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Returning to Ming, I straddle and sit. The staple remover wedges open the first ring. I pull up on the phallus and my little room servant lifts her hips. Two more rings appear, left and right, a little higher on the patch. They open easily but I take time to avoid distorting their shape. Other rings pierce the outer circumference of the pubes. But I hesitate to loosen all. Much effort will be required to close them after my examination and it is already late into the evening.
I slip the patch off the bottom of the open rings and fold up the coarse cloth. Pink flesh comes to view, but related to what organ? I lift further and slip two fingers underneath. Ming shudders and tries to wriggle about, but my amateurish efforts with the bonds suffices to hold her in place. It feels like the very loose labia minora of a mature women, only there is no moisture and no vaginal opening. And then my fingers encounter the determining organ..., a very pusillanimous penis! I quickly conclude the smooth loose flesh is a scrotal sac, but where are the testicles?
I stand in shock and lift Ming by ‘her’ collar. Commanding “her” to remain motionless, I now perform a frontal inspection, holding up the bottom of the patch as far as it will go.
Yes. I confirm for myself that Ming is an underdeveloped boy!
On the wall is a rather impressive cane. I place Ming back on the footstool grab the ultimate instrument of pain and begin. A stroke to the right buttock. A stroke to the left. Ming screams. As much time as he has spent on the stool, I doubt if he has been the recipient of crisp strokes applied by someone with purpose. And my purpose is disclosed as his tears flow and he begs for me to relent. Ming will tell me his story. I feel betrayed, tricked, flimflammed by this gender subterfuge and the alcohol serves to heighten my resolve to learn of its origin.
With a third stroke, quickly followed by a fourth, his story is divulged in accented, in halting English, as he chokes away the pain...,
Ming was born in a Southeast Asian country controlled by the most brutal and controlling of dictators. He is a descendant of people whose remote tribal village continuously resisted the dictator’s authority. After many guerilla type raids on the dictator’s property, the village in final retaliation was attacked and ransacked by government troops. Every tribe member, women and children included, was captured and relocated to a compound, essentially a prison camp, where they became slaves of the dictator.
Within a few years, the dictator died and his widow assumed power. But she was probably even more cruel. It seems she was concerned with possible rife among her growing captive tribe and she issued a most interesting edict. To stifle the growth of the tribe’s numbers she mandated that newborn males be rendered impotent utilizing a very simple ancient Chinese practice. In their formative years, their testicles were pushed up under the epidermis of their lower abdomen. This curtails the natural development and flow of hormones and effectively truncates development as a male.
Ming, I learn, is close to thirty years old and few of his male hormones ever flowed to enable the penis to mature. The testicles did not produce testosterone and sperm. It is amazing to think that as a result of the gentle push of fingers at the optimum age, his gender was neutralized.
But to complete the story, the dictator’s widow became sexually enthralled with many of her more effeminate appearing eunuchs. Selecting many to become her personal maids, she was known to demand extensive oral service from them. Cosmetically she took particular interest in having them appear as females, insisting they wear rouge, mascara, eyelin
er, etc. They also dressed for public appearances in sordid female attire. All this further served to emasculate the psyche of the various tribe members. The knowledge that those who would have become fierce warriors were instead made to serve bound and naked in the palace of the wicked woman, kneeling between her thighs in complete servitude, was most disheartening to the tribe. The policy was not only proven to be effective for the ruler but was executed with zeal.
After a number of years, the concerns of the evil ruler diminished. She slowed with age and found she had more underdeveloped males than she could possibly abuse. And that is when Lady Constance came into the picture. With her immense wealth, she enticed the aging ruler to part with a number of her curious servants. And when the ruler was assured that their dreary lives of complete subjugation would continue, on an island thousands of miles from her territory, she promised a continuous supply.
And so I learned Ming’s story. Born male, he never spent a day fulfilling a masculine role. So I ponder whether my quick conclusion that his gender has been camouflaged is correct. He is better described as genderless. And his abject masochism is also explained. He has been trained to serve and accept the whip from a very early age.
I decide to take my chances. With the possibility of incurring the wrath of Lady Constance, I stand Ming up and again pick up the staple remover. The remaining rings, three on the right, three on the left and on the top, four across the lower abdomen, are opened.
I carefully push each ring out of the flesh. The patch falls away. Ming is completely exposed. Strangely, he is embarrassed. I laugh uncontrollably.
The smallest penis I have seen protrudes about half an inch above a hairless, empty little scrotal sac. Ming becomes flushed. For him, he has been stripped naked before a stranger, and his humiliation is apparent. I stand and watch him squirm under my gaze.
The day has been long. The flow of adrenaline wanes with the uncovering of Ming’s secret. The alcohol is pushing me toward a state of repose.
In a last diabolical act, I find a hood amongst the evil items in the drawer. I push the well-restrained Ming onto the footstool and slip the hood over his head. A cord is located and I tie one end to an eye-hook on the back of the hood. The other end I loop around the huge phallus, still deeply penetrating his rectum. I pull. His head is forced back. I pull again. He arches his back. With a final tug I tie the cord tightly around the protruding rubber device.
Have a good night, Ming, I think to myself. I slumber heavily.
Chapter Thirteen
Mornings in the Caribbean are delightful. The sun shines. Birds sing. Soft breezes, neither cool nor warm, waft through my room. But when I arise and see Ming meekly struggling in his bonds, my evening of alcohol and exploration jolt me to full consciousness.
I contritely release the spreader bar and before I can untie the cord and hood, he is blindly trying to find his way to the bathroom. I order him to pause and then remove the covering, where upon he hurriedly moves to the adjoining bathroom, dragging his ankle chain along. Despite the fact that the patch no longer impedes normal urination, he squats on the toilet to relieve himself with hands submissively placed on top of his hand.
Knowing that he is without gender diminishes my bashfulness concerning my own nudity. And after he finishes his business I drag him into the shower with me and have him soap and wash my body with a soft sponge. He is very well trained.
Later as I dress, there is a knock on the door. I am wearing enough garments to answer without infringing on my modesty and Naomi steps in carrying a medical bag.
“Morning ablutions for Ming, Doctor,” she announces matter-of-factly. “And his hormone shots.”
Although he has just showered, Ming’s scheduled morning ablutions are more involved. As I finish dressing, Naomi drags Ming back into the bathroom and quickly spears his buttocks with numerous hypodermic needles. Next she sets up a rubber bag with various connecting tubes. It seems Ming receives a colonic cleansing every morning and I now understand how his backside came to be well lubricated when I inserted the phallus the day before. When Naomi notices that he is no longer covered by the patch, she giggles like a child at the sight of his tiny penis.
I depart for breakfast and hear Ming protesting as Naomi inflates the bardex enema nozzle. The rubber bag is stretched with the weight of the warm water and awaits Naomi’s simple twist of a valve. I conclude Ming will be occupied for a good part of the morning. I leave, eager to see the island.
A table beside the swimming pool awaits and porter number one serves a light breakfast of Danish and fruit. His buttocks bear the tell tale stripes of some instrument of correction. The dinner party obviously progressed well into the night therefore experience tells me that Lady Constance will probably not join me. The immensely wealthy don’t seem to face the morning well, and when porter number two arrives to pour more coffee, I see his backside is similarly decorated. The activities must have continued until dawn.
It is just as well that I am left on my own. After all, it is difficult to get lost on a small island and as written, I prefer to further investigate on my own. So I gulp down the dregs of my coffee and walk through the house to the porte-cochere.
There, as promised, kneels Big Fella, hitched to a small cart, hooded and blindfolded. Botana is attending to him. She is once again naked and seems to be taking great delight in laving his flesh with lotion.
