White God and Chink chapter 3

Chapter 3

The Hanging Chink

She arrived just as ordered, at four o’clock sharp, and she let herself in with the key she had been given. The room was small, and sparsely furnished. There was no one there, but the note was lying on a small table, just as he’d said it would be. Resting on it was a pair of metal handcuffs, bright and glittering in the dimness of the room. The sight of them made her throat tighten up. Although she saw that there was some kind of padding on the inside of the cuffs, she couldn’t help the shudder of fear that went through her, or the slight trembling of her fingers as she picked up the note.

It was a list of instructions, all neatly typed, and each one numbered in his usual methodical way. He had told her to follow them all to the letter, and of course she would. He knew that, and so did she. She had no choice. Her eyes filled with tears as she slowly read what he had written. God, it got worse every time. Did he really expect her to—but of course he did. And she would. If she could. She began to sob softly as she forced herself to read through the numbered commands.

“One. Strip yourself naked. Completely. This means not only clothing, but any jewelry, any adornment, any paraphernalia of any kind.

“Two. Pick up your panties and stuff them into your mouth, to muffle any sounds you may wish to make. Pack them in solidly, so that your mouth is completely filled, with no part of them remaining outside.

“Three. Place your brassiere across your mouth and tie it around your head. Knot it in back of your head at least twice, very tightly, to keep the panties in place.

“Four. Fasten the handcuffs around both your wrists. Close them as tightly as you can.

“Five. Stand on the chair in the middle of the room, underneath the large hook in the ceiling.

“Six. Raise your arms as high as you can, until you can maneuver the chain of the handcuffs over the hook. I have placed it at the precise height so that this can be done. If you have difficulty, persist until you succeed.

“Seven. Kick the chair over, so you no longer have anything to stand on.

“Eight. Hang there. And wait.”

That was all the note said.

She cried even as she began to follow his instructions. She took off all her clothes, and her bracelet, and her ring, and her wristwatch, and even took the hairpins out of her hair. Her naked body was tan and slender, though attractively curved. She picked up her panties, then opened her mouth and took a deep shuddering breath before stuffing them inside it. Why hadn’t she worn a thong? She gagged several times as she packed them in deeply, pushing the stray bits of material past her lips, tucking them in until the entire garment was inside, leaving her unable to close her mouth. She was breathing hard through her nose as she took up her brassiere, twisted it as best she could into a thin strip of cloth and placed it over her mouth. She pulled the straps around her head and tied the ends into a knot at the back, pulling them as tight as she could before knotting them again to keep it secure.

Doing her best to stifle her sobs—it was hard enough to breathe as it was—she took the handcuffs from the table, her hands trembling as she fastened one of the cuffs over her left wrist. Even with the layer of padding, the feel of the iron tightening around her wrist made her sick for a moment. Still, she pressed it closed as tightly as she could, and then repeated the action with the other cuff on her right wrist. The feeling of helplessness was like a fist in her stomach.

But she wasn’t helpless. Not yet. She could still follow the other instructions. She felt weak in the knees as she walked to the small metal chair in the middle of the room. As the note had said, it was placed directly under a curved silver hook that hung by a chain from an exposed beam in the ceiling. She was trembling as she climbed awkwardly onto the seat of the chair, her cuffed hands making it difficult. But she managed to get onto it and finally stand erect, though almost losing her balance two or three times in the process. Trembling harder now, she very slowly raised her arms, stretching them high over her head. The small chain that linked the cuffs did not quite reach the lip of the hook. Try as she might, she could not get it high enough. With a muffled whimper, she stretched herself up on her toes, straining to the utmost as she tried to pass the chain over the curving metal. She missed, and cried out again as she barely managed to keep herself from falling. She almost collapsed then, but instead she made one more frantic try, exerting every ounce of strength and will, and this time the chain just slipped over the hook. And stayed there.

Now she stood there, arms stretched above her, the cuffs already chafing her wrists. She was moaning through the panties in her mouth and panting for breath through her nose as her whole body shook. For some moments she stood that way, trying to get up the courage to take the next step. But she knew she would. He knew it too.

It took her some time, but finally she took in a deep breath, then pulled herself up by her wrists and kicked at the chair as hard as she could as a stifled cry of fear escaped her mouth. The chair fell away, and now she hung by her wrists, with nothing to stand on but air.

Her arms ached with strain, and the pain in her shoulders was more than she thought she could bear. Her legs kicked reflexively for a moment, her feet instinctively searching for support, but there was no support, and the movement only added to the torment of her position, so she let her legs hang limp.

She recalled the last instruction: “Hang there. And wait.” And she hung there. As if she could not! Hung there, helpless and straining, her body taut, in terrible pain. And she waited. For what, she did not know.

It seemed like hours that she hung there, her agony growing with every slow second that passed. Sweat ran down her body, she was moaning through her gag, and her breathing was harsh and heavy through her nostrils.

Then at last she heard something—some steps in the hallway outside. Then the sound of a key in the door. And then the door opened, and someone came in, and as she saw who it was she nearly passed out with shock and horror. Then she screamed. Screamed as loudly as she could, though her panty gag muffled the sound. But still she kept trying to scream, while her body twisted frantically, struggling, kicking, in spite of the indescribable torment that threatened to tear her apart.

But it was useless. There was no escape, and finally, defenseless, exhausted, and in agony, she went limp and just hung there once more, her eyes wide and terrified above the gag, little whimpering sounds coming from deep in her throat. The man stood and looked at her, grinning a little as he slowly removed his suit jacket, draping it over the table on which the cuffs had been resting.

“Well, Miss Chink,” he said at last, and she sickened inside at the way that he uttered her name. Rage, shame and horror mingled with her terror and pain. She could not stop her muffled whimpers, and she felt herself quivering violently now as she dangled helplessly before him.

Her visitor moved now to the small chair she had kicked over, picking it up and setting it a few feet away, facing her. Then he sat down on it, settling back and crossing his legs, as if for a comfortable stay.

“You look lovely, Miss Chink,” he said then. “Truly lovely. Mr. Simon told me you would, and he was right.” He smiled at her. “We have plenty to do,” he went on, “but you are such a fine sight that I think I’ll just sit here and watch for a while.”

So he sat there and gazed at her agonized helplessness, his eyes devouring her, taking in every inch of her luscious nude asian body, her tautened breasts and round hips and curved thighs. At one point she couldn’t stand it any more and she started to plead, to beg frantically, knowing it would do no good; but the sounds that came through her terrible gag were an unintelligible muffled babble, which brought no response from him but another smile. Then she could only sob with despair and hang there waiting for what was to happen to her.

“I have some instructions,” he finally said, and reaching into his shirt pocket he pulled out a folded piece of paper and opened it up. She saw that it was some kind of note, neatly typed, just as hers had been. Suddenly she was trying to scream again, her eyes wild with horror, the veins swelling in her throat as nothing but a soft humming sound came from her packed mouth.

“Yes, our friend has told me just what to do to you, my darling chink whore,” the white man went on. “And I think it’s going to be most enjoyable. For me, anyway. Listen.” And smiling once more, he cleared his throat and began to read to her.

“One. . . “

Author: jennifer suzuki

I have been a very confused—some might say very conflicted—girl ever since I can remember and I have always lived in a fantasy world of my own making.

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