Chinese Justice

by Peter Marriner

  The old man chuckled and went about his duties again without a backward glance. His boss let Nicola sob for a few minutes then said as if being kind, “I will permit you to think about your foolishness for a while. You may remain where you are until I have time for you!”

  He continued with his work. He had her conveniently to hand now, stretched belly down across the desktop within easy reach. From time to time he would reach out to slip his hand beneath her skirt as if in absence of mind, fondling her uneasily trembling hindquarters, keeping Nicola upon tenterhooks as to her fate, uncertain whether she had done enough to earn his connivance at her substitution, and frightened to ask.

  Several times other men came into the office to speak to the Controller. Nicola felt their scrutiny and reddened in embarrassment, but she kept her eyes downcast and knowing nothing of the language, was unable to judge what they thought of their boss’s new desk ornament.

  From time to time her captor went out without a word, leaving her alone in the office, but she didn’t dare move from her position on his desk, in case he came back unexpectedly and caught her. The last time he did so he took her wooden identity tag with him and when he came back told her merrily that he had a treat for her.

  “Ah yes... thank you... ” She wriggled uneasily beneath his hand. She judged by his tone and the glimpse she had got of the bulge at his crotch, that she was going to be made to work for this favour what ever it was, all over again.

  He took her by the arm and led her to the window, parting the bamboo slats to get a better view. Then, lifting the blind a foot or so, he motioned to Nicola to bend over to peer beneath. His hands boosted her forward as she did so until she was half out of the window, thrust on her belly across the broad sill.

  She took in the view from there across the expanse of railway tracks, immobile rolling stock and soot caked, brick and concrete buildings. Right opposite was what he had pointed out to her across her shoulder. A line of shuffling figures linked together by a chain had emerged from one of the buildings. She recognised in the dispirited prisoners her former companions, under a new conductor and evidently moving on without her. She guessed that her label had been fixed to another’s neck.

  She had no time to count the number of prisoners, feeling the solid belly of her new possessor bump her thighs apart from behind. She felt very conspicuous across the windowsill, half in half out, but she couldn’t withdraw backwards even had she dared attempt it. She felt her fat tormentor’s hands on her hips, thrusting her shift up and sliding round under it until the big thumbs could splay her bottom rounds apart. She clenched her teeth to restrain a cry at the reaction it caused from the wheals the cane had left across them. She was now hoist a little up on her toes, dangling over the windowsill unsupported by her cuffed hands, her rump the highest part of her and the slats of the blind across her back.

  No one among the few figures visible below seemed to have noticed her sudden emergence from the upper window. When she felt his cock nudge between her bottom cheeks and found where it was heading, she opened her mouth once or twice to yell then swallowed it, desperate not to draw attention to herself. As it was centred deliberately upon her virgin anus, she waited aghast, squirming a little at the indignity of her position, mumbling pleas over her shoulder, but dangling helplessly, waiting to be buggered.

  Inch by inch he worked into her, splaying her cheeks ruthlessly, keeping her jacked up on her toes. Groans escaped increasingly from between her teeth, gritted to avoid attracting the attention of men working in the yard. Pain as if her flesh was about to split lanced through her backside. He seemed to grow bigger with every thrust as if her pain excited him. Her knees banging the wall inside the window dislodged flakes of plaster and the loose slats of the widow blind rattled noisily above her. He drove deep within her until she was all but breathless. Her voice became a croak reacting to the pain and shame as he rammed in and out, holding her quivering rump with steadying hands, thumping his heavy belly and thighs into her protesting bottom-cheeks, grunting with methodical vigour.

  Her behind seemed to swell and explode. His orgasm burst wetly within her just as his intrusion seemed to reach an unbearable girth. Nicola found herself alternately arching wildly, hair tossing over her face, and then flopping back down with her breasts scraping the rough brickwork. Long ahhhs... escaped from her.

  Then his cock shrank and slipped out of her quite naturally. Just as his gripping hands heaved her partway back, Nicola saw faces below momentarily upturned, then as his grip loosened, had just enough sense to drag herself backwards through the window, the slats of the blind rattling noisily across her bare back and shoulders. She staggered back, whimpering, into the shady interior the blind swinging wildly behind her.

  When he had adjusted his clothing, the Controller dealt with Nicola, fastening her with handcuffed wrists, her hands above her head, to the circular bar at the top of the tall hat-stand. Then, donning his uniform cap and giving her a parting smack, he went out again.

  He was away longer than usual this time. Nicola sagged exhaustedly against the hat-stand. Eventually, feeling her knees buckling she summoned enough resolution to wrestle the stand over onto its side. Its heavy base was too difficult to lug across the floor and her injured bottom left her in no state to sit. She settled for a position draped across it. When she heard his returning feet on the stairs she tried to restore the heavy piece to its original position in a panic. Catching her at it the Controller laughed and, taking up his ruler gave her a few quick whacks before she got it back upright.

  Nicola was now stranded helplessly in a state between identities and at the mercy of her rescuer or captor, whichever he was. She was as strictly a prisoner as before, and the benefits of having access to a proper bathroom began to grow stale. Early on when she ventured to ask the how soon she was to leave for Shanghai, he responded scornfully.

  “Better to stay with your protector! People are starving now. No oil for engines. Not enough coal! Here you will always be fed!”

  It was true that she was well fed, even if she had to wait until he was finished first. The storeroom behind the office was full to the ceiling with food, canned and packaged, a hoard against an expected famine.

  In the days that followed, she was forced to submit to what she frequently thought resentfully, was more than she had ever agreed to, but she could think of no way out. Her fat possessor fucked her whenever he had a spare half hour. He seemed to be under strain, unbalanced by the stress of events beyond the walls of the office. Fucking his helpless prize seemed to be an outlet for whatever frustrations his daily experience aroused. She dared not rebel, for his temper readily flared up and was evidently feared by his subordinates. She was even afraid to pester him about the matter of her re-direction, for he was equally liable to fly into a rage with her.

  The first time she offended, he produced a bamboo cane and gave her a swift reprise of her punishment before the court, all the details of which had evidently been given in her accompanying papers. In fact it very effectually awakened all her earlier conditioning, evoking a fervent desire to anticipate his requirements.

  The little black dress was now just a rag, but the Controller in a good mood, as what he said was a reward for her performance, came up with a couple of lengths of figured silk, bright red and royal blue, which she then wore in sarong style tucked under the arms and coming just about to mid thigh.

  She was kept strictly confined between his office and the adjoining flat. The other door turned out to give access, in addition to the big storeroom, to a small kitchen and a bedroom. The flat was intended for overnight use by the Controller when traffic was heavy enough to require his supervision for a longer period. Nicola suspected that the brute had a wife and family somewhere and that she was only an amusement for his idle moments at work, the equivalent of a boss shagging his secretary. She occupied the bed only when she was being fucked and was never
allowed to sleep in it, being relegated afterwards to a mat on the floor alongside her snoring abuser like a tossed aside duvet. On the nights the Controller spent elsewhere she was locked up in the bedroom alone, but still obliged to sleep on the floor shackled hand and foot, and securely chained to the bed end.

  She was conscious that her captor had no desire to dispense with her services and, despairing of making progress in that direction, resorted to the piece of paper she had prepared with the help of her fellow convict on the train. She raided the Controller’s desk for materials and wrote a desperate letter begging for someone to find her, carefully copying what she suspected was the name of her place of confinement from its frequent appearance on the document headings that passed through the office.

  Her chosen messenger was the only one available; the ancient office assistant, whom she fancied felt no love for his Master and might, she thought, have some fellow feeling for her plight. The old man acted as the Controller’s personal cook as well as office janitor and general dogsbody. She slipped the letter to him with the empty dishes that she and the Controller had finished with and he read the inscription she had so carefully copied, nodding his comprehension. They had no opportunity for further communication that day and the Controller stayed overnight.

  Nicola was forced to exert herself vigorously to satisfy him, consoling herself with the reflection that her message was on its way to summon help. Surely the country couldn’t have broken down so completely that a letter would fail to reach its destination. Afterwards, listening to the Controller’s snores from the bed above her, she wondered how much the postage would cost, and whether the old man might be able or willing to employ more speedy means. She guessed that communications with foreigners, especially diplomats, might be censored and resolved to be nice to the old fellow for putting himself in danger.

  The Controller left work early next day, leaving Nicola secured by her chain in the bedroom. She knew that the old man had access to the locked office and looked forward eagerly to the arrival of the evening meal conveyed by her messenger. She was therefore doubly aghast to have the familiar envelope waved in front of her. The old man cackled delightedly at her dismay and launched into a long speech quite unintelligible to Nicola.

  She could only guess by the tone that he felt he had some hold over her. Seeing her incomprehension he resorted to gestures that gradually made the situation plainer. He wanted payment for the dispatch of her message and since obviously they both knew she had no money, he proposed to take payment in the same way as his boss. Laying the dinner tray in the middle of the bed, he propped the envelope up against the rice bowl and patted the bed end, seeing that she understood him and blandly assuming her assent. Nicola followed his gestures all too well. Her mind frantically went over the alternatives even while she weakly allowed herself to be turned round, fetters clinking and pushed up on her knees against the bed. Bent forward unresisting over the edge, with her sarong thrown up to her waist, she found the message envelope right before her eyes to remind her why she was doing so.

  There was no other way of accomplishing her aim, she told herself, then it was too late and hard male hands were parting the rounds of her naked behind, a pair of bony masculine thighs thrusting between hers. The shortness of the chain connecting Nicola’s ankles made her sex less readily available to his approach and she hastened to assist by spreading her knees wide and humping up her hips. The dog’s-body grunted in gratified approval, but Nicola was less receptive, afraid her abuser might settle for the more accessible opening.

  The man inserting himself into her was skinnier and wirier than the fat controller but astonishingly vigorous, considering his age. No expensive aftershave, though, a strong smell of rancid oil settled over Nicola mixed with the hint of ancient farts and soured sweat. She struggled between revulsion, shame and fear of losing her chance to get that message sent. His penis was small in size like his racial type but his vigorous thrusts rocked Nicola back and forth, lifting her off her knees and bouncing her hard off the resilient mattress, making all her metallic restraints jingle noisily. Every time her head rose she saw with a gasp the envelope within her reach and felt like grasping it as a talisman. She soon realised that she must play her part if this wasn’t to last all night. Her elderly exploiter was quick to respond, delighted with his bargain and was soon thrusting deep and then quickly pumping sparsely into her with incomprehensible compliments on her performance.

  He seemed satisfied with his reward and left her to eat the meal he had brought, but she awaited his return for the empties with the unease brought by shameful reflection. The old man promptly indicated that he wanted more. There was no sign of the letter, but as she had already realized, she had no guarantee that it was beyond recovery. So she had to submit meekly to another and this time much longer and slower session over the bed end.

  Now she had two men to satisfy. The Controller assigned her to assist the old man in his duties in the kitchen so as to learn by example, enough to substitute for him when he was off duty. This gave the old lecher numerous undercover opportunities to fondle her with greasy fingers. Twice when the boss was out of the office for a prolonged period she was bent over the kitchen sink, her sarong thrust up about her waist, and then taken from behind by the underling. Nicola could only hope that he rightly estimated how long his boss would be. She dared not offend her messenger, but the Controller had perhaps some suspicion that the heat of the stove was not the only reason for her flushed appearance as she served his meal. At any rate he no longer left her in a position where his employee had access to her, locking the bedroom door overnight, leaving her hungry but secure from pestering by the old man, who didn’t possess a key.

  As the days went by, the activity in the railway yards seemed to slacken off more and more, with the unfortunate effect that it allowed her principal captor more time for un-business like activities of his own.

  On one such quiet day, after the Controller had fucked her twice during the morning and then once more after a very heavy midday meal and several glasses of whisky, he fell asleep on the black couch. He had taken so long about the last fuck and laboured so heavily and noisily, that she wondered if he was going to have a heart attack on the spot. She was left just as the brute had finished with her; bent across the desk front with her arms outstretched and her wrists fastened apart to convenient drawer handles, her toes just clear of the carpeting. She heard him blundering about behind her like a shot bear, finally collapsing with a few groans onto the couch. She hesitated at first to undergo the humiliation of having to beg for release, and then thereafter was afraid to risk disturbing him, for almost at once he began to emit reverberating snores.

  Feeling hard used, she made herself as comfortable as she might, flattened on her belly on the desk top, her legs dangling. She fell into a half doze in which she dreamed she was lying along the neck of a huge, galloping, red-maned stallion, waking only to come to the realisation that she was still atop the desk and the subject of a renewed assault. She floundered in confusion. She would never have expected the Controller to produce as swift and solid a resurrection as the one she now felt pressed upon her. Startled she began to say as much, but an urgent hiss urged her to silence and the familiar smell told her that she should have recognised the size.

  The Controller’s snores went on undisturbed, fit to rattle the windows. Should she yell? Her natural instinct was to yell. Yet it seemed ridiculous for her, the helpless victim, to be warning one abuser about another stealing his victim.

  The desk was creaking in a regular rhythm. The old handyman was exploiting her hesitation without losing any time, thrusting into her helplessly postured sex whether she would or no. Unable to decide she simply surrendered to the occasion, finding this extra fucking, building upon her earlier arousal and the effects of her half-dreams until it created its own response. The hissing whisper became more urgent as her knees banged the desk despite the man’
s attempts to hold her still. The surreptitious sexual poacher panted with exertion, sensing his advantage and, elated by his achievement.

  The prospect of making trouble between the pair possessed a natural attraction. Recklessly Nicola ceased to make an attempt to repress her orgasm. She had been under sexual pressure like this all day. The thought of the risk they were both running only seemed to heighten the effect. By the time she made up her mind, it would have been too late anyway. She squealed noisily and irrepressibly despite her gritted teeth, her breath hissing in tune with the old man’s wheezing grunts, her knees thumping the woodwork.

  Her heightened senses picked up the sudden cessation of the Controller’s snores. The sneaking cook by contrast was oblivious or uncaring, already into the hard fast strokes, danger must have contributed to his arousal too.

  Nicola’s tension stretched ecstatically to breaking point, disregarding safety. The explosion of her orgasm combined simultaneously with the bellow of an enraged male. She wailed her satisfaction without the least restraint and that seemed to infuriate the bellower even more.

  The opportunistic interloper was plucked rudely from between her thighs like a cork from a bottle. Nicola managed to crane round enough to see, over her shoulder, her self-appointed prior claimant grappling with the thief, both men bellowing and yelling. Superior weight evidently told and the old man was soon on the floor curled up clutching his groin, with his boss vigorously kicking and punching him. He took advantage of the fat man’s running out of breath to crawl towards the door, where he picked himself up cursing shrilly and as the panting Controller lumbered a few steps, turned and fled. The Controller forbore to pursue but turned back instead to the object of the theft.