She Was Evil

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Marked

“I promised to bestow upon you something very precious and very special,” she whispered into his ear as he knelt below her in all his naked glory save for the metal bars that criss-crossed his p***s and held it captive and chaste by a solid metal ring around his scrotum to which the bars above were linked by a sturdy padlock. “And it is time to make good upon my promise.”

His eyes widened, still unable to comprehend how a man such as could find himself in a situation surely no European before him could have known. Here he was, naked and chastised, on his knees before a Chinese woman young enough to be his daughter – should he have been so unfortunate to spawn such a creature. A collar was fastened about his neck and attached to sturdy metal bracelets locked upon his hands and ankles. Bracelets that were, in turn, fastened to a metal ring set in the concrete floor.

A brazier crackled at his back and he knew there were at least two of her minions attending it.

Much vaunted for his courage as he was, he had not, he realised, ever felt so afraid in his life until now.

Her grip in his hair tightened and she raised his eyes that he might see the delight she took in owning a man such as he.

“It is time to be marked as the obedient dog you are for your Chinese Master,” she told him. “Time to mark you for all time as the property of a young woman who is your superior in all ways.”

A familiar feeling of sickness began in his stomach and threatened to erupt into his oesophagus. It would be as she said, he knew. Thousands of miles from his own land and friendless, he knew there would be no rescue and that whatever she decided to do with her “white chattel” would be done.

As he felt her hand cup his balls and jiggle them gently as if they were no more than an amusing toy gifted a child, he almost prayed that death would take him and that the proscription his Roman beliefs insisted upon could be prevailed upon to allow him to do the job himself, so great was his shame for being too weak to prevent such humiliating usage of him.

“It is time to wear my mark, dog,” she whispered into his ear, her deceptively sweet breath tickling at the canal while her tongue made contact with his lobe. “So all that see you in the biblical sense might know to whom you belong.”

Sheer dread threatened to make him pass out and it was only a last reserve of manhood that kept him from giving the hell-hound the pleasure of reducing him to such a… female… response.

“Lower your forehead to the floor,” she commands him, taking a step back.

Then, when he does not instantly obey:

“Test me on this and a painful marking will be made a thousand times more agonising. This I promise also. And you know I do not make promises lightly.”

Knowing there was little point in resisting and that to do so will only cause him greater agonies, he places his forehead upon the cool concrete of the cellar floor. His legs feel as if they have been transformed to water by his fear and it is only by summoning up the last reserves of his diminished fortitude that he prevents his bowels from opening. A disgrace he cannot contemplate; despite the disgraces already heaped upon him.

Finally, after what seems like hours listening to her conversing in a strange dialect with her flunkeys, she addresses him:

“Very well, my obedient European dog. It is time.”

No sooner have the words left her lips than the smell of burnt flesh reaches his nose.

This before his left buttock explodes with the most excruciating of agonies and his consciousness leaves him.

He has no idea of time when the freezing cold water brings him back to the present and the pain at his rear kicks in once again; though the fact he is in the same position as when consciousness left him assures him it has not been long.

The pain is bad but he knows it will subside at some point and he will not give the Chinese sadist the pleasure of hearing him whine and beg – no matter the burning at his left buttock is like no pain he has ever experienced.

His fortitude does not survive her next words:

“The Chinese symbols with which you are marked read: ‘‘Property of Ai Zhang’,” she told him.

But it was what she told him next that finally depleted the small reserves of manhood and resolve remaining to him.

“It remains now only for me to brand your other buttock with the same inscription in your mother tongue.”

His scream was indeed followed by the most piteous begging…