Lessons In Discipline and Servitude

Three-1

Three

It is my turn to explore. With hands restrained I must walk carefully. Falling in the sandy soil will not be injurious, but righting myself will take effort. So my bare feet slowly begin a journey to learn my way about. As with Pattie, there is no clothing for me either. My only covering is the strip of well crafted steel around my waist and another running from the waist belt over my pubes to hold in place the p***s tube, which serves to enforce my chastity.

The copilot unloaded a few bags for Bai. But I suspect with the tropical heat her attire will also be limited.

Within a few yards I come across a small abandoned concrete frame, apparently left standing after the Navy fliers departed with the end of the war. Bai’s bags rest nearby and it appears that the rudimentary structure will serve as our new home.

My leg moves to extend my foot, the toes push open one of the bags. I am dismayed to see an entangled mass of ropes, chains, eye bolts and other hardware. I shudder realizing that the woman who possesses such paraphernalia does not intend to use it for anything other than restraint and torment – my restraint and my torment.

I step under the rusted metal roof and find that Favio and the copilot dropped off folding cots... two. There is however a bedroll and I suspect such is for me.

“Yes, you will sleep on the floor.”

The slightly accented voice is that of Bai. We have not spoken much as Bai chooses to remain mostly silent.

‘She communicates using her whip,’ Mrs. Winthrop explained with her increasingly irritating laugh when first introduced moments before the flight.

I turn to see that Bai has changed her attire. The brief halter, short pleated skirt and leather boots (to which I applied my tongue for much of the long flight) have been stowed and the trim athletic form is attired in a bikini. I must admire the feminine sculpting, an impressive combination of curves with firm muscling beneath. The abdominal muscles ripple, the flat surface serving to accentuate perfectly formed breasts, large for a girl of some 110 pounds. The hair is black, as with most Asians. The almond eyes are vibrant but not in a cheerful or welcoming way, more as those of a predator seeking prey.

“You will be restrained every night. Mrs. Winthrop insists. I am not so sure you will enjoy your daylight hours either, Thomas. I have rope, much experience and implacable resolve. I will break you. In China it only required days before a man groveled at my feet. Mrs. Winthrop wants the process to take longer, so we will go very slowly.”

The shudder comes again as the voice calmly and cooly describes my new life. Bai laughs at my reaction.

“You see when I worked for the government the goal was to obtain information, perhaps a confession. So easily done. With that obtained we then worked to change the behavior...so many hardened radicals…so many dedicated protesters – all turned to the most docile and obedient of boys.”

As she speaks, Bai strolls to the bedroll and unfurls the sizable expanse of cloth covered foam. She pulls it between two posts which support the metal ceiling.

“You will find this to be comfortable. But comfort will be something you will earn, not something to which you are entitled.”

She moves to one of the bags and extracts a leather crop. She points to the middle of the makeshift mattress.

“Sit. Legs straight to the front. Feet parted.”

With that, a small, quick hand extends, an arm swings and with the sound of a splat a crisp stroke is applied to my left buttock.

I cry out in pain. Then I sit.

“Good boy. You will appreciate that Mrs. Winthrop established rules for your discipline. In prison when we wanted to break a man it would begin with something quite simple, particularly for those who considered themselves intellectuals, those with lofty thoughts, deeds and ideals, those who had the farthest to fall.”

Bai goes to the bag with the rope and assorted hardware. She flips it over to empty the collection onto the concrete floor. She rummages through to select various bolts and hooks.

“I made them eat excrement, Thomas. For those with the highest education, the most self esteem, such can be quite degrading. All resisted, but in the end all not only ate but feasted for me.”

Bai moves to the post to my right and begins screwing hooks and eye bolts into the wood.

“Yes, in time, with the proper inducement all ate ravenously. Within days, when I offered the cane versus a steaming bowl of waste... they chose the bowl. Afterwards I caned them anyway.”

She chuckles in reminiscing while small hands, surprisingly strong, begin to set the hardware deep into the hard wooden posts.

“You’re well educated, Thomas. What would it require for you to eat for me?”

The notion is revolting, as I am sure Bai intends. I remain silent. Bai laughs with my reticence.

“Yes, it both shocks and disgusts doesn’t it? But when the self esteem dissolves, so much falls in line. Then the continued bastinado brings physical capitulation. Yes, I cane the feet every day, serenaded by screams and pleas. Within a few weeks the tissue in the soles breaks down leaving my toy in great agony when attempting to walk. So most had to crawl for me.”

Bai moves to the opposite post and begins installing hooks and bolts.

“The sense of empowerment can be most seductive, Thomas, having virile men crawling about begging to avoid the correcting stroke of my hand. I was paid but would have labored for nothing. And now I find myself with this assignment and your Mrs. Winthrop being most generous, so you can only imagine the level of joy I am going to have in breaking you. So much time…so much opportunity…”

I can feel goose bumps of fear as Bai pauses in her soliloquy to arrange the pile of rope. She neatly sorts through taking her time to separate then coil the various lengths. When finished she then selects a ten foot length, folding it to form a five foot double rope which she then wraps about my right ankle.

“Pattie said you would assure my comfort,” I humbly protest.

“In time, you will feel quite comfortable ceding to my control. It happens when the will is broken.”

Bai ties the rope to the base of the post on my right. Another ten foot length is doubled, wrapped about my left ankle and then tied to the left post. Next it is my neck collar. One length is strung from my collar to the right post and tied to a hook, another to the left post and when finished I sit upright, legs straight but well parted, my wrists remaining secured to my waist belt. I cannot move.

“You see, I like a man to be somewhat comfortable in long term bondage,” Bai lectures as she moves to the right rope.

She loosens, pulls to increase the split and then reties. With my ligaments stretched to contortion, I gasp with the pain. She then works to tighten the ropes securing my neck collar ensuring that I cannot move the slightest from the upright sitting position.

“But not too comfortable.”

Bai steps to my front. A feminine hand reaches down to graciously smooth over my forehead then down the left side of my face where she pinches my cheek.

“In time you will welcome my torment. Since you’re to be denied pleasure... kept in strict chastity... you will find that pain will become a curious substitute for experiencing sensation. The nervous system, the cerebral cortex, craves stimulation, Thomas. That will not be totally denied. And you will also find affinity for the pleasure of others.”

Bai sits as my leg muscles involuntarily struggle to lessen the tension. It is futile. The young woman is surprisingly talented in quickly and effectively binding the human form.

Meanwhile I must gaze at impressive femininity seemingly chiseled from stone, perfectly formed and with limited covering. And just as when I was earlier dangling in the Martin Rigid Stock, I feel a twinge beneath the steel strip covering my pubes. My p***s, entrapped in a tube seeks to display itself to this woman of pain and suffering. And most embarrassingly, I think Bai knows it.

“Curious thing about torture, Thomas. Just as I find applying such can have a narcotic effect, it seems it can be equally addictive to those having to endure it.”

Bai reaches out to tickle my right foot, a single finger grazing the heel and slowly rising to the toes. In response, my leg lurches against the tight rope. The touch is appalling, for I know my torturess is not intentionally furnishing joy; she is instead testing my sensitivity. As she slides on the bedroll to test the left foot she speaks, calmly yet authoritatively.

“Yes, Thomas you’d be surprised at the number of former ‘guests’ at Chishan Prison who, after having been broken and punished, later sought me out. Reformed, yes. Obedient to authority, yes. But also in need of continuing discipline and correction, or so they would beseech.”

My left foot is similarly tickled with that leg also spasmodically lurching against its bond.

Satisfied that I cannot move my feet, Bai smiles with my confined response. It is a wicked smile. She then arises to step out of the concrete hovel, nothing more than four walls, large openings serving as glassless windows and a metal roof. She returns with blocks of wood, the weathering suggesting that the departing Navy abandoned the items many years ago.

“Just a little more tension... and little more pain for you.”

Slim but powerful arms lift one foot then the other to prop each of my ankles up onto a block of wood. In so doing she works against the taut rope, forcing it tighter and bringing a gasp of pain from me.

“Yes, so many would seek me out and find me to cower at my apartment door. No longer a prisoner of the state, but a prisoner of their own mind.”

Bai moves to a corner where an old stool sits covered in soot. She brushes away the years of accumulation then returns to place the stool to my right.

“Shall we begin with the right, Thomas? You’ll find over time that both feet will provide you with equal torment.”

Bai steps to one of her bags. From it she retracts a short length of bamboo. I am to learn that it can be the most excruciating instrument known.

A smiling Bai sits on the stool. I find the view of her sculpted legs to be diverting, but not for long. She applies the most modest of flicks to the toes of my right foot. I scream with the resulting agony. Bai laughs.

“An interesting way to announce your arrival to the natives, Thomas. Feel free to scream and scream. Those who will hear have no interest in offering relief. I certainly don’t.”

Another flick brings searing pain to the instep. I again howl.

“We’re trained in China using bean curd. These gentle taps must not break the skin, for if I do that I would not be able to torture you time and again while the skin heals. So we administer many moderate taps, never hard enough to squash gelatinous bean curd and therefore never hard enough to break the skin.”

Another flick. Another howl.

“Curious how many different forms of suffering can be brought to the same appendage, is it not Thomas? The toes, the heel, the instep, the balls of the feet, each provides a distinctive signal of pain, all agonizing but different.”

As a demonstration, the next flick is applied to the heel and a rasping voice responds as Bai so desires.

“Yes, over the years I have learned to accept the cries for mercy as an offering of song. And you sing so nicely for me, Thomas.”

The flicks are timed with great deliberation, Bai explaining that there is no rush. And sadly, I find myself having to agree. Mrs. Winthrop will not return for a year. And even then there are no guaranties that the torment will cease and I will be forever freed of my Neosteel belt.

“So, you can imagine my initial surprise when a young member of Falun Gong, actually a former member of the major Chinese protest group, humbly knocks on my apartment door. I immediately recognized him, having broken him in a matter of weeks. He had confessed to everything I wanted, and within months the authorities were convinced that he was properly reformed and released him as an example to those who would resist the government.”

Bai methodically flicks as she speaks, ignoring my beseeching cries and letting each simple application rattle my cerebral cortex, that deemed in need of ‘stimulation’, before flicking again. Most ironically, the application of the rattan requires just a modest and quick twist of her wrist. Yes, it is indeed ironic that she will never exhaust herself in offering such excruciating torment.

“I recognized the face... and the shuffling of the feet... having for many hours sat listening to his pleas while slowly applying bamboo... and recognizing the long term result of my efforts.”

Bai pauses to arise and move the stool, my left foot having been deemed in need of attention. She arranges such that my view of her is unimpeded as the short length of rattan is applied there. I am to learn that watching the torturess is important to the process.

“So there I stand at my apartment door with this humbled reformed prisoner... he who I so easily broke weeks before. Such lowly souls do not frighten me, Thomas. Besides having much martial arts training, I know their psyches... shattered... the self esteem crushed... the pride extracted and flushed away like the excrement I force them to eat. When I torment – torture – I get to know a man as a mother knows her child.”

Bai flicks and the pain seems to reintensify with a foot not yet enduring any torment. She is masterful in somehow knowing the right foot had oddly begun to acclimate to the suffering and the left would be more receptive to her offering. The signal of pain renews my serenade with zeal, which brings a knowing smile to Bai.

“I just stood in wait as my toy struggled to find the fortitude to speak. I recalled how he learned to beg for the nasty bowl of waste, how energetically he came to lick my boots after I broke him... how he crawled about for me with his feet unable to withstand his weight after a lengthy session of bastinado. So I finally extended my right foot and he knelt to kiss the toe of my boot.

‘Come’, I commanded and he crawled into my apartment where I had him strip naked. And that began a most interesting diversion. Most would consider such a visit an annoyance... akin to bringing home work from the office. But the lad was in need of a caning and I made him earn it... licking my boots and then cleaning my entire apartment... crawling about naked of course. He particularly enjoyed cleaning my toilet... that was done with his tongue.”

Though I am in agony, the story diverts my attention and evidences the drive and dedication of the woman hired by my wife to assure that my stay on a beautiful secluded tropical island is anything but blissful.

Bai finishes her task, bringing symmetrical torment to my left foot. With my voice no longer able to offer suitable verbal protests and pleas, the air just rushes from my lungs, passing over vocal cords worn to soreness with inaudible attempts to elicit mercy.

It never came.

Bai moves about, stowing her bamboo then sliding the wooden blocks from under my ankles. When she dabs away the remnants of my many tears, I detect the familiar fragrance of feminine arousal. With a glance I note the small triangle of cloth covering her mons is darkened in wetness. My traumatic ordeal has brought arousal!

“I am going to the village. I need a woman,” Bai bluntly informs. “Perhaps Pattie will return to free you. Otherwise it is best that your feet rest... so I can torture again...”

With that, a smiling Bai steps from the shelter leaving me well bound, sitting upright with wrists secured to my waist belt. I cannot move an inch and I feel my ligaments cramp in tightening and my muscles slowly begin to ache. The suffering now changes from quick and sharp to slow and dull.

As the torment of the cords relentlessly continues, I let my mind wander in reminiscing, trying to distract from the building pain.