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My frustrating daydream ends as I feel the plastic straw pressing against my mouth. I purse my lips and drink, realizing there will be many, many hours of watching my X-rated movie. Miss Denise has all day, and Mae Lee seems greatly entertained by my helplessness.
And so in having drunk, the cycle begins. There is probably an hour between each of Mae Lee’s encounters... water, urination, release.
After another viewing of my movie, fingers gently draw back my foreskin and I know it is time to urinate for my keeper. With my irritating thoughts, I cannot perform and within seconds I feel the thumb and forefinger of Mae Lee’s free hand begin to diddle my left nipple and then my right. Her touch both titillates and soothes, bringing forth goose bumps and the flow she desires. At least it feels as if I am performing for her.
Finally, I feel her gently shake my appendage to extract final drops and playfully stroke it in a masturbatory motion. Does it stiffen for her? Though it feels good, I know the very same hands will soon be releasing the straps to return me to agony.
I need to talk to Miss Denise. I have something I want to say. Yet, I must patiently sit and absorb her regimen, endure the sufferings of what offers her much joy, total control over the male.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mae Lee is releasing my limbs for the third time. If I judge correctly that her agonizing mercy is offered every three hours, I have spent most of Sunday sitting in wait for Miss Denise to decide to again amuse herself.
Once again I feel the velcro loosened, my arm strongly gripped, and extraordinarily strong fingers massage and knead. The surge of circulation and resulting pain is endured four times with Mae Lee twisting with impunity. Then as I sit returned to four point restraint, the hood is whisked away and I must close my eyes as the removal of the headphones returns my hearing to normal.
When the light stops aggravating, I pry open my eyes to see Mae Lee standing in front of me. I am horrified to see in one hand she holds a whippy length of rattan, in the other a control stick similar to that which the guards in Bangkok used to guide me through the co
rridors.
Assuring herself of my ability to see, Mae Lee reaches out and lightly taps my freely hanging scrotum, so vulnerably swinging in the open area of the seat of the chair. I wince.
“Miss Denise wants you exercised. You obey.”
With that she taps more firmly and I cry out with the sharp burning pain. Yes, I will obey. Her message is received.
The control stick is attached to my neck collar. The velcro straps are again unhitched. I know to very carefully rise and allow the anal insertion to extricate itself. In finally standing on wobbly legs, I feel downward pressure on the control stick followed by a swift kick to the back of my knees.
“Hands and knees. For me, you crawl.”
I fall to the floor and a crisp stroke of the bamboo to my buttocks convinces me that though all limbs are free, I remain very much under Mae Lee’s control.
“Come.”
I am walked, crawling about like a dog. Around and around the room, seemingly in practice. Then we head to the door where she leads me into the hallway. It is dark. The walls are bare, the floor covered in linoleum. She playfully taps with the cane where a man desires least to feel pain. I howl and lurch. Mae Lee feels the spasmodic response of my head and neck through the control rod. It seems to satisfy, the humble reaction to her authority very much pleasing.
Up and down the hallway, Mae Lee barks commands. I obey, instantly. The cane is that painful. And I know it to be in the hands of a woman with complete disdain for the male beast.
Finally Mae Lee pops open a door and guides me through. We enter a large room, cavernous with a variety of furniture and devices. But what distracts from a complete visual inventory is the whipping bench prominently displayed under a ceiling spot light. It is identical to that in the Bangkok jail where the cruelest woman I had ever met plied her craft.
“Here you obey me. You learn. You please.”
The strongest female hands that have ever touched me unhooks the control stick and removes the neck collar. I remain on all fours completely free of all restraints and of course, completely naked. I look up into Mae Lee’s face. At any other time, in any other place, one would deem her to be pretty, appearing demure with her typically Asian black hair, styled straight and cut at the jaw line. With coal black eyes, a figure seeming to be petite, my eyes follow her like a well trained dog watching its master. She moves to a wall and removes her black pleated skirt. Then she unzips her boots and steps out. I ogle her muscular form as the sole remaining garments are a black leather bodice which leaves her arms, shoulders and stomach bare and a black thong which reveals every inch of her powerful calves and thighs. When she turns to retrieve her cane, she displays exposed buttocks, seemingly chiseled from stone... perfectly rounded, well muscled in a feminine sense.
Mae Lee is very pleasant to look at, but when a woman with her propensities wields a cane, one does not exhaust time gaping. As she turns to look at me, she smiles for the first time I can recall, knowing that her fine and nearly naked form attracts.
“Now we exercise.”
I had not before realized that Mae Lee was most accomplished in martial arts. I should have guessed when she freed me of all restraints while alone with me. In Bangkok, the guards had the cattle prods and there was always three of them present when I was not in my cell. All resistance there was futile.
But here in Miss Denise’s lair, Mae Lee seems to tempt, leaving me on all fours. In disrobing to near nakedness she seems to challenge me to be disobedient. But the hours and hours of four point restraint have depleted me of much energy. And so I just look up at the imposing woman, waiting her next command and trying to enjoy a most licentious view of her feminine charms.
But then the ‘exercise’ begins.
Her first kick lands just below my ribs, in the gut. It knocks the wind out of me and the force rolls me to the padded rubber floor. A strange sound escapes. It is the air rushing from my lungs. Her blow is impressive, but what impresses more is that she held back. I quickly understand that a more powerful kick just inches higher would have cracked at least two ribs.
Before I can move again a lighter kick, toes relaxed, rains on my scrotum. Then comes another. The pain is dull compared to the cane, but it is pain all the same.
“You crawl.”
