Slaves Of Xi Ling

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 All that he could sense was that the rasping of her breath had been replaced by moans of pleasure.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.: 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?”

*** contact author of story at: MissIreneClearmont at Yahoo dot Com, Most E Mails get a my reply.