Chapter Twenty Two - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Twenty Two

The uniformed woman sits at a wooden table and counts out small pieces of paper as Midori stands nearby, her left hand tightly holding the leash. Her fingers grip near the ‘Y’, some two to three inches from 322's protruding tongue. This forces his head down, bending at the waist and mandating complete immobility as Midori’s free right playfully strokes his cheek, petting her beast, a token of appreciation for a long day’s labor.

322 strains to take in his surroundings. The airstrip is nothing more that a smoother, straighter and wider length of desert soil, otherwise appearing much like the rudimentary roads he has navigated. The ore was unloaded by women of power and strength, once again their ethnicity suggesting migratory workers, as at the mine. During the wait, unseen behind him, a gruff hand occasionally palpated his well exposed and entrapped scrotum, eliciting some crass laughter as the rough fingers caused him to lurch in his bonds.

“Nicely stretched,” came one comment, with a smiling Midori nodding agreement.

Within minutes the heavy rock was placed into rolling bins, the fruit of 322's labor to be flown out with the next flight.

His attention returning to the table, the care in counting is noted and it becomes apparent that the small stack of crudely printed notes are script, the currency of the realm.

“600 pounds, Midori. He cannot earn enough for his swill with a load so small.”

“He’s new. I will be working him harder as his muscling improves.”

“And he needs to be marked,” the woman of authority more than suggests.

The script is offered, Midori graciously accepts and as she fans the stack to quickly assure a good count, the hand of the uniformed woman lowers, turns palm upwards and cups her mons. The blatant grope surprises 322 and he watches as the woman gently kneads and massages.

“The Emperor is scheduled to be milked on Sunday, Midori. You’ll be at the palace to watch?”

Midori smiles, offering no resistance to the brazen touch, instead seeming most appreciative, even slyly parting her feet.

“I rarely miss a milking. Mother took me to so many.”

“The Emperor will be milked for you someday. You’re quite nubile.”

Midori demurely smiles, tucking the stack of notes into a shirt pocket.

The massaging hand retreats. But with the forced proximity of 322's face, Midori’s scent wafts and the woman’s fingers glisten. Then the woman smiles wickedly, presses forth her hand and brushes her wet fingers against 322's forcibly extended tongue. He recognizes the taste... both sweet and salty... and inadvertently utters a squeal of appreciation, desiring more of the tempting essence.

“Needs more exercise... but not more desire. He’s a lusty one and eager to serve.”

“And I have not yet had him injected.” Midori notes.

“Come my beast. We need food and water.”

322 grunts as the lack of slack means the slightest motion of Midori’s hand translates to instant stress on the brank and thus instant pain. She turns and steps from the table, setting direction then mercifully slipping her hand to a more conventional position on the leash. Slack gratefully returns as 322 notes in the distance some buildings, similar to the mud and brick of Midori’s hut, only larger.

“I’ll want you to be nice and erect while in the village, 322. Make me proud.”

A hand reaches and diddles right nipple then left. Just as with the mine worker, the sensation, though brief, brings a brisance of pleasure and 322 feels his penis react as desired as he steps to follow. Absent the many pounds of ore, the cart is comparatively light and 322... though naked, worked as a beast, well restrained and under total control... oddly revels in having completed his toil.

Below the hem of Midori‘s sole garment, 322 once again views the enticing globes as each step seems to beckon. And it is enough stimulus to maintain reasonable stiffness, his ringed penis seeming to bob in cadence with the roll of Midori’s buttocks.

Nearing the buildings, 322 is surprised to see the activity. A broad thoroughfare serves as a market, crude wooden tables form lines right and left. Women perambulate, some leading naked, well tethered human ox, branked and banded as is 322. Coming into better view are the markings on the buttocks. All are numbered, left cheek and right, three digits each. 322 thinks of the license plates mandated to be displayed on automobiles.

Midori notes 322's inquisitive look, staring at a particularly large set of buttocks, the numbering not to evade notice, the digits of keloided flesh large, prominent and red.

“The red attracts, does is not my beast? I can also do black or blue. Green is possible but quite homely. It’s a simple matter of applying powder to the open wound and letting the flesh heal over the coloring.”

As Midori speaks, she selects some vegetables and tosses such into the cart, offering to an aging female vendor some notes from her pocket.

Another table offers fruit, further along some slaughtered game bird. Then Midori directs to a table filled with the canisters which offered sustenance the previous night, the putrefied garbage... fortified... to be consumed by Chessu’s many beasts.

“I cannot afford too many, my beast. You will have to work harder and transport more ore.”

Two canisters are tossed in the cart. More script is offered and Midori proceeds to a table loaded with urns.

“Water... the most valuable commodity in Chessu... other than the Rhodium ore.”

Two urns are placed into the cart, Midori parts with much script. She then holds up the remaining currency. The packet is considerably slimmer.

“Little in reserve, my beast. Should you twist an ankle, become injured, you’ll not eat.”

322 feels a hand to his rear. It gently pats his balls, pausing to slightly squeeze and judge the symbols of trapped virility. There follows motion to his side. With Midori’s firm grip, 322 cannot turn his head to see as a hand grazes over his flesh in inspection.

“Good sized penis... and he stays nice and stiff for you.”

The source of the voice is female, young and she continues to move to the front to finally come into view.

“Congratulations, Midori. The Empress has been generous as always.”

Midori smiles, leans and kisses the girl... in a manner more than a gesture of mere greeting. She is young, very pretty, of Asian heritage, dark hair, dark eyes, wearing only the short silk blouse, freely flashing her pink charms and exposing her buttocks.

“You will soon have yours, Tamora. And the Empress is sure to be equally generous,” Midori offers as the girl’s fingers next move to toy with the nipples, grinning as 322's penis waggles in response to her sensuous touch.

“Join us for dinner, Tamora? Tonight I am going to begin his markings and I know you always find amusement in the screams.”

Tamora pauses in thought.

“Does he lick?”

“Oh Tamora, they all lick. It’s at what level of ardor you should be inquiring about. And yes, he is reasonably good... and will get better. Otherwise I will keep him stressed. You know the training... they kneel or hang until they break.”