'Power, Having It' (Part One of Three)

Power, Having It

Copyright 2011

by Chris Bellows

Cleaning out Auntie’s somewhat aging and decrepit mansion, I find a hand written manuscript. It is hers... was hers... perhaps intended for publication. And it tells her story... that of Evelyn de Havillier.
                                                                                        Maria de Havillier

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When encountering a person of sizable wealth there is always an inclination to ask... how? The question suggesting that perhaps there is a lesson to be learned, that something or in some manner... experience... knowledge... acquaintances... relationships... there is an overlooked road to be taken that can lead to great fortune.

I doubt my story will show the way. But it does give rise to entertaining diversion.

Never to be considered a beauty queen, I was never considered unsightly either. Raised in a military family we moved around the world... base to base... never seeming to be settled before packing again. Military discipline instilled, acquiring a degree of self sufficiency at a very young age, exposure to a myriad of young males, learning both their strengths and weaknesses, by the time I turned 21 years of age, my father serving as military attache in the U.S. embassy in Bangkok, I was a woman of the world.

Something about observing men... boys really... being brought under command fostered a peculiar thrill. I recall watching a female drill instructor putting a platoon of men through rigorous exercise, calmly barking orders as they perspired profusely in the hot sun. With the hormonal flow of puberty I imagined bare chests... even nakedness as the authoritative woman put the men through endless paces... while she remained fully clothed and cooly confident.

Though my parents did their best to shelter me, of the male propensity to seek the company of and to adulate the female form, knowing of the weakness brought thoughts of empowerment... that I had something they wanted. Such very much served to mold a certain spirit.

Yes, I was most intrigued by male weakness, the need to be led... their desire to be fancied by women.

So, being of age, and Dad announcing another transfer, this final one back to the United States, I declined.

Yes, the male beast intrigued. I had for many years only watched... few dates with a stern high ranking father demanding to chaperon. So it became time to act... become involved. And where better to be involved with male/female relationships than the sexually open city of Bangkok.

Yes, I knew of male needs... the yearning for commanding leadership... the hormone driven strive for the female. I wanted to become immersed.

But I was not to take off my clothes and spread my legs. Too bright... too prideful... too much aware of the satisfaction of being in a leadership role. One is hardly in charge while lying naked under the salivating male beast.

I had once met a certain Madam Chang at one of the cocktail receptions at the embassy. A gracious woman of dignity and class, someone had slipped up in putting together the invitation list, for I later heard words of controversy as instructions came to permanently exclude her from future embassy events.

With Bangkok residents no where near as prudish as the Puritan American politicians, the madam of a highly successful brothel in Thailand is offered acclaim and social status. But not at the American embassy. When the source of Madam Chang’s wealth and relative ‘esteem’ became evident, she became persona non grata.

Still I had a pleasant conversation with the woman and after mother and father moved back to the states, I looked her up, knowing she had many connections and that the need for employment beckoned. Plus... she remembered me!

"You’re aware of the nature of my establishment?" asked after I disclosed the intent of my visit. She inquired over tea in her office, gracious indeed in extending an invitation after I petitioned for an audience.

Very classy, very upscale, her house of pleasure was not for the masses. The male guests, afforded brief glimpses upon entry, were well attired, older than one would suspect. I had imagined randy young males lined up with twenty dollar bills. Not the case.

I nod, heartened by the unexpected caliber and refinement of the enterprise.

"Just as much as employment, Madam, I’d like to learn... not only the business end... but to understand the demand for your... your services. What is it they seek?"

Madam Chang smiles warmly.

"Attention. Men are like puppies... always in need. But the diversity of such need can so greatly vary. No wife can offer it all."

I do not fully understand, but nod in agreement. Madam Chang seems to know I am somewhat bewildered by her vague response.

"Come."

She arises. I do likewise and follow as she strolls to a far wall. She twists a sconce and a segment of the wall pops out... a hidden door.

"Discretion, my girl. Your first lesson in this business. This observation corridor is for the protection of my lady associates... and is not to be disclosed to anyone."

I am enthused to be taken into her confidence and follow Madam Chang into an exceptionally narrow hallway. It is dark, no light fixtures, but with some illumination emanating through a window we approach some ten feet away.

"My lady associates are not of the character you would suspect. Youthful but not overly young. Pretty but not gorgeous. It is their mindset that attracts... allures the profligate male... it is their aura of authority."

We reach the window. It is in fact a one way mirror and Madam Chang becomes reticent, silently suggesting that I observe without distraction. I peer into a dimly lit room equipped with machinery and gadgets this young girl has not before seen. It is a dungeon, I am to later learn, and there is an Asian woman reigning, fully clothed, her attire attractive but surprisingly not sexily alluring. And of course there is the male... presumed profligate, kneeling and totally naked.

Madam Chang reaches to an electrical box on the wall and twists a knob. It is a speaker and I can both watch and listen.

‘So you’re back here again. Have you masturbated recently?’ the woman’s voice level but stern.

The man glumly nods.

‘When?’

‘Tuesday and Friday.’

‘Tsk, tsk. The sin of Onan. And thus you have returned.’

The man nods again.

‘So how should this be dealt with?’

‘I do not know, ma’am.’

‘Of course you don’t. That is why you need me. You cannot deal with it yourself. You need a woman to help. A superior woman.’

As the woman speaks she moves to a wall, draped with implements unknown to me. I feel a quiver of joy, my education advancing rapidly as a collection of leather straps is retrieved.

‘Let’s get you dressed and begin another lesson shall we.’

The woman tosses the garb to the floor. The man knows to unravel, the connections many, the buckles rattling. Meanwhile a black lump of rubber is also selected. It is lubricated then placed on the floor before the kneeling form.

‘You know where you need that the most,’ the tone of voice sardonic.

The man meekly picks up the gleaming lump, reaches behind and impales himself. The woman smiles wickedly, seeming to vicariously know of the odd male revelry felt with anal penetration.

The hands return to the leather. The many straps comprise a full body suspension harness and as the man enshrouds his torso, waist and thighs the woman buckles... tightly. It is a well practiced maneuver, the complicated mass taking form to completely envelop the nakedness. At the back, at the nape of the neck, there is a large steel ring. In finishing, the woman tugs at it with fervor and the harness tightens everywhere... chest, waist, wrists, thighs.

‘Comfortable?’

The man nods.

‘Stand,’ the command succinct yet crisp, the response instant.

The woman circles, inspecting and assuring the various buckles are secure, the straps tight.

‘To the stool.’

With humble alacrity, the man prances to a low stool and steps up. Hanging above is a cable. The woman facilely hooks the end to the large steel ring.

‘And we begin...’, the voice flat, the tone matter-of-fact.

A booted foot slowly pushes away the stool, the cable tightens, the feet dangle, placing the man in suspension, wrists tethered to the waist belt at the rear. I am amazed to see his penis begin to firm, slowly stiffening to become thoroughly erect. It is not small, but certainly not the object of a woman’s fantasy.

"Fascinating phenomenon, don’t you think, Eve?" a pedantic Madam Chang lectures. "The stress on the spinal cord, the manipulation of the prostate, various muscles and tendons stretched... all so steadily fostering erection. My associate will have him hang for hours. She is in total charge. Helpless and vulnerable, in time he will begin to beg. Yet as much attention as he is getting, he’ll want more. At her whim she will release his right wrist and have him masturbate for her while in suspension... while she mocks and gloats. The intensity of the humiliation will bring a massive eruption of seed. Then she will return the stool and succinctly leave the room. The look of guilt is precious as he releases himself to shuffle home to his wife."

"He is married?" in naively believing that brothels are for desperate single males.

"Oh yes. His wife arranges his appointments. You cannot see the hidden camera videotaping our noted politician. But rest assured there is quite the film library which the wife uses to keep him in line and working hard on her behalf. Here he is literally harnessed. With his wife he is figuratively harnessed just as one would harness an ox... forced to pull a heavy cart while she rides and guides with a correcting stick," Madam further lectures as we move onward.

I will not further elaborate on that afternoon of strolling down the narrow dark hall. Many one way mirrors, many rooms, much paraphernalia of unknown purpose... at the time. And of course stern women who I am surprised to find are for the most part clothed.

"This is not about sex, my dear... this is about power. Men come here and exchange it... for pleasure so deviantly derived."

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Needless to say, a girl of my ilk was enthralled. Men paying to acquiesce to women! I would have worked for nothing, but for the need to eat. Yet Madam was generous... a place to live... a place to learn... a place to satiate this need... scratch the itch which so frustrated as a pubescent miliary brat.

Focused, self disciplined, I served as Madam’s major domo. Tracking appointments, keeping the books, assuring the maintenance of the historic Victorian mansion, one of the few remaining in Bangkok... but most importantly learning... and growing... psychologically... emotionally.

The mental image of the male became an object... to be deprived of cash...to be used, abused... to be stripped naked, tormented, humiliated, bound, thrashed, deprived of dignity... to be exploited for the betterment of women.

Sometime in my second year, many thrilling hours spent in the secretive corridor... my sole ‘employee benefit’... Madam approached for a trip to the bank. Normally such a request was to deposit the mountain of cash which our obeisant males bestowed without compunction. Not on this occasion.

"Eve, I’ll need $10,000... in cash. A very attractive opportunity has arisen. Madam Kaishek has decided to retire and is seeking to place a boy from Burma."

$10,000 was not a lot, but more than we took in during the early week days. So I dashed to the bank, Madam trusting me greatly, perplexed as to the procurement of a ‘boy’, and the role to be played at the most exclusive brothel in Bangkok. I had heard of male prostitutes in the lesser establishments... but at Madam Chang’s?

Mine was not to ask, instead promptly returning with the stack of bills to find an aging Madam Kaishek sharing tea with Madam Chang.

"She is yours to train, Madam. I had him cut months ago, the sac entirely removed for a nice smooth look. Quite the little cock sucker, but is quite malleable and can be otherwise trained. I’ve being stretching the tongue and had his frenum snipped, so he can orally pleasure all. Not much of an opportunity to offer him anally but there is no reason not to have his cheeks split from time to time."

Curious the mixing of gender references, apparently the boy from Burma no longer possessing sexual identity. This evidences the different nature of Madam Kaishek’s clientele, having recently observed a prominent lawyer visit us to have his backside pegged by one of our more gruff lady associates. Here, our clients bend and spread... not our girls.

Madam Chang sips and nods in understanding as I step forth with the stuffed envelope. I note that trembling in the corner, in contravention to house rules, is a naked form, Madam Chang’s decorum normally mandating covering outside the many dungeon rooms.

Quite well shackled, black hair covering the ears, bangs over the forehead, skin of golden bronze, of Asian culture, evidently from a sun beaten climate, the gender of the diminutive youth is indeed indeterminate. The cuffs and many lengths of chains seem humorously exaggerated... as would the need to cautiously cage a new born kitten.

Madam Chang turns to the trembling form.

"What’s your name?" her voice sharp and pointed.

"She can’t speak," Madam Kaishek intercedes. "When I ordered her tongue to be altered it seemed appropriate to silence her as well. Vocal cords sutured. Such offers the customers an added degree of anonymity."

Madam Chang nods in agreement.

"I’ll just call her Mia."

Having acquired a degree of boldness, I step to the sitting form, quivering in nakedness as Madam Chang and Madam Kaishek conclude their confabulation. Wrists cuffed and chained behind the back, thighs banded and connected with a hobbling chin, ankles cuffed and likewise connected. For good measure a vertical chain connects the wrist and thigh chains. As I conclude that such overbearing restraints serve no purpose other than to greatly frustrate the bound, I begin to moisten.

A male in thorough bondage. Up close, not viewed through a one way mirror. It excites!

Yes, the many months at Madam Chang’s have indeed emboldened for I find myself stooping to grasp the ankle chain. I pull upwards forcing the boy... the girl... to raise her legs, sitting back to lie supine, bending at the waist. I facilely loop the chain behind her neck, forcing the lithe form to lie in a ball and offer a full display of the nether region normally indicating gender.

Cut indeed, she is without pubic hair. There is a tiny penis. Below, to the rectum, the patch of flesh, the perineum, seems elongated. Recent scars, healing slowly, will eventually fade and leave little evidence of the alteration. This Mia has been castrated indeed, and quite professionally.

"It is common in Burma, Eve. Impoverished families, struggling to survive are given to sell one offspring in order to sustain the siblings," Madam Chang offers, noting my examining action and inquisitive gaze. "In a way, she may be better off. You’ve seen what testicles do to the male. I’ve built a lucrative business on the bizarre influence of testosterone."

Yes, she has.

"It is lawful?" my inquiring voice surprisingly smug.

"No. But since the neutered are quickly ushered out of the country, there is no evidence of a crime. And here in Thailand, the authorities choose not to pursue misdeeds undertaken in another country."

Madam Kaishek departs. Mia meekly remains rolled into a ball, fully displaying her remnant of maleness... either not able to free the chain from the back of her neck or obediently awaiting a command or hand signal.

And I continue to moisten. That a woman has such power...

"Of what use Madam Chang?" I must ask as my eyes remained riveted.

"They make wonderful servants. Docile, obedient, without the constant drive for male gratification, they are focused. Properly trained, that altered tongue can bring endless satiation, Eve... and do so with relish."

Yes, the tongue. I reach down, my left hand pressing open the lips. In a practiced response Mia knows to open and thrust forth the wet pink appendage of a barnyard animal. It has some how been surgically loosened and evidently someone has been taking the time to stretch it.

"The girls, our lady associates, will find great haven, don’t you think, Eve?"

I nod in agreement and wonderment. Such a generous accommodation.

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As major domo, charged with the overall responsibility of maintenance, Mia is put in my charge. Never clothed, I quickly find the chains and cuffs to be rather superfluous. Though giving rise to arousal in watching her hobble about, such are a hindrance to Mia’s many duties of cleaning and serving. And in forced nakedness, she’s not going any where.

And to Madam’s credit, sure enough, the esprit de corp rises amongst the many lady associates, those who abuse and torment the male patrons, developing a concupiscence that can now be satiated.

Mia’s tongue and lips prove to be indefatigable. Cunnilingus on demand. A fruitful investment.

Plus, Madam Chang considers her acquisition to be an act of charity.

"Mia’s puckered little rectum would be stretched to the point of tearing in any other brothel," she explains, the services offered quite the contrast to those of her establishment.