'Retribution', Segment XII

This is the last segment to be posted. The full story has been published on Lulu.

Enjoy,

CB 

*****

Guangdong Penitentiary (two years past)

“You’ll need to acclimate. Just sit up. Let your circulation settle.”

The kuxing zhe releases the thumb rings. Other than brief interludes to cleanse and massage, inhibiting bedsores, qiufan Marcia Clark has not been released from the death bed in three weeks. She requires help. A few moments to stabilize, circulation pulsating, next the toe rings are released, the kuxing zhe pushing and prodding the qiufan’s nakedness such that she turns, remaining sitting upright, bare feet to the concrete floor of the cell.  

“To the torture chamber... the xingxun shi... shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe?” Marcia humbly inquires.

“If you’d like. I must walk you, hands to your head... unless a guard wants to see you smile.”

Yes the qiufan has broken... bonding with her torturer. She is somewhat in a quandary, not outright requesting a visit. But she certainly is not refusing. Pain... she must have it... it is her narcotic.

The qiufan feebly rises to her feet. Unsteady, she needs more moments to find her balance. Her kuxing zhe waits. There is no rush. She is not to stumble. A healthy qiufan is needed in order to maximum the torture.

Finally her hands obediently go to the back of her head. The kuxing zhe grasps her right breast, firmly but gently, a symbol of her control.

“Come. There is much to show you... so many ways to torture you. And you’ll please me. You want to please me. The torture chamber is private.”   

The qiufan is not to know that there are cameras, her benefactor to be apprized of the daily torment... that her screams, shrieks and howls will be for more than the kuxing zhe’s ears.

Out the cell door. Ironically it is not locked. The qiufan is always under supervision... and well restrained. As trusty, the kuxing zhe not deemed in need of close confinement.

To the hall. The kuxing is pleased that her qiufan can walk, her bandaged toes not impeding movement. Her fingers have healed, no bandages, no infection, the daily agony behind her. Until of course the nails grow back. Then the torture of removal will begin again.

A male guard approaches. The kuxing zhe stops. Hand remaining at the qiufan’s breast she stops as well. The male guards in particular like to see a prisoner smile... the naked Caucasian prisoners. The humiliation entertains as much as the display of feminine flesh. This guard is no different. He nods. The kuxing zhe respectfully greets. The hand slips from the breast. The qiufan lowers her arms, hands to her mons, pinching the lips, tugging aside, to display her most intimate pink flesh.

The kuxing zhe smiles inwardly. The qiufan so obedient, so eager to please. Broken. Her will... her pride extinguished.

The male guard laughs, heightening the embarrassment, offers a compliment on the skills of the kuxing zhe then finally moves onward. 

The duo resume, grasping the breast, hands of the qiufan to her head. It is a short walk to the torture chamber but daunting. The qiufan is apprehensive. The kuxing zhe can feel her quivering as they come to a door of solid steel. A code is punched into an electric key pad. With the sound of a click the door is pushed open. They enter.

“There is a death bed in here as well, qiufan... specially shaped. But I think you’d like the laohudeng... tiger bench. If you’re confined in a Chinese prison you must experience the tiger bench. It’s like visiting the Great Wall,” the humor not appreciated.

There is also a fubu muban... belly board... a tiger chair... and an entire wall arrayed with rope and other items needed for bondage and restraint. As stated, no whips, canes, tawses and other items of corporal punishment. Painful yes, but so quick. It is not the Chinese way. But curiously there is one wall of shelves which are stacked with bottles... varying shapes and sizes.

The door shuts behind, only to reopen with the code entered into the keypad. The qiufan looks about. There are no windows. Does that bring some comfort? That the qiufan’s torture will be private? No viewers. Her hairless, naked and most vulnerable form only for the eyes of her kuxing zhe? Her agony to be shared intimately.

The breast is released. The kuxing zhe lowers her hands and grips the bottom hem of her one piece gray uniform. She pulls it up, over her head, denuding herself. There are no undergarments permitted in a Chinese women’s prison.

“It can be warm in the torture chamber,” she explains to the surprised qiufan.

She gazes at nakedness. The kuxing zhe is trim, well muscled though shapely. Though exposed, the power exchange is not interrupted. The qiufan is hairless, bald, with no eyebrows appearing freakish. The kuxing zhe is attractive. It is apparent from the look of envy that the qiufan is most aware. In fact she lowers, going to her knees to supplicate.

“Are you going to torture me,  shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe?”

“Yes. That is what I do. And in the torture chamber you can properly thank me for my attention and your care. Some time on the tiger bench. Then the death bed. Come.”      

'Retribution', Segment XI

The New Jersey mansion of David Clark (the present)

A satiated chauffeur Gentry turns into the long drive leading to the vast mansion of David Clark. He looks in the rear view mirror to see his naked passenger kneeling between the opposing rear seats of the limo, hands as always obediently folded to the back of her head. He smiles, thinking of the training, to be able to facilely take his entire length, no annoying choking. He can’t help thinking, wife Trudy is not the only member of the family hesitant to offer head. He as well finds reluctance in oral sex. Marcia Clark is like a marital aid, he laughs to himself.

Pulling to the porte cochere, he stops the car, exiting to open and hold the door for the shamed faux chatelaine of the Clark mansion. A totally naked Marcia Clark steps from the back. With the sun setting, the evening air is cool. Gentry notes the crinkled nipples.

“Thank you for letting me suck your penis, Sir,” the voice docile and sincere.

“You’re welcome. Are you going to smile for me?” Gentry made aware of the libidinous protocol of her imprisonment. “Thought it would be untoward on Fifth Avenue. But David likes to you offer an appropriate greeting.”

The hands lower, the feet part, the thighs open. Fingers go to the smooth hairless pubes, pinching the outer labia and tugging left and right. In the gloaming of dusk, Marcia exposes her most intimate anatomy, flashing the pink of her inner labia and vagina.

“Good girl. Go to the kitchen. Trudy will feed you. Your Master David is entertaining. She may  stay for dinner.”

Indeed, Marcia looks to see a familiar Mercedes parked in the near distance. It rankles, her one time best friend regularly visiting. It further disturbs that before the evening is out she will probably be requested to pose for the woman... though ‘requested’ may not be the appropriate term.

Gentry grabs the shoes, coat and wig. Marcia knows to return her hands to her head, enter and proceed to the kitchen. She is indeed hungry.    

“Welcome home, Marcia,” cook Trudy greets with enthusiasm as Marcia’s bare feet pad the tile floor of the kitchen. “You must be hungry. David said you’d be having a busy afternoon.”

Marcia nods, immediately knowing to go to her knees. As Trudy presents her food bowl Marcia further lowers and kisses her shoes.

“Good girl. I’ve got lots of scraps for you. A full bowl.” 

It’s telling that being fed like a dog is cook Trudy’s paradigm. Husband David simply laughed when first hearing of the deviant protocol his cook demands. He does not intercede. In his mind, wife Marcia must show respect for all.

Trudy withdraws her foot, bends and places the bowl on the floor. Marcia knows to partake, shifting and lowering her face to the bowl. Hands returned to the back of her bald head, using fingers to eat is not permitted. Trudy smiles in hearing the human canine take in the slop, water poured over the mess to make it appear insalubrious.

“I suppose you fellated, Gentry.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” mouth full, Marcia garbling the words.

“Yes, see cock... suck cock. Amazing what they did to you in that Chinese prison... that magical tongue... wrapping those lips around anything and everything. Showing your cunt. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

'Retribution', Segment X

New York (the present)

Marcia Clark exits the penthouse of her kuxing zhe, stepping to the foyer to dress. She dons the long overcoat and flats, her only attire. Exhausted, she crudely covers her head with the wig of raven hair, too tired to prink and preen. She no longer gives consideration to her appearance, the wig simply to avoid attracting attention, conscious that her bald head combined with missing eyebrows brings an alien look. 

The limousine of husband David Clark is parked nearby. In approaching, the driver exits and  opens the rear door. As Marcia lowers herself to enter, the driver pushes the door partially closed, denying entry.

“Please no games, Gentry. It’s been a long afternoon.”

“Your Master’s orders, Marcia.”

“But we’re in the middle of Manhattan!” the protest coming as the enormous black hand of the driver reaches and grabs the wig. 

“Then you should make it quick. Coat and shoes... now.”

Marcia looks about. Though the sidewalks are busy, there is no one directly looking. She kicks off her flats. Then in a well coordinated move slips off the long coat, ungainly in that the weather is warm, tossing to driver Gentry and reaching for the partially opened rear door. A smiling Gentry yields not, still denying entry. Marcia Clark, having spent two years completely naked in Guangdong Penitentiary, is again exposed to all.

“You have something to ask me?” Gentry’s voice low and sultry.

“Here?”

“In the back. I’ve never had a blow job on Fifth Avenue. Ask and I’ll join you in the back.”     

Marcia looks down, by rote her hands going to the back of her bald head, caution abandoned.

“May I suck your penis, Sir?”

She consoles herself. If there is trouble, detained for indecent exposure, wealthy husband David will post bail... eventually.

Gentry responds... waiting a moment... a long moment in Marcia’s racing mind... silently opening the limousine door in full then stepping behind as Marcia scrambles from view.

In entering Marcia knows to kneel on the floor. Gentry joins her, casting aside the wig, coat and shoes then seating himself.

“When your husband made arrangements for your escape and return, he told me you like big black cock. Asked me to accommodate. ‘Consider it a perquisite of employment’ he said,” Gentry laughing as he unzips. “And I told him... I’m married. I lose my wife, David, and you lose the best cook you’ve had. And that’s when I learned how a rich man like David becomes rich. ‘You’re covered’, he said. ‘I already spoke to Trudy. Seems you’ve not been taking full care of her, Gentry.’ And he’s right. Trudy enjoys... and deserves... good head... something I’m not given to do. And now she’s taken care of as well. Marcia, you’ve got busy lips,” pulling an enormous penis from the confines of his uniform slacks.

Marcia knows to lean forth, obediently engulfing, tongue swishing and swirling.

“Take your time, Marcia. It’s rush hour. May as well let the traffic pass. You decide... in your mouth... or down your throat. Makes no matter to me.”  

'Retribution' published

 I have published the referenced story on Lulu.

36,700 words, $4.32.

December 16 will be the last posted segment here on the blog.

Enjoy,

CB

Be sure to give yourself access to explicit content.

https://www.lulu.com/shop/chris-bellows/retribution/ebook/product-844kr2n.html?q=retribution&page=1&pageSize=4