“Kiss,” she more than suggested.
She extended her booted foot, and I struggled to thrust my tongue further in order to osculate as ordered.
Yes, as the British nurse suggested, the Thai women took great joy in having a helpless Caucasian male kiss their feet. And I did so with all the fervor I could muster. Perhaps... just perhaps... I could earn relief from the tongue bondage as well.
In so doing, I glanced to see my p
enis hardening. I convinced myself it was caused by the fullness of my bladder.
Chapter Eight
The door opens and I am soon taking more water. Then as I expected, I hear the metallic clink of a basin being placed under the split seat of the chair. Feminine fingers take hold of my penis. With the encouraging sounds of ‘pssst’... ‘pssst’, I know to open myself and attempt to perform for Mae Lee. I am tempted to ask about Miss Denise but am determined to avoid the clamping of my tongue. Thus I remain silent. Instead, all thoughts revert back to Bangkok. In being handled by the Asian woman, the diabolical Miss Denise has re-immersed my subconscious into the ordeal that forever changed my life.
My excretion begins, spurring a chuckle from the controlling Mae Lee. She has, most knowingly, slipped back my foreskin to foster neatness in my flow and in the shame of being so handled by a woman, my mind seeks odd comfort in returning to a hot and humid Bangkok cell.
I found that the rubber phallus penetrating my rectum had more function than to merely humiliate and torment. I was chagrined to find that when connected to various tubing, it could be used to evacuate my bowels. Thus one more reason to offer release from the chair was obviated.
Where the excrement went, I do not know. But the clever adamancy in assuring that the prisoner would have no reason to be freed impressed and made me realize the futility of all thoughts of release.
I was theirs.
So at the beginning of each morning shift, the young and pretty Mila leaned over to check the various tubes under my chair and then stepped to the wall and turned a valve. I would feel a rush of water and my bowels expand. I would also become erect with the warmth and manipulation of my prostate. This, of course, entertained the girl and she would stand nearby and watch it slowly come to full salute.
Afterwards came the momentary release of each limb and my awkward and comical attempts to bestow kisses on the soft but stern hands that kept me so thoroughly bound. I told myself that the humble act was a diversion to bargain for more time sans straps. But it was not. In attempting to purse my lips and tenderly kiss and lick the hands that so controlled, I was grovelingly acknowledging her supreme authority. Mila would smile, seeming to know that I was slowly breaking. She so much enjoyed my degradation.
After the all too brief respite from the straps, the water valve was closed and another opened to permit the contents of my bowels to drain. Neat, simple and evilly controlling, with the anal tubes and basin, there were no bathroom breaks from the chair.
After what I judged to be days of forced silence, the tongue restraint was finally removed. Yes, I learned obedience and silence and thereafter never a word was uttered without permission. Grunts, beseeching cries of pain, and spontaneous groveling for mercy were excluded. Thus I was not totally mute and gratefully, sounds of anguish were not viewed as transgressions of the general rule.
The lowering of the chair and kissing of the feet of the middle aged guard became a daily offering. In so doing, the change in position offered a respite from the drudgery and on about the third occasion I looked up under her denim skirt to realize she was without undergarments. When she caught my glance she smiled, enthused with the power of her tease. As my tongue lapped away on her boot she somewhat hiked up the hem and more feminine pinkness came into view. She was shaven, in testament to the hot climate.
What a treasured sight!
Then the cattle prod found its way to my scrotum, resting most exposed; with penis upside down and my thighs and legs above my head.
“Want to look? You earn,” she taunted.
And with that, her index finger squeezed off the smallest of electric jolts.
I cried out in agony. Even the lowest of voltage settings places the sensitive organs in burning anguish.
She laughed with my animated reaction, fruitlessly wrenching in my bonds.
“In time you willing to pay the price. I have one prisoner with burned balls but much happy looking. You decide... you want to look... you take the prod.”
Such a diabolic choice. But after many days, I could understand how such a wicked game could find attraction. With the boredom, the slow build up of anguish from the unrelenting straps, perhaps a pleasant glimpse of feminine charms and quick searing pain was an acceptable diversion.
But alas, when finished viewing... the straps would remain in place... that I was coming to understand.
I am guessing it was a week into my incarceration when Mila and two other guards entered for what I always mentally termed the morning shift. But on this visit, the water valve was not opened and the basin was not offered so I immediately knew something different was happening.
Mila stooped to my front and begin toying about with my testicles. And my reaction was most curious. Where as little as a week before, I would protest, vigorously deny her access, threaten, I instead meekly remained silent as she skillfully encircled the based of my scrotal sac with what felt like a leather strap. And of course with the thorough chastity, my penis engorged just from the warmth of her hands and the thought that such a pretty young girl was so near.
Meanwhile, another guard retrieved a thick leather collar from one of the cabinets. The third appeared with three rods, sturdy lengths of metal about five feet long with ‘D’ clamps dangling from short chains at one end.
As Mila finished her business, the second guard tightly strapped the collar around my neck and the third hooked one metal rod to a ringlet on the left and another to a ringlet on the right.
The women worked quickly and mechanically suggesting that whatever was going to happen was routine.