Slaves of Xi Ling

All the time that he suffered, Xi Ling enjoyed the pain, savoured the agony and gasped in gratification at the suffering. Finally there was some signal and the character of the interview changed. Now it was his pleasure that concerned the torturer. She inflicted overwhelming joy in the same cold way that she had just inflicted agony.

Adam was nothing more than a cipher for her skill. Her hands grasped and manipulated him. They probed every part of him. His body, his skin, every opening and even his psyche. He was raped by her fingers as they pushed into his flesh and found tender places where no light had ever fallen.

Objects were pushed into him and then manipulated. His engorged prick was teased and pulled. Lips, hands, fingers and cunt. He saw himself swallowed by ass and lips, cunt and palm.

All conspired to bring him to heights of exaltation that he had never known. The recent pain contrasting with the absolute pleasure in a nightmare rapture of pure heaven.

All the while Xi Ling watched, enjoyed and took her pleasure from the torment, but she never took part, never touched, just observed and commented. Xi Ling directed and cajoled, coaxed and directed. She was the producer of a passion play, intimate and enfolding. She led her victim and her female alter ego through the experience from agony to the heights of the clouds and rain.

And Adam? Well, he was passive. He was the test bed on which experimentation took place. As the two women refined and honed their skills Adam's very picture of the world around him changed. No longer concerned with the daily grind of every day life. He became obsessed with every motion. The ritual of the bath and the entrance of the two women who filled his world with sensation.

His days in Shanghai were distant. How far then was his former life in the occidental world?

He felt that he was in love.

Not the tender love between two lovers in their first affair. Not the romantic love of Tristram for Isolde. No this was deeper, more moving than ordinary love. It was the appreciation of assiduousness that a slave gives his mistress. The enfolding love of a mother who cares for your soul and guards you from harm. All the while she punishes you for sins real and imagined and you fall into her soul like a salmon falls back into its river.

What they needed he supplied. What they demanded of him he gave freely and what they sucked from his soul they lapped up and savoured.

Part The Twelfth.

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The Palaquin.

Week after week. Adam had become nothing more than a responsive marionette to his tormentress'. Not a thought of escape crossed his mind, filled as it was with love, servitude and ritual. But the world moves on and Adam's training was finally at an end. He had become a willing slave as love, servitude and gratification were inextricably mingled to a depth that touched his soul.

At last Xi Ling tired of the training. She knew that Adam was broken to her rod and now was the time to pass the completed project to another who was infinitely more brutal in her way of extracting gratification.

So it was that a palanquin arrived and Adam was transferred to another's care. Carried between two mules and escorted by two cavalrymen, the lacquered palanquin made its way even further into the west.

Inside Adam cried. He sobbed tears of parting from that life. Xi Ling and her servant were departed from his life and were no more.

Strangely he had never known the name of the woman who had tortured him and then given such pleasure. At the time it had seemed so right. Anonymous pain and joy administered by the nameless servant of a mistress who revelled in training her western slave.

It took days of travel at the slow pace of the two mules that supported the palanquin. Up slope and down into the valleys, the savage beauty of the cliffs and scree softened by the pines and the tumbling of stream and brook.

In that extended time of travel. As thoughts settled and took form in new moulds. Adam realised that he was now the slave of any woman who held his key.

What was this key that would open his locks?

Simple, the knowledge that he, Adam, would serve if the pain was sharp enough and the reward of ecstasy was elevated enough. Any woman who knew his weakness would be his mistress.

Part The Thirteenth.

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The Pain. Her Pleasure.

Xi Ling understood how all the keys to his locks worked. She gave Adam to a woman to whom pain was second nature. Agony and death was the thing that teased this woman's fancy and enhanced her nights of ennui. Slow and sudden agony was her only delight.

*****

The house was low and stood, squatted in stands of bamboo that fenced in the gardens like a wall. Adam was helped out of the palanquin by one of his guards. He looked around at the house before he was led to his second imprisonment.

Alan found himself in a small cell. The whole of the floor was covered by a thick cotton mattress that was marked with stains that signified that he was not the first to inhabit the cell.

A chain was welded onto his neck ring and he was left to await his fate.

Xia Lao was older by far than Xi Ling. She was a woman who had been brought up in the Manchu court and claimed that the Emperor had chosen her for two whole nights fifty years before.

But concubine for two nights is not concubine for a year nor is it the title of 'little wife' that goes with those chosen for lengthy favour in the Emperor's wide bed.

That was so many long years ago. Now the Manchu Emperors were gone, all gone like a sigh in the night.

Xia Lao had found a courtier and come to this precipitous edge of the civilised world to pass her life in provincial boredom and tedium. Now her only distraction was the men who suffered at her hands and the delicious punishment of the house slaves when they transgressed.

The missive from Xi Ling, reporting that Xia Lao was to have a new slave to work on, brought so much joy. She smiled for days and imagined all the things that her new slave would be able to do for her.

'I hope that he is full and proud in his yang,' she thought, 'and I so need to feel his lips on my little slit.'

At first she always considered the pleasure of the sex. How he would fill her and then serve her with his body. Bring her to heights untrodden.

But it was never long before she considered how she would enjoy destroying him. That was her vengeance on the Emperor for not choosing her. That was the retribution that she showered on all men for scorning her. That was the revenge on her father for not binding her feet. That was her retaliation on the world for her ennui.

Rubbing her hands with anticipation she looked into the cubicle where the gwailo was now chained. Naked and white he sat squatting on the mattress floor and regarded her with his strange green eyes.

Xia Lao decided that he was a fine specimen, ideal for her use. He might even last a week or two before expiring! 'No,' she decided, she would make him last longer, perhaps a month.

So it was that Adam did not get the caning of seven rods that normally greeted one of Xia Lao's new slave lovers. He was, instead, fitted in a new robe and led to her chambers to be chained and await her pleasure.

Adam saw a woman of sixty years enter the room and recognised her as the woman who had come to observe him in his cell. He smiled at her and wondered when his new owner would appear.

Then came the servants. They laid a tray of small delicacies before the woman and bowed to her, all the way out of the chamber. Suddenly Adam realised that this was to be his new mistress.

Perhaps forty years before she had been the flower in the Emperor's bed but now she had withered and drooped in the vase.

Xia Lao picked at the food like a bird, all the while glancing at her victim. She appreciated his body with the eyes of a torturer, noting the scars of the cane and whip that traced his torso and thighs. This was a body that would last long, inherent strength and resistance would be the spice that would make his suffering so piquant.

Finally she was finished and ready to begin. She picked up the small bell and called her servant to prepare the main course that would last all night.

In answer to the bell a woman appeared who would have graced the line up of a row of the Emperor's guard. Muscles on her arms like corded wood she was as strong as an ox.

Adam felt an erection come to his prick, an involuntary reaction that betrayed his understanding of her needs. His wrists were strapped to a belt that encompassed his waist and his ankles were fettered with leather bands. Finally a lacquered mask was tied to his head by a complex of thongs making him a demon without a face.

As he was prepared by the silent servant he felt anticipation and fear. This was not like his time with Xi Ling. She had been impersonal but appealing to his senses. Xia Lao was somehow different. Hateful and perverse, a woman whose aim was to suck every last drop of gratification as he died at her bound feet.

His last view of the room as the mask enclosed him was Xia Lao opening a lacquered chest and laying the instruments of her pleasure in the order that they were to be used. Knives, rods and instruments of agony laid in neat little rows as if the ordering sanctified their use.

No eyeholes pieced the mask, he was blind! Every move in the theatrical production that now unfolded would be a shock, a revelation that would traumatize him. His breath sang sharply through the wide open lips that caricatured his own lips and mouth.

He heard the swish of a cane in the air. That sound made his cock perk and jerk as the anticipation became intense and the first blow fell across his belly. The blows were not hard but they stung with evil stripes of agony as the metal embedded in the cane tore at him with its kiss of pain.

Every blow was a shock, it made him cry out in fear and agony inside the close clinging mask. Tears rolled down his cheeks, hot in the confinement of his world that had been reduced to the ambit of his skin and the darkness that had been forced on him.

Adam tried to stand but it was too much to stand. He fell to his knees, babbling his cries for her to stop this terrible pain.

The blows stopped, to be replaced by the feel of her hands on the wounds that the lash had imprinted into his flesh. They ran over every cut and lesion, testing the hurt and savouring the harm. He could hear her rasping breath as she enjoyed the work that she had done. The warm blood being spread by her fingers and painted into a pattern of annihilation. This marking of Adam laid out the pattern for her next actions. It was a diagram of the evil that she would inflict on him.

The next minutes were long. All that he could sense was that the rasping of her breath had been replaced by moans of pleasure.

Those hands which had now marked his body in blood were reaming their mistress' aging body. Seeking out that climax that she deserved after all the exertion that she had been put to in creating her art.

Finally she orgasmed. The thoughts of her fevered brain imagined the results of her night's work. They were tableaux of dismemberment and anguish.

Could she resist bringing his apotheosis this night?

No.

It was too tempting to start and finish in just one moonless night of terror.

With shaking hands she bid her slave stand and then pushed him onto the bed where he would tonight, or some night in the near future, expire for her gratification.

His prone figure lay awaiting her pleasure. The mask hid his hateful foreign features and she imagined that the Emperor lay at her mercy. Now she would take her due from him, he would have a last burst of pleasure and then Xia Loa would send him to the next kingdom.

She could not make him last, her intense inner demon drove her to finish him tonight and extract the last ounce of soluble agony from him in one glorious orgasmic climax of suffering.

Adam felt her move over his mask. Flesh, slippery and swollen with lust was presented for the attention of his lips and tongue. He was helpless under her, he could but serve, even if it was to die at her hands.

As he brought her to a new height of gratification he felt her hands grasp his prick and begin his last moments of pleasure.

Nails bit his tight flesh leaving their tracks as she pumped him to an immediate climax. The pain brought him to that edge, the hands pushed him over the cliff.

With her hands she spread his juices over his body and then licked the blood and semen from her fingers like a child licking the cake mix in the kitchen.

Now would begin the end. He felt her dismount and search amongst the tools of her pleasure for the item that would begin his trip to hell.

A pressure. Adam felt that she was pushing a cold form into him. His ass opened as it had been trained to do with Xi Ling and admitted the metal shape easily.

All the while Xia Lao muttered to herself and sang in soft tones. This was one of her favourite tools. The one that most destroyed a man without touching his precious prick or tender balls.

A sound of shouting from outside the house penetrated the bamboo walls but Xia Lao was totally engrossed in her work. The moment of truth had arrived and she started to slowly turn a small wheel on the mechanism.

Adam started in fear and shock as the bud that she had placed in him started, slowly, to open into a flower. It forced him open with a smooth force that was irresistible. The clenching of his muscles cramped Adam but the turn of the worm wheel was overwhelming, an order of force above and beyond his powers of resistance.

As she worked, Xia Lao could feel that familiar feeling in her cunt. It was gathering, that exultation of pain. Soon he would start to split and arch in agony and at that moment she would climax as if a thousand tongues worked on her with all the skill of a courtesan.

The sounds of shouting grew louder, distracting her at last from that final turn of the wheel that would create a pain so intense that the helpless, faceless victim would surrender his humanity.

She turned to face the door as someone entered. He heard her enquiry. He heard the sound of that evil woman being spitted hard on a spear.

Her killer not wishing to waste a shot on such poor game.

Adam heard more shouts, a noise of shots and then he came to rest on a part of the penetrating metal that stood proud of his forced ass. That sudden movement pushed the device further in and he fainted as the pain took him beyond his limits, great as they were.

Part The Fourteenth.

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The 32nd Sikh Pioneers.

So what else is there to say? Precious little! But I will relate Adam's escape in brief as you may well be curious as to how he left the hateful middle land that is known as China. Rest assured that his travails were over since by good fortune he had become mixed in the war that was spreading over even the most remote parts of that huge land.

After the raiders of Commander of the White Rose Zhang Xiliang had taken what they wanted, women gold and silver taels, they left behind that which was of no value. Amongst those things was the bound body of Adam. They left him for dead with a steel collar for his neck and bonds of leather.

When he awoke it was daylight. The mask was gone, cut off by one of the raiders leaving a scar which trailed from jaw to cheek. That the house had not burned was a mercy, that he still lived was the supreme fortune of his life.

A dull pain in his rear told him that the pear of agony was still embedded in him and the body of Xia Lao told him the story of his luck. Staggering, he found her knives. Knives of dull steel, sharpened as razors or saws that had been intended for his flesh but now served to free him of their fear.

Cutting the leather and loosening the pear he became a free man for the first time in months. But Adam was bereft of all that he needed to escape. Money, clothes and the simple use of the Chinese language.

How could he know that he was on the very borders of the British Empire? That between them, Xi Ling and Xia Lao had transported him across the country to be on the strip of indeterminate ownership that lay between Assam and western China.

So as he staggered in a discarded peasant costume and wondered even which direction he should be walking he heard the clout of hooves on paving and the shouts of officers as a small troop of lancers drew up.

Adam looked from his hiding place as the troopers in their blue and yellow uniforms, resplendent with turban, lance and carbine milled around inspecting the damage that the raiders had left. Clearly these smart soldiers were not the ragtag Chinese troops and raiders and their skin was dark marking them as from the sub-continent.

Their uniforms marked them as British.

Slowly he climbed into view to be quickly surrounded by the cavalry troopers. One of them, clearly the commander, approached him with a quizzical look.

"Thank God!"

It was all he could think of to say to these stern men, his saviours.

"Lance Naik of the 17th Lancers, on attachment to the 25th Indian and Madras Pioneers. At your service!" his accent was clipped and Oxford, "May I ask, what the devil an Englishman dressed as a coolie is doing here in Angasti?"

The End

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Authors Note:

So a romp in China is at an end!

I just wanted to comment that this story was composed in the gap between writing the end of a novel with quite a different style ('Ascendancy') and then the editing process of that novel. It sort of added light relief to the more systematic work that I was forced to do... I was given this idea about Sax Romer and Fu Manchu by a certain Mr S.C. but, I am sure that this is not how he expected it to turn out.

If you are interested in reading more by me than I am indeed honoured by your attentions. Various bits and pieces that I have written over the last couple of years can be found in diverse niches and corners of the Internet. In general a good starting place is

http://femdomcave.com/authors/author-bio/irene-clearmont/

This is because though I do not maintain a website of my own I am allowed to remain, incubus like, on Femdomcave where short stories and novels reside with the various works of other writers.

Other places of interest are:

www.SMTales.com www.BDSMLibrary.com www.Understories.com

...and so on. My advice is to look for my PDF versions. So much more sophisticated than mere text and with covers and front pages that will not embarrass you if you read your Ebook in public!

*****

It may come about that you wish to come into contact with Miss Irene Clearmont. This may be to comment on what you have just read or it maybe just to say 'Hello'.

If this is the case then the following method has had the best results: contact me via the CONTACT tab on my author profile.

I manage to answer most E Mails with a reasonable promptitude but I simply delete E Mails that are either rude or overtly personal.

Irene