Slaves Of Xi Ling

He knew in his heart of hearts that no matter how strong he was he would be the slave of the woman who knew his secret need to be punished as he was gratified.

Now came a phase in his life which passed like a dream on a summer evening. They moved him to a bright room in the tower with screens on the windows and a low bed on the floor. From the window he saw the days pass and the people below lived their ordinary lives.

But at night Xi Ling came with her servant of pain and tormented him, twisted his psyche and made him suffer pain and pleasure.

As the light of the day faded into that orange and peach of sunset a servant would arrive with pitchers of clean cold water. Without a word the gwailo would be sluiced down and cleansed. No soap, but a flour like sand would be rubbed against his skin to wear away the accumulation of sweat and grime from the night before.

Then he would be rubbed with salve. It softened the skin and quickened the healing of the previous days punishments.

All of this preparation was but the build up, the crescendo of activity that would prepare Adam for the ordeal of the night. Because night was the time that he would suffer the ministrations of Xi Ling and her devilish accomplice in crime.

Finally he was alone to think about the coming hours. His heart beating so fast that there was a rushing sound in his ears and his whole body was quivering in time with the beat of his heart.

Finally, naked, brushed, cleansed and taut with the tension of the interval, Adam heard the arrival of these two devils clothed in the flesh of woman.

First there would be an interminable tumble of keys in locks and low voices. Then the door would swing wide to admit Xi Ling and her friend.

Like lovers they entered the cell. Hand in hand they slipped in, hips swinging, bumping. Tight silk and low sandals. Each day Xi Ling would bring in some item and ceremoniously hand it to her companion with a little bow and a few words in Chinese.

Every day it would be accepted with a light kiss that brushed lips and cheek.

Then Xi Ling would seat herself on the bench that ran under the window. Her lips parted and hands working to free her from her robe.

She sat without shame, with her legs apart allowing her captive to appreciate her delicate sex. Parted ivory flesh with a vertical peach slit. Folds and clefts of delicate membrane that lured the eyes to a hint of darkness deep within.

Then the ritual would begin. As Xi Ling serviced her hungry cunt with hands or the ivory prick that she always brought, her companion would excite her with a delicate theatre show of agony and ascendant pleasure as she made Adam suffer.

Xi Ling filled the chamber with her little cries of exaltation while new hurts sprang like corn from the field of Adams flesh.

Sometimes it was a cane or steel whip. Fiery lines etched over his back like ley lines to his soul. Sometimes he bled, often it was just dark bruises that kissed his flesh. Sometimes it was ivory or steel that nipped and pinched the flesh. Pins and rods, mechanisms, apparatus’ of pain. Used subtly and delicately by sensitive hands that knew instinctively the placement of every nerve in his wracked body.

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.

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. : 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.