp the bamboo.
A lefty, Patch transferred the cane
to his left hand, and reached out with his right as if to pinpoint the location
of Erika's ripe-rounded bottom. When his
hand touched her flesh, he smiled crookedly and let his hand wander freely over
Erika's naked buttocks, slippery with sweat and blood. Then he pulled his hand back, stuck his tongue
out of the corner of his mouth like a boy at sport and whipped the bamboo rod
across Erika's burning bottom-ovals with the vigor of a man half his age.
Whissshhttt!! CRACKKK!!
"NNGGhhhh!!" Erika's soft buttock-flesh absorbed the punishing
stroke admirably, giving ground to the swift-moving
rod before springing back resiliently, a-quiver from the force of the blow.
"Tranh!" McMahon's voice boomed across the deck as he
called out the name of the fifth and last man who would wield the bamboo cane.
As the Vietnamese cook stepped forward, Patch handed him the cane. "Show her that we old ones are still men, my friend," the one-eyed man muttered under his breath. Smite her well!"
Erika heard none of this byplay and relaxed slightly – at last it was the turn of a man who had shown her at least some traces of mercy. Tranh circled her nude body thoughtfully, using the tip of the cane as a pointer, prodding her lacerations and bruises as if he were performing a grim triage. When he paused in front of her, Erika made eye contact with the wiry Annamese, hoping to lessen her torment.
But Erika soon found that while there had been both laughter and lust in his eyes in the infirmary, only lust remained. An erection, remarkably thick and swollen for a man of his years, was distinctly outlined against Tranh's dingy leggings; clearly the intense flogging of the European demi-goddess had stirred the southeast Asian as he had not been stirred in years.
Tranh fondled the handle of the
bamboo cane affectionately; it was with just such an instrument that he and his
brother had disciplined each other's nubile daughters, once their bodies had
begun to blossom into nubile womanhood, back in the marshy valley of the
He had been much younger then and more vigorous, but Tranh was anxious to prove that his years had not stolen all his strength. He was tempted to add another lacerating stroke to Erika's whip-reddened buttocks, but decided instead to break new ground.
He eyed her quivering breasts which still bore the obscene imprint of Slegg's bloodied thumbprint, and focused his gaze on her proud-thrusting nipples. But much as he would have enjoyed whipping the bamboo rod into Erika's majestic mounds, he knew that the implement in his hand was simply too punishing. Only a fool would damage such pleasing playthings beyond repair.
Erika's belly, too was infinitely appealing as a target. With her arms stretched high, the skin of her torso was stretched tightly over the subtly protruding bones of her rib cage. But there was simply not enough flesh there to absorb the force of the rod; there was too much danger of damaging a bone or, if he aimed lower, an internal organ. But Erika's tightly bound thighs were well-fleshed indeed – and every bit as mouthwateringly beautiful when viewed from the front as they had been when seen from the rear.
Erika could follow Tranh's eyes, and she sensed his train of thought, but with her ankles bound, she was helpless to evade either his eyes or his malicious intent. All she could do was grit her teeth, bite her lip, and brace herself for the blow.
His decision made, Tranh's feasted his eyes on Erika's bare legs, picking out a spot, and then struck, slashing the cane savagely at Erika's upper thighs.
Whisssshhtttt! CRAACKK!!!! Tranh's stroke, while lacking the power of a younger arm, was well placed, burying itself into Erika's thigh-flesh only a few inches below her alluring pleasure-slit.
"Unnnnghhhhh!!!" Erika's breasts bobbled tantalizingly as the force of the blow shook her entire body.
But at least, she thought as the fire raged in her thigh-flesh, Tranh's stroke was the last of the blows with the bamboo. And they had all been delivered in quick succession, thus giving her a little more time to recover her strength before the ordeal of six bells began.
Captain Andrew McMahon seemed to be thinking the same thought. His blood-shot eyes wandered over Erika's bruised and blood-streaked body for some moments before he spoke. "Tranhie – nou would be a gud time tae clean the lassie oop. Fetch that Mekong Lightning or whatever ye call it, and tend to her wounds."
Tranh, delighted by the prospect of running his greedy hands across Erika's luscious body again, answered, "Aye, sir!" and scampered below decks for his supplies. Erika Weiss sagged limply from her wrist-ropes, the remarkable endurance she had learned under the stern tutelage of George Chan tested to its limits.
Slowly, one by one, the crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon tore their eyes from the erotic vision in their midst and again returned to their duties, each man among them looking forward to the time when 'six bells' would sound and the fair-skinned temptress would once again writhe under the lash.
Chapter 157 An Interlude of Pleasure and Pain
Tranh had
sped off to the infirmary so quickly, not so much because of his haste to tend
to Erika's cuts and bruises, but because his genitals were so full of man-lust that they positively ached.
He latched the door of the infirmary behind him, liberated his throbbing
member and made his way into the darkness of the room. He undid his leggings as he fumbled his way
across the room and let them slide to his ankles when his outstretched hand
made contact with contact with the opposite wall. Using one hand to steady himself, he closed
his fist gently around his firm erection with the other. He began stroking himself as he summoned up
the image of Erika Weiss into his mind's eye.
In the inky dimness of the unlit infirmary Tranh pictured the German beauty's long shapely legs, her creamy thighs bound tightly together by Deng's
cords, unblemished save for the livid mark he himself had left with the
bamboo. In his imagination, his gaze
rose higher, riveted on her golden V and the feminine pinkness of her sex. He was breathing harder now, and he stroked a
little faster, sliding his hand all the
way down to the root of his throbbing phallus and then upward to the crown of
his shaft, rubbing his thumb gently back and forth over his cock-tip before
sliding his sweaty hand down the smooth warm shaft and beginning again.
Tranh
squeezed his eyes together tightly, hoping that by blocking out all visual
stimuli he could better picture every detail of Erika's superb body. In his fantasy his eyes lingered briefly on
the girlish waist surmounting her womanly hips, and the pale smoothness of the
flesh drawn tightly across her belly, before sweeping upward to take in the
provocative perfection of her breasts.
In all his years of woman-smuggling he could not remember their
equal. Not merely in size, although
nature had surely been generous to the stunning young blonde, but in softness
and shape and stamina. When Bashir had driven her body forward with the cruel cane, Erika's
full breasts had resembled double handfuls of tit-fruit, soft and
inviting. When her head had jerked
backward under the force of Deng's blow, her breasts had risen
high and firm until her pinkish-brown nipples pointed boldly at the sky, proud
and stiff and defiant.
"Mmmmnn!" the Vietnamese cook moaned softly as he
pleasured himself. His hand slid
downward to the base of his penis and then still lower as he cupped his heavy
testicles as he visualized Erika's breasts dancing to each stroke of the bamboo
cane. He caressed his swollen balls for
a moment or two and then slid his hand back up the length of his shaft, as his
entire body tingled with desire.
For
in his depraved fantasy it was not his hand caressing his throbbing glans, it was the soft flesh of Erika Weiss. He imagined himself naked, leaning backward
against an inclined ladder, with Erika kneeling slavishly at his feet, her body
oiled and glistening, her hands clasped submissively behind her. In his fantasy he ordered his dream-slave to
tease him to a climax, but forbade her from using her hands. Docile in his dream, Erika inched closer
until her naked breasts barely touched his hairy genitals. Then she began to move her upper body,
slowly, teasingly, using a feathery touch to tease his cock and balls with the
lightest imaginable caresses of her slippery mounds.
The
dream-Erika continued by hunching lower and
moving her swollen orbs from side to side, nudging his taut-muscled
thighs with the very tips of her breasts. Tranh
gasped with pleasure at the touch of her nipples, and then groaned as he
imagined her moving closer still, feeling her warm breath against his genitals
as she mashed the delicious softness of her breasts against his legs. The
dream-Erika smiled seductively, proud of her power over her supposed captor and
rose slightly from her kneeling position into a deep squat, her knees spread
obscenely, her luscious labia well-displayed.
Then, with her ripe young breasts pressed against his thighs, Erika
began to rise from her deep squat, using her slick, close-set melons to capture
his throbbing phallus in a velvet vise.
Up
and down she moved, rubbing her soft, succulent breasts against his quivering
pole until he could hardly stand it.
Then she dipped down very low once again and gave his hairy ballsack a quick side to side caress with her hot, thick
nipples. Erika's sensuous movements sent
sparks of virile pleasure surging through his lust-heavy testicles.
Lost
in his depraved fantasy, Tranh shuddered with manly
desire and he reached for his cock to steer it back into the valley of pleasure
between Erika's breasts. But his blonde dream-slave gave him a naughty smile
and whispered, "No… no hands," and began to slide up and down his
body again, finding his cock with her cleavage and cradling it skillfully
between her luscious tit-globes. She
pressed forward, mashing his swollen erection against his pubis and moving her
breasts in circular motions, subjecting his throbbing man-shaft to indescribably
obscene delights.
After
two or three minutes of this sublime depravity, the strain of maintaining her
squatting position began to tell on the dream-Erika's athletic thigh and calf
muscles, and she straightened up, slowly, teasingly, driving her bullet-hard
nipples into Tranh's chest as she pressed her
oil-slick pussy against his erection.
When he tried to wrap his arms around her and lift her on to his
throbbing member, she whispered again, "I told you, Master … no hands
…" and continued to tease him with her slippery labia, letting the
questing head of his one-eyed manhood explore the soft folds of her feminity. Several
times the tip of his lust-staff probed the pleasing pinkness of her vaginal
entrance, but each time the dream-temptress squirmed away.
Tranh's
cock was now as hard as the bamboo rod he had used to whip Erika's thighs and
the Vietnamese cook continued to stroke it with a practiced touch as he brought
his fantasy to a climactic conclusion.
Moaning with passion, his fantasy-slave
maneuvered her oil-slick pussy on to his erection and took him in, inch by
throbbing inch, while her moist tunnel performed its sexual witchcraft, dancing
on his phallus, clutching him, milking him, swallowing him.
"Take me," the dream-Erika whispered breathily
into his ear as she ground her hot, bullet-hard nipples against his chest. "Take me now."
Tranh
hovered at the very pinnacle of orgasm for a long moment as he imagined himself
driving his man-sword upward into Erika's quivering cunt with a series of
mighty thrusts. Then, overpowered by his
towering lust, he came, shuddering with pleasure as he pumped thick jets of
semen into the dark corner.
Light-headed
from his lascivious labors,
Tranh leaned forward against the wall,
panting. His heart was still racing at
twice its normal speed when he heard someone pound at the door of the
infirmary. "Hurry it up, Tranhie!" The
impatience in Jasper Slegg's gravelly voice was
unmistakable. "The cap'n told you to fetch your bloody potion, not to brew a new batch!"
"Coming
chop-chop, you bet," the ship's cook replied, grinning at his little joke
as he wiped at his dripping penis with a rag and tucked his genitals back into
his trousers. "Tranh
be right there," he stammered, as he gathered up his vial of Mekong
Lightning, some relatively clean rags and towels, and the bucket of tepid soapy
water he had used to bathe Erika earlier.
********
Two
minutes later Tranh emerged topside, shouldering the
hatch open awkwardly, the bundle of towels under one
arm and a pail of soapy water hanging from the other. As he stepped onto the
main deck of the Yang-tze Dragon, he
was buffeted by the sea breeze and set the heavy bucket down for a moment to
catch his breath. He glanced toward the
menacing scaffold from which Erika Weiss was still suspended and marveled once
again at her beauty. Despite his explosive sexual release only minutes earlier, Tranh's
virile ardor was quickly restored by the sight of the shapely demi-goddess, who, despite her painful and exhausting
ordeal, still struggled bravely against the stout ropes binding her wrists. As
he stared at the golden-haired beauty in three-quarter profile he felt his
depleted manhood stiffen with rekindled lust.
Half a dozen idlers loitered nearby, eyeing
the sweat-glistening body whose mouthwatering magnificence was little marred by
the irregular weals that crisscrossed her pale back,
her whip-reddened buttocks, and her shapely upper thighs
"What
took ye so long, Cookie?" Slegg
tore his eyes away from the rounded perfection of Erika's inviting backside to
throw a sardonic grin in Tranh's direction.
"Polishing yer wok, was
ye?" he added, elbowing Froggy in the ribs.
"They
say that if you rub it with oil, it's as good as new!" Froggy
guffawed in response.
The
scrawny cook flushed with embarrassment as mocking laughter washed across the
ship's deck. Irritated, he hoisted his
bucket and approached the scaffold cursing under his breath. Why should he be
singled out for derision? He was hardly
the only sailor on the Dragon who had
slipped away from the main deck for a few minutes to assuage his rampaging
lust. Who among the crew had not been
tantalized to the point of self-abuse by the exciting series of torments meted
out to the ripe-breasted beauty struggling in her bonds on the punishment
scaffold? As his ire at Slegg and the others who had made sport of him mounted, Tranh thought he detected the hint of a mocking smile on
Erika's full lips. His eyes narrowed and
his brow furrowed as he vowed silently to avenge that scornful smirk. Then he
set about his business, dipping one of the rags into the bucket, preparing to
clean the random pattern of wounds and weals that
crisscrossed Erika's back and buttocks.
Under
Jasper Slegg's watchful eye Tranh
began with Erika's back, starting with the lash-marks that the cat had etched
into the soft skin just below her rounded shoulders. He cleaned the wounds in two stages, first
washing the surface of her back gently with the soapy water, and then carefully
applying his alcohol-laced home-grown disinfectant to the edges of the numerous abrasions
and lacerations.
As before, Tranh's
potion felt like liquid fire when first applied to broken skin and, much to the
delight of her lust-crazed onlookers, Erika's naked body oscillated wildly
each time the Vietnamese cook applied his exotic liniment to her cuts and bruises.
It took all the strength of Cheng Lao and Kai Pu,
the two men manning the guyropes, to keep her body
upright.
Tranh had
just finished her back and shoulders when Slegg, who
had been circling the scaffolding, ogling her nakedness from every possible vantagepoint, volunteered, "Be sure you give the
filthy whore's bleedin' arse
a good scrubdown, Tranhie! We've got two whips and the tawse still to go and the lads'll
want a nice fresh target. Ain't that right, boys?"
The
handful of onlookers who had been present when Tranh
had returned topside had now swollen to half the crew, among them Khasar and others who were still waiting expectantly for
their chance to wield the whip. They
voiced their virile assent with crude catcalls.
"Aye,"
Khasar's bass voice drowned out his comrades.
"But whipping isn't half of what I'd like to do to that sweet
ass!" His ribald jest drew another
round of coarse cheers from the seamen of the Yang-tze Dragon, as each lecherous
crewman imagined himself spreading Erika's tantalizing bottomcheeks,
sliding his cock through her shadowy buttock cleft, and reveling in the
delicious pressure of her nether cleavage.
Then the positioning of the angry cock-head against the tiny, elastic
rosebud, the relentless pressure against that sweet sentinel of pleasure until
it gave way, and then the thrusting, the plunging, the pounding, as each man
mentally jackhammered his way, inch by punishing
inch, deep into Erika's cock-clutching rectum.
As
the crude jeers mounted Erika felt Tranh's soapy
cloth begin to slide across her whip-ravaged buttocks. She glared at the first
mate contemptuously. "I wish to Gott I'd knocked
your ugly head off!" she hissed, referring to the glancing blow she had
landed with the shovel a day earlier when Slegg was
abusing her in the stoking room.
Jasper
Slegg scowled and fingered the improvised bandage
over his eye. As he did so his eyes lit
on an ancient brush on Deng's workbench. He sidled over to the workbench and
picked up the brush, and rubbed its stiff bristles lightly across his
wrist. Satisfied that the bristles would
be painfully abrasive to Erika's soft flesh, he snarled, "Use this on her arse, Tranhie! And like I said, - 'Scrub her squeaky
clean'!"
He
flipped Tranh the scrub brush and an instant later
Erika felt the stiff bristles cutting through the foamy froth which covered her
bare buttocks. Tranh,
still stinging from the mocking laughter of a few minutes earlier, knew he
could not soon revenge himself upon Slegg and the
others. But he would see to it that
Erika would come to regret that derisive smile!
The irate Vietnamese scrubbed away determinedly and soon Erika had to
bite her lip to keep from crying out as Tranh gave
her whip-ravaged bottom a thorough going over.
Tranh
winked at his cronies as he dipped the brush into the soapy brew again and
sloshed the frothy suds all over Erika's creamy buttocks before giving them a
second thorough scouring. "Don't worry, Missy --- Tranhie
clean you up real nice."
The
coarse brush would have been abrasive against unbroken skin. On bare skin that
had been soundly whipped the affect was agonizing and even Erika's heroic
fortitude could not prevent her from gasping in pain.
When
the Vietnamese cook slid the evil brush between her legs and raked the bristles
across the soft folds of her feminine treasure, Erika tore at her wrist-ropes
in a frenzy of agony. But in her
exhausted state her strength was hardly a match for that of Cheng and Kai, and
though the ropes swayed back and forth with her every gyration, they continued
to hold her fast.
Maddened
by her suffering, Erika finally turned slightly and kicked awkwardly at the
tormentor who was raking the awful bristles across her nerve-rich clitoris.
When
she did so, Jasper Slegg smiled wickedly, and
growled, "Now that's no way to thank a bloke who's trying to clean you up
nice and pretty, Princess." The
first mate strolled over and picked up one of the towels that Tranh had brought from below decks and dunked it into the
tub of water and sloshed it around it until it was saturated with water. "We can't 'ave
that, can we lads?"
Sensing
an unexpected development, the sailors edged closer as Slegg
wrung the water out of the towel with a kneading action that transformed the
saturated towel into a braided weapon.
"Teach
the blue-eyed slut a lesson, Slegg!"
Slegg
hefted the wet towel in his hands and moved closer, eyeing Erika's
sweat-drenched breasts with a wolfish leer. It was only when he was within a
yard or so of her that he could detect the faint imprint of the Wooden Lady's
breast-cords around the bases of Erika's voluptuous pleasure mounds.
Sensing Slegg's
evil intent, Erika shook her blonde mane from side to side despairingly and
tore at her
bonds anew, but once again her frantic attempts at evasion served no other
purpose than to whet the appetite of her tormentor.
"You're
in luck, princess," Slegg growled through
tightly clenched teeth. " I could whip you with this all arternoon
and it wouldn't 'ardly leave a lasting
mark!" And with those words, the
sadistic first mate lifted the saturated towel over his head and with a skillful flick of his wrist, he
snapped it downward across the upper contours of Erika's defenseless breasts.
THWOP!! "Owhh! You bastard!"
"Such language, princess! Ye still
haven't learned your lesson, have ye, wench?"
The
villainous first-mate eyed Erika's nipples, still swollen and inflamed from the
cruel grip of the Mermaid's Necklace.
His second blow, even more forceful than his first, was a broadside that
slammed the improvised flogger squarely into Erika's majestic breasts,
punishing the
provocative breast-tips that capped her luscious mounds with such
brazen impudence.
THWOP!! "Oww!!" .
Gritting
his teeth, the first mate uncoiled a side-sweeping stroke that snapped the end
of the wet towel against the outer curve of Erika's left breast, drawing
another soft moan from the blonde beauty.
THWOP!! "Aahh!!"
Swinging his arm like a pendulum, Slegg followed up by rocketing a
lightning-like backhand that jarred Erika's right breast with its pitiless
power.
THWOP!! "Aiaiah!"
As
her superb breasts quivered under the withering assault, Erika hissed "Feigling!" at her tormentor under her breath.
Or
at least she thought it was under her breath.
"What
was that, wench?" What did ye
say?" Slegg snarled as he targeted the outer
aspect of Erika's left breast with a crisp forehand.
THWOP!!
"Aaahh!"
"Feigling, eh! What in bloody
hell's a 'feigling,' Frowlein?" Slegg's jaw was set
in an evil grimace as he snapped the water-logged towel towel
again, delivering a stinging blow to Erika's right breast.
Erika
winced in pain and her golden hair flew about her body as she twisted and
turned in her bonds in a futile attempt to evade the sting of the improvised
lash. But Jasper Slegg was both tireless
and accurate and he attacked her tender breasts relentlessly. He moved nimbly from side to side after every
stroke, continually altering his angle of attack, concentrating on Erika's
tender nipples but making sure that he neglected neither the outer nor the
inner contours of her lush breasts. After each stroke, he held his
follow-through for a moment, posing in the manner of a champion matador, his
right arm extended in triumph, while his rowdy shipmates cheered him on.
"What's
it mean, wench?" he snarled as he let fly a backhand that branded Erika's
aching nipples with a particularly vicious stroke.
THWOPP!! "Aaiiaahh!!"
The
battle between pain and pride in Erika's soul was cruel, but in the long run
there could be only one winner. As the
wet whip slammed into the soft, yielding flesh of her breasts for perhaps the
twentieth time, she knew that she dared not tell the villainous first mate that
'Feigling' meant 'coward'.
THWOP!! "Aiaahh!"
Erika gasped piteously as another blow exploded on her left nipple, igniting
yet another flesh-fire on her sensitive breast. And then, though half-maddened
with suffering, she thought she saw a way out.
"I
… I will tell you….."
THWOP!! "Owww!" Another nipple-stinger.
"Speak
up, wench! Cat got your tongue?
"It
… it means, 'Master' Erika whimpered defeatedly,
hating herself for inflating the ego of the sadistic brute who had caused
herself so much pain, and angry at herself for not having thought of such a
rudimentary ploy much sooner. " 'Feigling' means
'master'."
Slegg's
ignorance was as boundless as his cruelty and his conceit. Grinning like a bantam rooster who had
serviced half a henhouse, he let his flail fall limply to his side. "Master, eh," he muttered, puffing
out his chest. What passed for a smile
crossed his face as he added, "Well, why didn't ye say so, wench?" Mollified, he reached out and cupped Erika's
throbbing left breast gently, in what for him amounted to a soothing, conciliatory gesture.
Erika
would have done well to accept his crude caress with grace, but once again her
indomitable pride was her undoing, and she recoiled from his touch with
disgust, as if his hand were a slimy tentacle of the foulest bottom-dweller of
the
"Ah,
so that's the way it is, is it?" Slegg snarled.
"Still the 'igh and mighty princess, are ye! Still too good for a bloke like me." He glared at Erika angrily and slapped the
breast he had been fondling gently only a moment earlier.
SMACK!!! Erika winced in pain and her bright blue eyes
filled with hatred and hurt.
Slegg
met Erika's furious,
tear-filled gaze with icy calmness. In
the last few seconds the sea breeze had freshened and strands of Erika's windblown
golden hair spilled over her shoulders, partially veiling her creamy
breasts. Slegg's
lips curved into a calculating smile as he gently brushed the blonde tresses
away from her right breast with the back of his hand. Then, after that succulent globe was stripped
of even that fragile veil of defense, he swept the back of that same hand into
the yielding flesh of Erika's
breast with all the power at his command.
SMACKK!! "Nngh!! Nghhhh!! Nggghhhnnnhh!!!" Erika nearly doubled over in pain but she
tried to suppress her groans, knowing that they would only enhance Slegg's sadistic pleasure.
But there was no mistaking the tears in her eyes or the livid mark on
her breast. Satisfied with the result of
his efforts, Slegg snarled,
"Carry on with that brush, Tranh-ie! And make sure you scrub 'er tits
double-clean!!"
Armed
with his coarse scrub brush, Tranh stepped forward
again. But this time he approached Erika
Weiss from the front.
Seeing,
for the first time, the coarse-bristled brush that had ravaged her back and
backside, and dreading the prospect of the stiff bristles raking across her
burning breasts, Erika aimed a desperate, futile kick in Tranh's
general direction, landing a glancing blow on his thigh. Slegg
repaid her foolhardiness by stepping forward and seizing a handful of her
blonde mane in his left hand and a bunch of her golden pubic hair in his right
as he pressed
his face close to hers.
"If
ye try sommat like that again, Princess," he
snarled venomously as he twisted the golden ringlets that guarded the juncture
of her thighs, "I'll rip these out by the handful, and burn off what's
left! D'ye understand?"
Her
defiance quashed, Erika could only nod submissively to her foul-breathed
tormentor.
"Good! See that ye don't forget!" Slegg gave Erika's
pubic hair another wrench and then he slapped the side of Erika's rosy left
breast so hard that her teeth rattled.
He compounded her misery by raising his hand and sweeping it downward
viciously into the upper contours of her right breast. Then he concluded his grim admonition by
boxing her luscious mounds, slamming his open palms into the side-slopes of
both breasts at once,
crushing the opulent globes together with such force that he
nearly drove Erika to her knees.
So
thoroughly did Slegg enjoy the sight of Erika's lush
breasts flying into each other and bouncing nicely back into place that he
proceeded to double-slap her tender globes again.
SMACKK!! "Nghh! NGGHH!!!" The feel of Erika's tender tit-flesh against
his palms was intoxicating. He struck
again.
SMACK!! "Aarrghh!
No…no… no more, bitte..."
Deaf
to Erika's pleas for mercy, Slegg drew his hands
apart and struck again, smashing his hands inward as if he were the devil's
cymbals player, crashing Erika's firm young breasts into each other yet again.
SMACKKKK!! "AAAAUGHHH!" This time the pain was too great to stifle
and it rose into Erika's throat almost choking her. As Erika's body writhed in agony, a hundred
curses rose to her lips but she knew that her defenseless body would pay an fearful price for
voicing them. Gasping for breath, she swept her tongue around her lips trying
to mop up the humiliating drool that was streaming down her cheeks and chin and
spilling down onto her beleaguered breasts.
In
his two decades of manhood Slegg had slapped the
breasts of a hundred whores and pleasure girls.
But never had he had the pleasure of smacking such an inviting pair of
man-pleasers. Erika's breasts were soft without
being squishy, springy without being floppy, and her tit-mounds stood up to his
unrelenting assault with remarkable resilience, giving ground grudgingly each
time he struck them. But give ground
they did, under Slegg's tireless pummelling,
before springing back into place and quivering tantalizingly as they waited for
the next blow to fall.
WHAPP!! Drinking deep from the well of sadistic
pleasure, Slapp whipped the callused palm of his hand
across Erika's left breast one final time, and then he retreated, allowing the
choking, gasping blonde to steady herself.
For long seconds she stood motionless in her bonds her body slumped
forward, her encrimsoned breasts heaving with her
every breath.
Just when Erika had begun to pull herself
together, Tranh trudged forward, brush in hand, lugging his
bucket of soapy water. The wiry little
Asian gave Erika a toothy grin as he immersed the brush in the water and then
removed it, holding it at chest level so that the water from the saturated
brush would drip down onto Erika''s naked
breasts. Then he lowered, it moving the
abrasive bristles closer and closer to her bare thighs….
Chapter 158 Beauty Treatment
Neither the staccato cries of passing seagulls nor the intermittent rumblings of the ship's laboring engines could drown out the obscene chatter and the ribald catcalls that floated across the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon.
Arranged haphazardly around the grim scaffold, the crewmen of that unholy freighter continued to gawk at their most prized cargo -- Erika Weiss. The nude, golden-haired beauty, her well-toned arms stretched taut in an agonizing X, hung helplessly from a pair of guy-ropes that had been wound around the lofty crossbeam of the gibbet, and which were held fast by a pair of Chinese seamen. Behind her, a semi-circle of brutish sailors exchanged crude epithets even as they acknowledged the fine job Tranh had done in washing the sweat and the blood from Erika's tanned, tapering back and the ripe half-moons of her buttocks. Tranh's trusty liniment, the celadon-tinged Mekong Lightning, had done much to reduce the swelling of the puffy ridges left by the lash; only the faint vestiges of criss-crossed lacerations marred the perfection of Erika's glistening, sun-kissed flesh.
Facing her, Jasper Slegg's weathered hands still tingled with virile pleasure from the withering barrage of forehands and backhands he had delivered to Erika's newly rubescent breasts. He met Erika's defiant and contemptuous blue-eyed glare with a domineering smile as Tranh, who had completed his scouring of Erika's nether aspect, prepared to apply the coarse-bristled scrub brush to the front of her nude body. As he did so, many of the crewmen began to circle around, so that they could face their blonde captive for this next stage of the proceedings, the better to enjoy her debasement and dismay.
Holding the brush firmly by its wooden handle, Tranh made quick work of Erika's ankles and shins, but he slowed his pace considerably as he worked his way up her long, shapely legs. A toothy grin spread across the face of the wiry Vietnamese as he daubed her limbs gently at first, applying a soapy patina of lather up and down the length of her thighs, before setting to work in earnest and scraping the tough bristles roughly across Erika's sensitive thigh-flesh.
Erika winced as she felt the painful friction of the brush across her upper thighs and almost involuntarily lifted a knee upward to drive her tormentor away. Her knee no more than grazed Tranh's thigh, but her mutinous movement gave Jasper Slegg an excuse to spring into action once again.
"You never learn, do you, princess?" he snarled, clenching and unclenched his fists malevolently as he stepped forward.
As he moved closer Erika could see that Slegg's dead, lizard-like eyes were once again focused on her naked breasts. When she saw his left arm start forward, she twisted her body away from him, torquing her body to her left, only to realize too late that Slegg's movement had only been a feint and that she had actually stepped into a vicious right that seemed to come out of nowhere.
SMACKK!!!
Slegg's open palm slammed violently into Erika luscious left breast, crushing the perky nipple that her futile attempt at evasion had thrust into harm's way.
"AAAUHHGGHH!""
The beleaguered blonde would surely have crumpled to her knees in pain had not her wrist-ropes held her up. As it was she hung awkwardly in her bonds, one knee nearly reaching the deck of the scaffold, her long, golden hair dancing lightly on her bare shoulders, her lovely face contorted in pain.
Slegg's malicious leer would have shamed the Cheshire Cat. The villainous first mate had worked over the tits of scores of women in his time, from the East End to the East China Sea, but he could not remember a pair to match those of Erika Weiss. Girlishly soft, breathtaking beautiful in size and shape, intoxicatingly firm, capped with tight pinkish-brown nipples nestled in roseate circlets of an ever-so-slightly lighter hue.
"Blimey," Slegg exclaimed under his breath. His jaw worked incessantly as he eyed the turgid tips of Erika's breasts; it was almost as if her swollen nipples made his teeth itch. His cock was as hard and heavy as anchor as he backhanded Erika's right breast with another vicious slap that set her blushing hillocks to quivering yet again. Best of all, Slegg mused, as he stepped back to let Tranh continue his labors, Erika's opulent pleasure-mounds could take plenty of punishment. Despite the many rigors to which they had been subjected during the last several hours, Erika's ripe-nippled tit-globes jutted out no less boldly now than they had when he had stripped her naked at the first light of dawn.
Meanwhile, deck-brush in hand, Tranh dunked the bristles in the soapy water and splashed Erika's bare legs. He scrubbed the fronts of Erika's thighs for another minute or two, using a mixture of vertical and circular strokes, and then, anxious to attend to more delicate flesh, he eased the brush northward. When the crude scrub brush found the delicate pink petals of Erika's feminine treasure, she writhed in pitiable misery and let out a mournful groan that brought fresh grins to the faces of Jasper Slegg and his crew-mates.
The moment Erika felt the coarse bristles between her parted thighs, she had tried to bring her pretty legs together, but Slegg and the other men of the Yang-tze Dragon would have none of it.
"Spread 'er bloody legs, Tranh! Make 'er show us some pink!"
Flipping the brush over in his hand, Tranh slapped its wooden back down hard against Erika's inner thigh, but still she refused to part to her legs. He hit her again, on the same place high on her thigh, further reddening the pink mark he had left on her pale flesh, but Erika remained resolute. It was only after the ship's cook had smacked the wooden stock of the brush against the same tender spot four times that the pain finally forced Erika to widen her stance, provoking another round of obscene exclamations from the sex-starved sailors.
His teeth set in a toothy grin, Tranh thrust the brush between Erika's legs, working it up and down her exquisite slit, sliding it between the lips of her vulva so that it scraped against her sensitive labial flesh.
To Erika the wet bristles might as well have been nails, so roughly did they ravage the delicate folds of feminine flesh and the hyper-sensitive clitoris that stood sentinel at the northern portal of her dewy treasure. Gritting her teeth she threw her blonde mane backward, preferring to stare at the pitiless sky than at the leering faces of the crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon.
When Erika's delectable genitalia had been all but scraped raw, the grinning Vietnamese slid the brush up to attack her bare belly, working the brush vigorously across the soft skin just above her hairline, probing the enticing recess of her navel, and polishing the bare flesh that so subtly masked the sensual protrusions of her ribcage.
But who could linger long, even on such a lovely plain of female flesh, when nearby ripe, thrusting mounds, redolent with nature's bounty, beckoned And it was to Erika's superb breasts that Tranh soon turned his diligence.
He began by splashing the slap-reddened mounds liberally with the soapy water and dabbing gently at the blotchy marks that Slegg's powerful hands had left on her breasts.
And then he got serious.
While his left hand fondled Erika's right breast, Tranh slid the coarse-fibered brush under Erika's soft, sensitive left breast and lifted it slightly, letting Erika feel the roughness of the bristles. Then he began a gentle horizontal motion, scraping lightly at the baby-soft underside of her breast with compact side-to-side strokes. At first his touch was feathery and Erika expelled a long breath of air, believing that Tranh had elected to treat her tender love-mounds with the sensitivity her slap-stung treasures deserved. But there was a method to the wily Vietnamese's strategy and his slow, sensual horizontal strokes gradually began to inch their way up the curvature of Erika's breast.
Soon Erika could feel the upper edge of the brush scraping across the lower edge of her sensitive aureole. Her ragged breaths came haltingly, her chest tight with a terror inspired by the venom in the voices of the onlookers.
"Attaboy, Tranhie! Scrape 'em raw!"
"Aye! And don't forget those big nipples, cookie!
Casting his comrades a wicked grin, the Vietnamese acceded to their wishes and turned his attention to Erika's proud, pinkish-brown nipples. He tilted his wrist slightly so that only a corner of the brush was in contact with Erika's aureole, and then circumscribed her half-taut nipple again and again, gradually increasing the pressure until the defiant bud blossomed into magnificent erection.
His eyes gleaming with the debauched depravity that only the sexual exploitation of a beautiful young woman can inspire, Tranh turned his attentions to Erika's other breast, and repeated his subtle tactics with the scrub brush, using soft, slow horizontal caresses followed by teasing, circular strokes around her nipple, until that tit-nugget was as swollen as its delectable twin.
"By the gods, Khasar, how'd you like to chew on those for an hour or two!"
"For a day or two, you mean!" the big Mongol grunted sadistically. "C'mon, Tranhie – rough 'em up!"
The sallow-skinned Vietnamese wasted no time. He dunked the scrub brush in his pail and splashed Erika's ripe-nippled breasts liberally with the soapy water once again. And then he set to work anew on the beautiful blonde's moist-glistening melons. Gripping the brush much tighter than before, Tranh began to grind the coarse bristles into Erika's right breast with such vigor that the golden-haired captive twisted and turned in her bonds in a frantic attempt to escape the fiery friction of the brush. But once Tranh seized her roughly by her mane of blonde hair, there was no escaping the bristles that seemed destined to flay the flesh from her succulent love-globes.
"Attaboy, Tranhie! Look at the wench wriggle, lads!"
Encouraged by Slegg's goading, Tranh attacked the squirming beauty's breasts with new ferocity, raking the brush across her moist mounds from every conceivable angle. Nearly every stroke, found a taut nipple, punishing their proud-pointing perfection.
To Erika it seemed like an hour, but her breasts actually suffered the excoriating caress of the stiff-bristled brush for only a few minutes. For soon Tranh's wrist grew weary from his strenuous exertions and he stepped back and tossed the brush on the workbench. But by that time every nerve in Erika's lush breasts was raw with suffering. Once again she tore at her wrist-ropes, hoping that by some miracle she could free herself so that her soft hands could comfort her burning breasts. But Cheng Lao and Kai Pu were still manning the ropes as vigilantly as ever, and she found no such succor.
"Titties sore, Missy? No worry. I fix 'em up."
Erika was in such misery that she hardly heard Tranh's words. The fires raging through her breasts caused her upper torso to shimmy uncontrollably. She turned her quivering treasures in the direction of the sea breeze, hoping that the quartering wind would cool her burning flesh.
As she did so, Tranh re-opened his vial of Mekong Lightning. Holding the bottle in one hand he seized Erika's right breast with the other and upended the vial slightly, allowing an ounce or so of the fiery liniment to trickle down onto the upper slope of her bristle-ravaged breast. Erika shuddered violently; Tranh's potion felt like molten lead as it streamed down her bare breast.
Tranh doused her other breast in like fashion, and then seeing that there was still an ounce or two of Lightning left in the vial, shrugged his shoulders and slowly poured the remaining contents on the tops of Erika's love-mounds, his hand passing first above one breast and then the other, and then back again, until every last drop of the stinging liniment had spilled onto Erika's tender breasts.
When the vial was empty, Tranh casually tossed it overboard, and then slipped behind Erika, winking at his cronies to indicate that he was loath to block their view of the sport that was to come. Then he slid his slick fingertips over Erika's shapely hips and grasped her trim waist and pulled her hard against his body so that she could feel the hammer-hard erection in his leggings. He ground his hips against hers for a brief moment and then his twitching fingers began their tantalizing upward ascent.
Tranh eased his well-oiled hands slowly up Erika's tummy, marveling at the softness and warmth of her belly-flesh, but he hesitated for just a moment when his index fingers kissed the baby-soft undersides of Erika's throbbing breast-mounds. The ship's cook cackled softly under his breath as he slid his small, liniment-slick hands under Erika's voluptuous breasts. He cupped them gently at first, hefted her blushing lust-globes in his hands as if they were trophies that proved his manhood, and then his skillful fingers began the pleasurable task of spreading the stinging Mekong Lightning evenly over Erika's slap-reddened melons. He lifted them, he polished them, he squeezed them, he pointed her thick, glistening nipples at several of his randy comrades so that each could get the best possible view of Erika's gleaming tit-globes. His fingertips darted and danced over Erika's succulent melons as he kneaded the mysterious elixir into her flesh with sadistic glee, coating them with a slick patina of liquid fire. Soon, tears were streaming down Erika's cheeks and she turned her face to the heavens, cursing whatever god of lust had ordained her enslavement aboard the Yang-tze Dragon.
But Tranh was in no hurry, and the grinning Vietnamese continued to massage the fiery lotion deep into every pore of Erika's ripe-thrusting breast-globes, paying particular attention to her proud-pointing nipples. As he did so, he drank in the envious stares from his comrades with considerable satisfaction. Every day of the year he was a menial on board the Dragon, cooking and swabbing and answering to everyone. But not today. Not today. Since Erika had been put into his charge, he mused smugly as he continued to knead Erika's succulent breasts, he had been the envy of every man on deck.
After a time the furious heat of the Mekong Lightning dissipated into the sea air, and Erika's burning breasts began to feel the same cooling numbness that had soothed her whip-ravaged back and buttocks. She knew the numbness would be of short duration, but gave thanks to the heavens that the stinging soreness resulting from Slegg's punishing tit-slaps was at last abating.
Tranh had just given Erika's slippery nipples a final vigorous pinch when he heard the portentous creak of the door to the captain's cabin behind him. A moment later McMahon emerged, his gait even more unsteady than before. The red-bearded ship's captain squinted uncertainly at Erika, whose back was to him, and nodded approvingly when he saw that the sea of half-dried blood and sweat had been washed from her back and buttocks as he had ordered. He was pleased that the lash-marks that had crisscrossed her back and backside had grown somewhat fainter as well, thanks to the healing powers of time and the curative powers of Tranh's mysterious potion. Erika's nude body was once again a nearly new canvas, on which the depraved artists of the Yang-tze Dragon could paint fresh brushstrokes with the lash.
"Ah, so did ye ha'e a nice rest-up, Lassie?" the bombastic mariner roared in a voice deepened from years of bellowing orders during thunderous typhoons. "Did Tranhie tend to your hurts?"
"Aye, that 'e did," snarled Jasper Slegg. "The last twenty minutes was like a holiday at Brighton beach, wasn't it dearie?"
The cruel irony in Jasper Slegg's response was not lost on the crewmen who had witnessed the nude beauty's most recent sufferings. Khasar and Froggy elbowed each other with malicious delight.
Erika was just about to give voice to the barbaric treatment visited upon her during her supposed respite from punishment, but the ominous peal of the first of six bells silenced her. She glanced at the coiled single-tail, the short strap, and the thronged whip still hanging menacingly from their hooks and shuddered with dread. While she had already felt the sting of five of the eight instruments that had once hung from the grisly hooks, their total had come to only fifteen strokes. Their were six strokes yet to come, and then seven, and then eight. One and twenty altogether.
And her ordeal was about to begin in earnest once again…
Chapter 159 Slash of the Single-tail
"Chuise!" The portentous bellow of Captain Andrew McMahon followed the sixth sonorous toll of the bell by no more than a heartbeat. Erika shuddered in her bonds, knowing that each baleful chime betokened another stroke of the lash. Under her breath she had counted each ring of the ship's bell with dread and resignation, for together they sounded the knell of her impending doom.
"Chuise, wench!" McMahon bellowed again through his bristling red beard as he made his way once more to the crude whip-rack. He extended his blue-jacketed arm toward the three remaining instruments, awaiting the beautiful young blonde's rueful choice.
Shoulders heaving, her proud breasts still rosy and smarting from her last ordeal, a pain-weary Erika Weiss gazed disconsolately at the crude whip-rack. There were but three instruments left – the slender, supple, single-tailed whip, dark and oiled to a glistening shine; a short leather strap whose shape and thickness belied its innocent appearance; and a thonged whip which looked tough enough to strip the paint from the ship's hull.
But Erika could not tear her sky-blue eyes from the ghastly, glistening single-tail which looked even more malicious. The thought of that dark, coiled serpent hissing through the air before leaving its cruel venom on her bare flesh sent chills racing through her nude body and into the very depths of her soul. But would it not be better, Erika asked herself, as she labored to fight off her pain and exhaustion, would it not be better to endure six strokes of that awful whip now than seven or eight later? After a moment of fearful indecision, a shuddering,. shivering Erika Weiss dipped deeply into her receding well of courage and nodded glumly when Captain McMahon's grim, questioning hand pointed at the well-worn whipstock of the single-tail.
An evil smile crept across the face of the red-bearded captain as he seized the whip with a practiced hand. He picked it up and let its five feet of tough, braided leather snake lightly through the palm of his hand. "Aye, it's a fine bit of work, it is. Hou d'ye like the feel o' this, Lassie," he exclaimed as he stepped to Erika's right and slithered the coils of the lash over the blushing slopes of Erika's majestic breasts. The whip seemed to have a life of its own and as it serpentined its way over the naked blonde's stiff-nippled breasts, Erika's body nearly convulsed in horror.
"Aye, that un'll make 'er dance, cap'n!" Slegg exulted, as he watched the blacksnake curl caressingly over Erika's proud-thrusting treasures. In twenty years on the seven seas he had never seen a prettier sight that that offered by the starkly contrasting blackness of the dark whip as it slid caressingly over the pale, pink-tipped breasts of this beautiful young demi-goddess.
Just then Cheng Lao and Kai Pu tightened their grip on her wrist-ropes as one, and Erika cried out loudly as her upraised shoulders were nearly torn from their sockets.
Correctly interpreting the distress in Erika's agonized wail and fearful of inflicting permanent injury on the German beauty, McMahon signaled the two Chinese to ease their grip on the guy-ropes. "D'ye fancy anither position then, lassie?"
"Bitte… bitte … for God's sake …yes," Erika gasped, as she stood high on her tip-toes, trying desperately to ease the muscle-burning strain on her shoulders.
"So be it, then!" McMahon waited a moment and when he saw that Cheng and Kai had still made no move to ease the torturous tension on Erika's updrawn shoulders, he bellowed thunderously, "Avast ye! Dinna ye nae ken a semple command?"
The two Chinese manning Erika's wrist-ropes looked at each other blankly until Deng-shan, who was far more practiced in extracting meaning from the captain's nearly impenetrable brogue, stepped forward and barked out a series of orders.
The upshot of these commands was that two of the Malayan seamen stepped forward and muscled Deng's sturdy workbench across the scaffold until the edge of its long side was pressed against Erika's bare thighs. She gaped down at the thirty by sixty inch table wonderingly, knowing that it was surely malice, not mercy, that had prompted the ship's carpenter to place it there.
It took the well-built handyman only half a minute or so to affix a yard-high four-by-four upright to the far edge of the workbench, and only moments more to hammer a large eye-bolt into the upright a foot or so above Erika's eye level. A few seconds later, Cheng and Kai freed Erika's wrists from the scaffold ropes while Deng replaced the ropes with some crude wrist-cuffs that he had fashioned out of bits of scrap leather. Then he cinched Erika's wrists together with a short length of rope and then took an even shorter length of chain, strung it through the eyebolt, and secured her wrist-cuffs to the chain. And so it was that leather, rope, and chain, the unholy trinity of bondage, conspired to secure Erika's upraised wrists to the upright Deng had affixed to the far side the workbench.
It was only when Erika's wrists were hooked to the eyebolt that the excellence of McMahon's conception was apparent. With his engineer's eye, Deng had arranged the height of the eye-bolt so that the fetters would force Erika slightly onto her toes. The width of the workbench and the height of the post forced Erika's upper body to bend forward, even as her back was angled upward. The effect that awkward and uncomfortable pose had on her deliciously whippable bottom was inexpressibly tantalizing. And if Erika had not been already been supremely aware of the wantonness of her pose, the leering eyes and the torrent of lewd remarks that poured out of the mouths of her tormentors would soon have made her so.
"Nice work, Deng! 'ave ye ever seen such a pretty arse, boys?"
The indecency of Erika's posture caused the muscles of her blushing buttocks to clench and unclench involuntarily in a self-conscious dance of shame that gladdened the hearts and hardened the erections of the men of the Yang-tze Dragon. Trying not to call her attention to her movements she subtly tucked her thighs together, in an attempt to preserve at least some vestiges of dignity.
"Open your legs, whore!" Jasper Slegg snarled in his gravelly voice. "The lads'd like to 'ave a look at yer tonsils, wouldn't ye, boys?"
The crewmen roared exultantly, anxious for a better look at the feminine treasure between Erika's long, shapely legs.
When Erika was slow to obey the humiliating command, McMahon nodded to Deng-shan, and the muscular handyman swept up a four-foot length of rope from the workbench. Doubling it up expertly, he slashed at the inside of Erika's left thigh with a quick flick of his wrist.
Erika yelped and slid her foot an inch or two to her left. But Deng was not a man of half measures. He backhanded the rope-whip across Erika's upper right thigh, leaving a red mark on her creamy flesh, underscoring his intentions.
"Aiah!" Erika gasped again, but conscious of the fact that every widening of her stance gave her tormentors a better look at her delicate genitalia, she gave ground grudgingly. Her defiance however, provided Deng more amusement than frustration, for he would have been perfectly happy to whip her creamy thigh-flesh until the sun set behind the mainland hills far to the west.
Crack! Crack!! Crack!! Crack!!
The sharp bite of the rope-whip gradually had its effect, each stinging blow to her tender thighs forcing Erika to surrender another modicum of modesty. After six strokes the gap between her knees had widened to nearly a foot.
But still the men of the Yang-tze Dragon were not satisfied.
"C'mon wench! You can spread 'em more than that!"
"Give it to her, Deng!"
Crack!! Crack!!! CRACK!!! CRACKK!!!!
Back and forth a sweating Deng-shan swung his improvised whip, the doubled coil snapping back and forth like a pendulum, each stroke gaining in force, as he imposed his harsh will on the shapely legs of his prisoner. By the tenth such stroke, the relentless lashes of Deng's coarse rope-whip had forced Erika to adopt a truly humiliating stance.
Even the rowdy crewmen of the Yangtze Dragon grew silent for a moment as they edged closer to better drink in the sight of the intoxicating inverted V formed by Erika's well-angled thighs. For at the vertex of this lovely V, Erika's pink-petaled flower, fringed with tufts of golden fleece, peeked out shyly from between her parted thighs. No less enticing was her superbly upthrust bottom. Erika's sculpted buttock rounds, sweetly bisected by the tantalizing groove between them, still blushingly pink and faintly striated from her earlier fustigations, would have made the saintliest monk in Asia reach for a whip. And there were precious few potential saints manning the decks of the Yang-tze Dragon.
The hushed silence, interrupted only by the exclamations of a pair of curious gulls, did not last long.
"Bo!" McMahon cried out lustily after glancing at the name he had drawn, and a swarthy, pig-tailed Chinese quickly emerged from the circle of onlookers. In his excitement the Cantonese seaman nearly tore the single-tail from McMahon's grasp. A lefty, Bo wiped the lust-spittle from his mouth on a filthy sleeve as he slid the lash lazily across the ship's deck. It was just as well that Erika could not see the erection protruding crudely from Bo's unwashed leggings; taking note of it would only have exacerbated the tremors that made her lovely buttocks shudder so enticingly.
Bo playfully flicked the whip in the direction of his pals Li Piao, Yong Li and Patch, who had already victimized the blonde prisoner. Bo's dark eyes were bright with man-lust, for now, at last, it was his turn to exploit the pale body of the young woman whose sufferings had provided such rich and rare pleasure to his crewmates.
Determined to make the most of such a splendid opportunity, Bo took up a position behind and slightly to the right of Erika's outthrust backside. Even though Erika's buttocks could hardly have been posed more provocatively, he was loath to let his moment of supreme pleasure pass too quickly. He coiled the whip in his left hand and approached her, putting his hands on her hips and barking, "Spread legs! Wider!"
"That's the ticket, Bo! We want to be able to count those pretty cunt hairs! Don't we, lads?"
The crewmen responded to Slegg's obscene prompting by crying out in unison, pressing still closer, as if intent on taking the first mate's suggestion literally.
Blushing with shame, Erika could almost feel the foul, hot breath of the sailors on her body. She swept her blonde mane from side to side in protest, but Bo was in no mood to brook resistance to his depraved commands. Snarling like a beast, he maneuvered the sturdy whip-stock between Erika's buttocks, and pressed it forcefully against her rosebud, leaving little doubt that he was perfectly willing to drive the thick-handled shaft deep into her rectum if she did not comply. Her shoulders heaving with humiliation, Erika edged her already well-spread thighs infinitesimally farther apart.
Pleased with her salacious stance, Bo pressed down firmly on the small of her back, increasing the sensual arch of her spine, forcing Erika's buttocks out and up, presenting them even more invitingly for the whip. But even then Bo was not quite ready to deliver his stroke. He fondled Erika's luscious buttocks with lewd caresses, squeezing and patting her warm demi-globes. Even more distressing to Erika than his gleeful groping of her whip-wealed buttocks, was the way he insinuated his fingers between her legs, probing her most intimate flesh while the onlookers cheered his prodding finger-thrusts. His humiliating probings drove an already distraught Erika to the very brink of despair.
Disdainful of her abject misery, Bo continued to caress Erika's wriggling buttocks, enjoying the delicious contrast between the moist, topical coolness of her skin, which Tranh had lotioned so thoroughly, with the underlying warmth of her whip-scalded flesh. Finally his obscene fondling had gone on too long, and Captain McMahon interrupted him.
"Deliver your straik, mon, or pass the whip to some 'ane who will!"
"Aye," Bo replied, frowning, irritated that his depraved pleasures had been cut short. He slowly stepped away from Erika, but he had to push his close-huddled comrades back several paces in order to room to give himself room to swing the whip. When they had grudgingly given ground, Bo took up a position about a yard behind and to the right of Erika. Then, after carefully eyeballing the distance to Erika's ripe-rounded buttocks, he let the whip fly, scourging her out-thrust bottom with a stroke that bit deeply into the upper hemispheres of her lovely bottomcheeks.
CRAAACCKKK!! "Aiaaghhh!!" Erika groaned in misery. Her hips churned against the workbench lasciviously as her body reacted to the lacerating sting of the lash.
"That's it, frowlein, wiggle that sweet arse for us!" Slegg taunted.
"Saad!" bellowed Captain McMahon, calling the next name, and a muscular long-mustached Malayan elbowed his way through the ranks of seamen.
"Give me!" he snarled to Bo in his strange tongue, and snatched the evil-looking whip from the Chinese, while his Malayan comrades cheered him on.
Brandishing the whip menacingly, Saad drew closer to Erika, who, in her suffering, had inched closer to the workbench , narrowing her stance and straightening up slightly from her humiliating ass-up position. Taking his cue from his pig-tailed predecessor, the well-built Malayan pounded his fist into Erika's back. "Arse up and out, wench!" he barked, even as he whacked at the fronts of her thighs with the handle of the whip, forcing her to re-assume the desired position. Soon Erika's well-toned arms were once again stretched upward at a forty degree angle by the ropes secured to the upright. In that position, the sensual concavity caused by the long, clean arc of her spine, provided a pleasing contrast to the lush convexity of her upthrust buttocks.
Saad continued to follow Bo's example by fondling Erika's obscenely upthrust bottomcheeks with evident delight, at one point looping the two ends of the whip around her upper left thigh and then tugging the tail of the whip upward through her crotch and into the crevice between her buttocks. He sawed the whipcord back and forth vigorously, so that it all but disappeared in Erika's nether cleavage, abrading her sensitive perineum. Finally he jerked the whip free and gave her backside a final adjustment, once again positioning her hips so as to maximize both the arch of her spine and the thrust of her buttocks, and then he took up his stance behind her.
So excited was the virile seaman that his bristling mustache seemed to stand on end as he eyed the shapely target of his cruel lust. Saad cracked the whip loudly in the air twice, jeering crudely at the tremors of fear that seemed to have taken possession of Erika's whip-reddened derriere. And then, at last, he struck, delivering a savage, sweeping stroke to the base of Erika's buttocks that nearly lifted her onto the workbench.
CRACCKKK!!! "Aaaiaaahhh!"
Two fresh, jagged ridges of raised flesh, roughly horizontal, now trisected the perfection of Erika's buttcheeks. The golden-haired demi-goddess shuddered with fear and dismay. Who could have believed that after only two scalding strokes of the single-tail, the cooling numbness engendered by Tranh's Mekong Lightning would be nothing more than a memory?
"Song!" barked Captain McMahon, as he glanced at the next name. "Where is Mr. Song?"
A homely, balding, pock-marked Chinese of middle age shuffled forward, his eyes encased in thick-lensed spectacles. For Song, the assistant navigator of the Yang-tze Dragon, had spent a lifetime poring over nautical charts in the poorly lit helms of the China sea. But as many of his fellow crewmen knew, deep in his soul the ill-favored navigator, embittered by a lifetime of being scorned by attractive women, harbored a malicious hatred for the female sex.
********
Enduring the sneering glances of the abducted beauties trafficked by the Yang-tze Dragon had only enhanced Mr Song's determination to repay his emotional pain by meting out suffering to the young women who spurned him. But how to revenge himself on the captive wenches who had reviled him without incurring the wrath of the captain?
After pondering the problem for some time, the solution came to him one night as he was spearing the last few grains from his rice bowl with a pair of crude chopsticks. He eyed the sticks thoughtfully for a moment and, then after retiring to his moonlit hammock for the night, he spent several hours whittling away at the ends of the chopsticks with his sharp fisherman's knife. By the time four bells of the first watch had sounded, he had fashioned the innocuous pieces of bamboo into a pair of sharp-pointed skewers.
From that day forward each time one of the captive beauties of the Yang-tze Dragon expressed revulsion at his repugnant appearance, he would conceal his slender weapons in his sleeve and visit the Bird Cage below decks, where the sweet young cargo of the Dragon was imprisoned. There, after bribing his way past the guard, he would search the cages of the nautical dungeon, seeking out the comely prisoner who had incurred his wrath. Upon finding her he would take his revenge with his skewers. What sport it had been to see those young beauties squirming frantically to escape his flesh-piercing jabs!
On the most recent such occasion, after an impudent young beauty from the island of Hainan had mocked his ugliness, he had found her imprisoned in a tiny bamboo cage. It had taken him several minutes to drag the cage into a distant, but well-lit, corner of the room, where he hoisted it up onto an old wooden table. Then he had lashed the ankles of the ebony-haired temptress to the rear corners of the cage, and pulled her arms up behind her, through the bars that formed the ceiling of the cage, before binding her wrists together.
The grudgeful navigator had circled his fearful-eyed prisoner for a minute or two, squinting at her eagerly, drinking in the sight and scent of her nakedness. When he had finished his leering circumnavigation of her tiny prison, he had produced the skewers and brandished them wickedly, letting his captive see the keenness of his evil implements.
Then, reaching through the bars of the cage, he had stuffed a foul-smelling rag into her mouth to stifle her cries. That precaution taken, he he had spent a most pleasant an hour driving the slender spikes into the soft tissues of the girl's body. Working the sticks adroitly through the bamboo bars of the cage, he had attacked her thighs, her flanks, her belly and her buttocks, stabbing her honey-gold flesh again and again, but without ever drawing the blood that might betray his evil mission.
The girl had squirmed around in her tiny prison as best she could in order to keep the nearsighted navigator's sharpened rods from invading her portals of pleasure. But despite her success at protecting her feminine entrances, the rest of her lithe young body was vulnerable to the jabbing bamboo. The vindictive navigator cleverly saved the best for last, and his erection was thick and throbbing when at last he turned his attention to her dark-nippled breasts.
The fiendish sharpness of the sticks piercing, but not puncturing, her tawny mounds soon drove the dark-eyed, sweat-drenched beauty into a frenzy of panic. She strained heroically to protect her besieged breasts by pressing them against the floor of the cage, where the stabbing torture sticks could not find them. But Song had tied her wrists with diabolical care and despite her squirming, the velvety-skinned captive could not quite manage to tuck her sweat-moistened breasts out of harm's way.
Song bared his teeth gleefully as he spiked her resilient mounds from every conceivable angle, driving the needle-sharp skewers into her tempting breasts again and again. His prey was helpless to do anything more than twist and turn fruitlessly, frantically, in hopes of eluding the sharp-piercing prods. At time the furious violence of her movements threatened to send the cage crashing to the floor. But Song patiently repositioned the cage each time, and then returned to his task of stabbing the young beauty's deliciously resilient breasts almost at will.
Finally the beautiful island girl managed to spit out her gag and offered to pleasure him with her mouth if only he would stop. He had, of course, obliged her, extending his thick-knobbed penis through the bars of the cage toward her warm lips, even as he ground the tip of a skewer deep into the pebbly perfection of her left aureole…
********
Owing to his poor eyesight, of all the men on board Song had taken the least pleasure from the erotic spectacle of Erika's punishment. But once Captain McMahon had called his name, the navigator began to make up for the pleasures which had so far eluded him. Squinting myopically, Song took the whip from Saad and approached Erika from the rear, laying his hands on her burning buttocks.
Erika squirmed in revulsion. Unlike the other sailors, whose work exposed them to the elements, Song's hands were smooth and unweathered. But they were also cold and clammy, as if he had freshly risen from the bottom of the sea. He ran his hands across Erika's shapely backside with the studious care he would have used in charting a course through a rocky channel, exploring the raised flesh of her whip-welts with the sensitive fingers of a sightless man.
He smiled wickedly as the tips of his fingers traced the jagged length of Erika's most recent lash marks. In the sunlight the fresh welts were pale against the rosy background of her well-punished buttocks. Song scraped the fingernail of his index finger along the fragile ridges of flesh, and then he plunged a cold, meaty finger into Erika's buttock crease and found the tight crevice where the darkest of lusts is satisfied.
Song's ramrodding anal finger-thrust lifted Erika higher onto her toes. The pressure in her rectum seemed to surge upward through her body, causing her full breasts to swell even further and stiffening her semi-erect nipples for the benefit of the sailors still positioned in front of her. Khasar and Froggy exchanged leering smiles as their hungry eyes gobbled up the sight of Erika's surging breasts, now only faintly pink from the punishing slaps of Jasper Slegg.
As for Slegg, Erika's upward lunge reminded him of Erika's desperate lurch for the lamp when he given her that last sodomizing thrust in the Bird Cage last night, the fateful lunge that had started the conflagration which had led to her dreadful ordeal. He smiled grimly; he had been cheated out of the ultimate sexual triumph last night, but now his prey was paying dearly for robbing him of his pleasure.
Meanwhile, Mr Song had stepped back and was brandishing the singletail awkwardly, trying to gauge its swiftness and weight.
"The bloke's blind as a bloody bat," chuckled Slegg to Lucky in a low voice. "e'd be lucky to hit the side of the ship from 'arf a yard away."
But perhaps the gods of cruelty decided to extend some good fortune to the nearly sightless Song, for when he finally swung the whip, the blacksnake sliced viciously into Erika's bare back, leaving a serrated streak of scarlet across its entire width.
CRACCKK!!! "Ngghhh!!" Erika gasped in pain, surprised by both the force and location of the blow. She tore desperately at her bonds, her blonde hair flying, her nude body dancing to the staccato rhythm of the lash – the discordant tune to which young women have danced since the first caveman tore a privemal switch from a tree to punish his rebellious mate.
"Well done, Song!" the crewmen exulted, surprised by the success of his stroke.
So quickly had the short-sighted navigator struck, and so confidently did he raise the whip after hearing its fearful impact on Erika's bare flesh, that neither he nor his audience realize that he had missed his target, the shapely buttocks he had fondled with such salacious glee, by a foot and a half.
But it was all one to Erika, and when the next man, a squatly-built Malayan named Rahim, seized the whip, her bare bottomcheeks, which had escaped Song's malicious lash, were once again visited with the searing stroke of pain that only a tightly-braided singletail can deliver.
CRACCKKK!!! "Ayaaaaiaahhh!!" Rahim's lash bisected Ericka's huddling nether-globes with near-geometric precision. The withering force of the blow caused the taut, tense muscles in Erika's buttocks to oscillate enticingly as Rahim's Malayan comrades applauded the trueness of his aim.
Upon hearing Captain's McMahon call his name, a Chinese man whose comrades had dubbed "The Scowler" stepped forward, his mouth twisted in the peculiar rictus of one consumed by sadistic lust.
Wasting no time, the Scowler, sporting a fearful erection in his dingy leggings, snatched the whip from Rahim. Standing behind her and slightly to her left, he fondled his swollen member through his trousers for some seconds while he eyed Erika's lusciously rounded butt-cheeks with lust-hungry eyes.
He took the whip back like a practiced veteran and the swiftness and power of his stroke bespoke the fact that he had once been a slave-driver in Zanzibar.
CRACCKK!! "Aaaagghhhh!!" The report of the lash on Erika's bare flesh was thunderous in the still sea air. Even the circling seabirds seemed to pause in their endless flight to glance down at the spectacle below. Erika's nude torso writhed as never before, for the long tongue of the Scowler's lash had curled around her right hip, its blazing tip igniting a fiery trail that stretched toward her golden triangle.
There were four freshly livid whip weals across Erika's backside now, but by a strange twist of fate none of the swollen ridges intersected another. Each rivulet of pain simmered in its own heat, as if awaiting the stroke that would unite them in a lake of scalding fire.
In the weeks and months to come, the details of Erika's flogging onboard the Yang-tze Dragon would run mercifully together into a turbulent sea of suffering in which the agony of individual whip-strokes was drowned out by the terror and trauma of the overall experience. But there was one stroke, of the three dozen she received during her painful Odyssey that would stay with her for all of her days.
When the red-bearded sea captain bellowed out the name, "Yim," Erika's supple body shuddered in horror. For she had caused the death of little Mao, the thick-witted giant's only friend in the world, in the hellish stoking room just the day before. Of all the men aboard the Yang-tze Dragon, only he had a true personal grievance against her.
The brutish collier elbowed his way through the ranks of sailors purposefully and grasped the whip in his meaty fist. He ogled Erika's nudity for some time, his sunken, ape-like eyes drifting up and down her naked body, comparing the creamy skin of her neck, her arms and her legs to the lust-arousing crimson streaks that the whips had etched into her back and backside. At length his simple-minded gaze came to rest on Erika's ripe, tempting buttocks. He eyed them, and the four jagged lash-welts that marred their rounded perfection, with the hunger of a sodomite who had long been denied his most obscene and violent longings. And then it was as if the mocking gods of cruelty, feeling remorse for condemning the ponderous coal-shoveller to a lifetime of witlessness, had relented and granted him a single inspiration.
An evil, ugly smile formed on Jim's simian visage. "Pull her!" he grunted noisily to the men facing Erika on the far side of the workbench. "Pull her up!"
Khasar and Froggy, who were in the front rank of that small group of onlookers, stepped forward eagerly. The two muscular sailors each reached across the workbench and grasped the chained beauty roughly under an arm. Heaving in unison, they pulled her toward them so that she lay awkwardly across the workbench, her delicious bottomcheeks high in the air. Because of the awkward angle, it took all of their strength to lift her, but once she was partially astride the bench top, Khasar and Froggy had no difficulty holding the struggling beauty in place with one hand. Seizing their opportunity, the two brutes exchanged glances and then responded as if they had acted with one will. Their free hands slid under her body and attacked Erika's defenseless breasts before their blonde captive could take a second breath.
Erika cried out in pain as their hands mauled her sensitive mounds and for a moment the clawing fingers distracted her from understanding the new vulnerability of her position. But an instant later she heard Yim's whip-stroke whistling through the air.
Whhsssssttt!! CRACCCCKKKK!!!
"AAIIHH! AAIIIIIIAAAHH!!"
Yim had struck with the force of two men. More importantly, his aim was true. For Yim had delivered a lacerating, skin-scalding stroke that cut across Erika's buttocks on a bias, intersecting, in a single horrific instant, with each of the red-edged ridges that already lined her squirming demi-ovals.
The ebony singletail seemed to cling to Erika's burning bottomcheeks for a micro-second, kissing them with dark fire, before Yim jerked the whip back. The audience, which had been momentarily hushed by the swiftness and force of Yim's blow, erupted with virile pleasure as they saw its result. For the fearful impact of the whip had torn open its juncture with each of the earlier lashmarks, and pearls of scarlet quickly formed at the four bloody crossroads which marred the peaches and cream perfection of Erika's lovely buttocks.
"Well struck!" bellowed Froggy, as he and Khasar pulled Erika closer still, scraping her belly painfully across the top of the workbench. Once again, as if thinking with one sadistic brain, the two men each gouged the fingers of one hand into a pink-nippled breast-globe, while spanking the nearest bottomcheek with the other.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!!
SMACK!!
Their powerful blows fell on Erika's nether curves like thunderclaps, as each man used all of his prodigious strength to punish Erika's bloodied backside. Their spanks would have stung unblemished bottom-cheeks. On Erika's well-whipped bottom-ovals they were cruel beyond measure.
SMACKK !!
SMACKK !!
SMACKK !!
SMACKK !!
The blows continued to rain down, the two men pausing only to raise their bloodied palms to the heavens, like crimson trophies of triumph For each punishing spank deepened and broadened the scarlet streamlets decorating Erika's bloodied buttocks. Then, when their bloodied hands swept downward again, they spread the liquid redness until Erika's lovely buttocks were splattered with the blood generated by Yim's punishing blow..
"Enough!" bellowed Captain McMahon after each man had hammered another half-dozen handstrokes to Erika's burning bottom.. The two men glared at the skipper, but backed away slowly, but not before giving Erika's big breasts a final rapacious squeeze. When they released her, Erika's body slowly slid back down the bench, her bare and belly raked by its friction against the rough-hewn table, until her bare feet once again found the floor. She tugged weakly at the ropes and chains that held her wrists, but the eyebolt in the wooden post on the far side of the workbench might have been Gibraltar for all the good it did her.
McMahon turned toward the man who had administered the withering coup de grace with the singletail. "Well done, laddie," he intoned respectfully to Yim, whose vengeance-laden stroke had surely been the most powerful of the day. And then, seeing that the beautiful blonde prisoner, was once again nearly at the limit of her endurance, the red-bearded captain added roughly, "Clean her oop, Tranhie – and leave 'er be, the lot o' ye, until seven bells of the watch!"
Chapter 160 The Voyeur’s Revenge
SPLASSSSSHHH!!!!
The nude body of Erika Weiss shuddered violently as the bucketful of icy brine exploded against her back, adding salt water to the sea of sweat and the streamlets of blood already residing there. Jasper Slegg, the sadistic first mate of the Yang-tze Dragon, felt a renewed stirring of lust in his loins as the seawater cascaded down the blonde’s tanned, tapering shoulders and back. As the salt spray washed down her body it left a hundred lucky droplets clinging lovingly to beautiful bare skin, while the most enviable pearls of moisture made their way slowly down the enticing groove between Erika’s shapely, whip-reddened buttocks.
“Unnhhhhh,” the tormented blonde moaned in a mournful voice, as she slowly returned to consciousness. “Ooohh…” Her eyelids fluttered for a moment but remained closed.
Jasper Slegg turned toward the muscular Malayan still holding the menacing thonged whip. Raka, the man whose eerily rhythmic drumming had provided an ominous accompanied to many of Erika’s torments, grinned proudly. The drummer was quickly clapped on the back by Tattoo and others of his countrymen for delivering a stroke so savage that their delectable prisoner had passed out from the pain.
“That was a good whack, Raka,” Slegg muttered grudgingly. Look at the bleedin’ whore! By Christ, she’s still swingin’ i’nt she!”
And indeed the naked body of their blonde prisoner, her back and buttocks each decorated by a pair of fresh weals and any number of more faded marks, was still swaying gently in the sea breeze.
Erika hung painfully by her wrists from a coarse rope which hung downward from the crossbeam of the sinister 7-shaped scaffold which stood on the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon. Even in her semi-conscious state her feet clawed frantically for purchase, but could do no more than dangle helplessly a few inches above the deck.
Sensing motion on the bridge, Slegg looked upward just as Captain Andrew McMahon, the burly, red-bearded skipper of the Yang-tze Dragon, grabbed the railing outside his cabin and growled, “Gie her anither splash, mon!” to the powerfully built sailor who was just now hoisting a second bucket of water to chest height.
“The other side this time, Bayak,” Slegg rasped. “Right in ’er pretty face!”
Bayak, the stocky Manchurian who had so unceremoniously doused the naked prisoner’s back moments earlier, hoisted a second brimming oaken bucket to his shoulder as easily as a child might lift a kitten. He had been a champion wrestler in his youth and about ten minutes earlier, his powerful right arm had delivered the first stroke of the thonged whip to Erika’s rounded bottomcheeks.
Erika had felt as if her derriere had been sliced in two. Three pigtailed Chinese sailors had delivered the next three strokes, sandwiching a cruel blow to the tops of her lovely thighs between two skillful diagonal lashes that had left a jagged crimson X on her bare back. Raka the drummer had followed them, delivering the savage stroke that had caused her to black out.
Bayak crossed the deck until he faced Erika’s gently swaying body. There the swarthy seaman paused for a moment to drink in once again her marvelous beauty. His lust-filled eyes greedily devoured the sleek curves of Erika’s long, luscious legs which met so enticingly at the wispy golden fleece that adorned her pubic mound. Grinning lewdly, Bayak let his gaze pan slowly upward over the trim, flat belly of an athletic young woman in peak condition.
As he felt his already swollen cock grow even heavier with lust, Bayak let his gaze drift further northward, reveling in the fullness of Erika’s soft, sumptuous breasts, two mounds of peaches-and-cream delight that had been pinkened to perfection by hours of rough treatment and abuse. The young blonde’s glorious pleasure-globes, lifted high and proud by her cruel suspension, seemed to grow more tempting with her every breath. Bayak wiped at the beads of saliva forming at the corners of his mouth as he focused his gaze on Erika’s pebbly, shilling-sized areolae from which sprung as lovely a pair of nipples as he had ever taken between his teeth.
Licking his lips again, Bayak adjusted his grip on the second bucketful of sea-water and then sent it cannoning into the face and hair and torso of the golden-haired prisoner.
SPLASSSHHHH!!!
“AWGHH! AGHHH!” Erika choked and spluttered and thrashed furiously in her bonds for a moment or two as she fought to regain her bearings. Then Jasper Slegg stepped forward, grabbed a thick handful of her wet golden mane and spun her around roughly so that she faced her bloodthirsty audience.
Still shaking her head from side to side to clear the seawater from her azure blue eyes, Erika took in the sight of the thirty-odd crewmen of the accursed vessel. From every corner of the ship, the Chinese and East Indian sailors of the Yang-tze Dragon leered at her deliciously vulnerable nudity. The grim visages of the crewmen quickly restored her to full consciousness, even as suffering, whose harsh grasp had been so briefly abated when she had passed out, refreshed its fearful grip on her body.
“Nnnnnghhh…”
The pain-wracked blonde groaned audibly, once again feeling the awful strain on her upraised shoulders and the lingering agonies of the countless torments she had endured at the hands of her captors. The coolness of the seawater had momentarily soothed the cuts and lacerations that had been so cruelly etched into her back and buttocks, but the German beauty knew that the salt in the brine, insidious and inexorable, would soon find every abrasion on her body and re-light the fires that had burned there before she had fainted.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Princess,” Jasper Slegg sneered, yanking Erika’s head back viciously with his right hand while pawing her left breast with the other. Gouging his gnarled fingers more deeply into her breast-flesh, he snarled, “But if ye think yer little swoon ’ll stop the men of the Yang-tze Dragon from doling out yer rightful punishment, ye’ve got another think coming.“
With that, still maintaining his painful grip on her golden tresses he rasped, “All right then, boys, which of you ugly barstards is next?”
After giving Erika’s left nipple a final vicious twist, Slegg turned toward the captain who had drawn the lots for the order of punishment. Seven bells had sounded a few minutes earlier. At the sentencing for arson, mutiny, and murder proclaimed that morning by the captain of this sinister slave ship, Erika had been condemned to receive one stroke of an instrument of punishment at one bell, two strokes with a different instrument at two bells, and so on through eight bells, which was now only minutes away. Eight bells of punishment - four hours of land time - to be administered by eight different instruments.
Erika had been convicted of starting a fire on board the ship while attempting to escape an unending nightmare of sexual abuse. As a concession to the dark lusts of his unholy crew, McMahon had granted each of the three dozen crewmen whose lives had been put at risk by the fire, one stroke to avenge himself on Erika’s lovely body. Erika Weiss was now in the fourth and final hour of the Flogging of the Bells and had fainted on the fifth stroke of the seventh cycle. There were yet two strokes left to be meted out during the seventh cycle, and eight more would follow at the tolling of eight bells. Only then would her dreadful sentence be complete.
Slegg chuckled softly with sadistic glee as Erika’s body continued to writhe miserably. She turned herself this way and that, perhaps in a vain attempt to somehow shake off the microscopic grains of sea salt which were just now finding their way into her every wound, perhaps in a vain attempt to shield her femininity from the gaze of her thirty-odd tormentors. Either way, thought Jasper Slegg, her unwittingly sensual movements were serving more to inflame the lusts of the crewmen than to cool them.
As Slegg’s grim, gray-green eyes continued their exploration of Erika’s nude body, it struck him that the wielders of the final ten strokes would have some difficulty finding an unmarked area on her body to attack. Seven of the eight weapons - a strap, a cane, a thorn switch, a cat o’ nine tails, a punishing rod of split bamboo, a braided singletail, and now the thonged whip, had all left their marks, and Erika’s back and shoulders, buttocks and thighs were criss-crossed with red striata. The eighth weapon, an unusual sort of leather strap, still hung on the implement rack, impatient, no doubt, to wreak its will on Erika’s lovely body.
From his vantage point several yards away, General Wang, iron-jawed and ramrod straight in his olive-green uniform, was enjoying the proceedings immensely. The evil warlord would be Erika’s slavemaster on the morrow once they reached his island citadel. When McMahon had announced Erika’s sentence, the warlord had made it clear that the men of the Yang-tze Dragon were to refrain from delivering damaging strokes to the most delicate parts of his slave’s anatomy during the Flogging of the Bells. But his pronouncement was rather late in coming because Erika’s luscious breasts had been targeted repeatedly during her days of captivity aboard the ship, even before that day’s dreadful cycle of judicial punishment had begun. And earlier that morning, the Gauntlet of Cruelty, the Wooden Lady and the Iron Grate had each exacted a cruel toll from Erika’s ripe-nippled breasts.
Nonetheless, the general consoled himself, the day’s punishments had been both original and stimulating. His testicles, swollen almost to the point of painfulness, could attest to that. As Wang perused the marks on Erika’s brine-drenched body, he was fairly confident that no lasting damage had been done. A rare smile, tinged with cruelty, crossed his face. After all, the indignities and punishments meted out by these relative amateurs would be as nothing compared to the depravities this golden goddess would be subjected to once he and his henchman, Hsi Fong, were her sole masters.
The general continued to marvel at the German girl’s endurance. He thought back to the night he had first seen her, when she had been, a most unwilling guest of honor at an orgy of sex and violence hosted by George Chan, her endlessly inventive and ruthlessly sadistic former master. At some point during that most entertaining evening, Chan had confided to him regarding the arduous physical regimen he put Erika through on an almost daily basis. There was running and cycling to strengthen her legs and stamina, and all manner of calisthenics, and an ingenious exercise of his own invention.
Every day, whether in blistering heat or pouring rain or the occasional flurries of snow that fell in Shanghai on the coldest days of the year, Chan had marched his captive beauty outside into the training area. There, clad in only the skimpiest of loincloths and a tiny scrap of white fabric which revealed more of her breasts than it supported, Erika was ordered to move a wall of a ninety unmortared concrete blocks from one side of the training area to the other.
Forty-five iterations of dislodging a pair of twenty pound blocks from what had begun as a six-foot-high wall, carrying one in each hand sixty yards across the grounds, and then re-stacking them to construct a new wall had proved a most amusing training regimen. The exercise, needless to say, had to be conducted at a very brisk pace. The briefest moment of rest or the slightest hint of a dilatory pace was instantly greeted with a lash delivered by his concubine, the lovely but wicked Ming-tsu.
As a result of this intense daily work-out, Erika’s shoulders and arms and legs had been toned to perfection and she had developed the stamina of a magnificent athlete, a stamina which had rarely been tested as rigorously as it was being tested today….
Standing alongside the domineering general, his right hand man, Hsi Fong, his rust-colored mandarin’s robes stirring gently in the sea breeze, looked out over the water, squinting to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. Zhoushan Island was now faintly visible in the distance, its coastline craggy and forbidding to almost any eyes but his own. For him, however, the island was a warlord’s fiefdom, where the rule of his crony General Wang was absolute, where no act of hedonistic pleasure or sexual savagery was beyond their whim or their power.
Ably assisted in evil by Hsi Fong, the general ruled the island with an iron fist, imposing impossibly high taxes on the farmers who lived there. When the farmers could not pay, his men would seize their nubile wives and sisters and daughters and carry them off to his fortified citadel where they were forced to work off the debt of their kinsmen with their pretty young bodies. Tomorrow, when the Yang-tze Dragon reached the island, the crew that had transported him would be rewarded for their trouble in part by hosting them to a night-long orgy of cruel debauchery with a dozen or so of his more comely sex slaves.
Wang smiled grimly, remembering the last time he had entertained this crew; even he had been surprised by their depravity and stamina. Several of the island’s prettiest young maidens had been put out of commission for a few days and one, the most attractive of them all, had taken more than a week to recover from the twelve-hour ordeal of sex and violence she had undergone….
The general’s musings were interrupted by the gravelly voice of Jasper Slegg uttering for the second time, “Who’s next, cap’n?”
Captain McMahon, his eyes red-rimmed from more than a few fingers of his favorite Scotch Whisky, took a moment to decipher the name of the man whose name he had drawn for the fifth stroke. Eventually, he belch-barked, “Froggy!” to a roar of applause from the assembled crewmen.
“Whip that sweet ass, Frogman!” Slegg admonished the stocky Chinese. “Let’s hear the bitch scream!” And with those words he released his cruel grip on Erika’s mane, allowing her to spin, presenting her shapely back and buttocks to his crewmate.
As before every stroke of her punishment, Erika was subjected to a litany of insults and obscenities from the crude crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon.
“Let her have it, Froggy!”
“By all the gods in Asia, Tattoo,” Raka muttered to his pal, loudly enough so that Erika could hear, “How’d you like to fuck that ass?”
Tattoo, as Raka well knew, had a notorious predilection for female backsides. “Aye,” he muttered. I wouldn’t mind givin’ it to her from one high tide to the next!“
“C’mon, Froggy, “ Khasar chimed in. “Let’s hear that pretty voice sing again!”
Froggy was far from being the most brutish of the crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon. But, emboldened by the exhortations of his mates he, diffidently at first, and then more resolutely, took the nasty-looking whip from Raka, letting its tough business end trail through his calloused hands, savoring its supple toughness.
Knowing that the next stroke of fire was imminent, Erika twisted and turned desperately to free herself from the cords that so cruelly bound her wrists, but despite her struggles, the defiant young beauty knew in her heart of hearts that there would be no escaping her bondage, no end to her torment.
Wiping a pearl of saliva from his upper lip, Froggy eyed the livid whip-mark Raka had etched in Erika’s alluring backside. A left-handed blow, it stretched from the top of her left buttock and across the inviting cleft of her bottom cage. Determined not to be bettered by the wiry Malayan, Froggy took a right-handed stance and drew a bead on Erika’s tempting bottomcheeks.
He lifted the lash to shoulder height and then, paying no heed to an imploring over-the-shoulder glance from the tortured beauty, swept the lash down toward her shuddering derriere.
WHISSHHHTTTT!
Erika heard the dreadful hiss of the whip a split second before she felt its fiery kiss across her quivering backside.
CRACCKKKK!!!!
The explosive impact of Froggy’s mighty stroke to Erika’s naked derriere seemed still to be reverberating from port to starboard when Erika’s scream of agony cut through the sea air.
“Aggghhhhhh!!”
The force of the blow send Erika’s body spinning halfway around, affording almost every crewman lining the improvised shipboard amphitheater a good look at the freshest of the livid marks that marred the creamy perfection of her naked bottomcheeks.
“Attaboy, Froggy! Couldn’t have done better meself,” Slegg chortled, as Erika writhed in pain, her body still swaying back and forth beneath the scaffold, her delicate hands once again clawing desperately to free herself from the ropes binding her wrists. But, as before, her struggles were futile. There would be no escape from the lash.
“Alright, who’s next, captain? We don’t want to keep our little princess waiting, do we boys?”
“Mawar!” bellowed McMahon impatiently, reading the name he had just drawn. The red-bearded captain’s voice did not hide his irritation that he had had to divert his prurient gaze from his blonde prisoner’s enticing delicious nudity for even a brief moment.
A small, sturdily built Malayan not much older than a boy stepped forward. He moved awkwardly, as if he were dragging his left leg. An uneven stubble of coarse black beard covered parts of his face and throat, and he sported a massive erection beneath his flimsy calf-length trousers, one leg of which extended several inches lower than the other. Grinning lewdly, his eyes darting left and right nervously, almost fearfully, Mawar turned a thumb upward in approval of Froggy’s powerful stroke. Froggy, familiar with Mawar’s peculiar ways, returned the gesture and offered the whip to the virile young sailor.
Mawar grasped the whip eagerly and shuffled forward toward the nubile sex slave of the Yang-tze Dragon, hardly believing that a man who had been born into abject poverty in the dense forests of the Isthmus of Kra, and who was the lowliest crewman on the ship, had, for at least a few exciting moments this scarlet-streaked European demi-goddess utterly at his mercy….
Two years earlier, while still in his teens, Mawar, as mentally and physically sound as the next man, had made his way to Singapore where he had found work on the docks of that great port. There he had from time to time eyed the stylish Dutch and British women of that great city from a distance, fascinated by the paleness of their skin, so unlike that of the dark-skinned servants who attended them.
One steamy midsummer’s day, while loading provisions onto a Dutch passenger steamer bound for Batavia, he had happened to pass by a cabin whose door was slightly ajar. Intrigued by a glimpse of blonde hair, he glanced up and down the passageway, and seeing no one coming, he silently positioned himself so that he could peer into the room.
Within he saw a lovely young girl of sixteen or seventeen who, unaware that her stateroom door had not completely closed, had begun to undress. For it was not uncommon in that most humid of tropical cities for members of well-to-do European families to change clothes two or three times a day.
At the thought of seeing a beautiful European woman undress, Mawar felt the ever-present mist of equatorial perspiration on his brow coalesce into droplets that threatened to stream down his face. Breathless, he watched as the bewitching young woman, who was no more than a few feet away, unbuttoned the bodice of her blue jurkje, the country dress worn by Dutch girls. He could see that the blue of the simple frock matched the blue of her eyes, which gleamed like diamonds in the sunlight pouring through the porthole of the cabin.
Stepping out of her dress, the girl paused for a moment, clad only in a scanty white chemise that reached only to the tops of her milky thighs and a brief, pale undergarment beneath. Espying a long mirror in the well-appointed stateroom, the girl moved in front of it, with her back to the door, but with her reflected face and torso clearly visible to her clandestine watcher.
Sweating profusely now, Mawar suppressed a gasp of excitement as the Dutch girl, pouting coquettishly, slipped a graceful finger under one of the straps of the chemise and let it slide off a creamy shoulder. Then, as if teasing her seductive twin in the mirror, she undid the other strap, allowing the pale garment to fall.
The dark-skinned voyeur was forced to stifle a gasp of disappointment, however, when the girl deftly caught the chemise after it had slid only partway down the curves of her ripe young breasts. He glanced nervously up and down the hallway to make sure that no one was coming and then edged still closer.
His heart racing and seemingly pumping blood directly into his throbbing cock, he ran his tongue over his lips as he refocused his gaze on the tops of the girl’s succulent breasts and the enticing valley between them. His palms moist with forbidden lust, he continued to watch as she stuck her pretty pink tongue out at the coquette in the mirror, and then, slowly, teasingly, eased the chemise down over her pale breasts.
Mawar knew that if he were caught it would cost him his job and worse, but he could not tear his eyes away from the girl’s body. Her perfect breasts, splendidly round and full for one so young, were glistening with perspiration.
Almost light-headed with arousal, Mawar ached to tongue the tiny droplets of moisture on the tips of her breasts. He leaned still closer as the girl, holding the fabric of the fallen chemise tightly against her midriff with one left hand, palmed her amazingly responsive nipples with the other. Edging closer to the mirror as a young woman might approach a trusted lover, the fetching teenager let the chemise fall to her hips. She cupped her proud young breasts in her hands, caressing them with a feathery touch. Then, seemingly emboldened by the seductress in the mirror, she grew bolder still, easing still closer to the glass.
As her covert observer looked on breathlessly, his cock pulsing with forbidden lust, the girl began to pinch her coral love-buds between her thumb and third finger, rubbing, squeezing, tugging the pink pellets of desire until they stood out proudly, only a few inches from the equally exquisite nipples of the girl in the mirror. As the young maiden continued to work at her swollen nipples, Maway pressed his body still closer against the door jamb, grinding his erection against its sturdy wooden frame.
The winsome moue never leaving her face, the girl slid the chemise slowly down over her hips, eventually letting it fall to her ankles. Clad now only in a brief, elegant undergarment edged in Belgian lace, the blonde temptress lifted her left hand to her mouth. She slid two fingers between her inviting lips, and moistened her fingertips before giving them leave to dive inside the waistband of her undergarment. Her eyes closed, her face flushed with desire, the beautiful blonde teenager continued to cup and caress her breasts with one hand, as she pleasured herself with the other.
Half-crazed with desire, Mawar shifted his position slightly to better grind his groin into the door jamb, but made the fatal mistake of brushing against the door itself, causing it to creak slightly as it opened a bit wider.
Turning to face the sweaty-faced peeper who had been watching her, the girl let out a scream that could have been heard on the other side of the strait of Johor.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEKKK” she shrieked. And then, in her own language, she yelled “HELLLLLLPPPPPPPP!!!!” before grabbing frantically for the chemise.
Mawar looked frantically to and fro, desperately hoping to flee the scene of his crime, but within a second or so he could hear running footsteps coming from both ends of the long passageway. He tried one door in the corridor and then another, hoping against hope to find a hiding place. He was successful on his third attempt, and ducked into a cabin several yards from his furtive vantage point, hoping to escape detection.
“Katje, are you all right?” Mawar, shuddering with fear, heard the commanding voice of an older man.
For the girl’s terrified screams had attracted not only a number of Dutch crewmen, but also her father and older brother who had been quaffing Amstels on the main deck.
“Yes, I think so. He went in that direction!” Katje had been too busy re-arranging her chemise to follow Mawar’s movements, but the sound of his footsteps in the passageway had given away the direction of his flight and he was quickly found, and dragged from his place of concealment into the passageway, his arms pinioned by a pair of sailors.
“Ja, that is him!” The girl cried accusingly from the doorway. “He was going to rape me!”
With those words, Katje’s strapping older brother drove his knee viciously into Mawar’s groin. As the others set upon him with fists clenched, Mawar’s last memory, before sinking into unconsciousness, was the sight of his accuser’s delectable breasts pressing against the confines of her sheer chemise, her nipples still inflamed by either passion or rage….
Although Mawar could not have told you the name of his condition, the dozens of kicks and blows to his face and head had left him with a severe concussion which impaired his speech, his gait, and at times, his judgment. It was only through the good offices of Raka, a distant cousin, that he had eventually found work on the Yang-tze Dragon….
**********
And now, Mawar thought, as he stared at the nude body of Erika Weiss, hanging helplessly by her wrists, he would see to it that this tantalizing beauty would pay for the sins of the Dutch temptress in Singapore.
Knowing that his stroke was to be the last of the seventh cycle, Mawar was in no hurry. His dark eyes gleaming with the vindictive fury only long-deferred vengeance can produce, he approached Erika’s hanging body. He doubled up the thonged whip in his hand, and then with a cruel smile, he traced the outlines of the scarlet-edged lacerations on Erika’s back and buttocks with the stiff leather whip handle.
“Oohhh,” Erika moaned softly as the crewman dug the whipstock into her wounds.
Mawar spun the blonde captive around so that she faced him. It was no great stretch for the troubled imagination of the vengeful peeping tom to pretend that Erika was the Katje who had wrongfully accused him. They had the same golden hair, the same sky-blue eyes, the same kissable lips, the same glorious, ripe-nippled breasts.
“Dutch whore!” Mawar growled, as he drew his arm back and drove the whip handle into Erika’s vagina with the same force and ferocity that Katje’s brother had used in kneeing him.
“Aaaaaaghh!” Erika moaned piteously. “Nicht hollandische … Deutsch… bitte…”
“Shut up, whore!” Mawar hissed. Then he thrust his wrist upward yet again, further impaling the beautiful blonde on the unforgiving handle of the whip.
“Hey, matey,” Slegg whispered nervously. “Take it easy, lad” he added tilting his head in the direction of General Wang and Hsi Fong, who were scowling some yards away. They were, of course, indifferent to Erika’s suffering, and had quite enjoyed the tableau of ingenious punishments that had been meted out to their newest pleasure slave, but under no circumstances did they want their property permanently damaged. Enslaving an injured, submissive or defeated captive offered only small pleasures to men of their stripe. For them there could be no more sublime sexual pleasure than in subjugating a vigorous, defiant beauty like Erika Weiss.
But their vigorous defiant beauty was once again under assault.
“Fuck you and fuck them!” Mawar snarled at Slegg. Consumed by the memory of the beating he had injured, Mawar, leaving the whiphandle buried in Erika’s pleasure-slit, reached for her splendid breasts.
The wild-eyed Malay dug his eager fingers into Erika’s love-melons with carnivorous ferocity, burying his rough-edged nails into her tender flesh and then clawing at her breasts like a hawk savaging the soft body of a chipmunk.
“Aaagghhh!!” Erika groaned in agony. Through the fresh tears welling up in her eyes, she could see her tormentor’s half-crazed expression. With the maniacal gaze of a lunatic he tore at her pain-wracked breasts, crushing them, twisting them, brutalizing them in every way imaginable, all the while screaming, “Whore! You teasing whore!!”
Erika fought back bravely and furiously, kicking at her tormentor as best she could, but, suspended above the deck as she was, her kicks had little force. She did land one glancing blow to her attacker’s thigh, just missing his swollen groin. His wrath redoubled, Mawar responded with a pulverizing hammer-fist to her belly that left her breathless and defenseless, allowing him to deliver blow after blow to her defenseless breasts, slapping them furiously from side to side.
General Wang, livid with rage that this crazed seaman might be doing lasting damage to his trophy slave, signaled to McMahon to stop him. The red-bearded skipper, who was rather enjoying his naked prisoner’s terrible plight, at first pretended not to notice the General’s gesture.
“Captain!!” Wang’s commanding voice reverberated across the deck, icy and dictatorial. It could not be ignored.
“All right laddie, that’ll do,” bellowed the captain reluctantly. “Avast, ye bloody fool! Grab him, Slegg!”
Slegg, too, was hardly averse to letting the the crazed Malayan continue his violently salacious assault on Erika’s love-globes, but had no choice but to follow orders.
“Belay that, matey! Slegg growled, taking a step toward Mawar.
His twisted revenge interrupted, Mawar momentarily ceased his assault on Erika’s blushing breasts and roughly jerked the whip-stock from its fleshy feminine sheath between her legs.
“Get back!” the Malayan roared, turning and brandishing the whip at Slegg. Then he quickly spun around again and lashed Erika’s breasts savagely with the thonged whip.
“Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!!” Erika screamed as the lash exploded against her tender tit-flesh. That fiery stroke was followed almost instantaneously as the flailing whip-wielder delivered a second scalding blow that seared her left nipple, and then by a third that etched a jagged crimson trail from the top of her right breast to her navel.
By then, however, Raka, Mawar’s kinsman, had thrown himself on his cousin, knocking him to the wet deck of her ship. Two or three other crewmen rushed forward to help Raka subdue him.
As they wrestled the whip away from Mawar, Slegg turned sheepishly toward a seething General Wang. “Sorry about that, your lordship. The boy,” he added, tapping his temple, “took quite a beatin’ in Singapore a couple years back. “ ’e ain’t been quite right in the noggin since, if ye gather my drift.”
But Malar heard none of this. As his captors pulled him to his feet, his dark eyes, still full of maniacal fury, returned to the tortured body of the blonde, blue-eyed victim of his lust-wrath.
“Why? Why? You should not have done it! You should not have done it!” he screamed at the whip-wealed blonde, whose face and body had been transfigured, in his eyes, to that of the coquettish nymph in the ship cabin in Singapore. “I was only looking! I would not have hurt you!”
Erika, exhausted by her latest ordeal and still trying to catch her breath after the blow to her solar plexus, could not have given her tormentor an answer even if she had known what the crazed young man had been raving about. She only knew that the seventh cycle of the Punishment of the Bells had ended.
“Trahnie, tend to the bonnie lassie!” McMahon bellowed to Tranh, the wily old Vietnamese whose ‘Mekong Lightning’ – a restorative balm – had proven most salutary in helping Erika recover from earlier sessions of punishment and abuse.
As Raka and two or three others dragged Mawar below deck, Erika took some comfort in the fact that there was only more cycle of punishment to endure. Glancing at the rack from which had once hung the eight instruments of her punishment, only one remained.
A violent shudder swept through her nude body at the sight of the forbidding leather strap that had been left for last, knowing that within minutes, she would feel its evil kiss.
Chapter 161 The Lochgelly Tawse
“Agghhh!” Erika gasped in pain as Trahn splashed an ounce or so of his “Mekong Lightning” on her abraded back.
“Not to worry, Missie,” the old Vietnamese chuckled. “You feel better in a minute, you’ll see.”
And with that the ship’s cook spread the fiery green liquid over her back, setting her lash-ravaged skin momentarily ablaze as the alcohol-based potion found its way into the cuts and abrasions the thonged whip had left in its wake.
Suspended by her wrists from the crossbeam of the grim scaffold, her feet dangling a few inches above the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon, there was nothing the nude beauty could do to forestall the old man. The other crewmen, waiting for the sounding of eight bells and the recommencement of her punishment, were scattered around the deck of the ship, talking among themselves, occasionally leering at their lovely captive.
“Now we go lower, Missie,” Trahn cackled in his reedy, high-pitched voice. He tilted the flask and poured a small amount into one hand and then, after setting the flask down, he rubbed his hands together, gleefully spreading the liquid over his fingers. Then he slapped his hands against Erika’s creamy buttocks, drawing another sudden gasp of pain from the beautiful blonde.
“Gott! It burns like Feuer!” she exclaimed through clenched teeth, as the potion seeped into the whip-marks on her derriere.
“No worry, Missie. Make skin feel good soon. You see.”
Tranh continued to work his rough, weathered fingers into Erika’s springy bottomcheeks. In his three score and ten years Tranh had had many women, but never one with a body like this. One minute grew into two and then into three as the little cook worked his fingers greedily into Erika’s nether globes, squeezing them together and spreading them apart to expose her delicate rosebud.
Erika cringed at his touch, as much for the crudeness of his caresses as from the sting of his infernal potion, and she gasped loudly when he inserted a slippery finger into her resisting anus. She squirmed violently in her ropes to escape the invading digit, but to no avail.
Giggling, Trahn backed away from her and slid around to face her, the flask of ‘Mekong Lightning’ in his hand, a crooked smile on his face. “Oooh, that Mawar got you good, didn’t he Missie?” he cackled, eyeing the three fresh whip-marks on her full breasts. “No worry, Missie. I fix you up. You see.”
The Vietnamese was just about to splash an ounce or two of ‘Lightning’ on Erika’s naked breasts when she emitted a long anguished groan.
“What matter, missie? I didn’t even touch you.”
“Bitte … please … my shoulders. Can … can you lower me? Please…”
And indeed Erika had been hanging from the scaffolding, her bare feet dangling helplessly a few inches above the deck, for nearly half an hour.
Tranh screwed up his wizened face in thought. “Can’t let you down, Missie,” he whispered under his breath. “I get in big trouble.” He looked around to see if anyone was paying close attention and then, satisfying himself that they were not, he added brightly, “Maybe I can find something…” Tranh cast his eyes around the deck for a moment or two before spying a length of 4” x 4” lumber that Deng-shan had discarded while building the scaffold.
“Here, Missie. Maybe this help.”
Tranh slid the block of wood under Erika’s feet and grinned. It was just thick enough for her toes to reach it.
“Danke … danke,” Erika groaned as the awful strain on her shoulders slackened.
“See, Missie? I nice to you. Now time for me to have a little fun,” Tranh giggled, as he splashed a couple of ounces of Mekong Lightning on the tops of Erika’s breasts.
“Hee-hee!” Tranh chortled as he reached for Erika’s creamy mounds. He began by sliding his hands under her breasts, cupping their fullness, and catching most of the fiery balm that had trickled down their slopes. His hands moist and slick, Tranh set to work on Erika’s tit-globes, lathering them excitedly.
“Nnnngh,” Erika grimaced as the liquid lightning, guided by Tranh’s eager hands, found its way into every whip mark, every abrasion, every slap-tender region of her glorious breasts.
His eyes bright with excitement, Tranh worked her slick globes with his scrawny fingers, mashing them together to form a cleavage that every man aboard would have given a week’s wages to slip his cock into, and then releasing them so that they sprang back into their normal position so that he could address them individually.
“Mekong massage, Missie. Hee-hee!” Tranh cackled as he squeezed her breasts, first gently and them more roughly, working his ragged thumbnails into Erika’s tender areolae, just beneath her puckering nipples.
“HEY! What in bloody ‘ell is going on ‘ere!” Jasper Slegg barked loudly. He had approached quietly from behind and slid around to face her. “Princess, if I wanted ye standing on a bloody block of wood, I’d have put one there!”
Then, with a swift movement, Slegg kicked the block out from under her.
“Annghhhhhhh!” Erika groaned as her full weight was once again transferred to her aching shoulders.
Brushing Tranh roughly aside, Slegg stepped directly in front of the beautiful blonde. “Ye should be thankin’ yer lucky stars, I didn’t have ye strung up by these beauties, frowlein” Slegg growled, as he crushed Erika’s slick love-melons in his cruel fingers.
“Aye, wouldn’t that’d be a sight, Sleggie?” Khasar guffawed as he approached from the starboard side of the ship. As Slegg dug his talons deeper into Erika’s breasts, a cruel smile crossed the big Mongol’s swarthy face as he pictured the voluptuous blonde suspended by ropes encircling, binding, strangling her swollen breasts.
“That it would, matey!” Slegg muttered as he seized Erica’s left nipple between his thumb and middle finger. He grinned evilly as Erika winced in pain, and proceeded to grind the pinkish-brown pellet back and forth until it began to harden to his touch. Then, as he increased the pressure on one turgid nipple, his left hand reached for Ericka’ other breast-nugget and he repeated the pleasurable task until both tips of Erika’s slippery breasts were as bold as bullets.
“It ain’t easy to get right, ‘anging a girl by her tits,” Slegg continued as he continued to work Erika’s jutting nuggets in his fingers. But our little princess ‘ere, ‘as got just the knockers for it, don’t ye, frowlein? And Deng-shan’d be just the man for the job.”
Fresh tears welled up in Erika’s sky-blue eyes as the sadistic first mate continued to crush her sensitive nipple-buds between his cruel fingers. She shuddered in horror at the thought of the ship’s carpenter, whom she knew to be a wizard of all manner of diabolical bondage, wrapping cords around the bases of her young breasts, constricting them more and more with each revolution until the ropes were tight as tourniquets.
“Mister Slegg! Mister Slegg!” Tranh piped. “Only few minutes ‘til eight bells. Captain be angry if I not finish.”
Slegg cursed under his breath at the interruption and glared at the scrawny Vietnamese. The crew, however, many of whom had scattered around the ship in twos and threes during the final interlude in Erika’s protracted punishment, had begun to reassemble. Slegg gave Erika’s nipples a final vicious twist and backed away, allowing Tranh to finish his ministrations.
Which the little man did quickly and enthusiastically, splashing his mysterious concoction onto Erika’s flat belly and flanks and working it into her flesh. Erika gasped when Tranh rubbed the stinging liquid into her tender thighs. Her long sleek legs had felt the bite of several of the instruments of discipline that had been employed during the Flogging of the Bells.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tranh could see that Andrew McMahon, looking even blearier than before, had retaken his position at the railing outside his cabin and that General Wang and Hsi-Fong were approaching from the bow.
“OK, Missie,” Tranh giggled. “Only one more place to fix.” And with that the little man christened the fingers of his right hand liberally with the devilish potion, and inserted them into her tender vagina, which only minutes earlier had been violated by the handle of Mawar’s whip.
“Aah!!” Erika gasped as she felt the fiery liquid on her most intimate flesh.
“No worry, Missie. Sting but make better, you see!” Tranh cackled. His hand was a blur as his fingers began to piston in and out of Erika’s defenseless body, even as he deftly thumbed her clitoris. In other time and another place Erika might have responded to his knowing hands, but on this day she felt only humiliation and discomfort. But, as before, she soon became aware that Tranh’s mysterious lotion was easing the dull ache in her vagina, and had cooled the raging fires lit by the thonged whip.
Unfortunately, as she knew all too well, the relief would be all too brief. Worse yet, behind her, she could hear the sound she had come to dread, the ringing of the ship’s brass bell, ominously announcing that the thirty-minute hourglass in the helm had spilled its last grains of sand. Her ordeal of suffering was about to begin anew….
Erika’s naked body shuddered spasmodically as the bell was tolled in its customary pairs. One-two, momentary pause. Three-four, pause. Five-six, pause. And then, as the irregular circle of leering, lecherous crewmen once again drew ever closer, the bell rang for the seventh and eighth time, its final peal being greeted with a bloodthirsty cheer by the sailors of the Yang-tze Dragon.
“She’s shakin’ like a bloody leaf, ain’t she lads?” Slegg observed with a mocking grin. “Don’t worry, princess, maybe the boys’ ll go easy on you this time. Look at ‘em,” he snarled, grabbing Erika’s blonde mane and forcing her to look at her tormentors. “They’re a fine bunch of gents, they are. Wouldn’t ‘urt a fly, would ye, boys?”
“What? Us? Hurt a pretty little lady like this?” Froggy winked at his comrades. “Not a chance. We’re gentlemen, we are. Ain’t we, mates?”
“That’s right, Slegg. You just cut her down and hand her over to us. We’ll show her how we treat a lady!” Khasar roared, accompanying his words with a series of vulgar pelvic thrusts that left little doubt as to his meaning.
Erika’s glance darted fearfully from one man to the next hoping to detect a flicker of human sympathy somewhere. But she found only different variations on the theme of blood-lust that she had seen in their eyes since her arrival on board. Even the little Vietnamese, Tranh, who had treated her better than most, was rubbing his hands together gleefully in anticipation of the onset of the next round of punishment. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Andrew McMahon unsteadily making his way down the ladder leading from the quarterdeck to the main deck.
“Avast this stramash, lads.” The burly captain bellowed. “Ye’re makin’ such a racket, the vicar of St Andrews could hear ye on the seventh tee!” McMahon paused to unleash an explosive belch and then went on. “As ye ken, aught bells hae sounded, meanin’ we’re aboot to begin the final roond of the sentence.”
McMahon strode across the deck to the rack where the instruments of punishment had hung. Only one was left. The captain picked up and held it before him so that everyone could see the peculiar leather strap. It was nearly two foot long, a bit more than half of which consisted of a handle whose length and solidity would provide maximum leverage, together with about eleven inches of whipping surface, 1 ¼” wide and slit down the middle so that the strap had two wicked-looking tails.
“Wot we ha’e here,” he continued, “is a genuine Lochgelly tawse. Lochgelly, for the mair ignorant among ye, is a town near the Firth of Forth, famous for the straps it produces.”
Then with a swift movement surprising for a man of his bulk, McMahon slapped the tawse sharply down on a nearby wooden railing. The resounding WHAACKKKK resulting from the leather striking the wood could have been heard a hundred yards away.
Erika shuddered at the thought of this dreadful strap striking her naked flesh.
“How d’ye like the sound of that, frowlein?” Slegg chortled evilly.
Erika mouthed the word, “Schwein!” in Slegg’s direction, but fortunately for her Slegg’s attention had been captured by a rather animated discussion involving McMahon, General Wang and Hsi Fong who had joined him near the scaffold from which Erika was hanging.
The two Chinese were clearly having more than a little difficulty understanding the captain’s thick Scottish brogue, nor did they seem to understand the little pantomime he was performing with his arms extended in front of him.
“Beggin’ your pardon, cap’n,” Slegg interjected. “If ye don’t mind?”
“Gang aheid, mon!” McMahon bellowed in disgust. “These Chinese eediots canna ken semple Anglish! I ask ye, mon, do I nae speak the tongue as weel as Queen Victoria?”
“Of course ye do, cap’n,” Slegg, doing his best not to roll his eyes. Then he whispered softly so that only the captain could hear. “Mr. Gladstone ‘imself would be proud to speak ‘arf as well as ye.” Slegg paused and eyed the thick leather strap in McMahon’s hand. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but is it the tawse they want to know about?”
“Aye! And I’m tryin’ tae tell’ thaim.”
“Right.” Slegg lowered his voice again. “Why don’t ye let me have a try, cap’n. Per’aps yer elegant manner of speakin’ is putting them off.”
McMahon, his temper soothed by Slegg’s cajoling words, nodded his assent.
Slegg turned toward the general and Hsi Fong. “Beggin’ your pardon, your lordships, but this is how it works. In Scotland, where the cap’n comes from, they use this type of strap to punish misbehavin’ schoolboys. The teacher calls the rascal up in front of the class and makes ‘im stick ‘is arm out, like this.” Slegg demonstrated by extending his left arm in front of his body, palm up. “And then, to make sure the little bloke feels the full weight of the tawse, they make him slide his other hand under the first.” Slegg reached out with his right hand, palm up, so that his left hand rested, face up, on top of his right hand. “That way, ye see, the little barstard can’t move his ‘and out of the way.” Slegg gestured toward the menacing tawse. “I tell ye, one stroke with this on the ‘and’ll bring tears to the eyes of a good-sized lad, and six’ll make ‘is ‘and smart for a week.”
“O’ course,” Slegg continued with a cruel gleam in his eye, “ I don’t suppose we’re going to be usin’ it on the hand of our pretty frowlein, will we Cap’n?”
“Nay, sir. Nay we will na!” McMahon bellowed, handing the fearful-looking strap to Jasper Slegg as he slipped his arms out of his great blue coat, straightening the gold braid on the shoulders and sleeve as if he were planning on dining with the First Lord of the Admiralty.
Her shoulders aching from her cruel suspension, Erika regarded the captain. The heavy coat had made him look stocky; it was only now that he was unjacketed that she could see what a powerfully built man he was. Her stomach twisted in knots at the thought of the punishment about to follow.
Retaking the strap from Slegg, he moved closer to Erika, taking up a position slightly to her right. “Thare is aucht straiks tae gang, gentlemen, and ane o’ them is mine. Let me shaw ye hae it’s doon.”
And with that the big right arm of Captain Andrew McMahon drew back and a moment later swept the tawse across Erika’ midsection, about halfway between her navel and her ripe-nippled breasts.
THWACKKKKKKK!!!!
“Aaaghhh!” A loud gasp of pain burst from Erika’s lips despite her resolve not to let the leader of this bloodthirsty brigade have the satisfaction of hearing her cry out.
“Aye!” The crewmen of the Yangtze Dragon roared as one in appreciation of the powerful blow.
Slegg looked on with grudging respect at the mark the captain’s mighty stroke had left. It was a bit more than an inch wide and nearly a foot long, and reddening by the moment.
The malevolent first mate had been impatient earlier, hoping that his name would be drawn in each cycle, anxious to leave his mark on Erika’s nude body. But now he was glad that his name had not been called earlier; now that he had seen its effect, he was looking forward to using the tawse himself.
Jasper Slegg surveyed the members of the crew. There were seven strokes yet to be delivered, including his own, and he tried to remember who else had not taken a turn. Khasar the Mongol for sure, and Lucky. Tan, the Chinese who had grown up in Java had yet to take a turn nor had Zheng, who doubled as the ship’s barber. He wasn’t sure about the rest.
McMahon had finished putting his jacket back on, and with the tawse tucked away under his arm, reached deep into the pocket where he had put the slips with the names of the crewmen. Pulling out a strip of paper, he called out, “Zheng!”
As Zheng stepped forward, he was slapped on the back by several of his countrymen. “Give her a good one!” Cheng Lao exclaimed. “Come on Zheng, show her who’s boss!” cried another. ”
Zheng the barber was a slightly built man in his late twenties. Like nearly all of his countrymen, he wore his fine black hair in a queue. Taking the tawse from the captain, he rolled up the sleeve of his left arm as he circled the dangling blonde, his almond-shaped eyes never leaving her spectacular body. The long, creamy legs, the golden-fringe at their juncture which partially shielded her lovely femininity, the perfectly sculpted buttocks cleft by a groove as inviting as one could imagine. Two generous handfuls of peaches and cream breast-flesh, tipped with nipples that would have caused a centenarian’s jaws to clench.
As he circled her, Zheng tapped Erika with the tawse lightly but firmly, letting the beautiful blonde feel the thickness of the leather against her arms, her legs, her back, her buttocks, and her heaving breasts.
“Get on with it!” Erika wanted to scream as Zheng circled her yet again, driving her mad with short swift mini-strokes of the tawse. But she did not, knowing such an outburst would only make things worse, if such a thing were possible.
“Let ‘er have it!” a voice cried out.
Zheng winked in the direction from which the voice had come, and ceased his endless pacing. Then, taking the strap back over his shoulder he swept it down across the very top of Erika’s left thigh, only an inch or two below her moist pleasure slit.
THWACCKKKKK!!
“Aaaghhhhh!! Gott!!”
Once again Erika could not suppress an exclamation of misery. Her tormentors looked on excitedly as her bare legs jack-knifed sensuously in a vain attempt to quench the fire ignited by the stroke of the strap.
“That’s it! Wiggle for us, wench!” Khasar the Mongol barked to the delight of the crowd. And then in a lower voice he muttered to Jasper Slegg. Look at those beauties jiggle, Sleggie! By all the gods of the Gobi, I’d like to use that strap on her tits! I’d make ‘em dance a pretty tune!”
“You and me both, mate. But ye know we dasn’t, unless that bloody General gives us the go-ahead, matey. ‘e don’t want ‘er damaged too much unless ‘e and that barstard pal o’ his are the ones havin’ the fun!
Hsi Fong, General Wang’s orange-robed crony , glanced sharply in Slegg’s direction and for a moment the first mate thought that perhaps he’d been overheard, but when Fong’s gaze returned to Erika’s quivering nudity, Slegg relaxed and turned back toward Khasar.
“Keep it under yer hat, mate,” Slegg whispered to the strapping Mongolian. “But I’ve been workin’ on a bit of a plan in me head. We might get a crack at those beauties yet!”
“There’s a bottle of the best gin in Shanghai next time we make port, if you do, Slegg!”
Erika’s legs were still jerking spasmodically as Captain McMahon reached into his pocket for the next name. “Lucky!” he roared.
Lucky made his way through the men standing between himself and the front of the improvised theater Deng-shan had arranged on the deck of the Yang-tze Dragon. A veteran of many voyages, Lucky was not a particularly ill-natured man, but he was also not one to disappoint his comrades.
As Zheng had done, he circled Erika slowly drinking in every inch of her shapely body.
“I’ll lay anyone three to one, he goes for her arse,” Slegg whispered. “ ‘e can’t resist a pretty backside.”
Unfortunately Slegg got no takers because Lucky’s affinity for shapely derrieres was known to most of his mates. In his time at sea he had stretched the inner muscles of pretty female backsides in every brothel from Madagascar to Melbourne and from Shanghai to Sydney.
Planting himself squarely behind the blonde prisoner, Lucky felt his cock swell with desire as he raped her bottom-globes with his eyes. He swept the tawse lovingly back and forth across Erika’s quivering buttocks as if he were a painter applying brush strokes, and then, turning the strap slightly, he drew its tough edge down the alluring groove between Erika’s buttcheeks, enjoying her twitches of discomfort and humiliation.
His massive cock long and firm beneath his leggings, Lucky slid his big hands around Erika’s waist from behind, and then downward so that they formed a Vee. Then, he pressed inward against her pubis, forcing her naked body back against his erection. Grinning from ear to ear, the Chinese sailor nestled his thinly veiled cock-staff in the valley between her buttocks. Tightening his grip on her pelvic region, he moved his hips up and down so that Erika could feel his throbbing member pressing against her delicate rosebud.
“Mmmmm,” Lucky groaned salaciously. What would he not have given to cut Erika down, bend her deep over a gunwale and plunge his mighty cock into her ass again and again. He would …
“Come on, laddie! Get on wi’ it!” McMahon’s booming voice interrupted Lucky’s sexual reverie.
Scowling, the Chinese seaman stepped back, took careful aim and lashed the tawse viciously across the rounded summits of Erika’s buttocks.
THWAAACCKKK!!!!!
“Nnggghhh!” Erika did her best to stifle her anguish, but could not quite manage it. Nor could she contain the gyrations of her buttocks and legs as the force of the blow sent her nude body swinging yet again.
“Attaboy, Lucky, you old barstard,” Slegg commended him. “Couldn’t a done better! She felt that one right and proper.”
Lucky backed away from the German beauty wearing the sheepish grin of a benchwarmer who had scored the winning goal, proud of the broad weal he had left on Erika’s tempting backside.
************
“Duan!” Captain Andrew McMahon called in a stentorian voice, reading from the slip of paper he had pulled from his pocket.
A young man who could not have been more than twenty stepped forward. Although he did not know Duan, a recent addition to the ship’s crew, very well, Slegg knew that the younger man was a nasty piece of work fresh from the triads of Kowloon. There, according to the scuttlebutt passed around by the crew, he had been a ruthless extortionist, threatening, assaulting, and even burning out shopkeepers who failed to pay protection money to his gang.
Duan’s visage was as menacing as his reputation. An ugly scar where his left ear had been was a souvenir from his earliest days in the triad. During a street fight a rival gang member had tried to slit his throat with a straight razor but narrowly missed because at that very moment Duan was burying the sharp, narrow point of his gim, an ice-pick-like Chinese dagger, deep into in his heart.
Upon seeing their leader’s demise, his cohorts had fled. But in order to reinforce the message that Duan was the new ringleader in that neighborhood, he and several of his men had gone to the house of the rival gangleader and dragged his two comely young sisters, aged twenty-two and eighteen, back to their waterfront lair. There they had stripped the two sisters and flogged their naked bodies with slender bamboo canes until their arms had grown weary. Then they had taken turns raping them.
At the break of dawn they had finally released the traumatized sisters, admonishing them to tell their friends and neighbors not to dare to challenge the supremacy of his gang.
And indeed, Duan and his minions never had any trouble with the members of that rival gang again.
No stranger to violence, on another occasion Duan and one of his cronies had threatened a prosperous silk merchant that if he refused to pay for ‘protection’, he and his pretty young wife would have cause to regret it. The dark-eyed wife had cursed them repeatedly. Did they not know who her father, the wealthiest jeweler on Nathan Road was? Buoyed by her combativeness, the merchant had proved stubborn, ordering them out of his shop.
Duan and his partner had left peacefully. However late one night a week or so later, they returned with two other gang members and burst into the apartment above the shop. They quickly bound the man to a chair and stuffed some of the merchant’s silk scarves into his mouth and that of his protesting wife to silence them. As the merchant looked on in horror, Duan’s men tore off the woman’s clothes and pinned the wildly struggling young beauty to the floor, groping roughly at her tempting breasts and soft thighs as Duan climbed on top of her spread-eagled body.
By this point the terrified merchant had long since reconsidered his earlier bravado and was begging through his gag to pay any price to spare his lovely young wife from the brutal thugs. But Duan, even if he had heard and understood the muffled pleadings of the shopkeeper, was aroused to a frenzy by the erotic thrashing of the golden-skinned beauty beneath him and was in no mood for conciliation. Freeing his massive erection, he plunged it into her body with bestial ferocity. For minute after endless minute, the vicious young gangster slammed his cock into the young woman’s vagina until, an overpowering orgasm beckoning, he withdrew and slid forward on her body.
Sitting on her dark-nippled breasts, Duan suppressed her screams with one hand, as he ripped the scarves from her mouth with the other, replacing it with his cum-dripping member. As her husband looked on in horror, Duan plunged into her warm mouth until he exploded, shooting jet after jet of semen deep into her throat before withdrawing and spraying her lovely face and glossy black hair with the final eruptions of his copious seed.
After his men had taken their turns mounting the wife, Duan had placed the tip of the sharp-pointed gim against her left breast and demanded money. The sobbing merchant confessed the location of his hidden cashbox, and Duan took the money and jewels it contained and left.
As it turned out, the young woman had not been bluffing. Her father was indeed a rich and powerful man, and Duan was subsequently forced to flee the city; shortly thereafter he decided to sign on to the Yang-tze Dragon until the hue and cry for his capture quieted down.
**********
Scratching his scar, Duan approached Erika, who shuddered at the sight of the menacing young man whose malevolent eyes seemed to have been steeped in evil. And indeed even Orang and Khasar, the biggest and toughest of the crewmen of the Yangtze Dragon, had done their best to steer clear of this dangerous young man with a volcanic temper.
Lucky gingerly tendered the menacing strap to the intimidating young seaman, and Duan tore it from his grasp without a word. Glaring at Erika as if it were she who had slashed his face, Duan lifted the tawse high overhead and brought it down with a thunderous
THWACCCCKKK!!
on Erika’s midsection, vertically bisecting her belly and forming a ghastly tee out of the powerful horizontal belly-stroke McMahon had delivered a few minutes earlier.
“Aaiiaaahhh!!!” Erika cried out in pain. The southern end of Duan’s fearful stroke had found the fleecy golden tendrils that blanketed her pubis.
Erika’s nude body thrashed violently, so much so that the crewmen hardly noticed when Duan went down on one knee, and whipped out the gim from a slender sheath strapped to his lower leg. Bouncing up quickly, he pressed the sharp point of the gim against Erika’s mons, instantly putting an end to her flailing about.
“Nein … bitte…” she whispered breathlessly as her feral tormentor dragged it up her belly, scraping her flesh. When he reached her navel he began to press harder, and as the gim moved up Erika’s nude midsection, a thin trail of crimson appeared in its wake.
“Belay that, matey, if ye know what’s good for ye,” Slegg warned hesitantly, but like the rest of the crew he was not anxious to be the first man to make a move to attack a man armed with a deadly weapon.
Grinning maniacally Duan positioned the sharp point of the gim against Erika’s right breast, just below her nipple.
Erika gasped in pain as Duan increased the pressure of the dagger’s point, pressing it inward and upward. Was her life to end like this, she wondered, hanging defenseless from a crossbeam at the mercy of a savage brute. Part of her almost wished to die, rather than existing as a sexual plaything for General Wang and his minions.
But only on her own terms.
Summoning up all her remaining strength, Erika swung her legs upward with the speed of a gymnast and managed to hit Duan’s elbow with her knee, luckily finding the ulnar verve. Duan grabbed at his elbow in pain as the gim went spinning across the deck, before coming to rest at the feet of a steely-eyed General Wang.
Duan, enraged, gave Erika a hateful glance and drove a fist into the pit of Erika’s stomach, but a sharp rebuke from the general resulted in his quickly being restrained by three or four crewmen. Wrestling free, he shamefacedly made his way across the deck to retrieve his dagger.
As he reached to pick it up, the General scowled. “You are very fortunate, young man, that she stopped you,” he said icily. Your fate, had you succeeded in killing her, would have been even worse than her fate will be.”
Hsi Fong, never taking his eyes from Erika’s nude body, which was still convulsing from Duan’s powerful blow, added with an evil grin, “And her fate, I can assure you, will be none too pleasant.”
“I wasn’t going to kill her,” Duan hissed. “Just having a little fun with the whore. Scaring her, that’s all. What’s wrong with that?”
The general was uncertain of Duan’s honesty, but no real harm had been done. He dismissed the bitter young man with a disdainful wave of his hand. The sullen crewman bent down and replaced the gim in its sheath on his leg, gave the golden-haired beauty whose courage had resulted in his humiliation another vengeful glance and slowly made his way back to the area on the deck where most of the Chinese crewmen watched in a group.
Erika was still struggling to catch her breath after Duan’s hammer-like blow to her solar plexus, but she could not help but notice that Jasper Slegg’s weasel-like visage was uncharacteristically screwed up in thought.
With four of the final eight blows having been delivered, Slegg ‘s gaze was fixed on Erika’s heaving breasts as he wondered whether he should take the risky step he had contemplating for several minutes. At length he decided that he might never again have an opportunity to punish such a superb beauty. At least not in the deliciously sadistic manner he had in mind. He ground his teeth back and forth as he gave Erika’s opulent, ripe-nippled, pleasure-mounds a last leering glance and decided to go ahead with his idea.
Turning toward General Wang, Slegg began hesitantly, “Beggin’ yer pardon, yer lordship, but if I might ‘ave a word?”
The general cast an impatient glance at the first mate. It was not often that he was disturbed by insolent interruptions from men far below his rank. The general crossed his arms over his chest sternly, and was about to issue a reprimand when he reflected that the unkempt lowlife before him had displayed both imagination and uncommon zest during Erika’s protracted ordeal. The general decided to hear him out.
“Yes,” he barked. “What is it?”
Slegg gulped. The general’s forbidding expression was accompanied by a voice as icy as the slopes of the Himalayas. Slegg almost gave up his plan, but as he cast his shifty eyes furtively around the deck in hopes of avoiding the general’s frosty glance, they settled once again on Erika’s magnificent love-mounds, their jutting perfection enhanced by her cruel suspension. Suitably inspired, Slegg took a deep breath and began again.
“Well, yer lordship, it’s like this. First of all, surely ye saw how this wildcat of a slut kicked like an angry mule at that last sailor, ‘oo was just tryin’ to give ‘er a little fright?”
“Yes. What of it?” Hsi Fong responded brusquely on behalf of his partner in malice.
“Well, this pretty frowlein needs to be taught some manners, don’t ye think? Ye can’t ‘ave a German whore like ‘er kickin’ at yer manhood every chance she gets, can ye now?”
“I am quite confident that I’ll be able to deal with such outbursts in an appropriate way,” General Wang replied with a cruel smile. He spoke in a voice whose malevolence drove another sharp dagger of despair into Erika’s heart.
Slegg stammered , “I wasn’t sayin’ ye wouldn’t, yer lordship. Not at all. But,” he paused for emphasis, “if ye’ll forgive me for sayin’ so, sir, I think ye’re missin’ out on an opportunity of interest to a man like yerself.” Slegg added a sly wink as if to confirm that despite the difference between their stations in life, he and the general were bound by a shared interest, the domination and subjugation of young women.
And then, before the general could speak, Slegg quickly picked up the tawse that Duan had cast aside and took a step closer to the iron-jawed warlord and his villainous confidant.
“Now this is a fine strap, and the lads have given this big-titted wench a few good licks, to be sure.”
Slegg took a deep breath. The moment of truth had arrived. “But do either o’ ye recollect ‘ow I told ye this little beauty,” he said, slapping the tawse sharply down on the ship’s rail with a loud THWACCCKKK!!, “was supposed to work?”
“I think we’re well beyond lashing the girl’s hand, you fool!” Hsi Fong grumbled testily.
“O’ course, yer lordship. That’s as plain as the nose on yer face. But ‘ear me out, if ye don’t mind. It’s the principle of the thing, don’t ye see?
General Wang sputtered impatiently. “Captain, could you possibly induce this simpleton to come to the point?”
Andrew McMahon, who was as puzzled by Slegg’s effrontery as everyone else on board, bellowed, “Get on with it, mon!”
“Aye, sir,” Slegg muttered uncomfortably, and then turned back toward the general.
“It’s like this, yer lordship. Remember how I was tellin’ ye about ‘ow the schoomasters would ‘ave the little brats place one ‘and under t’other to make sure that the top hand absorbed the full force of the blow?”
“Yes, And your point is …” The general’s irritability, never far from the surface, had just about reached its limit.
“Well, if ye don’t mind, could ye take a step over this way, yer lordship?” Slegg asked in a cajoling voice, as he moved back toward the dangling body of Erika Weiss.
When the three men were within arm’s reach of Erika, Slegg took the tawse and slid it under Erika’s right breast, lifting it slightly, and went on, “What if ye were to have this wench place ‘er ‘ands under these big beauties and offer ‘em up to the strap nice and proper?”
With those words, Slegg stuck the handle of the tawse into his belt and slid behind Erika. He reached around her and placed his weathered fingers under Erika’s ripe-nippled treasures, cupping them gently. “ ‘ow about it, yer lordships?” Slegg lifted Erika’s breasts ever so slightly, and turned her body slightly so that her delectable nipples were pointed directly at the stern warlord. “Did ye ever see such a pair o’ beauties, yer honor? ” For emphasis, Slegg worked Erika’s pinkish-brown nipples roughly between his fingers as he continued to squeeze her luscious mounds. “Crikey! So sweet and young and firm. And yet,” he added enticingly, “they’re as soft as a baby’s butt. Wouldn’t take much of a whack to set ‘em ablaze, I don’t imagine.”
Having planted the seed, Slegg drew silent, but continued to fondle Erika’s creamy tit-globes, as if he were a child polishing an apple for a teacher in hopes of a better grade.
Even the general, a veteran of nearly every form of sexual depravity, could not help but feel a resurgence of lust in his loins as Slegg’s words sunk in.
“Nein… bitte” Erika whispered in horror. “You cannot…”
“Quiet wench!” Slegg barked. “Or ye’ll wish ye had been!”
“I’m not a young man, yer lordship, but I’ll tell ye the god’s truth. I never seen a prettier pair in my life, ‘ave ye? Think of it, yer lordship. Our little beauty standin’ on the deck – or kneelin’ on it if ye prefer - ‘er blonde ‘air lifted gently by the breeze, those sweet blue eyes beginning to fill with tears, as she offers her treasures to the lash.” Slegg jiggled Erika’s love-globes gently in his hands, setting them aquiver, to emphasize his words.
“Look at ‘em yer lordship.” Slegg was gaining in confidence now. “ ‘er ‘ands are a lot more dainty than mine, so avin’ ‘er ‘old out these juicy man-pleasers with ‘er pretty fingers… why I can’t imagine a prettier sight than that.”
Slegg let his words sink in for a moment. “And then yer lordship,” he continued in a wheedling voice, as he removed the tawse from his belt. WHAMMM!! The boys’ll give it to her good and proper, right across the tops of these beauties.”
Slegg paused for a split second and then snapped the tawse down against the ship’s railing with thunderous ferocity.
THWACCKKKKK!!!
Erika’s lovely body convulsed at the sound even though she had not been struck.
The general was about to speak, but Slegg, growing ever bolder, cut him off. “I know what ye may be thinkin’ your lordship. You don’t want the likes of us,” he gestured at his misbegotten shipmates, “damagin’ the lovely merchandise, so to speak. But that’s the beauty of this strap, don’t ye see? It stings like a thousand ‘ornets, but it don’t break the skin. Look at the cap’n’s blow,” he muttered, using the handle of the tawse to trace the mark the captain had left across Erika’s bare belly. “Or Duan’s - that was the bloke with the scar,” he clarified, moving the dark strap along the vertical mark left by the former gang member. “Stings like bloody Jaizus, don’t it dearie…” he growled digging its handle cruelly into the livid mark that Duan had so recently etched in Erika’s tender midsection.
“Ja… yes… yes…” Erika winced in pain as Slegg ground the stiff handle of the strap into her wealed flesh.
“But it won’t break the skin, yer lordship. At least not in the four strokes remaining. What d’ye say, your honor? Wouldn’t ye like to see this,” Slegg brandished the tawse, “paint some nice stripes on these firm, tender tits?” Slegg slid the tawse under Erika’s luscious breasts yet again.”
Slegg was standing alongside Erika now, just to her right. For the first time he looked the general straight in the eye. “Come on, yer lordship. Ye know ye’d like to see ‘em quivering like jelly. Why, just look at ‘em – they’re trembling at the very thought of feelin’ the strap!”
“Please…please …. Don’t listen to him.” Erika implored. “Can’t you see that he’s only…
“Shut up, whore!!” Slegg barked, silencing the tormented beauty with a powerful backhanded swing of his arm that landed squarely across both of her tender breasts.
Slegg held his breath for a long moment as Hsi Fong leaned over and whispered something in the ear of the warlord.
At last the general spoke. “Your idea has merit.” The general turned toward Andrew McMahon. “Have your men cut her down, and we shall proceed as your mate suggests.”
At those words, Slegg did his best to mask his inward exultation but it was not easy. A current of sadistic lust seemed to flow through his testicles and his cock throbbed at the prospect of Erika Weiss submissively offering her lovely breasts to the cruel dominion of the man she most despised.
Jasper Slegg gave Khasar, the big Mongol, a sly wink. “I guess you owe me that bottle of gin, matey!” he chuckled.
“That’s all right,” Khasar muttered with a grim smile. He too was envisioning the thrilling moment when his powerful right arm would sweep the punishing tawse down across Erika’s naked breasts.
“It’ll be worth it.”
Chapter 162 The Tale of the Tawse
Khasar and Yim, two of the taller crewmen of the Yang-tze, quickly stepped forward to undo the bonds that had so tightly imprisoned Erika’s wrists.
Once she was free, Erika’s naked body slumped to the deck of the scaffolding, falling face down, her shoulders having been sapped of every ounce of strength by her cruel bondage.
The deck was still wet from the buckets of sea water that had jolted her out of her semi-consciousness less than an hour earlier, and Erika felt the coolness of the brine against the front of her body. The coolness felt good, but she knew that the salt in the brine was already seeking out every cut, every abrasion, every contusion on her nude body to do its insidious work.
“Get up, whore!” Khasar growled. “We’re not done with you yet!” He drove his right foot into her left side to punctuate his impatience.
“Aghh!” Erika cried out in pain. “Bitte … bitte … no more, please,” she murmured, as she crawled forward on her belly, feeling the roughness of the deck against her thighs, belly and breasts.
“That’s all right, mate,” Jasper Slegg said in a mocking voice. “I like watching the wench crawl.” And indeed, the sight of the voluptuous prisoner, her back and buttocks and thighs bearing the faint – and a few not so faint - impressions left by dozens of lash strokes, her gorgeous pink-nippled breasts scraping the deck of the ship with her every laborious movement, her golden hair tossed caressingly on her shoulders by a freshening wind, was one that none of the crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon would soon forget.
“Besides, matey, she ain’t goin’ nowhere!” Slegg jeered. “Are ye princess?” Slegg reached down and grabbed a handful of Erika’s golden hair. “But we can’t ‘ave ye ‘idin’ those pretty tits, can we lads?” Slegg jerked her head up and back roughly, lifting her upper body slightly, so as to better display Erika’s jutting, brine-moist breasts to his comrades.
“Tell ye what, princess. Me and the boys think ye should have the honor of drawin’ the next name So why don’t ye crawl over to the cap’n and draw the name o’ the lucky blighter ‘oo gets to deliver the next stroke?” Slegg chuckled evilly as he released her blonde mane.
Erika gave the first mate a look of venomous contempt, but slowly began to pull her exhausted body up onto her hands and knees.
“I said, ‘crawl,’ wench!” Slegg rasped, lifting his right leg and slamming his foot down onto Erika’s shapely buttocks, crushing her downward until she was once again prostrate on the deck.
“Unnghhh,” Erika groaned in pain.
“Crawl,’ I said!”
As had been the case with the gauntlet of suffering {Ch 148} that she had run what seemed like an eternity ago, but had only been several hours, the distance she had to negotiate to cross to the captain was not long, - only a few yards - but seemed far longer than it was. Because each time she tried to pull her body up a bit to reduce the dreadful friction of her nude body against the wooden deck, Slegg planted his foot firmly down on her buttocks or the small of her back, and crushed her flat once again.
And so Erika inched her way across the deck on her belly, while thirty-odd seamen looked on, shouting vile insults and catcalls in several languages.
“Hey, Lucky! Maybe if you stuck your cock in her pretty arse and gave her a good nudge she’d move faster!”
“Lift her head up again, Slegg! Let’s have another good look at those juicy tits!”
Slegg obliged, delighting his shipmates, who never tired of ogling their prisoner’s bold-nippled breasts.
General Wang looked on in amusement at the plight of his sex slave. The crewmen of this accursed vessel were as unrefined as a herd of rhinos at a watering hole, but no less dangerous. And the beautiful young woman who was the object of their sadistic games beggared all description.
The general had known a thousand beautiful women, and had had his way with all but a few. But the attractions of nearly all the others had left him feeling jaded after an hour or an evening of debauchery. Whereas Erika was a demi-goddess with golden hair, azure eyes, lovely facial features, and a flawless peaches and cream complexion whose seeming perfection was somehow enhanced by the telltale marks of the lash. Her splendid pink-nippled breasts had absorbed so much punishment and abuse and yet remained forever proud and defiant. Her smooth, flat belly, the alluring, blonde-tufted mons veneris that stood sentinel over the inviting lips of her sex, the long, lithe legs, the wonderfully rounded buttocks that seemed to invite the stroke of a hand, a strap, a whip – all of these were as tantalizing at this moment as they had been when Slegg had dragged her before Captain McMahon’s improvised court several hours and countless sexual indignities ago.
Notwithstanding her incomparable beauty though, the general had come to believe, it was not just her body that made her unique, inimitable. This remarkable creature had the grace of a forest deer, the courage of a cobra-killing mongoose, the stamina of a dromedary, and the heart of a lion.
General Wang looked down at the nude beauty crawling across the deck with such unflagging tenacity and he felt a surge of energy in his loins. What a spirited sexual conquest this young beauty was going to make! Taming her would be infinitely and endlessly exciting because she would never fully surrender. Each night her beauty and her valor would challenge his imagination, his cruelty and his manhood as never before. He would subdue her, of course, because while feminine courage could defy masculine power, in the end power must prevail. But he was not sure that he would ever truly vanquish her. He would have to conquer her again and again and again at every encounter. But what a sublime pleasure it would be to ravish her in every way a woman could be ravished, to use his power to crush her spirit, to bend that magnificent body to his will, night after night after night….
“Come on, frowlein!” Slegg jeered at the crawling beauty. “Only another few feet to go!”
Finally, Erika managed to drag her tortured body to within a foot or so of Captain McMahon.
“Go on princess. Pick the next name. The slips are in ‘is right trouser pocket.”
Blushing furiously, Erika pulled herself to her knees.
“Better step closer, cap’n. She’s still a bit too far away.”
The red-bearded skipper, amused by Slegg’s little game, adjusted the massive erection in his trousers so that its bulbous head pressed against the deep pocket where he had put the slips with the sailors’ names.
“Hurry it up, frowlein!” Slegg barked. “The lads want to know who the next lucky bloke is! Slegg placed his foot in the middle of her back and pushed forward aggressively, mashing Erika’s pretty face against McMahon’s groin.
Erika’s recoiled violently after coming in contact with the captain’s trouser-covered cock. The burly skipper, though, enjoying her humiliation, reached down and grabbed a handful of blonde hair and pressed her face against his body again.
“I said draw the name, you bloody whore!” Slegg snarled and swept the tawse across the ripe summits of Erika’s creamy buttocks, with a loud THWACKKK!!!
“Aihhh!” Erika yelped in pain. But there was nothing to be done. Blushing furiously she plunged her left hand halfway into the captain’s right trouser pocket but found nothing.
“I guess ye’ll have to dig deeper than that,” Slegg jeered. “Go on princess, maybe ye’ll find a prize in the candy box,” he snickered.
This vulgar jest drew mocking laughter from many of the crewmen.
Captain McMahon, owing to the fifteen or eighteen fingers of scotch he had imbibed during the breaks in the Flogging of the Bells, had a tippler’s smile on his face, but he was also consumed by a powerful lust. If the general had not been on board, he would have liberated his ruddy cock and forced the German girl to take it between her pretty pink lips. As it was, though he was reduced to enjoying the pleasant sensation of Erika’s delicate fingers probing the depths of his pocket and brushing against his thick-veined manhood.
“Go on, frowlein, Wrap yer ‘and around it and give it a good tug! The cap’n could use a little cheerin’ up. Ain’t that right, sir?”
McMahon could feel Erika’s warm breath on his groin. That sensation, coupled with the sight of her naked body on her knees before him, seemed to pump another ounce blood of into the erection which poked obscenely against his trousers.
Erika, her face, neck and breasts scarlet with humiliation, dug her hand a little further into the captain’s pocket, trying to ignore the warm, pulsing truncheon in her path. At last her fingertips grasped a piece of paper. She withdrew her hand and offered it to the captain.
A somewhat wobbly Andrew McMahon squinted at the crumpled bit of paper (one of three dozen such slips Slegg had prepared using English characters) for a moment. “Slegg, did ye nae gang tae schuil? Yer haundrite is waur than yer accent!” After moving the paper first closer to his face and then further away, the captain finally made sense of the name and called out, “Tan!” in his booming voice.
“Too long a name for you, captain?” the sailor named Tan muttered sarcastically under his breath as he elbowed his way forward through the assembly.
************
A violent tremor surged through Erika’s nude body. Minutes earlier, Slegg, the wily first mate, had talked General Wang into letting the four remaining crewmen use the Lochgelly tawse, a short leather strap made of some of the thickest and toughest cowhide in Britain, on her defenseless breasts. If that were not bad enough, she was going to have to place her hands under her tender treasures and offer them to the seaman wielding the strap. And now, the evil-eyed seaman elbowing his way through his fellow crewmen was about to deliver the first stroke.
A small sturdy man, Tan, an ethnic Chinese, had been a pimp in Jakarta in better times, supplying attractive young females to a brothel that catered to the wealthy Dutch traders and planters who had made the bustling Javanese city, which the Dutch called Batavia, their colonial capital. While there, he had occasionally been entrusted with the diverting task of disciplining young women who had failed to please the patrons. Tan would probably have been there still had it not been for one of the recurring violent outbreaks of anti-Chinese hostility so common in south Asia and the East Indies. Like many of his fellow Chinese, he had been forced to flee the city, and eventually the island. He had eventually taken a packet steamer to Macao, and it was there that he heard of the Yang-tze Dragon, the slave ship that supplied the brothels of dozens of ports on the China sea with countless unfortunate young women.
Tan had flogged quite a few women during his time at the brothel, but only once had he administered a breast-whipping. The victim of that memorable flogging had been a dark-eyed, raven-tressed young woman in her late teens. Tika, a native of Surabaya, a city to the east, had been sold into sexual servitude by a rapacious uncle after malaria had taken the lives of her parents.
After several weeks of abject misery at the brothel, servicing several men a day, Tika had been forced to pleasure a brutish, half-drunk spice merchant from Rotterdam. After three savage bouts of love-making, he had passed out, and Tika had dared to steal fifty guilders that she had seen him tuck away in his passport, in hopes of buying her freedom.
But the crime was discovered before she could make her escape. Once Tika had been identified as the culprit, the owner of the brothel decided to make an example of her, in case any of his other pleasure girls were entertaining similar ideas. On the appointed day of her punishment he had directed Tan to bind the pretty thief to the whipping post in the tulip-lined courtyard behind the bordello, where similar floggings had been administered from time to time.
As was customary, Tan had begun to bind the struggling beauty so that her back was toward the assembled audience, which on this day included the girl’s tearful co-workers, the vengeful spice merchant she had robbed, and a number of select clients. The clients in attendance were, without exception, men of substantial means and unusual tastes, men who were willing to pay well for the chance of seeing a severe flogging administered to an ungrateful miscreant, especially a miscreant who happened to be one of the youngest and prettiest pleasure girls in Jakarta.
But, just as he was wrapping Tika’s wrists around the pole to bind them, one of the customers, a stocky, well-dressed Englishman with a porcine face, stood up and addressed the owner. “There’s twenty pounds sterling in it for you, Van Doorn, if you turn the slut around!”
The owner of the brothel, a greedy Dutchman who would have agreed to flog his own daughter for twenty shillings, said, “Very well, Benson,” and gave Tan an approving nod.
Although he was a bit taken aback by the proposal, the young whoremonger had proceeded to reposition Tika so that she faced the audience, lashing her wrists securely so high on the pole that she was forced to stand on the tips of her toes. Then he had taken a firm grip on the bodice of her silk kebaya and ripped it down the front with a single swift movement, exposing a pair of exquisitely dark-nippled breasts whose youthful firmness rendered supporting undergarments superfluous.
Aroused by the sight of her naked breasts, Tan tore furiously at the upper part of the tattered kebaya until all that remained were a pair of tattered sleeves, ensuring that only the odd wisp of silken fabric would obstruct the path of the thirty-inch leather strap that he employed on such occasions.
Tan had begun rather cautiously, having no experience flogging such tender targets, but even his first somewhat tentative stroke to the Surabayan beauty’s pleasingly rounded breasts had elicited a cry of anguish from her and stifled wails of compassion from the girl’s co-workers. How, they wondered, would the poor girl manage to endure ten strokes of Tan’s strap on her defenseless breasts?
Tan’s employer, Max Van Doorn, looked on, greatly pleased with the proceedings. He had broken in this tawny island nymph when he had bought her from slavers only a few weeks earlier. She had refused, at first, to use her lips and tongue in the ways that please men most, but as the night wore on, dozens of sharp strokes of his rattan cane across her lovely backside had eventually tamed her. In any event, his affluent clientele preferred youth and beauty to experience, and Tika had soon become one of his most sought after girls. While he could not countenance thievery from guests, her foolish crime had provided Van Doorn with a splendid opportunity to fatten his wallet and he had not hesitated to do so.
The Dutchman had hosted flogging sessions in the courtyard before, but never had one of his unwilling victims commanded such a steep price, nor had any drawn such a large and well-heeled turnout. Yet even these jaded voluptuaries were poised on the edge of their seats, their eyes fixed on the enticing young woman at the whipping post.
Van Doorn had given Tan instructions to take his time so as to provide a better show for the paying guests, and Tan had done so, circling the golden-skinned Javanese slowly, alternating forehands and backhands, gaining confidence with every stroke. It had been an extremely hot and humid summer day in tropical Jakarta, and both flogger and floggee were perspiring profusely after only three strokes.
Out of the corner of his eye Tan could see the spice merchant, the victim of Tika’s theft, lean closer, relishing the sight of sweat and tears joining to form rivulets of moisture that dripped down onto Tika’s naked breasts.
Along about the fifth stroke, Tan began to swing more freely, reveling in the thrilling sound of leather impacting flesh and savoring the salacious bouncing of Tika’s young breasts each time he struck them. Even so he was careful not to aim directly at the taut nipples that crowned her tawny love-mounds. They seemed too delicate, too fragile for such harsh treatment.
The young pimp was just about to deliver the ninth stroke when the Englishman spoke again, “There’s a gold guinea in it for you, boy, if you give her the last two on those pretty nips! But see that you put your arm into it! Hard money for hard strokes, eh boy?”
Nodding, Tan gritted his teeth. Despite his earlier caution, the acquisitive young man was determined not to pass up the chance of earning such a large bonus. Tan positioned himself just to the right of the unfortunate thief. Even as the bronzed-skin girl was tearfully mouthing the word “No,” he carefully drew a bead on her quivering areolae and delivered a well-aimed blow that landed squarely across both of her nipples with a resounding THWACKK! that spoke to its punishing force.
The dark-eyed beauty had cried out in agony, but her moans were drowned out by a thunderous, “Ja…ja... Goed Een!” from the vengeful spice merchant.
A moment later the corpulent Briton called out, “Well done, boy. But remember - you’ll need another direct hit to win that guinea!”
As he had done previously, Tan, circled the girl slowly, allowing the tension to build and allowing the audience to bask in the suffering of the helpless victim writhing at the whipping post. Then, taking up a backhanded stance on the girl’s left, he unleashed yet another skillful blow that all but crushed her tender nipples, drawing another cry of agony from the raven-tressed beauty.
A moment later, after Tan had pocketed the gold coin flipped to him by the Englishman, he had moved to untie the tearful beauty, as he had done after all the previous floggings he had administered. But Van Doorn had held up his hand to stop him. For the avaricious Dutchman had not yet drawn the last ounce of profit from the bare-breasted thief.
“Who wants her?” he bellowed. “The highest bidder gets her for the night!”
A spirited auction ensued, with half a dozen of the attendees bidding for the opportunity to ravage the whip-marked girl at the post. The spice merchant, anxious to take his own revenge, had bid vigorously but in the end Benson, the rich Englishman, refused to be outdone. After Van Doorn’s gavel had sounded for the third time, the corpulent banker strode forward while Tan undid the ropes binding Tika’s wrists.
Seizing the bare-breasted temptress roughly by the arm, Benson dragged her toward a private cabin at the brothel, whence sounds of flesh on flesh and leather on flesh, followed almost invariably by the plaintive moans of a young woman in abject misery had echoed long into the night….
Tan had been greatly aroused by the flogging as well, so much so that he had spent a sizable portion of his bonus that very evening, quenching a seemingly insatiable lust by working his way through several of the brothel’s pleasure girls, taking each of them with a violent ferocity he had never experienced before.
************
That flogging had taken place two years earlier and Tan had never had the opportunity to relive that incredibly stimulating experience. But now, here he was, standing face to face with a Teutonic beauty who was every bit as exotic to him as Tika the island girl had been to the sadistic Englishman.
And what a beauty! While the Surabayan girl’s breasts had been lovely pert-nippled cones tipped with dark chocolate, they could not compare to the lush creamy melons of Erika Weiss. Tan’s only regret was that he would only be able to deliver one stroke to the opulent breasts of this golden-haired goddess.
Erika stood before him, her arms at her sides, her bare feet slightly parted, her long blonde hair dancing on her shoulders thanks to an increasingly gusty sea breeze. After her painful and humiliating crawl across the deck, most of the crewmen had expected her to cower, her face downcast. But after struggling painfully to her feet, Erika had gathered herself and she stood before Tan now, tall, proud, defiant, her blue eyes blazing with contempt.
The former whoremonger returned the hostile glare, as his hands caressed the thick leather tawse admiringly. He had heard the resounding THWACCKK! the strap had made on Erika’s bare flesh earlier, and now he could see why. The 30-inch strap he had used on Tika, painful as it had been, had been only half as thick, half as punishing as the instrument he now held in his hands.
“ ‘ow d’ye want ‘er, mate? Standing up or on ‘er knees? Our little princess might need some practice on her knees, y’know. I’ve got a feeling she may be spending a lot of time on them in the weeks to come. Ain’t that right, yer lordship?”
A rare smile crossed the tight lips of General Wang. “It is exceedingly likely,” he replied, giving Erika a glance that promised suffering and degradation in equal measure.
“Let me see,” mumbled Tan pensively as he considered the question of Erika’s elevation. Not a tall man, it occurred to him that a standing Erika, who was about three inches taller than he, would require an awkward stroke, landing before the strap had reached its maximum speed. And yet, if she were kneeling on the ship’s deck, the tawse would have to travel too far downward before striking her breasts, somewhat diminishing the power of his stroke.
“If ye don’t mind my sayin’ so, boy, I’ve had a bit of experience in these matters. What ye want, if yer givin’ a good downward stroke, is to ‘ave yer target - that is to say the tops of these juicy tits,” Slegg, clarified, squeezing Erika’s right breast, “ right at the ‘eight of your liver. So, if she’s kneelin’ you’d want the slut about a foot ‘igher than she would otherwise be. D’ye follow?”
“Y-yes.” Tan could not believe how much thought the twisted first mate had put into such matters.
“If I might make a suggestion, yer lordship?” Slegg continued. ‘ow about if I send a couple of the boys to get the little cot we ‘ave in the infirmary. If we ‘ad our princess kneel on the cot, it’d be just about the right ‘eight I believe.”
General Wang glanced at Hsi Fong, who gave him a “Why not?” shrug, and a moment later Tranh and Lucky were dispatched to retrieve the cot.
They returned a minute or two later with the narrow, rough-hewn wooden bed. Erika remembered it well: the man they called Froggy had been sprawled across it when he had forced her to bring him to orgasm using only the pressure of her breasts against his thick cock in return for a pitcher of water for the dying stoker (Ch 143). Spotting Froggy among the Chinese seaman arrayed to her right, Erika saw him whispering to his comrades. Their mocking leers and smiles made it clear that Froggy was regaling them with his exploits.
Erika flushed miserably, trying to regain her composure; but there was worse to follow.
“All right, frowlein, get on the cot. On yer knees, where ye belong!”
Erika could not contain her violent trembling as she clambered awkwardly onto the cot.
“Kneel up straight, wench. If ye slouch again, it’ll be the worse for ye. Shoulders back, tits out!”
Fighting to suppress the waves of terror sweeping through her body, Erika did her best to comply, feeling the hot lustful gaze of the bloodthirsty crewmen on her outthrust treasures.
Slegg paused for a moment to admire his workmanship. Then he reached out and smacked Erika’s right inner thigh sharply with his open hand. “Spread ‘em, sweetie! Give the boys a good look at that pretty puss!”
The kneeling beauty moved her knees ever so slightly apart.
I said, “Spread your legs, wench!” Slegg roared, as he viciously backhanded Erika’s right breast.
“Aaanggh!” Erika cried out in pain.
Slegg raised his right arm to strike her again, but Erika, complied, shifting her weight and sliding her knees outward until they were about eighteen inches apart. She blushed profusely knowing that the sweet pink lips of her labia were peeking out from underneath their downy covering.
“See there, mate?” Now she’s just the proper ‘eight, ain’t she?”
Tan nodded approvingly, as a cruel grin crossed his face. Kneeling on the cot, Erika’s creamy pleasure melons were perfectly positioned for a punishing downward stroke. Tan’s cock was growing harder by the moment, and his right hand, his whipping hand, was almost twitching in anticipation.
“All right, princess. Let’s see you offer those beauties to this nice gentleman.”
Erika placed her trembling hands under her quivering breasts, cupping them gently.
“ ‘ow about that yer lordship? Did ye ever see such a pretty pair?”
The general, stiff and straight in his olive uniform, made no reply, but none was necessary. Every man on board focused his gaze on Erika’s superb breasts, two generous goblets of tit-flesh crowned by coral-brown nipples that quivered gently in the breeze, as if cognizant of their unhappy fate.
“Very nice, frowlein. Now edge forward a bit so that your knees are right at the edge of the bed. That’s it. Snuggle right up there. We want to make sure the boys in the back can see, don’t we?”
Erika flushed again. She could feel three dozen pairs of hostile eyes on her defenseless body. She glanced quickly from one obdurate face to another searching for sympathy, but finding only lust-filled eyes and a grim determination to enforce her harsh sentence to the last stroke. It was clear from their stony countenances that all but a few of them were regretting the fact that their names had been drawn so early in the rotation.
“One last thing princess, before we get under way. Give those sweet little nips a good rub. The boys like ‘em stickin’ out nice and firm. Don’t ye lads?”
Slegg’s suggestion was greeted by a roar of approval and a number of vulgar taunts.
“Squeeze ‘em good, slut!” cried one.
“Harder! Pinch ‘em harder!” another chimed in helpfully.
Erika, despairing, ran her graceful fingers listlessly over her lovely nipples, which were slow to respond.
“Princess, if ye don’t do a better job than that, I’m gonna do it for ye,” Slegg growled. “Deng-shan, maybe ye’d better fetch yer little toolbox?”
The thought of Slegg applying a pair of pincers or pliers to her tender nipples send a fresh shudder of fear through Erika’s naked body. In a forlorn voice she pleaded, “Nein … nein… I will do it… I will do it.”
Erika closed her eyes and forced herself to imagine that she was far from the ghastly slave ship. That she was lounging in some silken boudoir, freshly bathed and scented and awaiting the arrival of her lover, strumming and stroking her nipple-buds not just because the sensation was pleasant, but so that they would be proud and firm just for him.
Somehow she managed to lose herself in a sexual reverie for the better part of a minute, until her amorous daydream was interrupted by Jasper Slegg’s rasping voice. “Look at ‘em, mates!” Slegg exclaimed. “Just look at ‘em!”
And indeed, Erika’s breast-buds were now taut and swollen and slightly richer in color, it seemed, than before.
“That’s lovely, princess, really. But now for the fun part. Cup those big beauties again for the nice gentleman.”
Tan’s heart was pounding furiously as Erika once again slid her slender fingers under her proud breasts. He edged sideways until he was standing directly opposite the girl on the cot.
“Now lift ‘em up for us, sweetie. That’s it. Nice and slow.”
Suddenly Slegg’s prurient smile vanished. “Move yer thumbs out of the way, wench!”
Erika had subtly tried to edge the tips of her thumbs over her surging nipples to protect them from the tawse, but even that most inconsequential of victories was denied her.
“All right, boy. Show us what you can do. Give ‘em a good whack!”
Tan, lifted the tawse high over his shoulder and swept it down cross the top of Erika’s left breast, being careful to make sure her taut brown nipple was directly in the line of fire.
THWACKKK!
“AAAUGHHH!””
As Erika’s nude body bucked violently on the cot, a tumultuous roar from the crewmen celebrated her suffering. She rocked back and forth, folding her arms across her breasts like a mother shielding an infant from a storm.
“None o’ that, dearie,” Slegg growled, grabbing a handful of her blonde hair and pulling her head back roughly, displaying her opulent breasts to the crewmen. “The lads deserve a good look, don’t ye boys? Are ye fergettin’ that ye tried to set our bloody ship afire?”
The men looked on excitedly. Tan had delivered his blow while facing Erika directly, leaving a path of fiery red from the point where the upper slope of her breast surged so boldly from her chest wall, all along the topside of her breast down to her distended nipple, crushing the tender nubbin inward and downward with brutal force.
Pleased with himself, Tan flipped the tawse over to Jasper Slegg who had to release his grip on Erika’s blonde mane to catch it. Slegg’ diabolical grin reflected his satisfaction with the way his scheme had worked out.
Erika, meanwhile, collapsed sideways on the cot, face down, turning her head away from the lewd crewmen, pulling the woolen blanket on the cot against her body as if seeking some respite, however brief, from the harshness of her servitude.
“All right, cap’n. ’oo we got next?”
McMahon dipped his big hand into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper and called out, “Mr Lu!”
When no one stepped forward, the crewmen began looking around for the absent Mr Lu.
“Crikey!” Slegg exclaimed, slapping his forehead. “I forgot! ‘e’s on stoking duty. I sent ‘im down to relieve Yong Li a couple of hours ago.” Slegg pondered a suitable replacement for a moment and then announced, “Tan, ye’ve ‘ad yer fun. Go below and take over and send Lu up here. Chop chop!”
The former pimp gave Slegg a dirty ‘Why me?’ look, but made no objection. Slegg was right. He had had his fun. Thirty years hence he’d still be regaling eager listeners in waterfront taverns about the time he had lashed the wonderful breasts of the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.
As Tan made his way below decks, Slegg glanced down at the prostrate body of Erika Weiss, still shaking convulsively. Dropping the tawse on the edge of the cot, he bent down and seized her by the wrist and jerked her arm roughly until she was kneeling upright on her haunches, clutching the blanket in her other hand, holding it against her body to partially cover her nakedness.
“We’ll ‘ave none of that princess!” Slegg rasped, tearing the blanket away and then grabbing her by both wrists and pulling them back viciously, jerking her into a more upright position, and forcing her ripe-nippled breasts to jut obscenely outward toward his lust-crazed shipmates.
“Well, your lordship. Was I right or wrong? Didn’t I tell ye a few strokes on these beauties would be a nice little show? And no ‘arm done. Yer feeling right as rain, ain’t ye princess?”
When Erika remained silent, Slegg twisted one of her wrists into a vicious hammerlock. “I asked ye a question, frowlein,” he rasped maliciously. “And I’d like an answer!” he added, increasing the upward pressure on her wrist.
“Ja … yes…” Erica gasped, trying to keep from crying out.
“See there, yer lordship. She’s practically askin’ for a few more on those beauties, ain’t you, princess?”
Slegg gave her hammerlocked arm another forceful wrench, drawing another plaintive, “Ja,” from his tortured prisoner.
“Ah! ‘ere ‘e is!” Slegg announced, as Mr Lu, fresh from the stoking room and covered in coal dust, made his way forward.
“Ye’re a lucky man, Lu. The wench was just tellin’ us how much she was enjoyin’ ‘er stay ‘ere. And how she was ‘opin’ you’d join us and share in the fun.”
************
Lu was a powerfully built man in his late forties. In his youth he had been a blacksmith in a tiny village in Guizhou, a province in south central China. Well-built but shy and taciturn, he was much admired by the girls of the village, but having been orphaned as a youth, he had no father or uncle to approach the father of one of the pretty girls who had caught his eye. And so, he built himself a simple home at the end of a pathway leading away from the dirt road that passed through his village. His only sexual adventures consisting of occasionally spying on the village girls from a distance as they bathed in the nearby river. Later, in the darkness and solitude of night he would lie on his spare mattress, picturing their dark, dancing eyes, their fine black hair, their tawny skin, their firm breasts, their soft thighs, their well-curved buttocks and the sweet secret place between their legs. On countless lonely nights he would relive those voyeuristic moments, stroking himself with forbidden pleasure.
Being thrifty, industrious and single, after several years of smithing Lu felt that he had saved enough money to start a family, and he finally dared to approach the father of the prettiest unmarried girl in the village, and despite his diffidence successfully won her hand in marriage.
But their wedding night had been a debacle. After years of solitary self-pleasuring Lu was so nervous that he was unable to sustain an erection. His young wife had been patient the first night, and the second, but after several days of uninterrupted impotence, she had taken to mocking him, making matters even worse and drawing him deeper into his cocoon of reticence.
As the days passed Lu began to notice that the young women of the village, when strolling by his forge on the way to the fields, would nudge each other, casting derisive smiles in his direction. He was convinced that his wife had shared the story of his failures with her female friends. Worse yet, he had seen her flirting with other men in the village and he was sure that she had shared his shame with them. Lu began to ponder whether and how he should take his revenge.
One day, while his wife was visiting her family, Lu convinced himself that she had confided their secret to her father and brothers and the brooding young man’s anger mounted to a frenzy. When his wife returned to their little house, he cursed her for mocking his masculinity and betraying his honor.
At first she deflected his accusations with jeers and insults, but after he put his hands around her throat and demanded the truth she tearfully confessed. Now certain of her guilt, Lu dragged her outside and marched her through the lonely countryside toward a secluded grove of trees far from homes and footpaths. Once there the enraged blacksmith tore his wife’s thin tunic to shreds with his powerful hands. He fashioned a gag from one of the pieces of cloth and thrust a ball of fabric into her mouth, knotting the ends behind her head.
Then he broke off a switch from a nearby tree.
In a fury, Lu proceeded to chase his lovely young bride through the grove of trees, flogging her bare back each time he came within arm’s length, drawing tiny beads of crimson with nearly ever stroke. When she turned to plead with her half-crazed husband, he didn’t spare her small but well-rounded breasts. Her defending hands prevented many of the strokes from finding their tender targets, but several did, and soon her soft young breasts were streaked with scarlet.
Frantically, Lu’s wife turned to flee again, and ran deeper into the woods. She was younger and swifter than he, but he was relentless. For nearly an hour he stalked her, flailing at her with the switch each time she slowed her pace or stumbled over a root or a branch. When the terrified woman finally collapsed on the ground in exhaustion, Lu threw himself upon her and tore at the thin trousers worn by women of that region.
As he tugged her trousers down over her hips, Lu realized that his burst of masculine savagery had given him an erection. And not only an erection, a violently throbbing erection, one unlike he had ever known. Fumbling with his own leggings, he soon freed his pulsing cock-staff. Grabbing for the switch, he snapped it in half, retaining a sturdy 18” length that was as thick as a broomhandle.
Holding the switch horizontally at each end he forced it down toward her breasts. His young wife tried desperately to push the the length of wood away, but he was far strong than she, and he soon overpowered her and crushed the rough stick down against her heaving breasts with all of his strength. She cried out in pain, but he ignored her pleas, rolling the length of wood back and forth across her areolae and her sharp pointed nipples like a baker flattening dough.
“You wanted it? Well here it is!” he raged at his wife. Controlling her movements with the pressure of the switch, he positioned himself between her legs and then entered her with a powerful lunge that shredded the virginity that he had previously been unable to conquer. His excitement mounting by the moment, he fucked her with long, punishing strokes for a few minutes even as she continued to fight like a wildcat, clawing and scratching at his face, his neck, his dark implacable eyes.
Angered by her fury, Lu flipped her over onto her belly and plunged his massive manhood, slick with their shared secretions, into her squirming bottomhole. “Tell your girl friends about this!” he raged as he drove his rutting cock deep into her virginal anus. The tight grip of her nether muscles seemed like paradise itself, and after a dozen violent thrusts Lu spilled his copious seed into her cock-clenching rectum.
He had left his young wife lying there, half-conscious and more than half naked. He raced back to their little hut and stuffed his savings and a few belongings into a little pouch, and set out for the provincial capital, where her family would be unlikely to find him among the faceless crowds of the city.
Once there he began a new life. He had unlocked the secret of his impotence; for him it was not enough to merely be with a woman. First he must discipline her, dominate her, subjugate her….
************
“ ‘ere ye go, mate,” Slegg rasped at the muscular, soot-covered stoker. “Did Tan bring ye up to speed?”
The taciturn stoker nodded silently, his eyes raking across Erika’s nude body.
“ Well, ‘ere’s the tawse, mate!” Slegg tilting his head toward the thick strap lying on the edge of the cot. “And ‘eres’ the tits!” Slegg chuckled wickedly, tightening his grip on Erika’s wrists and forcing her lush breasts so far forward that she could feel Lu’s warm breath on her nipples
Despite his fatigue from hours of hard labor, the sight of Erika’s quivering breasts quickly restored all of the recently relieved stoker’s energy. His coal-black hand reached for the tawse. As he ran the punishing strap through his dark fingers, he licked his dry lips in anticipation of imprinting a badge of pain on her soft breasts that would be as harsh and ruddy as the one that Tan had left.
“Did ye ever see sech a pair, mate?” Slegg continued.
Diffident as ever, Lu nodded his head, ‘No.’
“All right, frowlein,” Slegg growled, still gripping Erika’s wrists tightly behind her. “D’ye remember the drill? Ye’re going to stick those beauties out and lift ‘em up nice and slow for the gentleman. ‘e don’t say much, but ‘e’s a strong bloke, ‘e is. Got the arms of a bleedin’ blacksmith, don’t ‘e?”
Erika shuddered. Tan had been a man of less than average size; Lu was not only taller, he had the bulging triceps of a wrestler as well. As much as Tan’s stroke had hurt, Lu’s would almost certainly be much worse.
Slegg was just about to release Erika’s wrists when Lu silently lifted his hand, signaling him to wait.
Her arms extended painfully behind her, so that her breasts jutted forward invitingly, Erika watched fearfully as Lu moved his dark and dusty hands toward her brine-slick breasts.
The blacksmith cupped Erika’s creamy melons in his soot-caked hands, kneading the soft flesh. Placing his big hands on the outer slopes of her breasts, he mashed her tits inward brutally, compressing them with such force that Erika gasped in pain.
“Aghh!” the German beauty moaned, as Slegg increased his pressure on her extended wrists even as the blacksmith crushed her breasts together, coating their outer surfaces with soot, while leaving their inner curves obscenely pale.
Shifting his position slightly, Lu seized Erika’s delicate coral nipples, trapping them between his thumbs and forefingers, the desiccant properties of the coal dust allowing him to trap her moist breast buds in a death grip.
After exchanging a meaningful glance at Slegg, Lu began tugging on Erika’s tender nipples, while the first mate did his best to hold up his end of the tug-of-war, pulling her wrists backward with all his strength, trying in vain to keep Erika’s spine straight and upright while Lu savaged her nipples. But his strength was no match for Lu’s power.
“Crikey, ‘ow about a little ‘elp, ‘ere, Lucky!” Slegg barked and Lucky quickly stepped forward, joining Slegg on the far side of the cot, each man taking one of Erika’s sore wrists.
Between the two men, they were just able to equalize the force being exerted by the sturdy stoker, and the savage tug-of-war continued. Lu continued to tug on Erika’s tortured nipples, even as Slegg and Lucky pulled her wrists backward with offsetting force. Gritting his teeth effortfully, Lucky couldn’t take his eyes off the muscles in Erika’s rounded buttocks as they danced more and more invitingly the longer the torment went on.
In such a cruel competition, there could be no winner, only a loser. The seconds ticked away as Erika’s distended breast-nuggets were stretched from her body with excruciating force as the crewmen looked on, captivated by the night of the young blonde beauty’s throbbing pleasure melons being stretched on this improvised rack.
“By all the gods of the Gobi, he’s got a good grip on ‘em don’t he?” Khasar the Mongol muttered approvingly.
“Pull ‘em harder!” one man cried out.
“Tear her tits off!” roared another.
Erika bit her lip harder, bravely trying not to scream as the primitive but ingenious torture worsened with each passing moment. Finally, after two and a half minutes of agony, she could not suppress her suffering any longer, and she gave vent to a despairing “Aaaiiaahh!”
General Wang had watched the preceding events with absorbed interest. While Erika’s splendid breasts were clearly capable of absorbing a great deal of punishment, her nipples seemed to be unusually sensitive. It would be an interesting avenue to explore in the days and nights to come….
Meanwhile, his vicious mission half accomplished, Lu released his death grip on Erika’s ravaged nipple buds and snatched the tawse from the cot. A moment later Slegg and Lucky released her wrists.
Erika didn’t know whether to massage her aching wrists or to tend to her tortured nipples, but in the end she brought her pale hands forward and cradled her pain-wracked breasts in her hands. She touched the soft tips of her index fingers against her burning breast-nuggets the way one tests a raging toothache with the tip of one’s tongue.
“That’s it, Princess. Hold ‘em out for the nice gentleman,” Slegg rasped as he and Lucky quickly made their way from behind the cot, circling around it to face her. Neither man wanted to be out of position when Lu struck. “But don’t hide them pretty nips from us!”
Suppressing a sob, Erika’s trembling fingertips moved ever so slightly southward, baring her nipples, at once ashy and inflamed.
Lu lifted the terrible tawse and studied his target for the last time. The outer contoour of Erika’s pain-globes, which had only moments ago been models of peaches-and-cream perfection, were blanketed with soot, while their tops and inner curves were pruriently pale by contrast.
His sexual energy having been heightened to a fever pitch by the nipple torment he had administered, Lu lifted the tawse high and slammed it down viciously onto the upper slope of Erika’s right breast.
THWACCCCCCKKKKKK!!
“AAAaaaggggghhhh!!”
Erika’s shriek of pain was so loud that it might almost have been heard on Zhou-shan island.
Lu, exultant with the success of his mighty stroke, let the dreadful tawse fall onto the cot between Erika’s wide-stretched legs. Even as the tortured blonde cradled her throbbing breasts in her hands, the force of the blow caused her to pitch forward violently, nearly falling off the cot before being steadied by Slegg and Lucky.
“ ‘ere, we’ll get that for you, Princess,” Slegg volunteered helpfully, slapping away Erika’s hands. “C’mon, matey,” he encouraged Lucky. “ ’er tits is sore. Let’s give ‘em a nice rub.”
The crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon looked on amusedly as Slegg and Lucky each cupped a breast in a weathered hand, squeezing her pain-wracked tit-globes roughly, as Erika whimpered softly.
As he did so Slegg cast a glance at Captain Andrew McMahon. “All right, cap’n. That’s six out of eight. ‘oo else we got!”
The burly skipper fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the penultimate slip. “Jasper Slegg!” he bellowed in a surprised tone of voice. It was hard to credit that while Slegg had been the master of ceremonies all afternoon, his own name had never been called.
“Why, aren’t you the lucky one, frowlein?” Slegg taunted the forlorn beauty as he and Froggy released their grip on her aching treasures. “It’s time for your old uncle Sleggie to take a turn. I’m sure ‘e’ll go easy on ye. ‘e’s a lovely bloke ‘e is. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, would ‘e lads?”
Slegg looked down at the hand that had cupped Erika’s breast; it was black with soot. He wiped his hand on his sleeve and snarled, “Clean ‘er tits up, Tranhie. I want ‘em nice and fresh!”
The Vietnamese cook sprang forward with surprising alacrity for a man of his age. But what man wouldn’t jump at the chance to swab Erika’s magnificent mounds? Meanwhile Orang was hauling up another brimming bucket of sea water. The well-built islander unhooked the bucket from the hauling-rope, crossed the deck and upturned its cold, salty contents onto Erika’s naked breasts. The impact of the splash itself washed away much of the ash. As for the rest, Tranh used a corner of the woolen blanket on the cot as a rag, polishing Erika’s creamy mounds. Tranh was successful in wiping away the soot and ash and sweat but only time would fade the livid marks that Tan and Lu had left on the tops of her breasts.
“Good job, Matey,” Slegg mumbled approvingly. “That’s just how I like ‘em!” Slegg moved even closer to his victim, and slid the tawse under each of Erika’s breasts, lifting them for closer inspection. He licked his lips admiringly as a fresh wave of blood-lust surged through his swollen testicles. Despite the tawse marks, he could just make out the narrow, jagged-edge lacerations left earlier by Mawar’s wild swings of the thonged whip. A faint blue vein that ran along the inner slope of Erika’s left breast pulsed noticeably, as if sensing its vulnerability.
“Nice, frowlein. Very, very nice,” he muttered. “But uncle Jasper needs you to slide down this way a bit,” he added, slapping Erika lightly on the right breast with the tawse, indicating that he wanted her to move laterally to his right toward the end of the cot.
Trembling, Erika did as she was told, sidling toward her left until her left knee extended an inch or two beyond the edge of the rudimentary bed.
As she did so, Slegg moved to his right as well, finally taking up a position at the end of the cot. While Tan and Lu had delivered their strokes while directly facing Erika, Slegg was now standing at right angles to her, so that a swift downward stroke with the leather strap would flay the upper slopes of both of her quivering breasts.
Erika shuddered uncontrollably as Slegg, his ugly face masked with malice, slowly lifted the tawse. She closed her eyes tightly and held her breath in fearful expectation of the agony to come. When the blinding pain did not come, and she felt only the rough kiss of the leather brushing the tops of her quivering breasts, she opened her eyes to see that Jasper Slegg had just been practicing, grooving his stroke.
“Keep those pretty blue eyes, open, princess,” Slegg rasped. “I don’t want you to miss this!”
Twice more the vicious first mate practiced his stroke, intent on making sure that the outer edge of the inch-wide strap would find the lovely spot where Erika’s pink, swollen nipples sprang upward and outward from her pebbly areolae.
Then with a vicious snarl, he took the strap up swiftly and swept it downward through the crisp sea air toward Erika’s superb breasts.
Slegg’s guttural “YEAAAGGHHHHH!” was accompanied by the venomous HISSSSSS! of the tawse traveling downward at high speed, follow almost instantaneously by a fearful THWACCCKKKKKK!!! as the terrible tawse exploded across Erika’s naked breasts with dreadful force.
“Aaaiaaaaaaaaaaaghhhh!!!!!”
Erika cried out in agony as the tops of her luscious lust-mounds seemed to burst into flame. Sobbing, she collapsed sideways on the cot, writhing in misery her long legs scissoring uncontrollably. She grabbed once again at the dark blanket, pulling it close against her body, seeking surcease from her suffering.
“Well, lads, how did ye like that one?” Slegg gloated. He brandished the evil strap proudly as three dozen male voices roared their approval.
General Wang looked on approvingly. The crude first mate had been right about the physics of having the victim support the intended target with her hands. He had rarely seen three such punishing blows. And yet … he mused, there was much to be said for the salacious bounce of a well-struck pair of unsupported breasts. It was, he concluded with a satanic smile, a subject that he would pursue at his leisure. He smiled grimly. Erika’s pink-nippled lust-globes would provide a most inviting laboratory for his experimentation.
“All right, frowlein,” Slegg snarled. “Let’s ‘ave a look at those beauties now!” He grasped Erika roughly by the arm and pulled her back up into a kneeling position and tried to rip the blanket from her grasp. Erika clung desperately to the blanket as if it were the last thin thread connecting her to humanity, to mercy, to human decency, but after a brief struggle, Slegg was able to wrest it from her grasp.
“Did I get ‘em good or not, boys? Hot cross tits!” Slegg exulted as he motioned for Lucky and Khasar to each seize Erika by the wrist, while he grabbed a handful of blond hair, pulling her head back and thrusting her throbbing pain-melons forward toward her admiring audience.
Half-blinded by her own tears, Erika glanced down at her aching treasures. Slegg’s description had been an apt one. His stroke had fallen at right angles to those of Tan and Lu, and the patches of breastflesh where his blows and theirs had intersected were ablaze with pain. Nor had Slegg’s practice strokes been in vain. The tough edge of the tawse had scalded the base of her right nipple and had missed the taut little peak of her left breast by less than the thickness of the strap itself.
“Well, cap’n. If my count is on the money, there’s only one stroke to go.”
McMahon reached into his pocket and read the name, “Khasar!” in his stentorian voice.
“Last but not least, big fella! Give ‘er a good one!”
As Erika struggled to reassume her submissive position, Khasar seized the tawse from Jasper Slegg and prepared to strike. The strapping Mongol had known for several minutes that he and Slegg were the last two men in the rotation. Once Erika was in place on the cot, her strap-reddened pain globes proffered for his pleasure and her pain, Khasar hissed, “By all the gods of the Gobi, I’d forfeit a week’s pay to give you twenty of these, wench!”
Then he muttered, “Get her hands, Slegg!” and just as the first mate ripped Erika’s hands away from her breasts, Khasar drew the strap back and struck them dead on, delivering a mighty stroke with a slightly upward trajectory that caught the undersides of Erika’s aching nipples, lifting and crushing her splendid pain-globes.
THWACKKKK!!!!
“OOhhhhh! Gottt!! Gott!! Gott!”
Having had no time to prepare herself physically or mentally, Erika was unprepared for the blinding pain and the blow all but knocked her off the cot. Once again she collapsed sideways on the little bed, pulling the blanket close.
“Well struck, laddie,” Andrew McMahon bellowed approvingly, glossing over the fact that Khasar’s powerful stroke had violated at least the spirit of the agreement that Slegg had sealed with the general about how strokes of the tawse would be delivered.
“Gentlemen,” the red-beared captain went on sonorously, “this concludes the Flogging of the Bells. The sentence has been carried out in accordance with the verdict.”
The crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon gave vent to a thunderous roar. Each man had played his part in meting out the punishments called for in the captain’s sentence.
Although General Wang had been momentarily irritated by the liberties Khasar had taken, the sight of Erika’s superb breasts being scalded by the big Mongol’s punishing stroke apparently provided ample compensation for his displeasure.
The olive-garbed warlord raised his hand to silence the raucous crew. “Xie xie, Captain. Thank you. It has been a most entertaining and instructive afternoon.” Then he turned toward the members of the crew. “I appreciate your patience, gentlemen and I thank you for honoring my wishes with respect to my prized possession. I promise that you will not regret your bargain. For tomorrow, when we dock at Zhou-shan Island I promise you that there will be young women available who will serve your every need. And if they do not …” The general’s pregnant pause left little doubt that any of the young women he had enslaved who failed to satisfy the sexual whims of the crewmen, no matter how vile, how depraved, would be dealt with most severely.
Another roar rose from the men of the Yang-tze Dragon.
The iron-jawed general continued, “As the Master said, ‘Do not ask others to do you what you are not willing to do yourself’. And so it shall be. Hsi Fong and I will join you in abstaining from sexual pleasure until tomorrow as well.”
The orange-robed mandarin could barely disguise his annoyance with the general’s sudden passion for self-discipline.
Noticing his crony’s irritation, Wang continued, “My friend, desire deferred is desire multiplied. And besides,” he continued sardonically, “while this ship has served its purpose, and my appetites have been whetted as much as your own, you have to admit that our quarters here are neither spacious nor opulent. Should we not taste this delicacy,” he continued, gesturing toward Erika, “in comfort?”
This time it was Captain McMahon’s turn to frown. But of course the general was right. His own cabin was small and serviceable, but hardly one equipped with amorous amenities.
“As for our golden bird,” the general continued, gesturing toward the beauty under the blanket, “Have her injuries tended to, Captain, give her something to eat, and a safe place to sleep.” A cruel smile crept across the general’s face. “She will need all her strength tomorrow.”
The general let his words sink in for a long moment and then he turned and whispered to his rust-robed crony. “After all,” Wang muttered to Hsi Fong, “tomorrow there will be a full moon, will there not?”
Hsi Fong’s eyes lit up in sudden understanding, and his jaw clenched with cruel resolve.
For tomorrow evening they would celebrate the arrival of the full moon in their customary fashion (Ch 149); and this time the victim of their sadistic sexual rites would not be some slender village maiden, but rather the voluptuous Erika Weiss. What a night it promised to be!
Chapter 163 The Forest of Cruelty
The sun had nearly reached its zenith in the heavens the following morning when Erika was roughly lowered into the dinghy for the final leg of her journey to the island of General Wang. The hands of the men who had proceeded her into the rowboat grasped her roughly and groped her eagerly as they seated her in their midst.
************
Somewhat to Erika’s surprise, the general had been as good as his word the evening before. After another humiliating public three-bucket shower on deck that had cleansed the blood, sweat, and tears from her nude body, she had been led back to the infirmary. There Tranh had tended to her wounds and brought her green tea and rice, which had tasted like nectar and ambrosia to her. Before he had begun his ministrations, Tranh had locked the door on the inside. Despite numerous pleas and bribes offered by lust-crazed crewmen during the ensuing hours, he had steadfastly refused to admit several different sailors who had been willing to risk the general’s wrath for the pleasure of ravaging the lovely blonde prisoner of the Yang-tze Dragon.
For that Erika was grateful. And, while Tranh’s hands had taken the usual liberties while applying the ‘Mekong Lightning’ they had been skillful too, and between the strange potion and his probing fingers, Tranh had soothed much of the pain that ravaged her body. Even the fires raging through her tender breasts, which had borne the brunt of the final hour of flogging, had been somewhat cooled by his expert - and eager - touch.
Tranh’s hands were still massaging her bare shoulders, which ached from her suspension from the scaffold, when Erika fell into a fitful sleep that was plagued by ghastly dreams of what lay in store for her on the island of General Wang.
She dreamt of dark forests and darker dungeons lit by torchlight, where evil men watched as beautiful women, bound and helpless, writhed under the lash. She dreamt of a grisly wall from which hung all manner of instruments of torture, and braziers filled with red-hot coals. She dreamt of shackles and chains and manacles of every description, mounted to dungeon walls in every configuration that could cause a woman pain.
She dreamt of deep, narrow, inky-black pits where wretched young beauties were forced to defend themselves from the six and eight-legged creatures that crawled walls so close, so confining that they were always within arm’s reach. She dreamt of the slimy, legless worms that lurked in the damp corners of ghastly cells, and of ravenous long-tailed creatures that scuttled in the dark across a floor which, in the eternal darkness, she could not see.
And she dreamt that she could hear the crack of a leather whip on tender female flesh, and screams which sounded very much like her own….
After waking from that fearful nightmare, she eventually drifted off to sleep again, and this time she dreamt that she was in bed with her lover, Daniel Kauffmann. Squirming with sleepy pleasure, she could almost feel the touch of his lips and tongue and fingertips on her body. In her dream her nipples stiffened, and she grew moist between her legs as he stroked her with consummate skill.
It was only when she was awoken in the morning by a loud pounding at the infirmary door that she realized that it was Tranh’s lips and tongue that were teasing her taut nipples, and Tranh’s skillful fingers that were caressing her dainty clitoris. She pushed the little Vietnamese away angrily, but in a way she was thankful for his intrusive touch. For despite the dark and dreadful dreams in the first half of the night, her more pleasant dreams in the small hours had allowed her to sleep into the morning of the following day, a sleep which had greatly restored her strength.
It was only after Erika had drowsily wrapped the tattered blanket around her body that Tranh, clucking his disappointment at having his pleasures interrupted, turned away and began to heat some more tea and rice.
As she waited for her meager breakfast, the terrors of the night came back, and Erika was almost sick with fear at the prospect of her enslavement to the sadistic warlord. When Tranh offered her a little bowl of rice and the cup of tea her hands were shaking so badly she could not take them.
The old Vietnamese tapped her gently on the shoulder. “Missy, you must eat and drink. Today will be very long and very hard. You will need all your strength. Please …”
Shuddering, Erika forced the tea and rice down, and they helped settle her stomach a bit.
When she heard an even louder and more insistent pounding at the door, she knew that her brief respite from madness and cruelty was at an end. Knotting the blanket under her left shoulder, she reached out and touched Tranh’s hand gently and gave him a smile of thanks, and turned toward the door.
Waiting just outside the door were Tiger and Umar. How ironic, Erika thought, that Tiger, the first man to deliver a stroke at the beginning of the Flogging of the Bells, would be her escort on her final morning on the Yang-tze Dragon.
Erika was led up on deck just as the first of several boatloads of crewman were preparing to row the short distance to Zhoushan Island.
The island’s harbor had been damaged during the tropical storm a few nights earlier (Ch 133) and so the Yang-tze Dragon had been forced to drop anchor a half mile or so offshore. As the morning dragged on, Erika watched as the members of the crew crossed the narrow channel to the island, ten or twelve at a time, in the ship’s emergency rowboat.
Hsi Fong had gone on the first crossing, and just before the orange-robed commissioner had clambered awkwardly into the boat, Erika had heard him conversing with General Wang. She had seen them glance her way amusedly as she overheard the words ‘special garment’ and ‘chariot.’ She had also heard some discussion of the preparations that would need to be made for the entertainment of their guests, the bloodthirsty crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon. “Twelve or fifteen girls should do it,” Hsi Fong said at one point, and a moment later she heard the general inquire, “How many young women do you think we will have for the punishment cabins this time?”
Twelve or fifteen girls? To service three-dozen sex-starved brutes? Despite her own dreadful predicament, the fears that were sending chills racing up and down her own spine, Erika could not help but spare a thought for the young women of Zhou-shan Island. The dozen or so young creatures who were doomed to be the sexual playthings of these maritime savages whose every glance seemed to strip the blanket away from her body. As for the ‘punishment cabins’ she didn’t even want to think about what forms of abuse might take place in those hovels of horror.
As she waited to make her own crossing to the island, Erika also heard the crewmen talking among themselves excitedly. Most of the men had been aroused to the point of bursting by the exciting cycle of punishments meted out to their blonde fellow-traveler; it was clear that they couldn’t wait to get their hands on the unfortunate pleasure girls of Zhou-shan Island. Erika was thankful that their bickering amongst themselves as to whom should go on the early crossings and thus get first crack at the waiting lovelies, distracted them, for once, from paying too much attention to her.
Not wanting to think any more about the depravity and degradation that doubtless awaited her on the island, Erika tried to keep her mind occupied. She made it a point to note how many men had been on the little boat during each of the crossings. There had been eleven men, including Hsi Fong, on the first crossing, but two of them had had to row the boat back to the ship, leaving nine crewmen who had crossed; eleven crewmen less two returnees had been on the second boatload and ten men, including the Captain, had made the third crossing, but again there had been two returnees. Twenty-six men, net of the returnees, were now on Zhou-shan Island
************
Erika’s calculations were interrupted by the arrival of the two men – Cheng Lao, and Kai Pu – who had rowed the boat back to the ship after the third crossing.
There was quite a rush to the side of the boat as the remaining crewmen piled into the rowboat, anxious to get to the women of Zhou-shan Island. When they were settled, Raka and Tattoo helped Erika down into the waiting arms of Cheng Lao and Kai Pu. Raka, smiling wickedly, was careful to subtly tug on the side of Erika’s blanket in such a way that the edges of thecloth separated, giving the boatmen a good look at Erika’s lovely upper thighs and a glimpse of her golden nest.
Kai Pu also made the best of his opportunity as Erika was lowered into his grasp. He used one arm to assist Cheng in lowering Erika safely into the boat, but his other hand crept up Erika’s bare leg slowly. Enjoying the feel of her soft skin, Kai’s wandering hand lingered between Erika’s legs for a moment, probing eagerly at her secret place, before Cheng pulled her away, squeezing her full breasts for a moment through the flimsy fabric before pushing her down onto a rowing bench.
As Erika settled onto the rough bench, she tugged the skimpy blanket back into place in the ancient dinghy, which resembled a large, rather decrepit rowboat more than anything. Glancing around the boat, she noted that there were nine crewmen plus the general and herself making the fourth and final crossing . Which meant that when her boat landed, thirty-seven of the individuals who had been on the Yang-tze Dragon would be on dry land.
Thinking back she remembered that thirty-six men, including Captain McMahon, from the Yangtze Dragon had had taken part in the eight cycles of the Flogging of the Bells (one stroke with the first instrument of punishment, two strokes with the second, three strokes with the third weapon all the way up to eight, totaling thirty-six). Adding in the general and his orange-robed commissioner and herself, that meant that there had been thirty-nine people on the ship, of whom thirty-seven had crossed or were en route to the island. Apparently the captain, had left only two men behind to guard the ship.
Those two men still on board would doubtless be relieved at some point, so that they, too could take part in the erotic debauchery the general had promised, but there was a reasonable chance that only two men would relieve them. And really, why should there be more? The weather was good, and had been getting warmer all morning, and there was not a breath of wind to cool what promised to be a swelteringly hot and humid afternoon. Two men would be more than adequate to guard an anchored ship in calm water.
************
Seated now on the aftmost of two rowing benches, Erika pressed her legs closely together, but as every man knows, the sight of a scantily clad woman can be every bit as arousing as that of a nude one, and with the tops of her luscious breasts spilling out of one end of the tattered blanket, and a pair of long, sleek thighs protruding from the other, there were many more eyes on Erika’s charms than on the island cove toward which they were headed.
On the front bench, Raka the drummer and Tattoo were preparing to man one set of oars. Alongside her on the rear rowing bench sat the well-built islander the crewmen called Tiger. Sitting beside him, Erika sensed that Tiger, whose hair was just beginning to turn silvery at the edges, was the most experienced boatman in the dinghy, and he seemed to be directing the others.
As had been the case on the earlier crossings, several of the men were carrying thick coils of rope over their shoulder. Erika could not help but shiver in sympathy for the unfortunate young women who would be called upon to entertain this bloodthirsty pack of ruffians. The rest of the men on board were seated on curved benches that ran along the gunwales, except for General Wang who had taken a place on a little bench in the bow of the boat, facing aft, his fierce eyes rarely leaving Erika’s scantily clad body.
“You have rowed before, have you not, wench? I seem to remember George Chan telling me a story about one such adventure,” he added wickedly.
Erika nodded glumly. How could she ever forget the arduous rowing excursion to George Chan’s island retreat and the cruel flogging she had received upon her arrival there. {Ch 7}
“Take up your oar, then, and put your back to it! I have much to do this evening!”
Erika could not help wondering how many of the general’s plans involved abusing her, but having little choice, she took up the oar. She was a capable rower, but the crewmen were in a rush to get to Zhou-shan Island and the festival of debauchery awaiting them, and she was forced to maintain the furious pace of her three rowing mates, throwing her body forward into the stroke and then pulling back forcefully and then repeating that one-two rhythm again and again at a hectic clip.
By the time the rowboat was three hundred yards from the ship, Erika was sweating profusely in the hot sun. By the time they were about halfway to the island, Erika’s strenuous physical exertions had loosened the knot at the top of the blanket. Moments later the coarse fabric slid down her luscious breasts to the delight of the crewmen who were in a position to watch the delicious bobbling of her pink-nippled lust-mounds. Her delicious man-pleasers danced enticingly as her body rocked to and fro in time with the rowing stroke.
A few seconds after the blanket slipped down, Erika tried to re-adjust it, but her efforts to do so broke up the powerful rhythm of the other rowers and she was rewarded with a sharp elbow in the side courtesy of Tiger, her bench-mate.
“I ordered you to row, wench, not to adjust your apparel!” General Wang snapped angrily. And so it was that Erika rowed the balance of the distance to the shore bare-breasted, a pleasing sight indeed to the small welcoming party gathered near dock.
As they drew closer to the cove where they were to disembark, Erika became more and more conscious of the eyes of her boatmates on her breasts and her naked thighs. At first she tried to shift her position slightly so as to shield her body from view, but soon she realized that her fidgeting did more to draw stares than it did to protect her modesty, and at length she gave up.
A few minutes later, Tiger, an islander with long experience in shuttling between the small islands of the East Indies, lassoed the only dockpost that had survived the recent storm, and drew the boat close to the shore, giving Erika an opportunity to once again knot the blanket that was her only garment.
After Erika was helped up onto the flimsy boards that were all that was left of the dock, Tiger gripped her roughly by the arm and marched her forward into the center of a small clearing.
As he did so, Erika looked around to survey the lay of the land. The area around the tiny harbor was one of the few relatively flat spots on the island. From it, a winding dirt road, deeply rutted by the downpour of a few days earlier, led up a steep incline toward the dark, forbidding castle atop a bluff which looked to be a mile or so in the distance. Erika’s heart sank. Despite her superb physical conditioning, developed under the demanding physical tutelage of George Chan and Ming-tsu, and her remarkable recuperative powers, aided in some degree by Tranh’s flesh-soothing Mekong Lightning, she was not looking forward to hiking up that grade. Especially with the midday sun beating down on her.
On her right, the shoreline of the cove gradually receded, giving way to tall groves of bamboo. Off in the distance the rural landscape consisted of dozens of little farms studded with barns and huts. To her left, graceful green terraces of tea and rice stretched as far as the eye could see. Behind her lay a meadow studded with wildflowers. Further in the distance she could see a wooded area, dense with all manner of undergrowth, thick and green from the recent storm. The general’s island was not without beauty.
What was without beauty, however, was the sneering visage of Jasper Slegg, who was standing alongside a handful of unkempt soldiers whom Erika presumed to be members of the general’s militia. These men, who had been ogling the golden-haired, bare-breasted rower during the boat’s approach, were clad in disreputable olive uniforms, some of which appeared not to have been washed in weeks. Slung over their shoulders were carbines that looked to be older than the castle on the hilltop, some of them in such condition that Erika wondered if they had ever been fired or ever could be fired. Especially by such a band of slovenly, apparently poorly trained ruffians.
However, there was nothing laughable about the other weapons they carried. One of the men, sporting a dark goatee, and with a gold officer’s insignia on his sleeve, carried a short coiled whip tucked into a holster at his hip. Other were equipped with bamboo rods of various lengths and thicknesses, and one man, a stocky, brutish looking man of thirty or so, carried a long, thick-handled Asian knife, of the type used to chop bamboo or clear brush.
Erika noticed that even the general seemed to view his men with thinly veiled contempt. It occurred to her that perhaps he and Hsi Fong had been away from the island for some time and that whoever had been left in charge was complacent about or ignorant of military discipline. In her own country, Bismarck and the Junkers would have had the officers in charge of such soldiers drummed out of the military in a heartbeat; a century earlier Frederick the Great would have flogged them half to death to set an example for the others.
As Erika was pondering all this she noted that almost all of the men who had crossed with her had already started their trek up the hill, anxious to get their hands on the pleasure girls the general had promised. Only the general and Tiger the boatman, who had a menacing coil of rope slung over his shoulder, remained, and only Jasper Slegg, it seemed, of the crewmen, had come down to greet the general. Or perhaps, it occurred to her, he had come merely to taunt her during the difficult trek to the castle.
At a gesture from Slegg, the group of unsavory looking soldiers parted, revealing a vehicle that resembled pictures Erika had seen of ancient chariots. The vehicle had large wheels, and a platform upon which a rider could stand while managing the reins of a horse, which at the moment was nowhere in sight. Erika guessed that if had been led off to be fed and watered before beginning the difficult climb up the hill.
“Slegg, did you bring the … garment?” the general barked. Erika noticed that the warlord seemed to choose his words with unusual care.
“Rightio, your lordship. The other lordship, the one in the orange outfit, had it all ready for me. Got it right ‘ere.”
Slegg reached into the chariot and produced a handful of gleaming leather the color of dark Belgian chocolate.
“Come over ‘ere, Cinderella, and try on your ball gown,” Slegg said in a jeering voice.
Erika, sensing by his mocking tone that she wanted no part of Slegg’s newfound interest in fashion, tried to back away, but Tiger was right behind her and the muscular islander quickly pinned her arms behind her and marched the protesting beauty toward the grinning first mate.
Slegg meanwhile was unfolding the handful of leather. “It’s a bit on the small side princess,” he growled. “I’m guessing it was made to fit skinny Chinese wenches, not big ‘ealthy Amazons like yerself. Be that as it may,” he concluded, “don’t you worry, frowlein. We’ll make ‘er fit! Won’t we lads?”
Slegg’s comment drew a chorus of lewd catcalls from the soldiers.
When Tiger had muscled Erika within arm’s reach of Slegg, the latter snarled, “Ye won’t be needing that any more, Cinderella!” as he reached out and snatched the blanket away. Erika flushed as she felt the hot gaze of the General’s men on her nude body. Most of them had never seen a western woman before, much a less a gorgeous blonde like Erika Weiss in all of her long-legged, full-breasted splendor. The officer with the whip was particularly taken by Erika’s beauty. He leisurely inventoried Erika’s lovely assets with a casual sneer, waiting for her eyes to meet his before meaningfully grasping the handle of his whip as if to promise what lie in store.
“What do you think of our new prisoner, Lieutenant Meng?” General Wang asked his subordinate.
At a nod from the warlord, Tiger spun Erika around so that Lieutenant Meng and his men could enjoy a rear view of their prisoner, from her broad shoulders tapering to a slender waist which accentuated the roundness of her womanly hips. The soldiers took special delight in the cock-stiffening curves of her shapely buttocks, which still bore the faint striata left by lash, cane and strap.
“Very nice, your excellency,” Meng responded with a slight bow as Tiger spun Erika around again and pushed her even closer to the soldiers, so that they could get a better look at her sumptuous breasts and her inviting pleasure slit. “You have outdone yourself, sir! Do not hesitate to call on me, general,” he continued with a malevolent glance at Erika, “if she requires … special treatment.”
Erika tried to calm herself but the cruel intent of the lieutenant had sent her already rising sense of panic to new heights. What ghastly horrors lay in store for her on Zhou-shan Island?
While the general’s soldiers continued to salivate at the sight of the surprise visitor to the island, Slegg unfurled the leather garment and Erika stared at it in disbelief. For it was not really a garment at all, but rather a bewildering assortment of straps and buckles.
“ ‘old ‘er boys, while I ‘elp Cinderella to slip into ‘er ball gown,” Slegg snarled mockingly.
The garment was so obviously a prelude to some form of punishment that Erika recoiled in alarm. As she did so she sensed a slight slackening of Tiger’s grip as he adjusted the coil of rope on his shoulder. Seizing her opportunity, she drove an elbow hard into his gut and freed her pinioned arm. Before Slegg or the soldiers had a chance to react, she had spun free from Tiger’s grasp. She quickly turned and sprinted away from the castle toward the meadow and the wooded area behind her, hoping to find a refuge from her captors.
Behind her, Erika could hear a few of the soldiers clumsily shouldering their guns but she didn’t really care. A quick clean death would almost surely be preferable to sexual enslavement in the grim castle on the hill. Her heart stopped when she heard a shot fired and she braced herself for the end, but the end was not yet.
“Don’t shoot her, you fools!” bellowed the general. I want the whore alive!”
Hearing these words, Erika knew that she must run like she had never run before. Despite her fatigue and her aching muscles, the naked beauty began to race across the fifty yards of cleared area. Behind her, the general’s men stood frozen for a moment, admiring the graceful stride and churning buttocks of this latter-day Atalanta.
As she lengthened her stride, Erika was ironically grateful for the arduous physical conditioning to which George Chan and Ming-tsu had subjected her. Her speed and stamina would stand her in good stead on this today.
Behind her the fuming general was issuing orders.
“Meng!” he barked at the Lieutenant. “Take these two,” he said, pointing at the man with the bamboo chopper and one of the men with the bamboo rods “and get after her! And Meng -- if the three of you can’t catch one naked unarmed woman, I’ll have your stripes!”
Turning toward another man, he snapped “You, fetch a couple more men with parangs; the brush leading south is very thick. We may need the parangs to cut our way through. Quickly, you fool! The rest of you, fan out to the west and make sure she doesn’t escape inland.”
Erika heard only bits and pieces of the general’s commands as she raced across the meadow toward the forest. As she ran, her mind raced with equal celerity. Apparently there would only be three men in the first wave of pursuers, and they would be somewhat encumbered by their carbines and their other gear. If she could just make it to the bosky wooded area in the distance, perhaps she could lose herself in the dense undergrowth….
But as she drew within a few strides of the woods, Erika realized that, until she could find a place of refuge, the thickness of the foliage ahead would be her enemy not her friend. But there was no alternative. Wiping at the perspiration streaming down her face, she plunged headlong into the brush doing her best to wade through clumps of Chinese silver grass and Purple Emperor and ramie, a fibrous cousin of the nettle, and all manner of dense and sometimes thorny shrubs and bushes whose names she did not know.
The brush ranged from three to six feet in height and irritated every inch of skin it came in contact with. Her creamy thighs got the worst of it, but some of the shrubs and hedges were tall enough to attack her belly and breasts, and occasionally she had to deal with springy twigs that gave way at first and then snapped back into place with a vengeance, clawing at her face, her neck, her ripe-nippled breasts.
Wincing with every step, she continued onward, doing battle with the foliage. Behind her she could hear the general’s soldiers crashing into the woods, shouting and cursing as the lead man hacked noisily at the undergrowth with his parang, the crop knife used in parts of Asia to cut bamboo and to hack through dense vegetation. She cursed the fates that allowed the soldier to fight the dense brush with a heavy knife while her only implement was her own body.
Her heart pumping furiously, Erika staggered and stumbled forward as branches and brambles and thistles and thorns tore at her body. To make matters worse the sun was now almost directly overhead and she could not be certain that she was continuing in a straight line. She dreaded the possibility that she might manage to fight her way through to a clearing only to find that it was the one whence she had come.
“Surrender, wench!” Lieutenant Meng bellowed angrily. “You’ll never get away!” As he watched the blonde fugitive’s bare legs scissoring their way through the brush, the swarthy lieutenant vowed to make her regret her attempted flight.
Erika thought that the voice was still some distance behind her, but it was difficult to tell whether or not the soldiers were gaining ground. As she ran she tried to inspect the nearby trees, looking to see if there were any which she might climb and hide in until her pursuers had passed, but she did not see any that seemed suitable.
Onward she ran, her lungs on fire, repeatedly having to lift her arms in front of her face to protect her eyes and face from the tallest brush, but each time she did so she left her nude torso defenseless against the snapping twigs and the thick grasses that seemed to delight in implanting burrs in the most sensitive parts of her body.
Even more ominously there seemed to be no way to keep her flowing golden hair from becoming entangled in the grasping, clawing fingers of vegetation.
Fortunately, just as Erika had been forced to pause to pull her tresses free for the second time, the vegetation seemed to split into two types. To her left, a more woodsy area persisted, populated by trees, large and small, including many with the low-hanging branches she had come to despise. Underneath the branches were various types of brush much like the area through which she had already passed. To her right, however, there seemed to be many fewer trees, but the brush, which looked to range from waist to chest height looked even more dense, more impenetrable. But in that direction, at least, her long hair and the need to protect her azure blue eyes would not be her undoing.
Before plunging ahead Erika glanced down at her body and was hardly surprised to find that the flora of Zhou-shan Island had opposed her passage with fierce determination. The grasses and brush had inflicted scores of lacerations, large and small, on her calves and thighs and belly and sweat-drenched upper torso. Several types of burrs and thorns had lodged themselves in her glistening breasts and an especially irritating burr had ensconced itself in her pubic fleece and the pink labia it guarded. Another was rubbing against her clitoris as if it were a grain of sand polishing a lovely pearl.
The proud-breasted beauty swept at the thorns with her hands, brushing most of them away, but the ones that had bitten deepest into her breasts and thighs did not so easily renounce their desire to cling lovingly to her soft body. As Erika brushed at the thorns, she heard the dreadful sound of the bamboo knife hacking its way through the brush behind her, and she realized there was no more time do deal with the prickers. Despite her burning thighs and bursting lungs, Erika veered to her right and charged into the thicket, crouching to stay low and out of sight but knowing that she would have to run at full height at times to protect her eyes and to keep her hair free.
She fought her way forward aggressively plunging through vegetation that was every bit as dense as the hedges she had known in her homeland. Fifty yards further into the brush, Erika’s spirits rose when, for a few scant seconds, she could not hear her pursuers. Had they possibly gone to the left and lost her trail? She paused, on the verge of exhaustion, her proud breasts heaving with every breath, to listen to see if she had at last eluded them.
But her hopes were dashed when she heard the Lieutenant’s voice.
“Here, Cho! Over here! She came through here!”
“By the gods! It’s as thick as a jungle through there, lieutenant. The brush must be tearing her to pieces!”
“Serves the slut right! And I’m going to tear to pieces what the brush leaves behind! Wu! Get your ass over here and cut through this stuff!”
Knowing that the Lieutenant and his two comrades were still in hot pursuit, Erika staggered on desperately. The sun overhead was merciless now, and she found herself wiping at her brow every few steps to keep the perspiration out of her eyes. To make matters worse, many of the flying insects of the forest welcomed the naked, sweat-slick interloper into their sylvan world by lighting on her and sipping at the scarlet streamlets left by the thorns and the rivulets of perspiration pouring down her naked breasts.
Sweating and swatting, Erika staggered on, but in the end fatigue is the undoing of even the most valiant, and gradually her pace slackened, and the sounds make by the pursuing soldiers grew louder. They were closer now.
“Damn these briars,” cried one. “When I get my hands on that bitch….”
“I’ve a good mind to hang her by those big juicy tits when we catch her,” Lieutenant Meng snarled as he wiped blood from his thorn-gashed neck.
“I’d like to give ‘em a taste of my bamboo first!” one of his men answered.
They were only yards behind her now, Erika thought, although she couldn’t see them. And still she ran, if forcing one’s way through clump after clump of dense foliage can be called running, trying to ignore the sharp, whippy twigs that were snapping against her thighs and belly. She was breathing so loudly now that she feared that her trackers would be able to hear her even if she were to find a hiding place where she couldn’t be seen.
Still, she lurched onward, bloody and beleaguered, until she tripped over a root and crashed headlong into a thicket bristling with briars and thorns.
“There she is!” the lieutenant barked. “Over there!”
“Yeah, I see her, now!” a voice answered. “Ow!! Damn these thorns! You’ll pay for this, you fucking whore!”
The voices were closer now, much closer. Erika could hear the parang chopping at the brush. Surely her pursuers were only yards behind her now.
Erika clambered to her feet, trying desperately to free herself from the thorns that clung to her so devotedly. And then she saw, some thirty yards ahead, a patch of daylight which suggested that she was close to reaching the far side of the brush. Perhaps, she thought, with her speed, on clear land she could put some distance between herself and the men on her trail. She was at the point of exhaustion, true, but surely her pursuers were weary too, after hacking their way through the woods with their gear on their backs.
She plunged forward again doggedly, but the hacking and cursing were closer than ever now. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, and saw her pursuers for the first time. As she suspected there were only three in the vanguard, although surely more would be following at some distance.
“You can run, slut, but you can’t hide!”
Erika’s pursuers had her in view now and the sight of her well-toned legs, her rounded buttocks and her big, bouncing breasts infused them with new energy.
“Surrender, wench, and maybe we’ll go easy on you!” Lieutenant Meng shouted, although he had no intention of doing any such thing. To the contrary. With luck they’d have time to have a bit of fun with this golden-haired forest nymph before the general arrived with reinforcements. And during that time, the weary and resentful lieutenant planned on giving the gorgeous escapee a working over she would never forget.
Erika was only a few yards from the clearing, when her right ankle got caught in a patch of vines. She screamed in frustration, desperately trying to pull her foot free from of the vine, but by the time she had untangled her foot it was too late.
“There she is! Get her! Get the slut!”
Erika turned to face her stalkers who were arranged in a semi-circle around her in the thick brush. One, a stout man of thirty with short-cropped hair, was breathing as heavily as if he’d chopped down half the forest with the sharp-bladed bamboo-cutter he held in one hand. The second and nearest pursuer was a wiry, pigtailed lad who could not have been much more than eighteen. Despite his youth he had, along with his carbine, a wicked looking bamboo cane stuck in his belt. The young man’s malevolent countenance suggested that he was not inexperienced in using the cane on helpless women; the lust in his eyes made it clear that he had never seen a woman like the bloodied, sweat-drenched beauty before him. The third man was the goateed man wearing the lieutenant’s stripes; Meng’s features were contorted by an unholy combination of malice and lust.
When the stocky man lifted the chopper and started to advance on Erika, the lieutenant snapped. “Put that away, Wu. You heard what the general said. He wants us to take her alive. Besides,” he sneered lasciviously, “I’ll bet he’s got plans for that pretty head. You’d better leave it on her shoulders.”
Lieutenant Meng reached for the braided whip coiled on his hip, but despite the threat from that quarter Erika knew that her only chance was to first disarm Wu, the stocky man with the sharp-edged parang. While the odds were long, they were not impossible. Wu, after all, had chopped his way through a few hundred yards of brush and he was clearly even more exhausted than she was. If she could somehow manage to get her hands on the bamboo-cutter….
Spotting a fist-sized rock on the ground, Erika swiftly bent down and grabbed it. Summoning her last burst of energy she made a clever feint in the direction of the knife wielder that lured him into lunging forward with the parang. At the very moment that Erika felt the first sharp sting of the lieutenants whip on her back she crashed the rock down violently on Wu’s extended wrist. The man with the parang screamed in pain and dropped the knife. Erika dove for it, but in doing so, she continued to pay a heavy price for turning her back on the lieutenant. Meng lashed her first across the shoulder blades and then across the buttocks, before Erika turned on him, brandishing the parang.
“I think the fucking cunt broke my wrist,” Wu wailed, as Meng lashed at Erika again, this time finding the outer curve of her left breast.
“Ow! Schwein!!” Erika seethed. She feinted cleverly with the knife, driving the lieutenant back, just as the third man, the youngest of the three, charged at her through the brush, his carbine extended diagonally in front of his body. Erika braced herself for the collision, absorbing a lash to the backs of her thighs from the lieutenant in the process, and swung the thick-handled chopper at the lead hand of the man with the carbine.
TWHOCKK!! A crimson geyser erupted from where the fingers of the young man’s left hand had been, spraying Erika’s nude breasts and midsection with blood
“AIAGGHHHH!!! My hand!!! My hand!!!” he screamed, as he dropped to his knees, still cradling the carbine in his good hand. His face pale, he ripped at a sleeve with his good hand hoping to use it to staunch the bleeding.
As Erika was battling Cho, Lieutenant Meng had taken careful aim at her succulent, blood spattered breasts. With a thunderous, “Yaaahh!” he swept his whip forward catching Erika full across her slick pain- melons, just below her delectable nipples.
“AAIAGH!” It was Erika’s turn to cry out in pain.
Even armed with the parang and with two of her opponents down at least for the moment she was still at a disadvantage. Between herself and the evil lieutenant was a yard-thick, thigh-high patch of thorny briars that was not nearly as deep as his whip was long.
“You’d better give up while you can, bitch,” Lieutenant Meng sneered as he lashed out with a backhand slash at her right side, knowing that she dared not try to make a grab at the whip for fear of dropping the knife.
Bracing herself for the thorns that would claw at her bare flesh and for another stroke or two of the whip, Erika charged into the briars toward the whip-wielding lieutenant. She gritted her teeth in pain as the thorns tore at her thighs and she took another whip stroke across her proud breasts a split second before Cho’s rifle butt slammed into the back of her neck. She fell forward into the briars as everything went black….
************
Moments later Erika came to, revived by the canteen of water that had been emptied onto her head and shoulders and the pressure of a carbine barrel being forced into her vagina.
She heard Wu, the heavy-set man mutter, “I ought to smash your skull with that rock!” and a hissing THWICCKKKK! an instant before she felt his cane slash deep into her buttock-flesh.
“Aghhh!! She cried out as the heaviness of the blow drove her prostrate body down even deeper into the thorn bush.
CRACCKKK!!! Lieutenant Meng, not be outdone by his subordinate, lashed Erika viciously, leaving a weal that stretched from just beneath one shoulder blade to the bottom of her rib cage.
Meanwhile, Cho, who had wrapped his bloodied hand – minus the first knuckle of three of his fingers – in a strip of cloth torn from from his sleeve was working the barrel of his carbine deeper into her body.
THWICKK!!! Wu brought the cane down again, ravaging the base of her buttocks, only inches from Cho’s punishing, probing carbine.
Erika had dropped the bloody parang when she had been knocked unconscious. She saw that it had fallen deep into the thorn bush. She plunged her right arm deep into the briars and had just managed to grasp its thick handle when the lieutenant’s whip scored her back yet again.
Then with a sudden herculean effort, she wrenched the parang free from the briars, and tore her breasts and midsection and thighs free from the dozens of thorny twigs clawing at her flesh and staggered to her feet to fight again. Her encrimsoned right arm lifted the parang high as she prepared to leap at Lieutenant Meng just as Wu whipped the cane into the very center of her bloodied breasts, crushing her tender nipples with such agonizing force that Erika lost her grip on the knife.
Cho, his visage vengeful, was just about to drive the butt of his carbine into Erika’s superb pain-globes when the four combatants heard the stentorian voice of General Wang bellow “Enough!!!”
“Did I give orders for this?” the warlord continued. Erika’s three attackers lowered their weapons as the olive-clad warlord emerged from the thick undergrowth, preceded by a couple of brush-hackers armed with parangs. The general was followed closely by Jasper Slegg and Tiger, still with the coil of rope around his neck, and another pair of slovenly dressed soldiers.
As Wu bent down to retrieve his bloody parang, Erika’s hopes sank to their lowest point. She had been only a few yards from the clearing and a chance to extend the distance between herself and her pursuers when the accursed vine had tripped her up.
And now she stood, naked and bloodied, surrounded by a circle of men whose sadistic leers assured her that no mistreatment, no humiliation, no depravity, would be spared her.
A thin smile crossed Jasper Slegg’s face as he studied the ravages Erika’s desperate race through the brush had inflicted on her body. Her usually creamy thighs were blotched and bloodied from their duel with the Chinese silver grass. Here and there from her calves to her shoulders, burrs and broken-off briars were still lodged in her flesh. A fortunate few were still embedded in her succulent breasts, which were covered with Cho’s blood. Her desperate attempt to jerk the parang up and out of the briars in one swift motion had left her right arm covered with blood as well.
“It’s not as bad as it looks, your excellency,” exclaimed Lieutenant Meng meekly as he wiped most ot the blood from Erika’s proud breasts with his sleeve. “This is his blood,” he added, pointing at Cho, who was still cradling his hand, “not hers.”
“Very well, lieutenant. Why did you try to flee, wench?” the general taunted his re-captured prisoner. “I am gratified that you wished to see something of my island, but you have yet to visit my castle. It has many unusual attractions that my female guests find quite unforgettable.”
“I would rather visit the devil in hell!” Erika bristled.
The general gave an almost imperceptible nod to Wu, who rewarded Erika’s insolent reply with a cane stroke across the tops of her thighs.
THWICCKKK!! “Agh!!…. Gott!!”
Turning to his men, the warlord said, “Take her back to the dock. I have a little surprise waiting for our guest of honor!”
While he had been leering at Erika’s scarlet-streaked nakedness, Jasper Slegg, as was his custom, had been pondering ways to make the dreadful situation of the general’s voluptuous captive even more miserable. “If I might make a suggestion, yer lordship?”
“What is it?” the general rasped curtly
“It’s rough goin’ through that brush. Ye wouldn’t want any of yer men to get ‘urt now, would ye?”
“What’s your point, man?”
“I was just thinkin’ yer excellency, that per’aps we should have the frowlein lead the way back. Serve ‘er right for runnin’ off like she did.”
A cruel smile crossed the warlord’s face. He had missed Erika’s first battle with the brambles; judging by the prickers lodged in her flesh, he wouldn’t mind seeing the rematch. “Yes, that’s not a bad idea.”
As Lieutenant Meng and Wu, nursing his injured wrist, marched Erika back toward the edge of the undergrowth, she saw with relief that the parangs of Wu and the general’s party had carved an irregular trail through the deep thicket, leaving it somewhat more passable than she had originally found it.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, your worship, but if I might make one more little suggestion?” Slegg interjected in a wheedling voice.
“What is it now?” the warlord snapped.
“Well, yer honor, if my friend Tiger ’ere was to tie the wench’s ‘ands behind ‘er with that rope ‘es been luggin’ around all day, she wouldn’t be able to use ‘em to push the branches and suchlike out of the way, now would she? She’d be leading with ‘er tits, if ye gather my meaning.”
General Wang’s malicious sneer brightened. The thought of Erika nude body fighting its way through the undergrowth without being able to use her hands to ward off twigs and thorns was indeed appealing . He nodded to Tiger and the crewman stepped forward, cut a length of rope from the coil on his shoulder. Despite Erika’s resistance, she was quickly overpowered and within a minute her two her arms had been bound at wrist and elbow across the small of her back so tightly that her fingertips almost touched her elbows.
Tiger roughly spun the product of his workmanship around so that she faced the general.
The warlord nodded approvingly. Tiger’s ropework had forced Erika’s luscious, blood-streaked breasts into even more glorious prominence, superb pink-nippled targets for briars, brambles and brush.
“Of course,” Slegg continued, “Ye wouldn’t want ‘er to lose one of those pretty blue eyes to a springy twig now, would ye?”
It was true, the general considered. In places the brush had been head high.
Slegg, noting that Cho had already cut a length of fabric from one sleeve to bind his bleeding hand, grabbed the bloody parang. “Ye’ll need to find another shirt anyway, mate,” he rasped and cut a strip from Cho’s remaining sleeve.
Slegg whirled around waving the piece of fabric. “That should do it, yer lordship – as nice a blindfold as anyone could ask for.”
“ ‘ere ye go, Princess. We wouldn’t want yer baby blues to get scratched now, would we,” Slegg jeered as he set about covering Erika’s eyes with the strip of cloth, knotting the blindfold tightly at the back of her head.
“Please … please …. Those men have cut a bit of a trail, now, but with the blindfold, I won’t be able to see …”
“Well, princess, it seems to me you should ‘ave thought of that before running off like ye did.”
And with that Slegg pushed her so forcefully from behind so that she stumbled face forward into the brush, and Erika immediately felt the rough vegetation clawing at the front of her body.
“General, if one of yer men will lend me one of their canes, I’ll walk be’ind ‘er and make sure that she that keeps up a good pace. She’s wasted enough of our time today, don’t ye think?”
Wu, who was more than a little disappointed that he would not have the pleasure of whipping Erika through the forest to avenge his injured wrist, grudgingly handed his bamboo rod to Jasper Slegg. The wily first mate hefted in his hand for a moment and then satisfied that it was a nasty weapon indeed, slashed it viciously across Erika’s shapely buttocks, driving her forward blindly into the forest.
“Forward march, fraulein!”
************
It had taken Erika only minutes to crash her way a few hundred yards into the forest before she was recaptured; it would take the nude and sightless beauty nearly an hour to make the return trip.
Every step was torture. She tried, as best she could, to turn her body sideways slightly so that her shoulders bore the brunt of the punishment, but the deep patches of silver grass interwoven with all manner of briars and brambles, always seemed to find her well-toned thighs, her pubic area, her smooth belly, and her creamy pleasure globes, clawing at them with what seemed like a hundred talons.
Occasionally the exhausted beauty stumbled blindly into the partly-cleared path the parang wielders had cut on their way into the undergrowth, but as often as not after a few relatively easy steps, Slegg slashed at her with the cane, forcing her toward more virginal foliage.
She could hear a few of the general’s men ahead of her, no doubt following the path already cleared. But their conspiratorial whispers convinced her that they were setting booby traps for her, because nearly every time that the masses of rough-edged twigs snapped viciously into her thighs and torso, the painful impact was followed almost immediately by outbursts of crude laughter.
She was also nearly certain that Slegg, who was driving her like a cattleman, lashing the borrowed cane at her buttocks and thighs two or three times a minute, was steering her into the worst clumps of thorns and prickers.
And she was right. Whenever Slegg saw a particularly nasty patch of brambles, he’d give the soldiers an evil wink and then he’d drive Erika’s nude body head first into the worst of the brambles. General Wang’s soldiers gaped lasciviously at the sight of the blindfolded beauty’s creamy breasts being impaled on flesh-piercing thorns every few steps.
Erika was beyond exhaustion when Slegg drove her through the last few yards of brush and into the meadow where she had begun her ill-fated dash for freedom. As they crossed the grassy field, Slegg saw that yet another handful of soldiers were lounging carelessly in the general area of the chariot.
When Erika was some twenty yards from the soldiers, he removed her improvised blindfold, so that she would be aware that these dissolute men were enjoying the sight of the nude beauty being paraded toward them.
And what men would not enjoy the sight of a tall, golden-haired demi-goddess, with her arms bound so tightly behind her back that her luscious, coral-nippled breasts, flecked with fresh streaks of scarlet, jutted toward them invitingly as she approached? What men would not enjoy the sight of a forest nymph, fresh from capture, whose sweat-drenched thighs glistened in the bright sunlight, and whose every stride offered a glimpse of a golden triangle and the alluring folds of femininity that lay just beneath.
As one, the soldiers watched mesmerized as this gorgeous creature drew nearer. Each man knew – and the most fortunate among them had taken part in - the kind of cruelties and depravities that often befell attractive young women on Zhou-shan Island. And each man among them dared to hope that he would be called on to assist in the sexual subjugation of the long-legged, full-breasted beauty lurching exhaustedly toward them.
Chapter 164 The Island of Torment
Bruised and bloodied, Erika Weiss quickly came to terms with the fact that, for the moment, at least, there would be no chance of another escape. There were soldiers in front of her alongside the general’s chariot. At Lieutenant Meng’s direction, his men also took up positions on her left, to her right, and behind her. The result was that each of the dissolute and disheveled young gunmen had a different vantage point from which to view and appreciate Erika’s humiliating nudity.
Her morale nearly crushed by her recapture and her arduous return to the clearing, Erika tried to summon her last bit of courage to face her present predicament. But it was not easy. In the brush and the forest, at least there had been foliage and trees that partially obstructed the views of her pursuers and eventual captors. Now, however, there was only glistening sunlight and shimmering heat waves between her ripe-breasted body and the lust-filled eyes of the misbegotten brutes who constituted the general’s private militia.
The heat, too, seemed more oppressive now than it had been in the woods. Not only was the sun blindingly high in the sky, but the total absence of shade in the clearing and along the winding upward path to the warlord’s castle weighed heavily on her spirits. Erika cast her blue eyes longingly toward the cool waters of the cove, soundlessly imploring her captors to let her throw her sweat-soaked body into the waves lapping gently against the jetty, if only for a moment. But she had few illusions that such a request would be granted. Nor, she judged, would it profit her to ask her captors to allow her to slake her thirst. Better to silently endure, at least for the moment.
The fact was, of course, that the general’s soldiers, if the word ‘soldiers’ could even be applied to such an ill-favored band of cut-throats, reveled in the sight of the streamlets of perspiration dripping down from Erika’s chest and shoulders onto her superb breasts. Her back, too was aglow from her exertions, and the men stationed behind her were perfectly positioned to see the droplets of sweat leisurely making their way down the base of her spine and into the tempting cleft of her rounded buttocks. The traces of dirt and blood on Erika’s nude body did nothing to reduce the enjoyment of the onlookers.
“All right, lads,” Jasper Slegg smirked. “What ‘ave ye done with the princess’s ball gown? Ah, there it is.” The first mate stepped toward the chariot and removed the unusual accoutrement, a collection of buckles and rings and inch-wide straps of sturdy, dark brown leather.
During her flight, Erika had all but forgotten about the evil looking costume awaiting her, but seeing it again sent a fresh shudder through her body.
Having learned from their earlier mistake, Slegg and Tiger began by binding Erika’s ankles together temporarily to dampen any thoughts Erika might have had of trying to break free again. Then they proceeded to try to make the bondage garment, which had been fashioned for petite Chinese women, fit Erika’s voluptuous body.
The front of the garment was anchored by three silver rings, each about three inches in diameter. The upper ring, from which twelve metal studs protruded, spaced like the numerals on a clock, was designed to rest on the tops of the wearer’s breasts and was intended to serve as the hub for five spokes of leather strapping, two of them forming a vee of shoulder straps leading back over the wearer’s shoulders. Another pair of straps extended sideways from either side of the ring so that they would fit snugly across the tops of the wearer’s breasts. A fifth strap led downward so that it could be fastened to the middle ring, also embossed with flesh-gouging metal studs, that fit between and just beneath the wearer’s breasts.
Another pair of breast straps extended sideways from the middle ring. It took Erika only a moment to realize that when the upper and lower pairs of breast-straps were fastened behind her back, the straps would bite deeply into her breast flesh from above and below while the studs pressed hard against the inner curves of her breasts.
Yet another strap of leather extended southward from the middle ring, ending at the lower ring, which, when drawn tight, would press against her pubic mound. From the lower ring, a narrower dark strap led downward between the wearer’s legs, and then up through the cleft in her buttocks toward a larger ring in the center of her back. This last ring was designed to be the anchor of the costume, to which the shoulder straps and the upper and lower breast straps were also intended to be buckled.
At least, that was the way the garment was supposed to function --- as a restricting, titillating costume.
But when Jasper Slegg and Tiger attempted to buckle the straps to the anchor ring, they quickly learned that it would be a difficult task indeed to buckle all the straps on a woman, however slick and slippery with sweat, who was several inches taller and with a correspondingly larger frame than the petite Chinese lovelies for whom it had been designed.
“It’ll never fit,” Tiger muttered irritably as he tried to buckle the crotch strap to the back ring. Erika gasped in pain as Tiger’s exertions pulled the leather strap harder and harder, making it dig more and more deeply into her vagina and buttock cleft
“Bollocks!” Slegg snarled. “We’ll make it fucking fit!”
And, after several minutes of sweating and straining, the two strong men finally secured all the straps and buckles. Erika grimaced in pain as one pair of tough leather straps bit deeply into the tops of her breasts and another cut into the pale, sensitive undersides of her breasts, with the metal studs on each ring jabbing into the inner contours of her close-set love-mounds. Worst of all, perhaps, was the fiendishly tight crotch strap that felt as if it might cut her in two. It was clear to Erika that every step of her arduous journey up the steep grade to the castle would be painful indeed.
Throughout the fitting process, Erika had been looking this way and that, expecting at any time to see a soldier leading a horse, or perhaps a donkey or an ox, that would pull the general’s chariot up the hill. It was only when one of the soldiers produced a sturdy length of bamboo, some three inches in diameter and six feet in length, and Deng-shan the rope-master materialized out of nowhere to bind her outstretched arms to it, that Erika began to understand.
It was she who was going to be the beast of burden.
With a sinking feeling she realized that it was she who would be pulling the chariot up the steep approach to the castle. The general had planned it so that this dreadful task, her nearly nude body on open display to whatever soldiers and crewmen she passed along the way, was to be her initiation into servitude, the first steps of an endless journey into degradation and slavery.
Slegg and the soldiers looked on with excited interest as Deng-shan, using thick coils of rope, bound Erika’s shoulders, elbows, and wrists securely to the improvised bamboo yoke. When he completed his mini-masterpiece of rope bondage, Deng stepped forward and gave a little bow as he proudly presented the results of his labors to General Wang.
“Excellent, excellent,” the warlord, a man not given to undeserved compliments, exclaimed with as much enthusiasm as his marmoreal countenance would allow.
And what man would contradict his judgment? With her arms lifted and outstretched and bound to the yoke behind her neck, Erika’s magnificent, blood-streaked breast-melons threatened to burst out of the leather straps that constricted them.
“Nice, my friend,” Slegg muttered grudgingly to Deng. “But if ye don’t mind, ‘ow about we spruce up those pretty nips?” Slegg bent down and picked up a short length of discarded rope and worked the coarse material back and forth across the tips of Erika’s breasts until her pink pellets became inflamed and aroused by his attentions.
“How’d ye like to chew on those, lads?” Slegg rasped, as he doubled up the rope and thumped each of Erika’s breasts in turn.
To a man, the general’s men ogled Erika’s newly swollen breast buds admiringly. Her breasts were rapidly pinkening as the result of the pressure of the straps, and it seemed only fitting that her nipples be redder and more swollen as well.
It was then that Jasper Slegg noted that General Wang had called Lieutenant Meng some distance aside to discuss something, very likely the dissolute appearance and casual attitude of Meng’s squad. The general, a stickler for military discipline, had to be furious at seeing such ill-trained men in uniform. As the general began to upbraid Meng just out of earshot, Slegg decided to have a bit of fun with the recruits. And who could tell – doing a favor for these disheveled soldiers might serve him well one day.
Using the slender bamboo rod that he had borrowed from Wu in the forest, Slegg flicked Erika’s virtually naked bottomcheeks with a series of quick, compact strokes, directing her to turn and face each of her captors individually so that each soldier could fully appreciate Deng-shan’s workmanship at close range.
The soldiers stood, mouths agape, as Erika was presented to each of them in turn. One by one each of the scruffy band of ruffians was treated to a close-up view of Erika’s superb tit-globes. With her arms outthrust and bound tightly to the yoke, Erika’s pleasure melons stood out high and proud and bold-nippled, without a hint of the sag that often attends full, womanly breasts.
As she faced the first man, an ugly brute with fewer teeth than fingers, Slegg slashed his slender cane unerringly, bisecting the front of Erika’s lovely thighs with an almost soundless THWICK!
Ahhh!!” Erika gasped!
“Quiet, wench!” Slegg snarled in a low voice, fearful that the general would hear Erika cry out and put an end to his fun. “Or you’ll get the next one across those pretty tits!”
Erika nodded glumly. As Slegg had planned, not only did the wicked thigh-stroke leave an angry red mark on Erika’s legs, the force of the blow caused her to lean forward slightly. Jasper Slegg grinned, pleased by the notion of this proud beauty being forced to bow, in a fashion, to this ignorant, nearly toothless lout.
The soldier ran his thick tongue over his lips, practically drooling at the sight of Erika’s superb breasts encased between the tough leather straps. Her pleasure-mounds glistened in the bright sunlight, damp with perspiration and streaked with blood. A pale blue vein, made bolder by the pressure of the breast straps, pulsed faintly just beneath the surface of her creamy skin. Who could have imagined, even a day earlier, that an unlettered brute such as he would soon be ogling such a goddess!
Prodding her bottom with the cane, Slegg presented Erika to the second soldier, a scrawny, unwashed little man whose hair and beard were mattered with a month’s worth of oil and dirt. Erika cast her eyes downward to avoid making eye contact with the soldier, just as Slegg delivered a second cane stroke across her thighs, about half an inch north of its predecessor. THWICKKK!
Erika tried valiantly to stand tall, to resist bending forward slightly to her captors, but the sting of the thigh-stroke was so sharp that she could not prevent her upper body from dipping forward reflexively, symbolically offering her pink-nippled girl-globes to the man with the matted hair.
“What a pair of tits, eh boys?” the man with the filthy hair muttered to his comrades. “I’d give a week’s pay for a crack at those beauties!”
The soldier’s obscene comment was quickly endorsed by grunts of pleasure from his comrades.
Keeping an eye on the general to make sure that he was still distracted by his conversation with a very unhappy looking Lieutenant Meng, Slegg proceeded to present Erika to a third soldier, and then a fourth and a fifth. His wicked cane strokes marched their way up Erika’s thighs an inch at a time, drawing deeper and deeper bows from the blonde beauty.
There were nine soldiers in the irregular circle and each watched spellbound as the escalating power of the cane strokes bit more and more deeply into Erika’s creamy thighs. When Slegg presented her to the seventh man, a burly, big-bellied brute, he slashed her tender upper thighs with such force that Erika fell to her knees in pain.
“Get up, princess!” Slegg rasped. And then, after making sure that the general was still berating Meng, he whipped the cane down sharply across the tops of Erika’s breasts. “I’ve got two more gents ‘ere ‘oo are waiting to make yer acquaintance!”
Her breasts and thighs on fire, Erika was still struggling to her feet just as General Wang strode angrily back toward them. The dark glower on his face made it clear that her tribulations en route to the general’s stronghold were unlikely to be abated any time soon. In the best of moods, the general was a man to be greatly feared. In a foul mood, as he was at this moment, her predicament would be even worse than before. Nor were the shadows of suppressed rage darkening Lieutenant Meng’s face bode well for her future.
“To the castle!” the General barked. “I have many matters to deal with.” As he said those words, the general’s fierce gaze fell on Erika. She tried to keep her nearly nude body from trembling uncontrollably but with little success.
At a nod from the general Deng-shan stepped forward again and secured the reins of the chariot to the bamboo yoke to which Erika’s arms and shoulders were bound. Meanwhile the warlord had climbed into the chariot and opened a vertical cupboard in its inner wall and, after fumbling for a moment, removed a light, flexible coachwhip. When Deng gave the general the signal that the reins were securely fastened, the general gave Erika a stinging lash across her bare buttocks and snarled, “Let’s go. And put your back into it, wench!”
When Erika failed to move at once the general struck her rounded backside with a pair of lightning fast whip strokes before realizing that his captive’s ankles were still bound. Tiger quickly stepped forward to remedy that situation, and then set off up the hill, as did Cho, whose hand was still wrapped in his blood-soaked sleeve.
Trying to put her pain and fatigue behind her, Erika gathered herself and took a step forward, towing the chariot and its whip-wielding passenger in her wake. After a few steps she concluded that the load was heavy, but manageable, on level ground. But she could see that the ground only remained level for about fifty yards, before it began gradually sloping upward.
“Stop dawdling, slut!” Jasper Slegg barked, whipping his cane sharply across her bare thighs, finding the mark left by one of his earlier cane-strokes, and opening a slender cut. “The boys are ‘avin’ a little party with the local girls up there, and I don’t want to miss out on the fun!”
Grimacing in pain, Erika tried not to think about the incline or the distance before her, concentrating rather on simply putting one bare foot in front of the other. But, encumbered by her heavy burden under the stern gaze of the midday sun, she had not taken thirty paces before sweat was once again pouring down her brow and face. And with her arms and hands tightly bound to the yoke, she was unable even to wipe the perspiration away, and it was not long before she was almost blinded by her own sweat. Time and again she paused to shake her head from side to side in an attempt to disperse the streamlets of sweat, and each time the stern-jawed general dealt with her dilatory pace by flicking her shapely bottomcheeks with the carriage whip. By the time she had taken a hundred steps, a sea of sweat had all but washed Cho’s blood from her luscious breasts, leaving only her own thorn wounds to produce beads of crimson from time to time.
General Wang, of course, was more than delighted by the view from the chariot. Erika’s every stride tightened the muscles in her lithe thighs and her eminently whippable buttocks , naked save for the dark strap drawn so tightly between them. As he watched the play of her gluteal muscles, the warlord congratulated himself once again on his new possession. The afternoon journey up the hill would teach the German beauty obedience; in the evening she would begin to learn the meaning of discipline. The warlord flicked Erika with the whip again, for no particular reason, as a malicious smile crossed his face. For tonight the discipline would be very harsh indeed….
Her head down, the muscles in her calves and thighs straining with her every stride, Erika forged onward up the steep hill. It was not long before it became clear that the general’s castle, which had seemed like only a mile or so away when she had begun her uphill trek, was perhaps half again as far away. Its great grim façade had caused her to misjudge the distance.
As she trudged upward, Erika did her best to focus her mind on simply placing one foot in front of the other. But it was impossible to keep fearful thoughts from haunting her. Since being overtaken in the woods by Meng and his men, the indignities visited upon her had been improvised and almost incidental to her capture, yet even so they had been almost unrelenting. Her stomach twisted itself into knots as she tried not to think of what barbaric cruelties awaited her.
She cast her glance upward again at the forbidding fortress overlooking the island. There were dungeons in that grim castle, surely, dungeons where degradation was de rigueur, and despair was inevitable. It had not been so long ago that George Chan had delighted in regaling her with horrifying tales of beautiful young women who had earned the displeasure of his brother Richard and had found themselves imprisoned in the deepest darkest corners of the Black Pagoda. How the Scorpions had raped and tortured the tender bodies of raven-haired beauties in dungeons where night was endless, where the only illumination was flickering torchlight, and the faint glow of coals sizzling in braziers. Where the only sounds to be heard were the crack of the lash, the desperate high-pitched cries of suffering young women, and the deep, pleasurable grunts of the men who abused them in every way imaginable.
Erika shuddered in horror. Was confinement in such dungeons to be her fate? Or would General Wang instead make her his sexual plaything, a delicious delicacy to be shared with high-ranking confederates or lowly minions as the whim struck him? Would she be forced to pleasure five, ten, fifteen men a day, men like the filthy scum who had ogled her naked breasts while Slegg had delivered those withering cane-strokes to her bare thighs? An endless routine of pain and suffering or a regimen of sexual slavery and humiliation? She did not know which fate she feared the most.
CRACKKK!! As the general’s whip seared her naked buttocks again, Erika’s mood sank to into the abyss as she realized that, in all likelihood, both suffering and subjugation awaited her in the castle on the hill.
************
Erika’s semi-nude body. gleaming with the perspiration of intense physical labor, provided a visual treat for the rag-tag band of soldiers escorting her. Some trailed behind so that they could enjoy the delicious play of her buttocks, especially when those shapely demi-moons reacted to the sting of the general’s whip. Some of the men marched alongside where they got a wonderful view of Erika’s long, shapely legs and flanks, naked save for the dark brown straps above and below her breasts, and the constricting leather waistband. Others trudged ahead in front of her, along with Jasper Slegg and Wu, taking every opportunity to glance backward to ogle her opulent lust melons, which spilled so enticingly out of the confining straps.
Erika did her best to ignore their salacious leers and their ribald remarks, but it was far from easy.
“What a pair of tits!” one enthused. “I wouldn’t mind licking the blood off of them, Wu!”
“I’d like to make ‘em sweat a bit more first!” Wu exclaimed, forming a big fist with his uninjured hand. And when I was done working those beauties over, I wouldn’t mind chewing on those pretty nipples for a while, either!”
Whether it was the undisguised malice in Wu’s voice that interfered with Erika’s determined efforts to keep putting one foot before the other, or whether she simply lost her footing is uncertain. But what was certain is that as soon as she went down on one knee, General Wang began flicking her shoulderblades with the coach whip while Jasper Slegg went after the leg that had given out, lashing out at Erika’s creamy thigh.
THWICKK! THWICKK!! THWICKKK!!
“Get up! ‘Get up’, I said!”
Three times Slegg’s cane bit deep into her thigh-flesh, before Erika, whose balance had been severely compromised by her yoke-bound arms, managed to right herself.
“I told you I was in a hurry, wench!” Slegg snarled as he swung again, this time aiming for his favorite targets, Erika’s luscious breasts.
Erika tried desperately to turn away from the sadistic first mate, but the yoke hampered her movements and …
THHWIICKKKK!!! Slegg’s cane-stroke found its fleshy targets, biting into Erika’s jutting pain-melons no more than a hair’s-breadth below her taut nipples, atomizing the rivulets of perspiration that had been moistly caressing her perfect breasts.
“AIAGHHH!!” Erika cried out, staggering under the force of the blow and just managing to maintain her precarious balance.
The general’s soldiers looked on, mesmerized by the sight of this golden-haired prisoner being subjugated so cruelly, each man hoping that he, too, might get a chance to assist in the punishment, if not the ravishment, of such a lovely creature.
“Move on!” the general barked in clipped tones, as he flicked Erika’s shapely buttocks yet again. “I haven’t got all day!”
With a tremendous effort, Erika continued onward, the quadriceps muscles in her thighs, already burning from her exertions, now also suffering from the sting of Slegg’s cane strokes. With Erika’s every anguished stride the grade seemed to grow steeper, the sun to grow hotter. And with every stride, she bore not only the weight of the general and his chariot, but the unholy lusts of the men who watched her labor under the blazing sun.
Erika lurched onward, under the watchful and lascivious gaze of her captors, her lips becoming drier, and her throat becoming more parched with every step. Her thirst was maddening, but fearful of what the response might be, she put off asking for water until she was on the verge of collapse. She stopped in her tracks, staggering dizzily, utterly spent from her exertions, and then hesitantly whispered, almost under her breath, “Wasser… wasser.”
Jasper Slegg, who had been whittling one end of his bamboo cane to a sharp point as the procession of pain had made its way up the hill, grinned at her evilly. “What’s that? I couldn’t quite make that out, princess.”
Erika was nearly certain that there would be a price to be paid, but she could not help herself. “Wasser … water … bitte …bitte…”
“Oh! It’s water ye said, is it, princess?” Slegg rasped. “That’s not a bad idea. Well, I’m sure one of the lads ‘ere ‘as a canteen. How about it, boy?”
Taking a canteen proffered by the scrawny soldier with the matted hair, Slegg took a long pull from it, allowing water to stream out of the corners of his mouth as Erika, eyeing the wasted droplets, licked her dry lips enviously.
“That was a good idea, princess,” Slegg went on. “I didn’t realize I was so thirsty.”
“Bitte… please…” Part of Erika hated herself for abasing herself before this dreadful man, but what was she to do?
“What’s that? Oh, *you* wanted some water, too, is it? Well, let’s see what we can do about that, princess.”
With those words, Slegg approached the bare-breasted beast of burden. “Open yer mouth, frowlein. Let’s see that pretty pink tongue. These lads like a girl with a pretty tongue, I’ll bet!”
As the soldiers guffawed, Erika did as she was bidden. Quaking with fear, she parted her dry lips and extended her tongue.
“How d’ye like that, boys? How’d ye like to have that lickin’ the sweat off yer bollocks?”
Slegg lifted the canteen until it was at the height of Erika’s head and slowly tilted the canteen upward so that a few drops of water drizzled down onto the tip of Erika’s tongue.
Erika lapped them up eagerly. “More … please…”
“No problem, frowlein. No problem at all… D’ye think a nice bloke like me would disappoint a damsel in distress?”
The sadistic first mate upturned the canteen again, holding it in his left hand as he moved it from side to side so, so that Erika’s pretty tongue was forced to dart left and right in hopes of catching the trickle of falling liquid. As she did so, Slegg poked her repeatedly in the belly with the newly-sharpened end of his cane, making it all but impossible for her to ingest any of the water.
“Ye’re too slow, ye lazy bitch!” Slegg jeered as Erika’s mostly futile attempts to catch the water in her mouth. “Here I am, pouring you a nice drink and ye’re wasting most of it!” Slegg continued pouring the water as Erika’s dry lips and tongue moved back and forth in pursuit of the slow stream of water, but most of it eluded her and spilled downward onto her naked breasts. She looked down at the well-watered tops of her breasts dolefully.
“If the whore wants a drink, I’ve got a bladderfull of piss she can have!” the burly soldier bellowed, drawing chuckles of laughter from his comrades. “But only if she sucks me off, first!” he roared, eliciting another round of ribald sniggering. “No sense wasting good piss on a whore who isn’t willing to suck a man’s cock!”
“Ah, don’t ye worry, Missy,” Slegg rasped, discarding the empty canteen. “I’ll fix ye up.” The first mate approached her and rubbed his weathered hands all over Erika’s freshly moistened man-pleasers. When his hands were wet with a mixture of water and perspiration, seasoned with just a hint of breast-blood, Slegg ran the front and back of each hand across Erika’s mouth. “Lick it, whore! You said you wanted water and ‘ere it is!”
Erika hated herself for doing it, but even sweat-water was better than none at all. Death was dark and endless; in survival there was always hope. She forced herself to lick Slegg’s dirty hands, front and back.
“She’s got a pretty mouth, don’t she, yer lordship?” Slegg jeered. “And a sweet little tongue.”
The warlord’s minions chuckled again at Slegg’s lewd joke, each of them imagining the golden-haired goddess on her knees before them worshiping their throbbing cocks and swollen testicles.
“Ye didn’t seem to do to well with the water, frowlein. But maybe we could do better with some wine. ‘and me that bottle mate.”
One of the soldiers produced a bottle of rice wine that was protruding from his kit, and after receiving an affirmative nod from the general, offered it to Slegg. The general didn’t know what Slegg had in mind, but he knew that Erika would not enjoy it, and that was recompense enough for him.
“Thanks, matey. I’ll see that ye don’t regret it,” Slegg mumbled as he opened the bottle. “Come over ‘ere, lad,” he motioned to the pig-tailed soldier who had offered him the wine. “I’m going to pour it over ‘er juicy tits, just like I did the water. ‘elp yerself.”
And with that, Slegg began slowly drizzling the wine back and forth, putatively offering his parched victim a chance to catch some of the wine in her mouth, but being cruelly careful to keep most of the wine just out of reach of her mouth, thereby anointing Erika’s luscious pleasure-globes like a chef oiling a wok.
At first the soldier didn’t understand what was expected of him, but Slegg stopped pouring for a moment and caught his arm and pulled him forward until his face was only inches from Erika’s wine-christened breasts. “Go to it, boy! ‘ave a drink on me. Or rather, on ‘er”, he joked crudely.”
The skinny, pig-tailed soldier pressed his mouth against Erika’s left breast and began slurping at the wine that had Slegg had spilled there.
“Suck it, up, lad!” Slegg barked amusedly, as the soldier’s mouth moved greedily over Erika’s swollen mounds. “ ‘ere, ‘ave some more,” he muttered as he upturned the bottle again.
The other soldiers looked on enviously as their young comrade dropped his weapon to free his hands so that he could cup Erika’s magnificent breasts as he lapped at them like eagerly, his lips and tongue moving back and forth over her slick tit-flesh.
“Ah, ye’re missing too much!” Slegg barked as he saw that the soldier was, not surprisingly, more interested in mouth-worshiping Erika’s glorious breasts than in catching all the wine he was splashing down on them. Looking around, he snapped, “ ‘ey, you! Yeah, you, the one with the big nose! Get in there and ‘elp ‘im out.”
Erika flushed with humiliation as a second soldier, fat and foul of breath, stepped forward to lap the wine off her right breast, while the first man devoted his oral attentions to her left lust-melon.
“Suck those juicy tits, boys!” Slegg exhorted the two men. And then, under his breath, “But go easy on the biting. ‘is lordship might not like it.”
“All right, lads, give some of the others a chance,” Slegg exclaimed after he had spilled about half of the wine in the bottle onto Erika’s slippery globes. He waved another soldier forward, a tall, cold-eyed man with close-cropped hair and a four-day stubble of beard.
The new arrival was not as gentle as his comrades had been. While Slegg continued pouring, he placed his big hands of the outer slopes of Erika’s defenseless breasts and mashed them together forcefully as he slurped at the drizzling wine. Erika gasped in pain as she felt the metal studs on the rings of her slave-garment gouge more deeply into her tender breast-flesh. Seeing her discomfort, her tormentor took a breast in each hand and pressed them inward brutally, even as his rapacious mouth slid back and forth between her breasts, sucking her nipples until they stood out firm and proud. Then, still slobbering at her wine-moistened breasts, he took Erika’s pink nuggets between the thumb and third finger of each hand and ground them between his fingertips until the German beauty was gasping with pain.
When Slegg had finally poured the last drops of the bottle onto Erika’s tender breasts, the general impatiently barked, “Enough!” and the soldier sullenly released his death-grip on Erika’s lust- nuggets.
Erika stood before them resignedly, her tongue still searching around her mouth for stray droplets of moisture until the CRACCKKK! of the general’s whip across her backside set her in motion once again.
Jasper Slegg waited until Erika had taken three or four more arduous steps up the hill, before the sight of her big, wine-slick breasts and her aroused nipples got the best of him. Taking up a position just ahead of her on the right, he hefted the whippy cane and swept it forward viciously.
THWICKKKK!!!
The force of the blow found the tender tips of Erika’s opulent breasts.
“Aghhhhhh!” she cried, staggering backward slightly, fighting desperately to stay on her feet, because she knew that falling would only result in more punishment, more brutality. But it was so hard. Her delicate nipples felt as if they had been split open.
“Get a move on, frowlein!” Slegg barked. “Pick up the bloody pace. ‘is lordship ‘asn’t got all day!”
Just to echo Slegg’s point, the general lashed out with the coach whip yet again, skilfully finding the summits of Erika’s rounded buttocks.
Somehow Erika managed to regain her balance and stagger forward yet again, exhausted and bathed in perspiration. For perhaps the twentieth time since her cruel trek had begun, Erika paused to try to wipe the sweat from her brow by pressing her face against her shoulder, but Deng-shan had done his work well, and, despite all of her exertions, her shoulders and arms were bound as tightly to the bamboo yoke now as they had been when she had taken her first difficult step, and all she managed to do was brush her sweat-drenched hair back and forth over her rounded her shoulders.
Her momentary hesitation quickly earned her yet another lash, but this time the general’s whip made a loud CRACCKK!! when it found her hip rather than the gentle pop the coach whip had made..
“Aghhh!” she gasped in pain, and turned her head in time to see that the general had now armed himself with a six-foot leather dogwhip, which had apparently been stashed in the little cupboard along with the coach whip.
Erika’s momentary pause earned her another stroke, this one raking the tempting dimple at the apex of her buttock cleft. Wincing in pain, the statuesque blonde summoned her strength and struggled onward up the steep hill that led to the forbidding castle overlooking the island.
It was then that she heard the first cry of pain ahead of her and to her right.
She was less than a kilometer from the castle itself now but she was only a few yards from the first of a long row of shabby-looking wooden structures that lined the right side of the rutted path. In front of her she recognized crewmen from the Yang-tze Dragon and several more unkempt armed men whose uniforms indicated that they, too, were soldiers in General Wang’s private army, moving in and out of the various structures. Empty bottles that had once contained rice wine were strewn far and wide, and indication that the crewmen had already begun what would prove to be an epic day and night of debauchery.
After a dozen more back-breaking strides and two more cracks of the whip across her bare shoulders, Erika finally pulled abreast of the first barn-like structure. Glancing inside, she blanched at what she saw: no fewer than three of the Malayan crewmen, a woman’s shredded garments scattered amongst the straw and a naked young woman bound in an agonizing position.
The shapely Chinese girl was lying on her back on theround with her wrists tied tightly to stakes alongside where her hips would normally have been. But her hips, or rather her legs, weren’t there. The Malayans had bent the poor girl’s legs so far backward that her knees kissed the floor of the barn on either side of her face; her bare feet were securely lashed to stakes that had been pounded into the ground well behind her head. Grimacing in pain, the flexible young beauty was not only staked out in an excruciating position, she was completely at the mercy of the men who had bound her so cruelly. Crouching above her defenseless body, Umar was thrusting his massive cock downward deep into her vagina, which had already been desecrated by the manly secretions of Mahlik and Rahim. The latter two Malayans were standing on opposite sides of the girl’s head, drinking from bottles of rice wine, letting their spent spears drip their last few drops of semen onto her pretty face, while cheering their comrade on.
From behind her Erika could hear General Wang growl, “Next year, perhaps her thieving father will pay his taxes on time!”
The stern visaged warlord flicked Erika’s nearly nude buttocks with his whip. “Move along! Let us see what the rest of your shipmates are up to!”
It was only after Erika had taken another step or too, that she realized that a second erotic vignette was under way in the next barn. A lovely young woman with long ebony hair was suspended from a rafter by a cocoon of ropes and chains. Her body was perpendicular to the ground, her torso perhaps a foot above the straw-strewn floor of the barn. She hung face downward, her arms bound fiendishly tightly behind her back, her calves lashed securely to her thighs, in what was obviously the work of Deng-shan. A trinity of thick hawsers, secured to a stout rafter overhead, were connected to a chokingly tight leather collar around her neck, her pinioned arms, and an anchor-shaped metal implement that was wedged deep in her anus. The web of ropes lifted her pelvis so that it and her hair were the highest parts of her golden-toned body from which her perfectly-shaped breasts hung, ripe and pendulous. Behind her, Erika could hear the general take a deep breath, so inviting were the sinuous curves of the woman’s body in her cruel bondage.
But the bondage was only half of her problem. Lying beneath her, his crotch only inches from her pretty face, Orang lie naked, his monstrous cock, the largest Erika had ever seen, thick-veined and ruddy.
“Suck it, whore,” the muscular Malayan growled as he grasped the Chinese beauty by her dark tresses and pulled her mouth down toward his pulsing cock. It was all the young woman could do to accept his mighty girth into her mouth, but Orang, of course, was hardly content with such a half-hearted oral caress.
He slapped the pendant beauty hard across the face.
“Suck it! Choke on it!” he muttered again. Then pulling harder on her hair with both hands, he forced her to swallow more and more of his prodigious horse-cock, and then, still using only her hair, he got her suspended body swinging back and forth like a pendulum, impaling her mouth deeper and deeper on his swollen manhood, even as the fiendishly tight collar around her neck, tightened with every swing….
After the general had watched this abusive encounter for a minute or two, he flicked the dogwhip at Erika’s buttocks, the signal for her to trudge forward again.
Her thighs and shoulders burning, Erika saw a handful of the ship’s crewmen streaming out of the little buildings to watch her painful passage, along with a number of soldiers she had not yet seen.
“By the gods, she looks even better on dry land than she did on the ship!” one of the Chinese crewmen muttered, as he squinted in the sunlight at Erika’s nearly nude body staggering under her burden. “What about it, Sleggie? Are we goin’ to get a crack at her?” he muttered in a low voice so that the General couldn’t hear him.
“It’s not up to me, you greedy bastard,” Slegg replied. “Besides, ye’ve got a dozen women to do with as ye like in those barns. Why don’t you forget about this one?”
“Aye, I’ll have some fun with them,” the sailor said. “But I’d trade ‘em all for an hour with her,” he muttered, gesturing toward the golden-haired Nordic goddess whose superb, sweat-sheened breasts spilled so obscenely out of the skimpy leather harness.
************
Not only was it difficult to pull the chariot uphill, it was taxing just to keep it at rest on an uphill slope. Erika was already on the verge of exhaustion but the dark castle was still several hundred yards away, and the path was growing ever steeper. The sun was still beating down mercilessly, and Erika’s nearly nude body was slick with sweat as she drove her aching body a few more yards up the incline toward the third barn. When she lost her footing at one point, she felt the general’s whip wrapping around her breast stinging her nipple yet again.
The scene in the third barn was no less grisly than its predecessors. A naked young woman was spread-eagled, face up, across three hay bales that had been drawn close together, her hands and feet lashed to stakes that her tormentors had driven into the ground. Standing above her at one end of the hay bales and facing her feet, Mongkut was pumping his long, thick cock into her open mouth. At the other end of the hay bales, the squat behemoth the seamen called ‘Buddha,’ standing with his leggings around his ankles, was driving his man-weapon into the pleasure slit of the girl lying on the bales. Meanwhile, Tan, the whore-monger who had longed to try his hand again at breast-whipping ever since he had flogged the Surayaban beauty at the Batavian brothel, had doubled up a length of rope and was lashing the beleaguered Chinese beauty across her pert breasts, targeting her chocolate-drop nipples.
THWACKK! THWACKK!! THWACCKK!!
Erika watched in horror as the rope-whip slammed into the girl’s defenseless lust-mounds again and again even as Mongkut, the well-endowed Thai, face-fucked her vigorously and the grossly obese ‘Buddha’ forced his massive weapon into her virginal nether opening. Erika looked away, revulsed. The sight of that gargantuan beast raping a defenseless young woman only one-third his size turned her stomach.
“Move on!” the general snapped impatiently, slashing his dog whip across Erika’s shapely buttocks.
As Erika strained to pull the rickshaw forward, General Wang observed, “You understand, fraulein, that it is you that are responsible for the rapacity of these men. It is your beauty – and especially the punishments meted out to you - that has raised their lust to a fever pitch.”
Erika winced at the suggestion that she was in any way responsible for the bestial behavior she was witnessing. But in a way the general was right. On board the Yangtze Dragon these men had spent a day or two feasting their eyes on Erika’s voluptuous beauty, relishing every moment of the seemingly endless torments she had suffered, storing up their prodigious lusts. And now those pent up appetites and frustrations were being unleashed on the innocent young maidens of Zhou-shan island.
Erika looked forlornly toward the castle and the long row of barns and cabins lining the right side all along the hilly road. From those dilapidated structures she could hear cries of pain, and the crude laughter and sadistic exhortations of brutal men.
What other horrors , she wondered, lay in store for her along the arduous path to the forbidding castle on the hill?
Chapter 165 The Slave Girls of Zhou-shan Island
Racked with pain and drenched with perspiration Erika Weiss trudged doggedly up the hill toward the dark castle in the distance. Her arms and shoulders, yoked securely to the general’s makeshift chariot, were aching and her well-toned thighs were burning from the effect of the severe uphill grade. To make matters worse, each time Erika paused to give her sore muscles even a momentary respite, she was rewarded with a sharp flick of the whip across her naked backside. The scarlet striata on her bare buttocks broiled in the unforgiving midday sun
High overhead, flocks of raucous seabirds swooped and sailed in endless arcs across the azure sky, their loud staccato cries seeming to mock Erika’s dreadful ordeal. At times, almost as one, they dived sharply downward, their pale wings flapping noisily in the still, sun-parched air, as if to get an even better view of the beleaguered beauty below. But even at their nearest approach, the squawking, sharp-eyed voyeurs were unable to get as good a look at the bare-breasted prisoner as were General Wang’s slovenly recruits. As Erika drew nearer to the grim castle, more and more ill-featured militiamen began to line the treacherous, tortuous path along which she labored, pointing and whispering at the plight of the island’s first European slave.
And why not? What man would not have wanted to draw closer in order to get a better view of a statuesque beauty harnessed like a beast of burden? Especially a beautiful young blonde clad only in an indecent scrap of leather that accentuated the lushness of her figure more than it veiled it. Erika’s sweat-moist breasts were streaked with dirt and blood and stood out boldly from the tight straps encircling her chest just above and below them. The leather bands added emphasis to the size and shape and vulnerability of Erika’s luscious pleasure-globes whose pinkish-brown nipples seemed to glisten in the sunlight. What man’s eyes would not have been drawn to the golden curls that spilled out on either side of the minuscule crotch strap that barely covered her vulva? What man would not, after she had passed, have ogled her shapely buttocks, nude but for the slender strip of leather between them?
It was to those splendid bottomglobes, crisscrossed with lash marks, that the rider of the chariot, the iron-jawed warlord General Wang, continued to devote his attention, administering a sharp whip-stroke each time she slowed her pace. Erika’s only slight consolation was that Jasper Slegg seemed to have wandered off to watch, or perhaps take part in, one of the lewd spectacles taking place along the rutted road to the castle. But her new escorts, the general’s uniformed thugs, seemed every bit as malignant as the missing first mate.
“Faster, you lazy whore!” a militiaman with filthy, stringy hair called out, as he stepped forward to spit copiously on Erika’s naked breasts, hoping to curry favor with his stern warlord.
“Don’t be a fool, Chung!” the short, fat soldier beside him replied with a smirk before tilting a bottle of rice wine to his lips. “Take your time, sweetie,” he muttered lewdly as he watched his friend’s spittle slowly make its way down to Erika’s left nipple, where it paused as if enjoying its lovely new surroundings. “Take all the fucking time you want. We’re enjoying every minute of your little stroll, ain’t we boys? And you know what, Chung? I’ll bet her ass is as nice as those juicy young tits.”
“By the gods of Genghis Khan!” a long-queued recruit with three days growth of beard chimed in. “Those big beauties are really begging for it, ain’t they? ” And indeed, with Erika’s arms pulled back and tightly bound to the yoke, her creamy pleasure-globes were thrust forward deliciously, her up-tilted nipples the perfect bulls-eyes for a pair of succulent targets.
The pigtailed brute clenched his fist and growled, “What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on those tits!” he muttered, as he drove his fist into an open palm to suggest the kind of treatment Erika’s voluptuous breasts might expect if he were granted the chance of a little sport.
His obscene comment was greeted with a chorus of salacious assents from men on both sides of the winding path. Erika, blushing profusely in her pain and misery, cast her eyes downward not wanting to see the hate and lust in their eyes, and not wanting her tormentors to see the fear in hers. She had long since come to realize that, despite their uniforms, these ruffians were no less dissolute and depraved than the crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon. Clearly General Wang was able to control his island domain by offering bribes of money and women and by brute force rather than with a cadre of well-trained, disciplined soldiers. Despite the depths of her suffering, Erika filed that thought away; it offered a glimmer of hope, however faint, that one day she might find a way to escape this god-forsaken island.
There were recruits lining either side of the rutted trail now and many began to copy the actions of the man with the stringy hair, spitting on her in between jeers redolent with hatred and lust. Some of the men aimed at her pretty face while others targeted her defenseless breasts, adding their saliva to the streams of sweat running down her lust-melons. At one point, when the path curved sharply, Erika was able to turn her head enough to see the general’s face. Despite the almost total lack of discipline being displayed by his soldiers, the warlord’s grim smile seemed to suggest that he was enjoying her abasement immensely. No humiliation, no degradation, no cruelty was beyond the compass of this sadistic monster.
Doing her best to ignore the catcalls accompanying her every painful footstep, Erika slowly tugged the general’s chariot one painful stride at a time up the incline until she reached the fourth building on the right side of the rutted road. The outbuildings leading toward the castle varied in size; some were as large as a small barn while others were more like cabins or huts. But all were well-worn, their decrepit timbers shredded by time and the elements.
Glancing at the adjacent building and its occupants, General Wang adjusted the stiff bill of his military cap and exclaimed, “Ah, this must be one of the punishment barns.”
His words seared Erika’s soul, deepening her dark despair. Were the god-forsaken young women whose abuse they had already witnessed not being punished? Was there no bottom to the dreadful abyss of sexual cruelty into which she had been cast?
The olive-clad general continued. “ Yes, I remember this slut from last year. One would think that her family would have learned not to cheat me by now, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m sure she’s got it comin’, your lordship – and Froggy’s just the man to see that she gets it!”
Erika shuddered in revulsion at the sound of the familiar voice. Jasper Slegg had wandered ahead a few minutes earlier and she had prayed that she had seen the last of him, at least for a while. But the prayers of comely young women were rarely answered on Zhou-shan Island, and here was Slegg again, his head cocked to one side derisively. He planted himself squarely in her path, his hands on his hips, his rheumy eyes drinking in the sight of Erika’s luscious curves. Despite his half-hearted attempt to conceal it, Erika could see that behind his back the sadistic first mate was hiding the stinging bamboo cane she had come to fear.
“’ello, frowlein,” he sneered. “I’ve missed ye these last few minutes. Did ye miss me?”
When Erika made no reply, Slegg brought the cane into view and snapped it sharply across the tops of her bare thighs. “Yer lordship, I hope ye ‘ave better luck than I’ve ‘ad teachin’ this slut some manners.”
The stinging pain caused Erika to stagger forward slightly, and as she did do Slegg took advantage of the perfect angle afforded by her slightly pendulous breasts. Drawing a bead on those luscious targets, the wiry first mate whipped the slender bamboo cane across Erika’s splendid tit-globes with a lightning quick flick of the wrist.
THWICKKK!!!
“AUGHHH!!! Erika’s sensitive nipples seemed to explode with pain. She stumbled forward awkwardly drawing on her last ounce of strength not to fall to her knees, a capitulation that would surely have led to even harsher treatment.
“Now that’s how to treat a pair of tits!” the unshaven recruit with the long pigtail enthused. The involuntary clenching and unclenching of his fists betokened his unspoken hope that the general would, at some point, allow him to mete out some discipline to this comely prisoner.
Her lovely breasts aflame with pain, Erika turned her attention to the adjacent stable, where, as Slegg had mentioned, Froggy had positioned a beautiful young woman in a most dire predicament.
She hung high in the doorway, her slim, golden-hued body brush-stroked with reddish patches, her lovely raven hair wild on her shoulders. She was facing outward toward the onlookers with her wrists extended upward in X-fashion to the uprights of the opening. Her ankles were spread equally wide and bound to the base of the uprights, about a foot off the ground. From her neck to her knees, the front of the poor girl’s sweat-drenched body was streaked with crimson. Standing before her, and sporting a mammoth erection in his trousers, Froggy was raising the source of those crimson streaks, a yard-long length of inch-thick ship hawser, to shoulder level.
“Give her a good ‘un, Froggy!” Slegg snarled, edging closer to get a better view.
“You can count on that, mate!” Froggy croaked in his peculiar guttural voice.
Erika remembered well how cruelly Froggy had treated her in the darkness of the ship’s infirmary not so long ago and how he had exulted in her degradation; she knew the girl in the doorway could expect no mercy from one of Slegg’s most vicious shipmates.
Froggy didn’t disappoint his pal. He whipped the length of rope viciously across the miscreant’s pretty young breasts, drawing an anguished cry from the tortured victim. .
Hearing a series of plaintive gasps coming from her left, Erika turned slightly and saw an elderly couple, dressed in threadbare rags which bespoke their poverty. Their arms were pinioned by a pair of the general’s soldiers, so that they were forced to watch the torture of their daughter.
“See that you pay your taxes on time next year!” General Wang snarled angrily at the girl’s weeping parents. “Or you’ll be looking for your daughter in my dungeons!”
Froggy, meanwhile, had circled behind the defenseless maiden. The iron-jawed general watched intently as Froggy used two sidearm strokes to sweep the coarse length of rope across the girl’s thighs. Changing his grip on the hawser slightly, he drew it back and quickly delivered three powerful overhand strokes
WHOCK! WHOCK!! WHOCK!!!
to the girl’s naked back that sent her nude body into a fresh convulsion of pain. The cruel crewman waited for her shuddering body to come almost completely to rest and then, with a mighty backhand, swept the coarse rope-whip across her deeply cleft buttocks. The girl’s bottom-globes were still burning as Froggy circled around in front of her again.
“No … no more… have mercy!” cried the girl’s nearly hysterical mother.
Froggy gave General Wang a quick glance to see if the old woman’s plea had elicited any show of compassion from the warlord, but there was no change whatever in his icy countenance. His stern eyes unblinking, the general voiced a single word, “Continue!”
Pleased with the general’s decision, Froggy gripped the rope tighter and whipped it viciously into the soft, dark-nippled breasts of the Chinese beauty.
WHOCKK!!
Her lovely breasts were still oscillating gently when Froggy delivered a slashing down-stroke stroke that found her wispy mons veneris and the tender place between her legs.
WHOCKK!!
“AAAAGHHHH!!!!”
The girl’s cry joined that of her mother in a dreadful harmony that tore at Erika’s soul. Despite her own predicament, her heart went out to the young women of Zhou-shan Island. So young, so defenseless, so utterly at the mercy of their sadistic ruler.
Erika was almost relieved to be spared having to witness any more of the flogging when the general gave her a wicked slash across the shoulder-blades and bellowed, “Move along!”
Her body slick with sweat, the beleaguered blonde shouldered her load and struggled forward again. Not only was she fatigued to the point of exhaustion, but the leather harness seemed to have shrunk in the unrelenting heat. Erika’s every painful step seemed to cause the leather crotchpiece and the thin strap between her buttocks to sink more deeply into her secret places. The breast harness, too, which had been much too small to begin with, was now biting even more deeply into the curves of her breasts, its metal studs gouging into the inner curves of her tender pleasure-mounds. A dozen or more of the recruits continued to walk slowly alongside her, adding their vile comments to her burden, as they eyeballed the way her ripe-nippled breasts bobbled and her gluteal muscles tightened with her every painful step.
It took several more minutes of thigh-straining travail for the blonde, blue-eyed beast of burden to drag the general’s chariot even with the next stable. Inside, two of the island girls, clad only in their own perspiration, were kneeling on the ground arm-wrestling, their elbows planted firmly on a bale of hay. Three crewmen stood behind and alongside each girl, loudly cheering their favorite on while they guzzled bottles of the local rice wine.
As the seconds wore on and the battle of strength continued Erika was intrigued by the desperation in the girls’ faces and the tension in their naked bodies; their arm-wrestling contest had all the intensity of a life and death struggle and the frenzied exhortations of the two sets of supporters suggested a sport played for very high stakes.
The general, too, was taken aback by the ferocity of the duel. “Slegg, what is going on here? I have not seen this before.”
“The lads are playin’ a little game of three-way, yer lordship,” Slegg replied. “Both girls know that the winner gets a bowl of rice, a couple of snorts of grog and a bit of time off while the winning side deals with the girl ‘oo lost.”
“And the loser? What happens to her?”
“Well, she ain’t quite so lucky, guv’nor. She’s got to suck off the three men ‘oo bet against ‘er, all at the same time.”
Seeing the general’s puzzled expression, Slegg continued, “Well not precisely the same time, yer lordship. She kneels down in front of the three blokes and goes from one man to the next, taking each of the three men’s dicks ‘arfway down ‘er throat for a bit and then goes back to the first bloke and starts all over again. Some of the lads can ‘hold out a good long time if they set their mind to it. I once saw a girl in a whorehouse in Macao on ‘er knees for a pair of Aussies and another chap for more than an hour.”
Slegg paused, savoring the memory. “Eventually, after two of the blokes can’t ‘old out no more and spill their load down ‘er pretty throat – or on ‘er face or ‘er tits if they’re so inclined – the survivin’ gent gets to flip ‘er over and bugger her sweet little bottom while ‘is mates ‘old ‘er down.”
Slegg let that thought hang in the air for a moment for effect and then he winked at the iron-jawed warlord. “That wench in Macao had just about the tightest little arse you’d ever want to lay pipe in, yer lordship.”
Erika’s stomach was churning with revulsion, but the general seemed fascinated by the desperate combat between the two young woman, their faces red and contorted with effort, their naked bodies covered with sweat.
“Ye can always tell when ye’re watching a match between two girls ‘oo’ve already lost a round,” Jasper Slegg intoned sagely. “ Losin’ a match in three-way is a ‘ighly motivatin’ experience.”
As Slegg concluded his colloquy, one of the girls, the veins in her neck almost bursting, finally forced her opponent’s wrist down against the bale of hay. The three Chinese sailors who had bet on the winner cheered and slapped each other on the back for a few seconds while the Malayans who had backed the loser, whose slender body was shaking with sobs of fear and remorse, upbraided her for her failure. A moment later, Yim, the captain of the Chinese trio, reached down and grabbed a handful of the loser’s fine, black hair.
Luckily for Yim and his companions, the young woman who had succumbed to her opponent’s superior stamina was easily the prettier of the two, with beautiful almond-shaped, eyes and a slim but shapely body.
“Maybe you’ll be able to use that pretty tongue a little better this time, sweetie, now that you’ve had a bit of practice,” Yim gloated menacingly, as he dragged the protesting beauty back toward his waiting teammates. The poor girl squirmed and fought him at every step, but even if she had not been exhausted from her bout, her strength was nothing compared to that of her hulking captor. The giant’s comrades, meanwhile. had each removed massive erections from their leggings, erections that would soon be choking the distraught maiden.
Yim pushed his comrades to one side. “Me first!” the giant bellowed as he forced his immense cock into the mouth of the defeated wrist-wrestler. The girl began to gag before Yim’s massive member was much more than halfway in.
“Ram it all the way in, Yim!” one of his comrades barked as he stroked his own member. “Knock her tonsils down her throat.”
“Yeah, that’s it! That’s it!” the third man muttered, as Yim forced his monster-cock even further down the girl’s slender throat. “Choke the bitch! Choke her!!” he growled as he crouched down so that he could pinch the delicate brown nipples of the island girl. Yim’s huge hand was behind her head now, crushing her toward him as he continued to thrust his cock deeper and deeper into the poor girl’s defenseless mouth. His hips churned furiously as his cock thrust again and again and again.
“All right, how about letting someone else have a turn!” one of the other Chinese growled. As Yim’s companions turned in her direction, Erika could see that his partners were Cheng Lao and Kai Pu, the two men who had manned the wrist ropes during the early stages of her punishment on the deck of the Yangtze Dragon. She remembered that they had been both tireless and pitiless; there was little doubt in her mind but that the vanquuished arm-wrestler was going to be subjected to an assault of unrivaled brutality.
Yim glared at Cheng for a moment but after another deep thrust, Yim grudgingly withdrew his enormous truncheon. It was covered with saliva and throbbing as if it had a life of its own.
With the humongous man-gag removed from her mouth, the petite Chinese girl was finally able to cry out in pain in response to the vicious nipple-twisting of Kai Pu, but not for long, because Cheng was soon thrusting his own penis into the girl’s mouth so hard that Erika could hear his balls slapping against the girl’s chin.
After a minute or so, Cheng stepped back allowing Kai Pu to have a go at the sobbing beauty. Kai’s approach was a little different. “Lick it!” he snarled, as he thrust his thick-veined cock against the girl’s pretty face. “Start at the balls and work your way up, nice and slow. Ohhh, baby, that’s good. Yeah! Use that pretty pink tongue! Ah, by the gods that’s good!!”
Yim and Cheng looked on impatiently while the brutalized beauty did her inexperienced best to please her tormentor with her lips and tongue.
When Kai began to approach the precipice, he took half a step backward and forced the girl’s moist mouth back down onto Yim’s flesh-piston. A moment later nearly a foot of Yim’s gigantic cock was once again cannoning into her throat with punishing force….
Judging correctly that the three Chinese crewmen had pretty much exhausted their powers of imagination if not of stamina, General Wang snapped, “Move on!” cracking his dogwhip sharply against Erika’s back. Watching the arm-wrestling and its sadistic aftermath seemed to have rekindled his ferocity.
The force of the blow coupled with the steepness of the grade caused Erika to drop to one knee and she was quickly rewarded for her misstep with three stinging strokes of the whip to her tempting bottom-globes. Bravely she struggled to her feet, fighting desperately to maintain her balance, but a wraparound stroke that seared her left breast brought her to her knees yet again, this time at the feet of the militiaman who had been the first to spit on her earlier.
The leering minion edged closer pressing his groin against Erika’s face and grabbing a handful of her blonde hair so as to pull her even closer.
Erika could feel the firm erection inside his trousers, and she tried to turn her face away, but whichever way she tried to turn, her face remained pressed against the soldier’s foul-smelling crotch.
“Get up!” The general snarled, slashing at Erika’s bare buttocks with the whip yet again. Even the birds overhead stopped their squawking in surprise. The sound of the whip cracking resembled a rifle shot in the still, sultry air.
“Our blonde princess is a lazy wench, ain’t she yer lordship?” Slegg snarled, focusing his gaze on the creamy breasts protruding so provocatively from the leather strapping. Slick with sweat and spit, they glistened in the afternoon sun. “You ‘eard ‘is lordship! Get up, you lazy whore!” he growled, jabbing Erika in the side with the rough end of his bamboo stick.
“Bitte,” she gasped, “bitte…” as she tried to regain her balance, but it was nearly impossible with her arms and shoulders bound tightly to the yoke and with the militiaman standing so close to her. Finally she was able to stabilize her burden and rise to her feet, but only after pressing her big breasts tight against the soldier’s\ body and slowly straightening herself, giving the loutish recruit a memory he would regale his cronies with for many a year. As she did so, the man with the filthy hair spat on her breasts yet again.
“Welcome to Zhou-shan Island, whore-tits!” he snarled.
Erika glared at the man furiously as the gobs of saliva trickled slowly down her man-pleasers. Her arms imprisoned by the cruel yoke, she kicked out at him angrily, but Slegg and his cane were too quick for her.
THWICKK!!!
THWICKK!!!
Two downward slashes of the bamboo rod whipped across the tops of Erika’s tender thighs, leaving a pair of livid weals.
“We’ll ‘ave none of that frowlein,” Slegg muttered. “You need to learn your place, princess” he added, as he whipped the cane across her creamy thighs yet again.
THWICKK!!!
“Ooouuuww!!”
“This ‘ere bloke’s a soldier, a defender of the realm. He deserves your respect, don’t he, ur lordship?”
A thin, evil smile crossed the general’s face. The first mate of the Yangtze Dragon was both unread and unwashed. But there was a subtle, cynical savagery about him not found in many men. He was as crude as a troglodyte, but entertaining in a primitive fashion.
Her thighs burning from the cane-strokes, Erika staggered a few dozen more steps up the hill, before finding herself alongside another dilapidated out-building.
Inside she saw the unmistakable blue coat of Captain Andrew McMahon lying in the straw next to a haybale across which he had thrown one of the unfortunate young women of Zhou-shan Island. Moving unsteadily, he anointed the naked maiden’s breasts and belly liberally with the contents of his ubiquitous bottle of Dalmore Scotch Whiskey. Then he lowered his lips to her body and slurped the liquor greedily taking her small breasts into his mouth and sucking them noisily before tonguing her mid-section from her breasts to her pussy.
General Wang cursed under his breath. “Is that all the drunken fool can think of to do? Move on!” he snapped irritably, lashing Erika’s back yet again.
“Wait a minute, if ye don’t mind, yer Lordship. Let’s see what those lads are up to.”
Slegg gestured toward the back of the dilapidated cabin toward where two of the crewmen had hog-tied a nubile young Chinese girl and then thrown her face down across a dilapidated table. With her wrists bound to her ankles, the young woman was unable to prevent her tormentors from seizing her breasts and pulling them forward slightly, exposing her pert nipples so that they rested obscenely on the top of the table. The two Chinese sailors worked her dark brown nipples roughly between their clutching fingers, until the pretty breast buds were remarkably elongated and pleasingly stiff. Then one of the men moved toward a leafy tree just outside the cabin and broke off a sturdy switch. .
Guessing what the men had in mind, the raven-haired beauty began to scream frantically. “No! P-please, no… I’ll do whatever you want. Please… I’ll make it good for you…”
“I’m betting you will, sweetie! But first, here’s a little taste of what you’re going to get if you don’t!”
With that, the man holding the girl began to push her forward and downward so that her taut-nippled breasts were flush against the table-top, while the other man made short work of stripping the leaves and small twigs from the bough he had cut, baring the tough bark of the stick.
Erika tried to avert her eyes, but Slegg grabbed a handful of her blonde hair and forced her to watch as the crewman slammed the switch down on a delectably taut nipple.
“AUGGHHHHHHH!!!” she screamed, but the men weren’t done yet. The sailor handed the improvised club to his partner and taking a position facing the girl who was stretched out across the table, he pinched the girl’s other nipple tightly and stretched it out from her breast along the table-top. “Go on, mate!” he coaxed his partner. “Show her what she can expect to get if she don’t do a good job!”
“No … please…”
“Shut up wench!” the sailor barked. Then, grinning evilly, he lifted the sturdy switch shoulder high and swept it down across the Chinese beauty’s other nipple with a resonant
THWICKK!!
“NNGGHHHHH!!!” the girl moaned piteously again.
General Wang spent a moment leering at the village girl’s brutalized nipples and then, intent on new pleasures, flicked Erika again with the whip.
“Keep moving!” he barked.
Erika trudged forward laboriously again. Rivers of perspiration continued to stream down her semi-nude body and the heat of the sun was almost unbearable. From time to time she felt an intrepid squadron of ants inching their way up an ankle, and she had to pause for a moment to brush them off with the other foot. But with her arms trussed so tightly to the yoke, there was absolutely nothing she could do to ward off the flying insects that occasionally lit on her torso. She doubted that any of them was really dangerous, but her utter inability to shoo her winged tormentors away was maddening.
Her thirst was, of course, even more vexatious. She looked enviously at the sailors and militiamen drinking from flasks of rice wine, but she had already learned from harsh experience that any attempt to quench her raging thirst would only be greeted with jeers and brutality.
Moments later her spirits did rise slightly when she saw that a roadside tree was casting a bit of shade over the rutted roadway a little ways ahead of her. Straining mightily, the blonde beauty tugged the general’s chariot forward until she found that yard-long strip of shade.
She paused in the shadow of the solitary tree, enjoying the momentary reprieve from the blistering sun. But before she could have counted to three she felt the harsh crack of the general’s whip across her back again…
CRACKK!!
The dogwhip slashed into the small of her back with unusual ferocity.
“Move forward, wench! You can rest for a moment when *I* am in the shade, not when *you* are in the shade!”
Erika doggedly plunged forward a few steps, back into the blazing sunlight, until the canopy of the chariot behind her was enveloped in the shade provided by the slender tree.
“Halt! Now you may rest!” the general barked. “For one minute,” he snapped, as his glanced at his pocket watch.
Even though she had been denied shelter from the blazing sun, Erika was thankful for sixty seconds of relief. But on the sixty-first second, the general’s whip seared her back once again.
“Move on!” was the imperious command.
As the incline of the twisting road became steeper and her level of exhaustion mounted, Erika’s progress slowed and not even the repeated sting of the lash nor the jeers and curses of her tormentors sufficed to make her pick up the pace. It took her nearly three minutes – and a dozen strokes of the general’s lash - to negotiate the fifty yard-gap leading to the next cabin. Inside she saw a piece of carpentry so ghastly, so evil, and yet so ingenious that she was sure it was the work of Deng-Shan, even though the bondage master was nowhere to be seen.
Dominating the small cabin was a wooden frame in the shape of a capital I. A sturdy six-foot post had been driven into the ground, and affixed to it were two crosspieces of roughly the same length, one perhaps six inches from the straw-strewn floor of the barn, the other at the top of the post. One of the young women of Zhou-shan Island was bound tightly to the upper and lower crosspieces of the fearful frame, her limbs painfully extended in an erotic X. Only a Deng-shan could have bound the poor woman so tightly, Erika noted; every muscle, every sinew in her arms and legs was stretched to its nearly unbearable limit.
But this was not the worst. Extending from the vertical post were two sturdy wooden blocks. One had been carved into the shape of a triangular prism, and it was that upon that sharp-edged saddle that the unfortunate girl was riding, her labia split by the edge of the prism. The other block extended outward from the post and was fitted into the small of her back bowing her already taut-stretched body away from the post so severely that it seemed as if she might snap in two. The final element to her dreadful suspension was the pair of nipple clamps biting cruelly into the tips of her lovely breasts. Each clamp was linked to a chain that had been stretched tightly so that it could be affixed to the top of the post behind her head, insuring that her breasts were stretched as cruelly as her limbs.
It was only after taking all this in that Erika noticed that a man garbed in robes of cobalt blue was standing off to the right silently enjoying the young woman’s suffering.
“My friend,” the general called out to his comrade. “Do my eyes deceive me or is that not Shuai, your favorite concubine.”
“She *was* my favorite concubine,” Hsi Fong snapped bitterly. Erika had grown so accustomed to seeing the general’s confidant in the familiar robes of rust-orange that she had not recognized him. “But I learned this morning that in our absence the lovely Miss Shuai has been sleeping with the Captain of the Guard, who has been so bewitched by her charms that he has neglected his duties. Have you not noticed the deportment of the guard today? It is a disgrace!”
Fong turned toward Duan, the former gang leader, and Zheng, who were standing some distance away. Each of them had armed himself with bamboo canes similar to the ones carried by the soldiers, and signaled for them to proceed.
“Please, your excellency,” the spread-eagled beauty, her nude body almost torn apart by her cruel bondage, began in a piteous voice. “Forgive me. I love you … only you … I will please you … I will do anything you like … please … please…”
But the blue-robed Commissioner of Seals was implacable and he nodded to the two Chinese crewmen to begin.
Duan and Zheng quickly moved forward and positioned themselves on either side of the suspended wanton and gripped their canes tightly. As they did so they got their first close-up look at the unfaithful concubine, whose lovely body was contorted in such an agonizing position.
Then, using an agonizing one-two rhythm, the two men began caning their delectable prisoner, starting just above her knees, each man caning a wide-stretched leg, and working their way up her satiny thighs an inch at a time. WHACK!! WHACKK! WHACK! WHACK!! The cane-strokes fell fast and furious, their impact nearly loud enough to drown out the screams of the tortured beauty.
The general looked on intently until the cane-wielders had flogged their way up to the tops of her thighs and then after watching two withering strokes ravage the girl’s wispy pubis, he flicked the dog whip and ordered Erika to continue on her way.
As she continued onward Erika could not help but hear the canes working their way slowly up Shuai’s midriff and then, after a brief pause, the unmistakable sound of canes smashing into the fleshy undercurves of her soft breasts. As she listened to the horrific cries of agony from the once-favored concubine, the last sound Erika heard was Hsi Fong hissing venomously, “Harder, you fools! Harder!”
Shuddering with horror, Erika labored forward, mortified by the presence of more and more of the general’s recruits who gaped at her half-nude body hungrily. Exhausted and dehydrated, every step was agonizing. The castle was not much more than a hundred yards away now, its grim façade beckoning. Erika did not know whether to be grateful her arduous climb was nearly at its end, or whether the general’s castle would be the site of horrors even more unspeakable than the ones she had seen and experienced in the last hour or two.
CRACKKK!!
Her anxious musings were greeted by another crack of the general’s whip.
“Get moving!”
The general’s men looked on eagerly because each sharp stroke of the whip across Erika’s shapely bottomcheeks caused her sweat-soaked breast-melons, so constricted by her leather bondage-garment, to dance invitingly in the sultry air.
Wincing in pain, Erika tried to pick up the tempo, but every stride was torture and soon her dilatory pace was punished with two more lashes to her shapely backside. Eventually, however, the agonizing steps led her to the next barn. Inside, and slightly to her right, another one of the comely village maidens was on all fours, sandwiched between two kneeling seamen, her mouth wrapped around Lu’s meaty manhood. The blacksmith gripped the girl tightly by her ebony hair as he vigorously fucked her mouth and throat. Meanwhile the man they called the Scowler was taking her from behind with long deep strokes.
As the seconds passed both men increased the pace of their thrusts into the petite maiden. Finally, with a last mighty lunge the Scowler came first, withdrawing his member so that he could shoot creamy arcs of sperm onto the girl’s sweetly curved backside. A few seconds later, the blacksmith, his flushed face contorted with lust, shuddered uncontrollably as he too, spent his seed, shooting the first few spurts into her open mouth and then, after the Scowler gave her hair a powerful backward yank, onto her well-formed breasts.
On the other side of the barn three of the Chinese men were ravaging another girl. One of the men, whose face Erika could not see, was lying on his back in a bed of straw and was driving his slick manhood upward into the rosebud of the girl lying atop him, face up. Meanwhile Li Pao, the pig-tailed crewman who had given Erika such a fierce stroke with the cane on board the Dragon, plunged into her pussy in the missionary manner. Erika winced at the thought of having two pounding cocks inside her body at once.
But that wasn’t the poor girl’s only worry. Crouching above and slightly behind her Bo was trying to force his pulsing member between her resisting lips. The spirited young beauty whipped her head back and forth furiously, trying to avoid the probing penis, but when Bo leaned down and took one of her small, dark-nippled breasts between his teeth and bit down hard, the girl cried out in pain and her velvety mouth surrendered to the brutal intruder.
Li Pao, feeling the firm pressure of the bottom man’s cock through the girl’s thin pelvic membrane came quickly, with short driving thrusts. Bo, relishing the sucking pleasure afforded by the girl’s soft lips, lasted a little longer, but he too, shortly emptied his sperm-stick into his victim’s defenseless mouth.
When his two comrades pulled away the man at the bottom of this cruel ménage a quatre used his considerable strength to flip the girl over so that she was kneeling on all fours in the bed of straw. Then Lucky, whom Erika now remembered as being the victim of crude jokes regarding his predilection for pretty bottoms, crushed the girl’s face into the straw, so that her back was arched invitingly. Then, kneeling fully upright, Lucky inched forward and drove his thick cock into the girl’s tiny nether opening.
She cried out in pain, but there was no stopping Lucky now. His face was a mask of sexual pleasure as he felt the unwilling, but sublime suction of the girl’s anal muscles around his massive organ. He drove harder and deeper until her grunts of discomfort and his own grunts of sexual pleasure were audible two cabins away. Finally with a last powerful lunge he thrust forward so violently that he crushed the girl flat on the straw as he exploded inside her.
The action having paused for the time being, General Wang, aroused by the sight of the village girl’s alluring buttocks under assault, gave Erika four well-spaced cracks of the dogwhip across her backside. After each stroke he exulted in the involuntary shudder of Erika’s pale bottomglobes as they wriggled under the lash.
After the fourth stroke, the German beauty braced her shoulders once again and plodded forward several more yards. It seemed as if each forward step was now being greeted with the stinging kiss of the whip and each labored step was more painful than the one before it
As she pulled even with the next barn it was clear that they had come across another punishment stable, and that Deng-shan, the ingenious bondage master, had done the set design. A very stout hawser hung from the rafters of the barn and was ingeniously knotted around an eight-foot length of sturdy bamboo that hung parallel to the ground. To that bamboo crosspiece was bound the most beautiful of the island women Erika had yet seen. She had dark flowing air, bewitching eyes, and a voluptuous body and was bound in a diabolical cocoon of rope. The unfortunate damsel wore only a golden chain and locket that dangled from her neck and swung lightly back and forth between her deliciously full breasts. A bit-gag in her mouth constrained her speech, but seemed to stimulate the production of saliva, slender filaments of which were streaming down her chin and dripping down onto her lovely pleasure-mounds.
Her arms were extended outward, crucifixion style, much as Erika’s were, and bound securely to the bamboo bar at wrist, elbow and shoulder. Although she had clearly been bound to the bar while in a standing position, as evidenced by her upright torso, her shapely golden thighs were bent painfully upwards and secured to her wrists, and to the bar, by an ingenious web of ropework, so that her lower body, from the small of her back to her knees, was roughly parallel to the ground. Her pretty legs were slightly parted, allowing any passerby who wished to partake of them, easy manual access to the moist pinkness of her private parts.
Anchoring her body even more securely in that torturous position was the fact that Deng-shan had bent her legs at the knee and then bound her feet to the stout bamboo crosspiece at roughly the same elevation as her neck. The young woman’s ripe, drool-moistened breasts were thus given magnificent prominence by her agonizing position. As a final coup de sade, her lust-mounds were encircled with ropes so tight that they were half a dozen shades pinker than the rest of her body, and those ropes too, were secured to the crosspiece as tightly as manly hands could tie them.
“Magnificent!” the general whispered, half under his breath as he ogled the girl’s breasts. They seemed on the verge of exploding out of the ropes which constricted them, so tightly were they encased. Nor had Deng-shan neglected her tempting nipples. Even now he was scraping the tips of her breasts with a length of coarse rope, teasing them into fleshy bullets of delight.
“When his lordship, Hsi Fong, had young Poppy,” Deng-shan gestured toward the woman in torment, “brought to me, he indicated that you had commanded that she be given ‘special treatment’. I hope you find this position worthy of her beauty.”
Bowing deferentially, Deng-Shan went on. “ I call it the ‘Rose Butterfly.’” And indeed the cruelly outstretched arms of the bound girl and the ever-increasing redness of her constricted breasts amply justified the sobriquet.
General Wang studied the young girl’s dreadful predicament with intense satisfaction. “Poppy, it is a pleasure to see you again. Especially under these circumstances.” Turning toward his entourage he muttered, “Can you believe that her grandparents had the effrontery to cheat me out of tax money while she was in possession of that golden locket?”
Then turning back toward Deng-shan, “I have rarely seen a young woman presented so artistically,” the general observed, bowing his head slightly to pay his respects to the bondage-master. “She is quite splendid.”
“Thank you, your excellency. That is indeed a great compliment, coming from you.”
“How long have her breasts been bound in this fashion?” the general asked as he continued to feast his eyes of the girl’s swollen pleasure-globes. “The effect is most pleasing.”
“It has been about a quarter of an hour, sir, since I tightened the knots. As you can see, her breasts are slowly beginning to turn blue, so I will have to undue the ropes soon.” Deng-shan quickly corrected himself. “With your permission, of course, your excellency” he stammered nervously.
The girl cast an imploring glance at the general as her saliva continued to leak out of her gag and drip down onto her bold-thrusting treasures.
“Another moment, if you please,” the general whispered, as he continued to delight in the girl’s excruciating agony.
Erika was horrified and heartsick. Were such cruelties as she had seen and suffered today to be the sum total of her existence in the days to come? Were torture and rape the alpha and omega of life on Zhou-shan Island?
Her heart went out to this beautiful young woman. She herself had endured any number of painful bondage episodes in recent days, but perhaps none of them had been as excruciating as this one appeared to be. The girl’s head and shoulders and upper torso were nearly vertical, but somehow Deng-shan’s cruel ropes had bowed the lower part of her body so skillfully upward toward the bamboo bar that her thighs were nearly at right angles to her torso. The strain on the girl’s spine and leg muscles had to be agonizing.
“ With her breasts bound so tightly, those pretty nipples must be extremely sensitive,” the general mused.
“You have an expert eye, your excellency. I’m quite confident that they are. But lest there should be any doubt …. Deng-shan paused and glanced in the direction of a man standing off to one side. “ Mr.Song?
It was only when Deng-shan called his name that Erika noticed that Mr. Song, the balding, pock-marked crewman with a predilection for sharp instruments {Ch 159} had been lurking nearby. While he waited, the ill-favored crewman had been whittling away furiously at a slim stalk of bamboo and now he was brandishing a pair of bamboo splints that looked to be fiendishly sharp.
Grinning grotesquely the ugly little man approached the helpless butterfly, feasting his eyes on her bound breasts, holding the pair of splints between his lips as one might hold a toothpick. He slid his hands underneath Poppy’s lush globes, savoring their warmth and fullness, squeezing them repeatedly as a demented smile crossed his face. Adjusting the position of his hands slightly, he reached for her pert brown nipples and massaged them roughly until they once again stood out proud and erect. Then, while still cupping her right breast in his left hand, he raised his right hand to his mouth, grasped one of the splints, and then with a swift movement he stabbed the needle-like splint halfway into her right aureole, less than a millimeter below her nipple.
Poppy cried out in pain and bucked violently in her cruel bondage, the golden locket around her neck swinging wildly back and forth. But Deng-shan’s diabolical workmanship was beyond reproach. Despite the naked girl’s violent contortions, there was still not a centimeter of slack in the ropes which continued to hold her fast.
“Why such an excited response, my dear?” Song hissed. “I only pushed it halfway in.”
Delighted by Poppy’s agonized reaction, Song grinned evilly, and then, after receiving a slow nod of consent from General Wang, he placed the other sharp splint just below the tip of Poppy’s left breast. As the general looked on approvingly, Song slowly, slowly, slowly forced the razor-sharp splint upward and inward into the base of her taut nipple until it all but disappeared. Poppy’s beautiful young body spasmed frenetically. The pain caused by the bamboo needles caused the bit-gagged beauty to spew fresh rivulets of saliva down onto her jutting breasts.
“And now, my sweet young creature, we shall finish the other one,” Song whispered.
“MMGGHH!! NNGHHHHH!!!” the terrified girl screamed into the gag.
But Song was in no mood to be forestalled. Seizing the visible half of the splint in Poppy’s right breast, he screwed it in deeper and deeper using a slow, twisting motion so as to make its insertion as painful as possible, until only the outer tip of the splint was still visible.
Erika had been struggling mightily to hold her ground on the incline so that the general’s chariot would not retreat back down the hill because the stern-browed warlord no longer seemed to be in a hurry. His sadistic glance was fixed on the suffering slave-girl’s tightly bound breasts as one excruciating minute stretched into two, and then two into four.
By this time, the complexion of Poppy’s bulging pain-globes was definitely transitioning from rosy to a deep reddish-purple and Deng-shan, knowing that her circulation could not be interrupted indefinitely, addressed the general.
“Sir, if I do not loosen the ropes soon …” he began haltingly.
“Oh, very well!” the general snapped, disappointed that his sadistic pleasures were to be curtailed.
As the rope-master slowly began to unwind the breast-cords. Jasper Slegg, sensing an opportunity, decided to throw his hat into the ring. “Yer lordship, seein’ as ‘ow this seems to be a punishment cabin, d’ye mind if I have a go at the wench?”
The timing of the crafty first mate was well-judged. The general had clearly found Poppy’s dreadful predicament more stimulating than any of the other scenes of sexual torment he had witnessed on that day, and was loath to see the exploitation of her lovely young body coming to a premature conclusion.
“Be my guest, Slegg,” the general whispered in a tone so icy it sent shivers down Erika’s spine. “The thieving slut deserves whatever she gets!”
A wicked smile crossed Slegg’s face as he approached the helpless girl. Her breasts were free of the ropes now, but the cords had left a deep imprint on the bases of her succulent mounds. The marks, Erika was sure, would linger for days. Even so, Poppy’s orbs remained firm and proud on her chest, perfect targets for Slegg’s merciless malice.
Facing the tortured beauty, Slegg eyed her opulent breasts and decided that since he might not get another crack at the creamy pleasure-globes of Erika Weiss, the proud-nippled breasts of this Chinese beauty would have to do.
He began slowly, slapping the outer curve of Poppy’s left breast with the palm of his right hand, delighting in the sound of the impact and the enticing bounce of her breast. Before that breast had even come to rest, Slegg, using the same hand, smacked the inside of her right breast with a crisp crossover stroke. Then, almost in one motion, he swept the back of his hand squarely into her left breast with a resounding WHAPP! that left both of Poppy’s delicious tit-globes bobbling beautifully.
“NGHHHGHH! NNGGHHH!!!” The gag prevented the Chinese beauty from speaking, but her cries of suffering and the tears streaming down her face gave full witness to the pain surging through her freshly liberated lust-goblets.
Warming to his task, Slegg began using his left hand as well, and he proceeded to double the punishment he was inflicting on the girl’s quivering love-mounds. Gritting his teeth with pleasure, he delivered a crisp series of forehand blows – left - right - left - right WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAPP! that kept Poppy’s perspiring pain-melons dancing from side to side deliciously.
“Smack’em! Smack those juicy tits!”
Erika turned to see who had cried out and was not surprised to learn that it had been the voice of the wild-eyed unshaven recruit with the long queue who had pounded his fist into his hand so meaningfully earlier.
Jasper Slegg winked at the man who had urged him on. “ Just see if I don’t, mate!” he muttered and then he paused for a few seconds to take in the results of his handiwork. Even her tight bondage could not keep Poppy’s body from oscillating in agony. Behind the choking bit-gag she gasped and choked as she tried to catch her breath. What had been mere trickles of saliva were now slow-moving streamlets that oozed down onto her chin and upper torso. Her defenseless breasts were now more red than rose and awash with both saliva and pain-sweat.
Slegg adjusted his almost painfully swollen genitals in his leggings before beginning again. This time he mixed in some downward slaps to the tops of Poppy’s throbbing pleasure-mounds and some backhanded uppercuts that smashed viciously into the undersides of her bouncing breasts. With each strike, tiny droplets of drool and perspiration flew into the air. Seeing this, Slegg got it into his head that he would slap all the spit and sweat off the Chinese beauty’s defenseless tit-globes, but each vicious slap seemed to engender as much moisture as it splattered.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAPP!!
Slegg was aiming for Poppy’s taut nipples now, punishing her lovely brown buds with each vicious stroke.
WHAM! WHAM!
Wincing as each blow landed, blow, Erika could see hints of drool forming at the corner of Jasper Slegg’s mouth as he continued to punish the Chinese girl’s tempting pleasure mounds, each blow seemingly harder than the one before it.
WHAM! WHAM!! Slegg backhanded each of Poppy’s quivering breasts yet again
Sweating profusely now, Slegg paused for a moment to catch his breath and turned toward the malicious warlord. “ Yer lordship, ain’t poppies the flower they get opium from?” Slegg asked the general.
Upon receiving an affirmative nod, he muttered. “ Well, I see why they call the wench Poppy!” Slegg muttered as he renewed his breast-slapping barrage. WHAP! WHAP!! WHAPP! WHAPP!! “This is bloody ‘abit-forming, yer lordship, and that’s the gawd’s truth.” Grinning sardonically at his little joke, Slegg ripped another forehand into Poppy’s left breast and then backhanded it with an upward stroke whose follow through sent his hand hurtling skyward.
The sounds of male hands striking soft female flesh were so loud that fellow crewmen from the Yang-tze Dragon as well as members of General Wang’s private praetorian guard began to drift into the cabin to witness the savage beating that Jasper Slegg was administering to the lovely young woman who had dared to cheat the ruthless warlord.
Pleased to have an even larger audience, Slegg decided to concentrate on Poppy’s left breast, spanking it with a series of lefts and rights WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!! WHAP!! from above, from below and from either side that sent fresh waves of erotic electricity surging through his loins. Turning his attention to her right breast he repeated the pattern, using backhands only, reveling in the sensation of his bony knuckles impacting Poppy’s satin-soft tit-flesh.
The crowd of bloodthirsty onlookers was cheering him on now and Slegg proceeded to give them a finale they would never forget. He unleashed a furious fusillade of blows, peppering Poppy’s pain-globes from every conceivable angle with both hands for ten, twenty, thirty, forty seconds without interruption until his sadistic lust was nearing its crest.
Slegg’s final two blows were a pair of punches, delivered by the tightly clenched fist of each hand, which he drove into the centers of Poppy’s throbbing breasts with punishing force, crushing her taut and tender nipples.
His sadistic lust now in full flame, Slegg dragged a hay bale under the suspended beauty, climbed upon it, liberated his throbbing cock, placed it between her crimson breasts and crushed her aching lust-globes inward around his swollen manhood.
He sawed his cock back and forth between her slap-warmed pain-globes until he was nearing the very pinnacle of passion. Then he ripped the bit-gag out of Poppy’s mouth and forced his thick-veined manhood between her protesting lips. After half a dozen violent throat-thrusts, Slegg came, spewing spurt after spurt of his vile man-fluid into Poppy’s mouth and throat.
Slegg withdrew his dripping penis and wiped its cum-coated tip on the cheek of the choking girl, and then, after rearranging his clothing, climbed down off the hay bale and took a step in the direction of the General’s chariot. As he made his way toward the door to exit the punishment cabin, Slegg turned toward the onlookers and muttered nonchalantly, “All right, lads… oo’s next?”
A moment later the towering figure of Khasar the Mongol stepped out of the shadows, rolling up his sleeves as he approached, and focused his menacing gaze on Poppy’s throbbing pleasure globes. He spit on his huge hands, like a lumberjack about to begin a strenuous job.
“She’s got a lovely pair, don’t she?” Slegg muttered to the man from the Gobi. “Soft but firm, just like I like ‘em. They can take a lot of punishment, too,” he added. “But don’t take my word for it, mate. See for yerself…” And with that, Slegg bowed awkwardly while gesturing in Poppy’s direction, offering the helpless, ripe-breasted beauty to whatever savagery the black-eyed Mongol might have in mind.
Khasar slammed his open palm viciously into Poppy’s left breast.
WHAMM!!
“AUGHHHHH!!!” No longer gagged, Poppy’s loud cry of pain rent the air. “No more … please … no more….
Using his left hand, Khasar, open-handed her right breast.
WHAMM!!!
“AAAAGHHH!!!”
Just then, out of the corner of his eye, the big Mongol saw Erika Weiss standing outside the punishment barn, her superb breasts constricted into bulging pleasure-mounds by the confining straps of her harness. Khasar gave Erika a long, meaningful, “I wish this was you, wench!” look and then started in on Poppy’s lovely breasts again, pausing after every blow to glance at Erika to make sure that she understood, that the poor servant girl with the golden locket hanging from her neck was only a stand-in for the real object of his sadistic lust.
WHAMMM!! “AUNNGHH! Please … I beg …”
WHAMMM!! “AUNGGHH!!
WHAMMM!!! “UNGGHHHH!!! Mercy…for the love of …”
WHAMMMM!!! “ANNNGGHHH!! No more… please…”
Even from yards away the combination of Khasar’s menacing gaze and the concussive force of each blow to Poppy’s ripe young breasts was palpable. Erika could almost feel the powerful punishing slaps herself, so violently were they delivered. Her heart went out to the poor creature bound so tightly to the bamboo bar. The poor girl had suffered such dreadful abuse at the hands of the two most vicious crewmen of the Yang-tze Dragon.
It was only when Poppy had passed out, after a few more punishing blows to her juicy tit-globes, that the general flicked his whip, scoring a stinging hit on Erika’s right nipple, and signaling her to continue her arduous journey toward the gates of the castle.
Drenched in sweat, her golden hair as wet from perspiration as if she had dived into the sea, the tight leather bindings chafing her private parts, Erika labored onward. She was only some twenty yards from the castle gate now and only one more punishment cabins lay between her and the castle of doom.
Her thighs and shoulders burning from hours of exertion, Erika pulled abreast of the doorway to a small, ramshackle barn lined with stalls for the livestock that were its usual inhabitants. Inside, a slender young woman with a pretty face and a deliciously rounded bottom, was on her hands and knees on a hay bale, beset by two of the Malayans. Raka the drummer was forcing his stiff man-weapon in and out of her soft lips, while behind her, Tattoo was punching his thick cock into her vaginal slit with a series of vigorous thrusts. A trickle of blood streaming down the inside of her left thigh betrayed the fact that the petite beauty had been a virgin only minutes earlier.
“Gawd, look at that arse,” Slegg enthused to no one in particular, as Tattoo pulled away from the lovely young woman. Although her breasts were small and her legs were slender, her derriere was perfection itself. Heart-shaped, dimpled, and deeply cleft, her bottom was as an enticing invitation to sodomy aa Slegg had ever seen.
“A lovely creature indeed. Why have you been hiding her from me?” the general inquired good naturedly. Indeed, I have never seen a prettier backside.”
A few moments later, Raka’s swollen cock sent its man-juice splashing into the girl’s pretty face, the streamlets of semen joining her copious tears.
Once Raka had climaxed, Tattoo repositioned the girl slightly, crushing her pretty face into the hay bale. Parting the girl’s shapely buttock cheeks he pressed his swollen member against her anus and forced his way inside her. The tearful victim of his cruel lust lay their almost lifelessly, grimacing in pain, but hardly moving as the Malayan thrust into her. Despite her attacker’s arousal, the punishing rape proceeded in an almost perfunctory fashion.
“If ye don’t mind me sayin’ so,” Slegg’s volunteered, “There’s ways to get even the laziest wench to squirm around nice as ye please.”
Tattoo gave Slegg an angry glance but the first mate went on anyway.
“Y’see, mate, the secret to a really luvly arsefuck is to get the wench wiggling around so ‘er pretty bottom squeezes yer John Henry every time ye pound it into ‘er. Bring the slut over ‘ere mate and I’ll ‘ave ‘er moving ‘er sweet derriere to beat the band.
The Malayans still looked doubtful, but Jasper Slegg took a shiny silver coin out of his pocket and laid it down on the haybale. “If I’m not tellin’ the gospel truth, ye can ‘ave that, boys. It’s an 1884 sterling silver shilling, mates and that lady there,” he added pointing to the image on the coin, “is Queen Victoria herself.”
“What’s in it for you, Slegg,” Tattoo growled. With Jasper Slegg, there was always something in it for him.
“Just tryin’ to give you a little friendly advice, mate, but if ye don’t want to ‘ave the best arse-fuck o’ yer life, that’s fine with me.”
Tattoo considered the offer briefly and then grudgingly offered his consent.
“Well played. laddie. Now if you boys’ll just bring the wench over ‘ere.” Slegg had positioned himself alongside a brimming trough used to feed the general’s livestock.
Raka and Tattoo grabbed the arms of the petite young woman with the enticingly heart-shaped bottom and dragged her bodily across the hut until she was kneeling against the waist-high watering trough.
“The trick is to get those sweet thighs tight against the trough, lads, and bend ‘er over at the waist!”
“That’s good, that’s good. Push ‘er a little closer to the trough. That’s it. Now punch yer cock into that pretty arse!”
The girl having been positioning as Slegg had instructed, Tattoo inched closer, spread the girl’s tempting bottomcheeks and spit twice on her beckoning rosebud. Then, gripping her tightly around her slender waist, he forced his manhood into her defenseless anus a centimeter at a time, with a series of manly thrusts.
“All right, mates. Now, watch this!”
And with that , Jasper Slegg grabbed the girl’s ebony tresses and forced her face downward toward the brimming trough.
Erika looked on in horror as Raka and Slegg plunged her head deep into the water and held her there.
The girl with the heart-shaped behind, who had lain so inertly before, immediately bucked like a mule, as she fought desperately for air. But the men holding her head and shoulders were too strong and despite her frantic thrashing, her head remained under water. Meanwhile Tattoo, his manhood wedged deep into her rear orifice, enjoyed her every gyration.
After twenty or thirty seconds, Slegg signaled to Raka to ease the pressure for a moment and the poor girl’s head sprang out of the water, gasping and choking for air.
But her respite from misery was short-lived and moments later the two men shoved the spluttering girl’s head back in the water and held her under for even a longer time.
“Aww, Sleggie!! That’s good!” Tattoo grunted with pleasure. And the sensations of cock-clutching pleasure only increased each time the girl’s head was thrust into the water. She fought furiously, but there was no escaping the impaling man-weapon, which Tattoo rammed deeper and deeper into her, despite her valiant struggles
Raka and Slegg had just submerged the helpless girl for the fourth time when General Wang impatiently flicked Erika’s right breast with the coach whip, and Erika once again shouldered her load, leaving Jasper Slegg and his comrades behind.
Erika was only a few yards from the castle now, and she saw that a welcoming committee of sorts had assembled to greet the general. On one side of the gathering there were two pretty young housemaids. As Erika briefly met their gaze, the battered and exhausted blonde could see the abject fear in their eyes. But there was something more. There was, though the two young women did their best to conceal it from their companions, a hint of tenderness, of compassion, emotions that Erika had not sensed in a very long time. The housemaids cringed in sympathy at the sight of a woman who had been forced to wear a garment intended to humiliate, rather than veil, a woman who had been bound so cruelly to the yoke of the chariot that her wrist and arms and shoulders would bear rope marks for days to come, a woman whose tender breasts and smooth thighs were streaked with the imprints of lash and cane.
Erika averted her eyes for fear of betraying the empathy the two servants had unknowingly displayed, and turned her attention toward the couple standing next to them. They were a pair of what she deemed to more senior servants, one male and one female. The female was perhaps in her late thirties, but quite attractive in a tight-fitting jade-green qipao that was slit almost up to her hips, revealing attractive expanses of golden thigh. Despite her beauty, however, the woman’s eyes lacked the slightest vestige of warmth. Alongside her, a balding man perhaps ten years her senior was garbed in a fashion reminiscent of the major domo at the house of Richard Chan. His contemptuous mien made it clear that Erika could expect no show of kindness from him. What made it worse was that he eyed her nude breasts and long, bare legs with a practiced lechery that convinced Erika that this man served the general not out of necessity, but out of a hyena-like desire to share in and profit from the warlord’s lust and cruelty.
It was only then that the three remaining figures, two of them bedecked in robes of the finest Chinese silk, stepped forward to greet the general. Erika drew in a long, shuddering breath. She remembered them well – the obscenely fat Lu Chow, Commissioner of Corrupt Practices, the gaunt, bearded Sang Chu-ming whose venal portfolio it was to prevent the sort of smuggling so freely engaged in by the likes of Andrew McMahon, and Cheng, the general’s somewhat timid, bespectacled adjutant, who was dressed in the same sort of olive-drab uniform as the general himself.
Despite her fatigue, Erika would have recognized the three men anywhere. For these were the men who along with General Wang, had tormented and abused her at a dinner party at the house of George Chan so many months ago. {Ch 18-22} Why was it, she wondered that political power so often gravitated toward men so little inclined to use it well or wisely on behalf of their country and their people?
“Welcome back your excellency,” the cadaverous Sang Chu-ming murmured softly as he bowed before the warlord. “We are all delighted to see that you have not come home empty-handed,” he added with a thin smile as his icy gaze drank in Erika’s near nudity.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Weiss,” the smuggling czar added with a slight bow. “I trust that your stay here will be long … and that you will not soon forget it….”
Chapter 166 The Submissive Concubine
General Wang barked out a command and a pair of soldiers leaped forward to undo the ropes that bound Erika’s yoke to the general’s chariot.
The beautiful blonde wanted nothing more than to sink to the ground in exhaustion or at the very least to bend over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. The last hundred yards or so up the steep incline had been the most arduous of all. The muscles in her thighs were burning, her bare feet were bloodied, and her heart and lungs felt as if they were about to burst. Nor had her exertions led the general to spare the lash Time and again the general’s whip had bitten into her backside or curled around her flank to nip at the sides of her naked breasts. But, despite the agony of her ordeal somehow she found the strength to stand tall and meet the gaze of the welcoming party, while the two soldiers did as they had been commanded.
Though Erika’s shapely body was caked with dust and blood, and sweat and her lovely face bore the tracks of more than a few tears, her posture remained proud and indomitable while the soldiers struggled with the ropes. The two men, grimy with dirt, and smelling of stale wine, lingered at their task, fumbling clumsily with the ropes for as long as they dared in order, to prolong their encounter with the general’s nearly nude captive.
They made no attempt to hide the pleasure they took in manhandling their statuesque captive as they liberated the yoke from the chariot, while leaving Erika tightly bound to the yoke itself, her aching arms outstretched to their limits, her superb breasts displayed to obscene perfection by the tight leather straps which framed them.
Although she was only yards from the entrance of the general’s forbidding fortress, and could only guess at the horrors that awaited her within, Erika did her best to face the welcoming party boldly, returning their lewd appraisals with all the defiance she could muster.
By the gods, wondered Cheng, the general’s bespectacled young adjutant, as he eyed Erika’s near nudity, how could a woman who was clearly on the verge of exhaustion, be so alluring? It was the fire, the defiance in her sky-blue eyes, he thought, that set this young European woman apart from the dozens of other young damsels the general had subjugated to his will. A crooked smile crossed his mouth; this one would surrender, too, in time, he knew. They always did. And what sport it would be to break her!
Lu Chow, the obese Commissioner of Corrupt Practices, wiped the perspiration from his face. He had only walked fifty yards across level ground to join the welcoming party, but he was breathing heavily and sweating like a late-summer pig. But it was the sweat on Erika’s glistening body that drew his attention; he focused his gaze on the valley between her gorgeous breasts, hoping that it would not be long before he would be given the opportunity to cram his short, thick manhood between those sweaty mounds and saw his cock back and forth between them to the point of ecstasy before anointing them with his slick, slimy seed.
Sang Chu-ming scratched at his beard thoughtfully. He had spent that morning touring the dungeons of the general’s castle making sure that none of the chains and shackles had become too rusty, and that all the implements were in order. The general was a stickler for planning and preparation, he knew. As his deep-set eyes raked Erika’s bare flesh, he pictured her in one of the cells he had inspected. Standing on one leg, bent at the waist, both arms and one leg drawn painfully high behind her by chains, so that all her weight was borne by one shapely leg that was shackled to the floor. But that was not all! Her defenseless breasts hanging downward, in thrall to a pair of tight-gripping nipple clamps each of which was attached to a chains that tugged them toward the floor. But the other end of the chains were not simply affixed to the floor -- they were wound around miniature capstans, so that the pressure on her tortured breasts, and indeed on her entire body, could slowly be increased by tightening the tension of the capstans. An evil smile creased the gaunt face of the counselor , for that was but one of the torments that awaited their full-breasted young prisoner.
Despite her exhaustion, and despite the salacious leers of Lu Chow and Sang Chu-ming, Erika sensed that some of the less exalted courtiers in the welcoming party seemed uncertain how to react. They seemed not to be able to make up their minds whether to devote their attentions to kowtowing to the ruthless general or to eyeballing his new slave. Their heads and hands and shoulders were inclined toward the general in attitudes of respect, but their eyes were on Erika Weiss.
The well-toned blonde was still clad only in the bizarre leather ‘garment’ that was really only a collection of brown leather straps. Two pairs of straps were drawn tightly across her chest, just above and just below her tempting pleasure-globes, which by now were well-marked by the general’s whip and the bamboo cane of Jasper Slegg.
Her torso was nude save for the slender connecting strap that led from the straps below her breasts, down to a minuscule crotch piece. That tiny triangle of leather gave way to a thin strap that almost disappeared into the cleft between Erika’s lash-marked bottomglobes before completing its final bumpy journey along her spinal column where it was eventually secured to the obverse side of her breast straps.
The general puttered about, greeting the various dignitaries and courtiers who had come out to greet him at such length that Erika was almost sure that he had done so to give them all plenty of time to examine his new trophy, whose rounded shoulders were still so tightly – and cruelly - bound to the yoke that her bold-nippled breasts were thrust forward for the delectation of any who cared to gaze upon them.
“Give this filthy wench a quick clean-up and then bring her inside!” barked the general Then, turning to the woman in the jade green qi pao, he asked, “I trust that Miss Ting is awaiting my arrival? I am anxious to give our new slave,” he paused, giving Erika a sinister glance, “her first lesson in the kind of behavior expected from my concubines.”
“I am certain that she is, your lordship,” tshe woman in green answered. As she did so the courtiers and officers began to follow the general into the castle, leaving Erika in the courtyard in the company of half a dozen slovenly looking soldiers and a pair of pretty housemaids.
The general had no sooner spoken the words, “clean her up” when two pairs of soldiers approached, each pair toting a barrel of water. But before any of them could get to her, two other soldiers stepped forward to cut her free from the dreadful yoke. Erika tried to rub her arms and shoulders to improve the circulation, but even as she tried to do so, the two soldiers ripped the sweat-and-blood-stained bondage garment from her body leaving her entirely nude. The sight of her golden triangle gave the people around her pause for a moment, and they stopped to admire her as one might pause before a work of art in a museum. As she continued to rub some life into her aching shoulders it struck Erika once again that many of the people on the general’s island had probably never seen a woman with fair skin and blonde hair before.
Her musing did not last long however, because as soon as the leather garment had been cut away, the first barrel of water was upended over Erika’s head drenching her entire body. It was only then that Erika realized that they had used saltwater and that the biting alkalinity of the brine was seeping into every bruise, every abrasion, ever lash mark that she had borne in recent days.
Despite her gasps of pain, the instant the barrel was empty one of the housemaids raced forward armed with a tough-bristled scrub brush and a small block of some kind of gritty soap. The alacrity of her approach – coupled with the swiftness of the soldiers in coming forth with the water – was clear evidence that on Zhoushan Island, the general’s commands were obeyed instantly – at least while he was around.
The maid with the brush and the soap attacked Erika’s lash-marked body swiftly and roughly, removing the sweat and blood and dirt with admirable thoroughness, but abrading a great deal of skin as she did so, with every brush-stroke eliciting winces of pain from Erika.
“Wait!” the second housemaid said. “This is not necessary.” Although her attire was simple, She approached Erika with a soft cloth and gently finished the job of cleaning the surface dirt off her body. It was a poor substitute for a hot bath, thought Erika, but she gave the good-hearted maid – who looked strangely familiar - a grateful smile for her kindness.
When she was done the maid stepped away and signaled the soldiers to pour the second barrel of water over Erika to rinse off the soap. And another cascade of flesh-stinging brine searched out her every injury. Moments later the maid approached again, this time with a flimsy white robe. “It is much too small, I know, Miss, but it is all I have.”
Erika was struck by the pretty young woman’s decency and courage. Surely it was almost foolhardy for her to offer succor to a new slave. “What is your name,” she whispered.
“Lily. My name is Lily, Miss.”
“Thank you, Lily. You have been very kind.” Aside from a few self-serving courtesies from Tranh, the Vietnamese cook on the Yangtze Dragon, she couldn’t remember the last time someone had been kind to her. She silently vowed to repay Lily’s charity if ever given the opportunity.
As Erika slipped into the tiny robe – Lily was eight or nine inches shorter than her and much slimmer of frame than the athletically built German girl -- Lieutenant Meng re-emerged from the castle.
“She is ready,” Lily announced.
Meng gave the robe a surprised glance, but shrugged and said nothing. He grasped Erika roughly by the arm and led her through the great doorway of the castle, with Erika still tugging at the panels of the robe in an attempt to bring them together so that she could button them, but without much success. As she approached the general’s entourage she was supremely conscious that not only did the robe reach only to mid-thigh, she was unable to close it. There was a two inch wide gap of bare flesh running down the center of her body. Despite having had her body fully or almost fully exposed for many days to dozens of men, she was still mortified by her present plight. Her spirits were not boosted by the mocking titters she heard as Meng led her toward the group of people. The general was apparently regaling them with the story of his somewhat unpleasant crossing on the “Yang-tze Dragon,” a vessel without the slightest pretense of the amenities befitting one of his status.
“But at least, my friends,” he concluded, “I have something to show for my journey on that miserable ship…” and he gestured toward Erika.
Once again Erika cast her eyes over the group around the general. Lu Chow, the obese and corrupt politician who had taken part in the depraved banquet at George Chan’s house so many months ago, was clad in a yards and yard of rich purple fabric, The Commissioner of Corrupt Practices, Lu ran his fat, greedy tongue over his lips as he appraised the latest addition to the general’s harem of sex slaves.
“Ah, Miss Weiss, is it not?” he greeted Erika with faux hospitality as his beady eyes fastened their gaze on the opening in her robe. “So nice to see you again. Hopefully,” he added with a lecherous grin, “we can renew our acquaintance at the earliest opportunity.”
Erika was bemused by his false courtesy. His splendid robes could never hide the fact that at heart he was every bit as vicious and twisted as the worst of the crewmen on the Dragon. Erika tried unsuccessfully to suppress a shudder of disgust as she remembered having been forced to fellate the fat cock of the commissioner at the banquet of cruel debauchery hosted by George Chan so many months ago. .
“Is my uncle well?” the general asked Lu Chow. Erika remembered the general’s octogenarian uncle, whose body looked impossibly frail, but whose long, sharp fingernails had drawn blood from her breasts.
“He is not strong, your excellency, and is lying down in his room. But I am sure that he, too, will be refreshed by the sight of your guest.” The commissioner gave Erika another wicked smile, one that spoke of depravities beyond measure.
“Very well. We shall see him later. But first I would like to introduce our guest to Miss Ting. Is she in her rooms?”
“Yes, of course, general. She is awaiting your arrival.”
Hearing that comment, most of the courtiers and servants drifted away, leaving only General Wang and Lu Chow, who apparently wished to pay his respects to Miss Ting, and Lieutenant Meng, whose strong hands continued to hold his scantily clad prisoner in an iron grip.
The party of four passed through a great entrance hall, and Erika looked around in wonder at the richness of the furnishings. Lush, thick carpeting, wallcoverings of scarlet and gold occasionally interrupted by priceless tapestries. In dozens of glass cases, the products of several dynasties were on display -- beautiful pieces of china and porcelain, ancient woodworking, a priceless collection of medieval weapons and armor. All of them, Erika had no doubt, had been looted from the people of China by General Wang and his ruthless cronies.
The great hall gave way to a long corridor with a crimson carpet, at the end of which stood a richly embossed door.
The general knocked sharply on the door and then opened it. Erika gasped as her eyes swept the room taking in the contents of the lavishly furnished boudoir of Miss Ting, who evidently was the general’s favorite concubine.
Then she gasped again as she looked down and saw the sole occupant of the room, a beautiful young woman with lustrous black hair and hauntingly beautiful eyes. Her only garment was a brief chemise of white gossamer silk that reached only to the tops of her bare thighs and against which the taut nipples of her apple-sized breasts poked aggressively. Ting knelt submissively on the carpet, holding the stock of an evil-looking whip between her pearl-white teeth.
“Welcome home, your excellency,” the young concubine whispered submissively.
Erika needed only those four words to know that the spirit of this lovely creature had long ago been broken. How long, she wondered, would her own courage hold up in the face of unspeakable sexual tyranny?
“Very good, Ting, I am pleased. You are progressing well. Oh, but I see that you are unable to greet our new guest. Let me take that,” he added as he took the whip from her mouth and ran it through his hands caressingly. “This,” he added, inclining his head slightly in Erika’s direction, “is our newest guest, Erika. She is quite lovely, isn’t she?”
“Yes, my lord. Ting raised her eyes timidly toward Erika, “Ni hao,” she whispered so softly that Erika could barely make out her words.
Erika returned her greeting, “Ni hao.” Erika was astonished that Ting seemed neither angered nor surprised by the sight of the general escorting a half-dressed young woman through the castle.
“Ting, please tell our new friend. What is the most important quality I expect in my … guests?”
“O-obedience, my lord,” Ting stammered nervously.
“And have you learned obedience in my service, Ting”
“I have tried, my lord. I have tried very hard.”
“Let us see how well you have learned, Ting. Let us show our new guest what is expected of her.”
The beautiful Chinese girl tried to suppress a shiver. “Yes, my lord. What is it you wish?”
“You know what I wish. Take your position.”
“Y-yes, my lord.” Ting rose to her feet, her body trembling.
Erika could see that the girl’s bare legs were lovely. Beneath the hem of her transparent chemise, Ting’s impeccably groomed delta of wispy pubic hair was strikingly beautiful. The nipples of her plump breasts danced enticingly beneath the gauzy fabric.
“What is the first chapter in your lesson, Ting?”
“I-I am to remove my garments, my lord.”
“Do so, please. Slowly, as I have taught you.”
Her hands trembling, Ting reached for a golden clasp on her shoulder and unhooked it, letting the chemise slip off one bare shoulder.
“Now the other.”
Flushing, Ting undid the clasp on her other shoulder, letting the garment slide partways down her chest, catching it at just the right moment, so that it revealed only the upper slopes of her delicious breasts.
Erika, standing next to Lu Chow, could hear the fat man smacking his thick lips in anticipation of the erotic delights that would surely ensue.
“Continue, Ting.”
Blushing with shame, Ting slowly slid the chemise down over her succulent breasts, unveiling her dark, delicate nipples.
“She is exquisite, general, exquisite,” Lu Chow enthused. “And so well trained.”
“Yes she is. But let us see if she remembers the rest of her lesson. Continue, Ting.”
The beautiful young woman let the top fall to her waist, and then lifted the hem of the garment and intertwined it with the upper part of the chemise, so that she was naked save for the makeshift silken sash she had created around her slender waist.
Despite her empathy for the poor young woman, Erika could not take her eyes off the spectacle taking place before her. Ting’s lovely complexion was of burnished gold, darker than that of many Chinese, as if she had spent many hours lying out in the sun.
“Continue, Ting.”
Ting was visibly trembling now, as she spread her legs until they were perhaps two feet apart. Lu Chow was breathing even more heavily now as his eyes raped the delicate folds of flesh guarding Ting’s most intimate treasure.
“Very nice, Ting. Go on.”
Ting lifted both of her arms upward, crossing them above her head by forming an X with her wrists.
“Why do I have you place your arms over your head, Ting?”
“So that my br-br-breasts will be more pleasing to you, my lord.”
“Yes, you have learned well, my dear. They are most pleasing indeed. Is it not so, my friend?”
Lu Chow was speechless with lust as he feasted his gaze on Ting’s ripe breasts, so proudly lifted by her upraised arms.
“Now we will move on to part two of your obedience lesson for today, Ting,” General Wang sneered as he ran the whip through his fingers.
“Which number is considered most unlucky in China, Ting?”
“Four, my lord.”
Erika knew this to be true. The Chinese word for ‘four’ and the Chinese word for ‘death’ sound almost exactly the same, and for centuries many Chinese people have deemed the number ‘four’ to be unlucky.
“And how many tails does the whip that you presented to me have?” Erika could see that four tails of tough leather, studded with evil-looking knots, extended from the sturdy handle of the whip.
Ting swallowed. “F-four, my lord,” she whispered faintly.
“And how many strokes of the whip am I about to give you?”
“F-four, my lord.”
“On which parts of your body will I strike you?”
“Wh-wherever it pleases you, my lord?
“And how will you show your obedience as I deliver them?”
“I am to try to remain still, my lord, with m-my wrists crossed above my head. And I am to try not to cry out.”
“You had better do better than ‘try’, girl, if you know what’s good for you,” the general snapped. “What will happen if you lower your hands or move your feet?”
“Th-the count will begin again.”
“And if the count were to begin again, and you were to be so disobedient as to fail for a second time … Ting, tell our new guest what happened the day that you failed twice.”
“My lord, you took me out into the courtyard, and ordered your men to stake me out on the ground.”
“Face up or face down?”
Ting gulped at the dreadful memory. “F-facing the sun, my lord.”
“Ah yes, I remember now. They stretched your pretty limbs about as far as they could be stretched that day, didn’t they? Was it as painful as it looked, Ting?
“Yes, my lord. Very painful.”
“Refresh my memory, Ting. Was it a hot day that day?”
“Yes my lord, it was in August. One of the hottest days of the year.”
“Were you out in the sun long, Ting?”
“All day, my lord. From dawn to dusk.”
“Why you must have gotten a dreadful sunburn, then?”
“Y-yes, my lord.”
“And when dusk came, what happened then?”
“Your men brought me back inside, my lord, and you whipped the front of my body again. But this time I was stronger. I did not move.”
Erika shuddered in horror at the thought of this delicate Chinese beauty baking in the sun for many hours and then being flogged on her sunburnt breasts and belly and thighs.
“So, you learned your lesson, didn’t you?”
“Y-yes, my lord. I hope so.”
“You hope so? Well, let us see if you can show our guest how well I have trained you.”
With that comment, General Wang whipped the four-tailed lash into Ting’s alluring mid-section, leaving a quartet of livid marks across her belly.
CRACCKKK!!!!
Ting let out a sibilant hiss of agony, as Erika averted her eyes in horror.
“Make her watch, Lieutenant. This little lesson is for her benefit.”
Lieutenant Meng grabbed a handful of blonde hair and forced Erika to watch as the flogging of Ting continued.
CRACCKKK!!! The general’s second blow scalded the tops of Ting’s thighs. She grimaced in agony, but held her ground, although it took every ounce of her strength and resolve not to lower her out-stretched hands.
The general studied the imprints left by the knotted tails of the whip; he had used it scores of times on beautiful young women and it never failed to disappoint.
“You know where the next blow will fall, don’t you, Ting?”
“O-on my breasts, my lord, if it pleases you to strike me there.” Ting’s entire body was quaking now, and her delectable nipples were quivering with fearful anticipation.
“Yes, it does please me, Ting.” The warlord took good aim at Ting’s golden love-globes, and then lashed them viciously, the knotted tails of the whip curling around her breasts like fiery tentacles.
CRACCKKK!!!!
“NNNGGGGHHHH!!!!!” It was all Ting could do to suppress a scream of agony, but she knew that if she failed the count would begin anew.
Erika’s heart went out to the poor girl. How long, she wondered, had this beautiful concubine been forced to endure such dreadful abuse at the hands of her cruel master?
“Such lovely marks,” the general mused. “On such lovely breasts.” He moved closer to better inspect the result of his most recent lash. The whip had not broken the skin, but it had visited Ting’s lust-mounds with frightful force, leaving trails of fiery scarlet in its wake.
But then the warlord returned to the matter at hand.
“How many more strokes, Ting? Have you been counting?”
“Only one more my lord,” Ting answered meekly. “Unless it pleases you to give me more.”
“A fine answer, Ting. A fine answer indeed, is it not so, Lu Chow?”
The corpulent commissioner grunted his assent. The more strokes across this lovely concubine’s quivering breasts the better, as far as he was concerned.
“Where do I usually deliver the fourth stroke, Ting?”
“Between my… my legs, my lord.” Ting whispered almost inaudibly.
“That’s right, Ting. And I am a man who respects tradition.” With that comment, the general lowered the lash to the carpeted floor and then swept it up skillfully into her moist cleft.
CRAAACKKKK!!!
Ting’s lovely almond eyes rolled back in agony. The burning tails of the lash had found her glistening clitoris and set it alight. As Ting wobbled unsteadily, struggling desperately to maintain the required position, Erika thought for a moment that the poor creature might pass out. But she did not. Perhaps, Erika wondered, it might have been better if she had fainted.
It took the beautiful courtesan fifteen or twenty seconds to regain her poise. “Is the lesson complete, my lord?”
“Ting, you have done very well,” the general admitted grudgingly and with a certain pride. “But today’s exercise is not quite finished. My friend Lu Chow has been watching your lesson with considerable interest, is it not so?”
The fat commissioner’s visage was a mask of sadistic lust. He nodded enthusiastically as his eyes traced the whipmarks on Ting’s nude body.
“Pleasure him, Ting. Right here, right now.”
“But my lord… here … in front of these …”
Ting’s reticence was met with another vicious whiplash across her throbbing breasts.
CRACKKKK!!!!!
“NNGNHHHHHH!!” Ting moaned despairingly.
“Now, I said. Go to him. On your knees.”
Ting’s golden complexion was rosy with humiliation as she dropped to her knees and knee-walked across the carpet toward the corpulent politician.
“Take it out.”
Lu Chow broke into a leering grin as the beautiful concubine reached inside his robes and extracted his fat cock.
“Caress it, Ting. With your fingertips. Up and down the shaft.”
Erika looked on in revulsion as Ting, her dark eyes haunted with the fear of incurring the general’s displeasure, fingered the commissioner’s fat little penis.
“Now use your tongue. Slowly, Ting, slowly. It is a woman’s duty to enhance a man’s pleasure, not to rush it. Now take it in your mouth. Very good. Get it nice and wet.”
Timidly, hesitantly, the raven-haired beauty proceeded to worship the cock of the Commissioner of Corrupt Practices with a skill that belied her years. Cupping his hairy balls in a tiny hand, she slowly licked upward along his shaft, drawing a gasp of pleasure from the obese politician. She caressed his testicles gently, as her tongue worked its moist pink magic down one side of the swollen cock and then back up the other.
Sliding closer, she brushed her tender young breasts from side to side against Lu Chow’s ugly, purple-veined phallus letting him feel the tautness of her nipples and then she pressed her treasures together, and slid them up and down his throbbing member as he groaned with delight.
“Is she pleasing you, Lu Chow?”
“Pleasing me? It’s harder than the Great Wall, my friend!”
“Yes, Ting has learned well under my tutelage, has she not?”
Ting’s wet tongue danced around the head of Lu’s penis, kissing, licking, teasing its head, her warm breath further inflaming his lust, while her fingers stroked the length of his cockshaft, coaxing it to ever-greater length and hardness.
As the beautiful fellatrix continued her depraved task, the general turned his attention to Erika Weiss whose stomach was in knots from watching the repulsive sexual display.
“I hope you, too, are a good learner, fraulein. If you are not, it will be all the worse for you,” the general snarled. “Obedience, fraulein. Obedience and submission. Those are the two iron laws of Zhoushan Island. Here disobedience is punished by discipline of the sort you witnessed a few moments ago.”
Then the warlord turned back toward his lovely concubine. “Now suck, it Ting. Suck it long and suck it hard. For that is the purpose of your life. To please men. Take it deep down your throat! Deeper, deeper! You can do better than that!”
The tearful, gagging young beauty redoubled her efforts, accepting more and more of Lu Chow’s fat man-weapon into her mouth. Breathing heavily, the corpulent commissioner grabbed two handfuls of Ting’s silky black hair and drove his cock forward vigorously until his hairy balls were slamming into Ting’s lower lip and dimpled chin. A few seconds later Lu Chow emitted a groan of pleasure from deep within his loins and sent the issue of his lust spurting into Ting’s mouth and face, inadvertently dripping some of the dregs of his copious seed onto his purple garment.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! So good. That was so fucking good. Thank you, your excellency!” he went on, bowing abjectly to the general, before noticing that he had soiled his robe.
“ I must … I must change my robe,” he muttered as he retreated from Ting’s elegant boudoir.
“Ting!”
“Yes, my lord?” Ting mumbled as she wiped at her semen-streaked face and hair.
“Is your mother in her chambers?”
“Yes, father. She is awaiting you.”
Father! Erika’s jaw dropped at this revelation. Her head was spinning as she tried to make sense of the unspeakable horror she had just witnessed. If the wicked general could be so unspeakably cruel to his own daughter, what kind of horrors awaited her? Swiftly the general and Lieutenant Meng escorted her across Ting’s boudoir toward the door which led to the chambers of Ting’s mother.
When the general threw open the door, Erika’s eyes fell on the sole occupant of the room, a beautiful Chinese woman in her mid-thirties with lustrous black hair and hauntingly beautiful eyes. Her only garment was a a brief chemise of white gossamer silk, which reached only to the tops of her bare thighs and against which the turgid nipples of her ripe breasts poked audaciously. She knelt submissively on the carpet, with the handle of an evil-looking whip in her mouth.
Seeing virtually the same scenario for the second time in half an hour, Erika was reminded of a chance comment her lover, Daniel Kauffmann, had once made about a recently discovered psychological phenomenon called ‘déjà vu’ – the reliving of an experience for the second time. It was eerie, no it was more than eerie, to see Ting’s mother submitting to the evil general in precisely the same ritual.
“Welcome home, your excellency,” Ting’s mother whispered fearfully as she proffered the whip to the general’s extended hand..
{Author’s note: Some of the events in this chapter were inspired in part by a wonderful episode (if you share my particular tastes in erotic literature) in one of the most exciting BDSM novels I have ever read. I believe it was published in the 1990’s under more than one title, but the version that I read was titled, “Girl Tamers.” “Girl Tamers” was written by ‘Pamela’, who has posted a number of stories on this website, although not that particular favorite of mine. I borrowed some of the key elements in the chapter ( a deliciously sadistic Chinese-American father who requires absolute obedience from his beautiful daughter, the flogging, the sunburn, the mother’s end of chapter appearance) but I hope I did so in such a way that ‘Pamela’ herself might not have recognized my ‘theft’ until the very end of the chapter. After all, her story was set in contemporary America, and mine is set in late 19th century China.
In any event, I hope ‘Pamela’ will forgive my respectful literary borrowing . I encourage you to check out her stories, many of which are very fine indeed.
If you enjoyed this chapter, much of the credit belongs to her. If you didn’t enjoy the chapter, it’s my fault, not hers.
Boccaccio
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