And then my heart leaped as Mila finished and slipped off the right ankle strap and the left. Since arriving, never had two straps been loose at the same time. Then she stood and released the thigh straps and the forearm straps.
I was free!.. except for the metal rods.
“You be examined... cleaned. You be good boy.”
I straightened my arms and almost passed out from the rush of unusual but welcomed pain as circulation was restored and joints long held immobile were freed. The sensation cannot be described and with the overwhelming surge, I had to stop all motion. The women laughed. Two sets of strong hands lifted the metal rods which tensioned my neck collar. They wanted me to stand. I was not ready but struggled. My legs were cramped and weak, but I managed and the anal plug slowly slid out and exited with a shameful ‘plop’.
I cannot say I stood so much as the two women held me up by my neck collar and the rods. In pulling me away from the chair, Mila took the third rod and from behind slipped the end between my thighs. She attached the ‘D’ clamp to the strap around my testicles. Stepping further from the chair she tugged and I immediately felt tension on my scrotum.
Mila had me by my balls!
“We walk you to the washroom.”
Though my arms and hands were free, the rods were cleverly designed so that the bearer was out of reach, not that I had the fortitude to resist.
All three women pulled me toward the cell door and lifted. I summoned the strength to rise onto my toes and that’s how I learned they like to walk a man... naked... most humbled... with a woman controlling his organs, suspended from controlling rods like a puppet.
Still it was so wonderful to be released, relatively. Arms, legs and feet could be moved simultaneously for the first time since my arrival.
I found myself wanting to kiss all three, but instead concentrated on moving as demanded. The three amused themselves by pulling forward and upwards on the neck rods while Mila also pulled on my scrotal strap but hesitated in moving in cadence. This resulted in much tittering and laughter, as I was forced to lean forward in a way leaving my testicles behind until Mila relented and stepped along. The washroom was not a long walk, but with the stiffness and the women seeming to enjoy, the journey went slowly.
Chapter Nine
The sound of the opening door interrupts my reverie. I feel the slightest brush of a finger tip on my penis, soft laughter follows
. I am erect and the condition entertains. The anal insertion, my chastity, my recollections, all serve to arouse.
Something touches my lips. It is a spoon.
“You eat.”
It is rice and the taste and feel revolts. For three months in Bangkok, it was all I was afforded. Still the ingrained obedience overpowers, and I fully part my lips to accept. I know there are methods for assuring compliance. If a controlling woman wants me to eat, then I shall eat.
So I am fed like a child. There is nothing quite so humbling and in my Bangkok cell Mila spent inordinate hours spooning the bland nourishment. The daily ration was small and my hunger great. Mila used the offered nutrition as a taunt, sometimes propping the bowl between my thighs and just letting it sit there while I pined for the smallest morsel.
Yes, I learned to beg for food I would not otherwise toss to an animal. It was one of the few times I was given permission to speak... so that Mila could listen to my humble words, beseeching her to present the spoon to my lips. And when she did so, it would be the smallest of offerings, furthering my frustration. And after ingesting, the process of begging for a second paltry spoonful began anew. Feedings sometimes occupied an entire shift, and there were occasions when a full bowl was taken away when my pleadings did not suffice.
And so as Mae Lee spoons food with annoyingly long intervals between, I patiently sit, naked, well bound and in darkness. Memories of my incarceration continue to unreel.
In finally reaching the washroom, the British nurse awaited. Such ecstasy but such humiliation. I was without bonds or straps, but the three guards remained in the room all donning cattle prods while the nurse had her way. Examining, washing, shaving. My hands remained wherever she demanded they be placed. I received a real enema... deep... slow... massive... and provided a urine sample, designed to promote humiliation more than for testing.
“You’ve lost a few pounds, despite the lack of exercise,” she sprightly noted.
The irony was not lost. The limited ration of rice kept me groveling for sustenance, yet the sardonic nurse reacted as if I had spent a successful week dieting in an expensive health club.
But those weekly visits so nicely broke the monotony. Later, there would be visits that not so nicely broke the monotony. Those were to a special room where even the guards seemed to somewhat recoil. And those visits caused me to break entirely.
It’s been hours since Miss Denise departed. I must assume that I have finished eating as Mae Lee releases the strap on my right forearm. I know it to be the obligatory respite offered every captive in four point restraint. What most would think of as welcomed relief actually becomes incredible torment as dulled nerves awaken, resting ligaments and tendons celebrate freedom, circulation returns to deprived muscles and the entire systemic change results in an overwhelming rush of indescribable signals of pain.
Thus I wonder whether the momentary relief is to benefit the captive or amuse the captor by interrupting what I would describe as a period of hibernation, where the body shuns the slow anguish and endorphins flood the cortex to mercifully lull what is otherwise slow and vicious agony.
I know to slowly move fingers, drawing circulation, stoically accept the initial pain signals and then try to move. I also know to most humbly thank my captor, despite the anguish, for I need to move at some point, otherwise my limbs will atrophy. Thus, in spite of the ordeal, I grovel.
“Thank you, Miss Mae Lee.”
The servile words trickle through clenched jaw. I picture the satisfied look of supremacy as I grimace with the onslaught of torment.
As suspected, the arm is returned and my torturer works left forearm strap, then right and left ankle straps. Release, pause to allow motion, perhaps a brief rub, gentle pushing and prodding to return the arm and leg to bondage, then the firm pressure of the straps return.