'Retribution' Segment IX

Guangdong (two years past)

“Your last nail, qiufan,” the kuxing zhe gripping the little right toe with the specially shaped pliers.

There comes the scream.... followed by beseeching sobs. Despite having endured equivalent pain for the past nineteen days, Marcia Clark cannot be stoic. She sings.

“And you are hairless. We’ll see if anything dares grow back. If more depilatory is required so be it.”

“Thank you, my shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe.”

“Thanking for what?”

“For taking care of me. All that you do.”

The kuxing zhe smiles. Most would say the woman is delusional. She instead knows her qiufan is broken, entering a masochistic state of delirium. She has learned to enjoy the agonizing attention.

Antiseptic is applied, the toe carefully bandaged. The kuxing zhe then moves to the top of the death bed, inspecting the fingers. Almost all have healed, ten days since the last removal. She then smooths her hands over the well bound naked form. She knows her masterful touch has come to bring a brisance of warped joy, smiling in seeing the nipples crinkle in delight. Though the touch is accepted as sensual, it is clinical, inspecting for stubborn follicles.

There are none.

“Smooth and vulnerable... and a nice, soft layer of Caucasian flesh. The warden will find attraction. You will please in being so exposed.”

“Thank you, shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe,” the tone genuinely grateful. “I want to please.”

“I can now torture you, qiufan. I’ll see if the death bed can be put aside. If truly broken we can spend more time together.”   

“Thank you shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe. You do so much for me.”

“And you will be doing things for me,” the smoothing hands stopping as the pubes. “The chemicals... very painful here.”

Indeed, applying so near the epidermis of the clitoral hood and labia brought notable screeching. ‘My qiufan shall not forget,’ the kuxing zhe thinks to herself, briskly rubbing about the outer labia to bring arousal. Fingers of the left hand go to her right nipple, gently pinching to enhance her excitement. The kuxing zhe smiles in smelling her feminine fragrance.

“Thank you, shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe, thank you.”

“You see, I do things for you that you want me to do. And you will do more for me than just sing.”

The fingers of the manipulating hand slip inward.

“I’m going to learn about you... your cunt. And you will learn of mine. But not with your fingers. You will explore me with your tongue and lips, qiufan. And you will thank me for letting you taste me.”

But... but... I don’t...”

“Yes you will. I am everything to you now, qiufan. Your torturer and the one who cares for you. And you will care for me.”

Marcia Clark senses pending climax, the haunting words adding to her dilemma. She does not want to be a woman’s toy, the fingers playing and playing. Feet attempt to kick, arms fight the tight bondage, hands and thumbs tugging, straining all the straps of the four point restraint.

Her kuxing zhe smiles, hands withdrawing, climax not to be achieved.

“You will climax for me... when I want you to climax. There’s more sacrifice to come, my qiufan. More of you to become a gift... to your kuxing zhe... your shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe.”

Three weeks of daily torment... toe nails and fingers nails extracted... skin chemically scorched... hair follicles decimated.... the kuxing zhe knows too well of the desperation. The ultimate ecstasy of orgasm a dire need.

“Tomorrow you will ask me to bring you to the xingxun shi. You want me to torture you. You want to please me. You will begin to learn how.” 

Sequel... 'Chained'... 'Chained & Protected'

I have outlined in my mind a sequel to the referenced stories and indicated such would be published in November. However, 'Chained & Protected' did not seem well received (not to mention lack of comments) and I have refrained from preceding with the endeavor.

Any readers have thoughts?

'Retribution', Segment VIII

 New York (the present)

“My client enjoyed your exhibition, qiufan. And your song,” the freezing cold sponge bath reviving. “Therefore you have once again pleased your kuxing zhe.”

“Thank you, shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe.”

“Perhaps some more twists. The legs. No client... you’ll just sing for me.”

“If you’d like, kuxing zhe. I want to please you. The chauffeur will wait.”

My suggestion was a test... of my qiufan’s masochism. Her need to offer herself to me remains ingrained. Mentally and emotionally I have tested her limits and there is more to be tolerated.  But she needs to be able to walk. I know the physical limits of stretching the ligaments. It is the experience and training of the kuxing zhe to understand when the application of intense pain turns to damage. It is essential to what I do. One cannot torture the debilitated.

Instead I move to stand between her upturned legs, thighs widely parted, her sex beckoning beneath her rose bud opening, her pink flesh welcoming. Once again I penetrate, two fingers gliding inward with ease. My qiufan remains lustfully wet. She sings for me again... a low moan of delight.

“Does your benefactor masturbate you... permit masturbation?”

“No, kuxing zhe. I am watched... and... well... my hands are tethered at night.”

“So no relief... and therefor the pain remains being welcomed... cathartic for you. You are tormented?” my fingers working within her vagina. 

I know her... know her most intimate feminine anatomy. She squirts, orgasm brings her to ejaculate. It amuses. One finger of my right hand pressing her ‘G’ spot, two fingers of my left massaging her clitoral hood, and I can make her erupt.

But I won’t. Just bring her close. Another form of torture.

“There is no fubu muban... no linzhong chuang... in my benefactor’s home.”

“And you have no marks... so there is no corporal punishment.”

“Correct, kuxing zhe.”

“I will again contact your benefactor. Remind him of your needs. That once broken a shou nue kuang (masochist) requires attention.” 

“Thank you, shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe. May squirt I for you?”     

“No,” cruelly withdrawing my hands and fingers. “Enough. Perhaps I will torture you again. I have a woman who may appreciate your skills... your level of tolerance. She pays well, in the past bringing a boy for her amusement. She may enjoy hearing a woman sing instead.”  

I move to the wall switch, flipping to lower the belly board. My qiufan knows the session of intense pain has ended. Is she disappointed? With her benefactor withholding all forms of physical torment, with my fingers bringing her close to orgasm... she most likely is.

Such is the world of the masochist. There is addiction... to the rush of hormones brought about by her torturer. And such hormones surge with pain, abetted by the intensity of the humiliation in giving herself to the sadistic whims of a superior. It’s not that she wants to surrender... to submit. She must. No pain... no rush.

I release the rope encircling arms and legs. I know too well the surging circulation will bring an initial stab of renewed pain followed by welcomed warmth, motion momentarily strained. Plus there has been the deluge of hormones... my torment spurring endorphins and oxytocin. She is drained. I have drained her.

“Dress yourself and leave,” I succinctly advise, stepping from my xingxun shi. 

'Retribution', Segment VII

Guangdong Penitentiary (two years past)

Marcia Clark learns of the resolve of a Chinese torturer. And yes, she uses the phrase shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe in addressing the woman who daily rips away a fingernail. The process is done slowly, her Kuxing zhe explaining torture is never to be rushed... not in China... and particularly not at Guangdong Penitentiary.

In trying to appease the woman, Marcia divulges the presumed anger of her husband David... her benefactor... able to recite his last communication to her, the note in the hotel room, verbatim. Revenge. But her explanation stops not the agony, every morning a nail surrendered, always before any food, vomiting to be avoided.

Immobilized in tight four point restraint, Marcia is able to thrash about her head... and move her vocal cords, bestowing the entire prison with begging words and her ‘song’ of suffering. 

With finger number six, Marcia realizes nothing... no words of entreaty... will save her nails... and avoid the pain. Instead she beseeches for more quickness.

“Please, shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe, faster. Just pull,” the appeal bringing a smile, and no change in pace.

Marcia cannot help noting the attentive after care. Each deformed finger is soaked in antiseptic solution and bandaged with the diligence of a hospital visit.

Within ten days comes time for the toe nails, there are no more words to be squealed, well worn vocal cords strained with unintelligible lung emptying cries of agony.

Marcia is fed daily, her kuxing zhe spoon feeding, mother to infant, mouth wiped for untoward neatness. There is bathing, a warm wet chamois smoothed over every inch of well exposed flesh, genitalia and anus attentively cleansed after urination and every bowel movement. Marcia initially protests, that given a free hand she can tend to herself.

“But you will not, qiufan, You are to lie on the linzhong chuang until deemed broken. You are to be tortured. To move is to bring relief.”    

That said there is one anomalous aspect of the daily care. The thumb restraints are released, her kuxing zhe cradles her head and lifts, sitting up the prisoner and then massaging and rubbing her back with the tenderness of a mother tending to an infant. The arms are worked as well. Thereafter the toe rings are released and the legs lifted and massaged with equal attention.

“No bedsores, qiufan. That would require release from the linzhong chuang,” her kuxing zhe explaining the momentary release.

Some half dozen fingernails torn away, there is to come more to the daily Guangdong prison protocol.   

“We need to tend to your hair, qiufan. The chemicals are strong. Your benefactor insists on the harshest of applications,” the words coming as the kuxing zhe crudely begins clipping away at the head and pubes. “It will be painful as well. Not as intense as ripping away your nails... but the coating of chemicals will remain in place for much time.”

The kuxing zhe smiles, hearing delusional laughter from her qiufan. She is beginning to break.          

Aside from the daily intervals of intense suffering, there also comes distress in that the large cell is open to viewing, three solid walls, the fourth of bars enabling guards and other passersby to pause and gaze at the well secured nakedness of the qiufan. Marcia notes the wicked smiles, the many bandaged digits, the intensity of the tightness, a body coated in foul smelling defoliating chemicals seeming to amuse.

“Must they watch? Must they see me?” Marcia finding words as her kuxing zhe chemically swabs her body once more.

“Yes, qiufan, you would prefer to be tortured privately. Grace only your kuxing zhe with your song. It’s what happens.”

Knowing that the chemicals will soon begin to burn, Marcia hastens the exchange.

“What happens? What is it that happens?”

“You find quiescence in my care... the things I do for you. You find dismay in sharing with others... those who enjoy your exhibition.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s like making love... what we do... what you give me... what I give you. You’re beginning to think it’s for us... not for the joy of others.”

“The bars, kuxing zhe... open to the hall. It cannot be helped."

“In time we will go to the xingxun shi... the torture chamber... after you’re broken. And there your masochism will reign. You will do things for me... you will want to do things for me... surrender yourself to me... your pride... your soul... your dignity. It’s an offering... your gift to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I am your kuxing zhe... your shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe. I do things for you that you want me to do.”

“You don’t.”

“I do. You’ll see,” smiling in seeing the strong chemicals begin to burn, conversation over. 

'Retribution', Segment VI

New York (the present)

As I work the right arm, the outbursts of shrieks become a continuous moan of agony, the bamboo turning ever so slightly. This evidences surrender... and exhaustion. No more energetic outbursts. Well experienced, I am careful to avoid an outright tear of the ligaments. Such would debilitate. Such would require medical attention. In Guangdong Penitentiary such would mean rest and recuperation. Yes, I avoid tearing.

In the midst of a very slow turn I hear a determinative gasp of joy and a gurgle. I look to see my client is grasping his companion’s head with zeal, his own head slumped back, eyes closed. The companion... termed a twink... has admirable oral skills, keeping my client at the brink throughout my qiufan’s ordeal. The twink gently rights the man’s privates, pushing through the zipper and closing. He then obediently stays in place as my client recovers.

With the release, his interest in my show, the ultimate in power exchange, fades. If I know men... and I do... he will need a drink. Perhaps whiskey at a nearby gay bar, his leashed twink kneeling at his side.

“I’ll be going. Will you finish her?” my client inquires, rising from the large well stuffed chair and pointing to the twink’s clothing for him to dress.

“You can let yourself out. There is more for my qiufan, yes,” maintaining the tormenting hold on the tightening stick of bamboo.  

“Maybe I should better ask... will your qiufan finish you?”  

“That need not be told... and is not part of the exhibition,” my voice stern.

I can be authoritative with my clients. There is no other place in New York to be so entertained. And besides, as a hater of women, the man would have no real interest in me ‘finishing’ my qiufan... or in she ‘finishing’ me.

“For her,” reaching to his wallet, extracting some bills.

“That is not necessary. My qiufan needs pain and humiliation... not money.” 

The man nods, takes up the leash and leads his twink to the door.

There is no clock, but I know I have worked my qiufan’s joints for hours. The bamboo sticks of the legs and left arm remain applying tension. I stabilize that of the right arm then step to my qiufan’s head. There are tears. She sobs. Such catharsis. My hands return to her breasts, soothing.

“It disturbs that I no longer torture you alone?”

“It’s... it’s... different, shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe,” the voice straining, the suffering diminished yet remaining.

“Different good? Adding to your shame and humiliation?”

“I miss you, kuxing zhe,” emphasis on ‘you’.

“I noticed your nails have not grown back. That is common. A third removal is rarely needed. The fingers... they too surrender. But I have a linzhong chuang,” (death bed). “I will contact your benefactor. You can lie on it.”

“Please, kuxing zhe!”

“Please yes... or please no? Not that it matters. Your benefactor will decide. But the linzhong chuang requires much time to be appreciated. Your benefactor may miss you.”

I step away. Being a well experienced kuxing zhe, I know my qiufan is entering a stupor. With the hours of excruciating suffering the body capitulates, telling the cerebral cortex to shut down. I go to the bucket of water, the ice not yet fully melting. A wet freezing cold cloth will revive.

In returning, about to cleanse her sweat covered nakedness, I hesitate. My qiufan is in a dream like state, talk of the death bed bringing memories. Pleasant? Only the masochist can explain.

Guangdong (two years past)    

“You’ve been assigned a private cell... large. Her benefactor has influence. You know of the standard indoctrination procedures... Guandong Penitentiary orientation,” the warden smiling wickedly.

“Yes, warden... hair and nails” the kuxing zhe replies.

“There is a linzhong chuang in the cell. Use it. Do not release her until broken... hairless... and declawed. And if teeth become a problem, let me know. She won’t be the first American girl needing to be defanged.”

“Yes, warden.” 

And so goes Marcia Clark’s introduction to her kuxing zhe... to be her shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe.

“Come,” a hand reaching, fingers grasping the left mammary gland.

The grip is firm and convincing. Marcia Clark, gasps but follows as her kuxing zhe leads from the warden’s office.

“You do not need to know my name. I know yours but will not use it. I know almost everything about you. And what I do not know you will tell me. We will be spending much time together. Everything you need... torture included... will come from me,” the woman in the drab gray pullover dress explains as the duo travel the concrete hallways of the prison.

Marcia Clark, in fear, keeps her hands to the back of her head. On a occasion they pass a guard, the male guards gazing lasciviously at her nakedness.

“They will not touch you,” the kuzing zhe advises to comfort. “But in deference I will teach you how to properly smile for them. It shows respect.”

Reaching a large enclosure, three walls of cement, no windows, the fourth a facade of steel bars, Marcia is led inside.

“In an American prison, I would be considered a trusty, an inmate given privileges for good behavior. My good behavior comes from utilizing my skill set... the application of pain... without compunction.”

With the frightening words, Marcia peers about. There is a comfortable bed and a curious horizontal board, wide and some eight feet in length. There is an opening of size in the middle. Ominously at the corners of the plank there are sizable eye bolts with attached straps.

“That is where you will sleep,” noting her qiufan’s gaze. “And eat... and pass away all your time... until you are broken... as the warden suggested.”

“But... but... there’s....”

“No padding, yes. This is Guangdong Penitentiary... not a hotel. No more speaking. It is termed the linzhong chuang... death bed. There have been prisoners shackled to it for the remainder of their lives. You will not be one of them. Perhaps though you will wish you were. The hole is for your buttocks. You will defecate and urinate into the bucket below. No need to be released for toilet... until you break. I will feed you and bathe you. As trusty, I do not handle your waste bucket.”

Marcia is guided to sit on the board, propped up on legs some two feet off the cell floor.

“After you are hairless and declawed... broken... the xingxun shi... torture chamber... is down the hall. There you will perform for me.”

The kuxing zhe smiles in seeing the look of horror. 

“Your hands, qiufan. We don’t use manacles here. Expensive... and when in long term bondage can chafe the skin. Such can bring infection.”

An overwhelmed Marcia Clark, in a trance of bewilderment, obediently offers her hands. Her kuxing zhe isolates the right thumb, pressing a solid steel ring to it then encircling both ring and appendage with a small hose clamp. She tightens the hose clamp with a special tool.

“So we use hose clamps, cost some thirty cents in American money. And very effective. When needing to bind thousands of prisoners there are savings... and no need for keys,” the explanation coming as the left thumb is similarly encircled.

“Lie down, buttocks over the opening, hands above your head.”

Obedience again, Marcia hears a click, click as the rings adhered to her thumbs are quickly clipped to the straps overhead.       

“You are a good qiufan. Very obedient. Now your toes.”

Working with alacrity Marcia’s big toes are clamped, rings attached. Two clicks come as such are restrained to straps at the button corners of the linzhong chuang. 

“Retribution... my qiufan. Your benefactor is very determined. You must tell me what you have done to earn such special... and expensive... treatment,” the words come as the kuxing zhe moves about the four corners of the board tightening each strap to leave Marcia in four point restraint.  

“I cannot move!”

“Yes, we make it nice and tight for our qiufans here at Guangdong Penitentiary. And you must address me as your kuxing zhe. Better shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe... revered torturer.”

“Yes Ma’am. But what if I need to... ah... use the toilet?”

“As I said, there is a bucket under the opening where you will move your bowels and urinate. There will be no need for you to move. And it is best that you be tightly bound. I am going to remove your nails... fingers and toes. You heard the warden. You are to be declawed. One per day. In three weeks you’ll be without nails... no scratching. And endure immense pain... and for sure addressing me as shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe.” 

Marcia begins to sob. Her kuxing zhe steps away and returns with a soft paper towel, gently brushing away the tears, her tender touch anomalous.

“Now tell me... explain the determination of your benefactor.”  

'Retribution', Segment V

New York (the present)

“Shall we begin, qiufan? Perhaps the left leg.”

“If it pleases you, shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe.” 

The torture begins. I grab another length of bamboo, pushing such into the rope encircling the thigh and foot. I slowly twist... ever so slowly. In tightening the tether the ligaments at the knee stretch, the bamboo tucked behind the joint bringing leverage.

It is simple, there is little effort on my part. I can twist and tighten with one finger of my hand. But it brings such excruciating pain. My qiufan beings to sing. A howl.

Gone are the days when she would beg me to stop. My qiufan learned the futility of that. Instead she knows I want to hear her cries of agony. She accommodates.

I stop, letting the pain signals rush to the cerebral cortex. I look over to my client. Yes, there is misogyny. He squirms in his chair, his growing erection trapped by his slacks and underwear. In a way, he suffers as well.  

“I would not consider it indecorous if your girl chooses to please you,” I call out. “My qiufan and I will be moving to another place,” politely suggesting if my client wants to be sucked off while I work it is of little concern to me.

And yes, torturer and tortured do enter another world with the intensity of the exchange. While I work a girl there could be an earthquake and I would not notice... as with my qiufan. In countering the agony endorphins flow... and oxytocin... the body attempting to counter the pain signals. And that is why deliberation is needed. The hormones flow, masking the agony... therefore a good kuxing zhe patiently waits and then increases the level of pain.

It becomes a contest... assuring the suffering does not diminish... instead slowly growing.

I return my attention, ever so slightly twisting, tightening the encircling binding, stretching the ligaments at the knee. There comes more music... another howl.

Peripherally I note shifting in the dark corner where sits my client. The leash tightens, the boy... girl... shuffles about, head and shoulders pressed between my client’s knees.

I smile to myself, thinking of my qiufan introducing herself by humbly asking to suck my client’s penis. It appears his yinjing is well cared for and that my qiufan’s gender is not appropriate for the task.

Leaving in place the adjusting bamboo and the rope tightened I step to my qiufan’s front, tenderly grazing my hands over her bald head, wiping away tears. Then I go to the breasts, cupping glands of size then diddling the nipples to bring joy and more oxytocin. This is devious, my fingers cause the hormones to increase which temporarily counters the pain. Until of course I resume, with more twists and more tightness to in turn overcome the brief relief. This torturing becomes a contest... which I as kuxing zhe always win... the prize being her song.   

“Have you missed me? It’s been a few months. Does your benefactor torture you?”

“Yes, my shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe, I have missed your devotion... your attention to my needs. Dav... ah... my benefactor... torments me in different ways.”

“I see. That is why he sent you to me. You need to feel pain... physical pain... your masochism assuaged. He is a good benefactor. Do you take care of his yinjing?”

“He... well... not as I would like, kuxing zhe.”

“Of course not. You will please it as he wishes. And how is that?”

“I clean it for him. After...”

“After what?”

“He... has a girl... and... “

“So you clean him after sex. And the girl?”

“I clean her as well, kuxing zhe.”

“Yes, keeps you humble... no pride in that. So my training in Guangdong Penitentiary is put to good use.” 

“Yes, kuxing zhe. Thank you for training me.”

The sincere thanks brings me to smile. For two years this kuxing zhe and qiufan were inseparable, eating together, sleeping together, enjoying torture together. I am missed. And in a way I miss her.  

I glance to my client. During our exchange his companion has disrobed. The mystery of his/her gender to be solved. In seeing the head bobbing between my client’s thighs, such brings my thoughts back to the exposition of torture which my client has commissioned. I must resume.

“An arm next, qiufan? You need to suffer more.”

“If you would like shou ren zunjing kuxing zhe.”

“Yes I would. It is best for you. Left or right?”  

“I don’t know, kuxing zhe.”

“I suppose it matters not. Both will be stretched and tormented before day’s end. And my nose suggests your cunt ripens. Quite fragrant. Therefore you must be quite wet.”

With that I step back between the wide spread thighs, my hand going to her yawning vaginal opening. Two fingers slip within her portal with notable ease. Torture... my torture... has come to arouse. I am pleased.

“You’re sopping wet, qiufan. I think being watched while naked, bound and singing adds to your arousal.” 

Fingers toying, bringing more oxytocin, I glance behind, my client is being well serviced, the head of his companion bobbing briskly at the crotch. I note that just as my qiufan has been trained to always present herself with feet parted, thighs well spread, the naked companion so poses. A flaccid penis swings about between the thighs. Though long, it is boyishly thin. And there is nothing else to confirm his gender. The rumor concerning a transforming visit to Mexico is true. And such jives. As a misogynist my client would not deign to let a woman please him.  

I withdraw. The arms need attention. Another stick of bamboo, more slow twisting. I decide on the left first. I return to my contest. There are comforting hormones to be addressed, more music to be heard.

'Retribution', Segment IV

 Guangdong (two years past)

"You’re shivering. Are you cold?”

Inmate Marcia Clark, having been readily convicted and sentenced... fifteen years in Guangdong Penitentiary... stands in the office of the warden, hands folded to the back of her head, feet parted as directed.

“No Madame Warden. I’m not... well... clothing...”

“You have none... and you will go naked here at Guangdong Penitentiary. It is my rule for Caucasian inmates. I found foreign inmates... particularly American and British... to be haughty. You are not here to be haughty. You are here to be punished. Besides, there are the breasts. Chinese women are... shall we say more efficiently proportioned there. And the ripe well rounded breasts of the Caucasian inmates amuse. Plus without covering, silly notions of escape are put aside.”

“Yes, Madame Warden.”

“You’re to undergo special treatment here at Guangdong. It seems you have a benefactor. I don’t know who, but special arrangements have been made.”

“Arrangements Madame Warden?”

“You’re to be tortured... daily. We’re very good at that in China. Very careful... but very deliberate in applying pain and suffering. I have a kuxing zhe assigned to you... only you. Rather unusual... and expensive. She’ll always be with you. You will have awe and respect for her skills. She will do with you as she pleases.”

“Yes, Madame Warden,” the trembling most visible.

“But be heartened, your benefactor has arranged something even more unusual. Something called conjugal visits... unheard of in China. But the men’s prison is nearby and you’re to be transported there monthly. Although there is a proviso for weekly visits... at your choice. Your benefactor must have great influence in arranging for such.”

David... it can only be husband David, Marcia thinks to herself. Bribery is prevalent in China. And with his vast wealth he could probably pay off every government official in the province. 

“I have a prisoner pose for me from time to time,” the warden nodding to a girl standing in the corner of her large office. “Instills discipline and amuses me. And my girls very much want to keep me amused.”

Another source of fearful trembling. The referenced inmate is well trussed, naked as is Marcia, bent at the waist, propped on the toes for her left foot, right leg bent behind, ankle held high in being secured to a collar about her neck. Her arms are pulled back, wrists restrained high by a rope leading to a ceiling hook.

“I call her pose the swan... as in the bird... spreading its wings for me... appearing about to fly. Very artful don’t you think? The naked human form as sculpture.”

“Ya... ya... yes, Madame Warden,” stuttering in fear.

“She was disrespectful to one of the guards... failing to please her... withholding the pleasure of her tongue and lips. Another hour or two as a swan and I think she’ll be very eager to please. Do keep that in mind. We don’t need silly pride here at Guangdong Penitentiary. “

With that. the warden rises from her desk, strolling to the human statue, left hand cupping the girl’s hairless mons, the right tweaking left nipple then right.

“She’s nicely wet,” left hand retracting and presented, moisture gleaming in the light. “All my girls develop a taste for suffering here. Masochism... the affinity for pain... manifests over time. It abets acceptance of an inmate’s station... to serve... to please... to amuse in bearing pain”

With the words, a Chinese woman in a one piece gray pullover dress knocks on the open office door.

“Ah, your kuxing zhe is here.”