A short story. Not sure where it will go.
Female Dominant/female submissive.
I hope the use of Chinese terms brings flavor more than distracts.
Enjoy
CB
*****
Retribution
Copyright 2023
by Chris Bellows
New York (the present)
I see on my camera the woman disrobing. I smile in noting the simplicity. Knowing to present herself completely naked, she wears only a lengthy coat and flats, quickly casting aside to denude herself. I’d like to delay and let her simmer in her nakedness, but there is a client waiting. He has arrived early.
So discourteous, yet such eagerness.
Thus I go to the inner front door of my penthouse, unlocking to greet the woman in the foyer. I stand in the doorway, arms akimbo in silence assuming the regal pose she expects. My drab gray pullover dress, my prison uniform, will project my authority.
“Good afternoon, shou ren zunjking kuxing zhe,” her greeting most humble.
She is Caucasian, but has learned some Chinese after two years of incarceration. She addresses me as torturer... revered torturer.
“You are on time. That shows obedience, qiufan.”
Though I know her real name... know everything there is to know about her... I call her qiufan... prisoner.
I say no more, gazing at her body in silence, enhancing her sense of exposure. She blushes... delightfully... despite having spent two years under my tutelage without a shred of covering. Being revered has that effect.
“Thank you shou ren zunjking kuxing zhe.”
“But you are to present yourself to me nude,” my hand going to my head to gesture.
The woman takes the hint, reaching and slipping away a wig of raven hair. She has been completely defoliated... bald... rules of incarceration in Chinese prisons. For most the hair grows back. Her benefactor decided otherwise. So there is nothing... head, face, under the arms, legs, pubes. The follicles have been chemically decimated... forever. Such wonderfully enhances the sense of vulnerability... as intended.
“Have you been in New York long, shou ren zunjking kuxing zhe?”
“No talk. My client is here. You are to present yourself to him.”
“He wants his yinjing sucked?”
“Of course. He is a man. But silence. You are to be tortured first. In New York a man can get a blow job anywhere.”
The reader will note, though of Chinese ancestry, my English is fluent. I spent many years teaching Chinese to the English speaking children of diplomats in Beijing. Such learning works both ways.
“Come,” I gesture for her to step forth.
I suppress a smile seeing my qiufan lift her arms, hands going to the back of her head. Mentally she is immersing herself back into the penitentiary in Guangdong where she was incarcerated.
We enter my penthouse. She follows me to a large spare bedroom which I have converted. In entering I hear her gasp.
“Yes, brings back memories. You did not think you would totally escape your kuxing zhe, did you? Your benefactor arranged for me to contact you.”
Yes the room is well equipped. A torture chamber... a Chinese prison torture chamber. As opposed to what most would envision, there are no standard implements of pain... no whips, canes, paddles, metal shackles. Just rope, cords and innocuous appearing wooden objects... smooth and well polished. No splinters. And nothing that would leave marks or open the skin. The Chinese rely on time in bringing suffering. It is to be slow... with no damage... other than to the mind. Marks and bruises can foster infection... deterring more torture. And thus the reason for hair removal... anti septicism is important... and hair can be septic. We want healthy prisoners... able to withstand hour after hour of pain.
Sitting in a large comfortable chair in a dark corner is my client. He shall go nameless, but a middle aged man presumably of great financial resources. I don’t torture cheaply. On the floor beside, sitting on haunches with head humbly bowed is the man’s companion. Collared, a leash hangs, the end loosely held in the man’s hand. Young, hair short for a girl, long for a boy, the gender is obfuscated. In my profession one questions not a client’s sexual preferences. But I have it on authority that the birth gender of the companion was male and during a trip to Mexico the testicles were surgically excised. Wealth has its privileges.
Being a man, and most likely a misogynist, I know he wants to ogle the prospective victim. I thus lead to the chair and step aside. My qiufan knows to go to her toes, standing before him, feet apart, thighs well spread... in mandated silence.
“She has nice shape. Might be pretty given hair,” my client observes, bringing further embarrassment.
“Removed. In her case permanently.”
“Including the eyebrows?” noting the bizarre thin stripes of liner painted above the eyes.
“Of course.”
While my client calmly gazes, I am sure his arousal slowly building despite my qiufan’s quirky appearance, I step away to where I have a bucket of cold water and rags in wait. I reach, return and hastily wipe away the make up.
“Naked means no covering. Nothing!” I admonish knowing the now more alien appearance brings distress.
“May I suck your penis sir?” my qiufan humbly inquires by rote.
“No,” I answer for him. “Not now. It is the fubu muban this afternoon. And silence... until you begin singing for the man.”
In the Guangdong prison to ‘sing’ is to emit vocal utterances in response to the continuous application of pain.
My qiufan begins to tremble, I am sure thoughts of being tethered to the fubu muban... the belly board... stirring memories. Haunting? Horrid? No, not after we bonded. It then became her offering to me... something deep within that she wanted to do for me... sacrificing her soul, her pride, her dignity... for my pleasure. But in my penthouse the presence of an observer... a male observer... very much heightens the stress. In Guangdong Penitentiary our exchanges of power were private.
She is going to perform for me... as she has so often... but will now sing for another pair of ears... another pair of eyes watching her ignominious surrender.
Putting aside the leash, the man unseats himself. What man can resist? Though my rules are that touching is only between the torturer and the prisoner, he cannot help himself, reaching to examine the breasts. I allow it. He has paid handsomely. And obedience ingrained, my qiufan remains in place, hands obsequiously to the back of her head, while the man palms the pendulous glands, thumbs working the nipples.
“What happened here? Marks.”
“The warden had certain exuberance concerning Caucasian breasts. Such were spiked. As you can see, the flesh heals... and in time the marks will fade.”
“Spiked?”
“Vertically pierced with shards of iron. Through the meatus of the gland. She was suspended.”
“By her tits?”
“Yes, though not fully. But bearing enough weight such that the warden became greatly respected,” a euphemism for thoroughly breaking a girl.
“She smells... like pussy,” so ungentlemanly to note.
“She’s aroused. Her masochism was awakened in Guangdong... and is now easily inflamed. Perhaps my qiufen would like to smile for the gentleman.”
My words are not suggestions, not after two years of close and strict supervision. My qiufan knows what a Guangdong prison ‘smile’ is. Her hands lower, fingers going to her pubes, pinching the outer labia and tugging firmly to part her nether lips and obscenely display the pink of her inner labia and vagina. It is a humiliating pose and my qiufan knows to hold it until permission is given the cease. She begins to further blush, the room air filling with her scent.
I want to add that her benefactor most likely prohibits standard feminine hygiene, thus the strong odor. But such would lead to more unnecessary explanation. My client wants to see the woman tortured... and that’s what I do... and that’s what my qiufan needs.
The man snickers and returns to his seat taking up the leash. No sign of sympathy, I must suppose trying to veil his arousal in imagining my qiufan ‘smiling’ for the warden or strung up for hours by her breasts in the warden’s office, struggling on her toes, nipples forced to point to the ceiling.
“Marks are unusual in Chinese prisons,” I add. “This prisoner was deemed to be exceptional.”
And she was exceptional, her breasts spiked only with the consent of her benefactor.
Yes, her benefactor... a husband cuckcolded by my qiufan. He remains extracting retribution.
