Date: Wed, 17 Feb 1999 12:55:42 PST
From: Peter Hawkwood <phawkwood@hotmail.com>
Subject: "The Chinese Test" (b/M) (bond) (cons)

The Chinese Test

(An excerpted transcription from an unpublished Edwardian diary)

Transcribed by Peter Hawkwood (phawkwood@hotmail.com)


The game was always pretty much the same. He would wander over and just 
hang about for a time, looking through my books or simply sitting 
quietly. Eventually he would produce a length of thin cotton rope from 
one of his pockets and challenge me to let him tie me to see if I could 
free myself. I would agree, as if to humour him, and would sit in a 
chair or lie on the couch while he drew my arms behind me and slowly, 
carefully bound my crossed wrists together. 

He never rushed this part, and I would go into an almost hypnotic state 
from the feel of his hands on my arms as he pulled them behind me and 
then again as he looped the ropes around my wrists and pulled each knot 
sufficiently tight. It was especially mesmerizing when he would sit on 
my buttocks while I lay under him as he tied me. At some point he would 
say "There! See if you can get out of that!"  But of course I never 
could. For such a young lad he was awfully good with knots and that sort 
of thing and my captivity was quite real. After a few minutes of earnest 
struggle I would admit that I couldn't get loose and ask him to release 
me. "Oh, no!" he would cry, "You must earn your release with a show of 
courage! I shall torture you in the Chinese manner to test your 
manhood!" Whereupon he would proceed to unbutton my clothing and tease 
my bared flesh with pinches and tickles.

This would go on for some time, until he was ready to pass on to the 
main course. He would brush his hand softly and gently over the fly of 
my trousers and say "What's this? It seems frightfully lumpy!" His small 
fluttering fingers would feel delightful to me but I would not answer 
him. "Won't speak, eh?" he would say. "Well, we'll just have to make you 
talk, won't we?" He would then continue to disrobe me, until finally I 
was lying (or sitting) there with my upper clothes bunched around my 
bound wrists and my trousers and underthings gone completely. A little 
more of his poking and tweaking in my most private areas and I would be 
quite thoroughly excited, and very visibly so as well. This delighted 
him, and was not entirely unpleasant to me I may say. 

The more he teased, the more robustly firm would my poor tormented 
member become, until finally he would produce a small bottle of a 
slippery unguent and pour a goodly dollop of it into his palm. This 
lubricant he would apply liberally to my straining instrument and then 
taking the turgid captive into his well-oiled hands began the most 
deliciously prolonged and expert massage of my rampant maleness. 
Throughout my ensuing ordeal he would be scrupulously careful to cease 
his manuevers if he sensed that I might be reaching the crisis. After a 
moment's cooling delay he would resume his "Chinese torture," taking 
the greatest possible pleasure in his helpless prisoner's moans and 
struggles of agonized bliss. The goal of this ordeal was for him to 
force me to tell him what the object of his cruel attentions was, to 
name it. But no proper or polite term would suit the imp: nothing would 
do but that I give it a risque sobriquet. Finally, after a considerable 
passage of time, I would be able to stand it no longer and to one of his 
frequent inquiries as to whether I was "ready to talk" or not I would 
cry out desperately, almost against my will, "I will talk! I will!" By 
further cajoling tweaks and rubs and brief strokes he would finally draw 
from me the words he wished to hear. "What is it I have here?" And I 
would submit to his precociously randy will by blurting out "It's my 
cock! My prick! Now-- please?" Whereupon the young fiend would resume 
his manual endeavors with energy and skill and would soon have me in the 
final breathless throes of a ecstatic and quite liquid release from his 
torture. This game delighted him, the dirty little bugger, and we spent 
much of a summer playing it. 

Each time I would swear that I would never succumb to the game again. 
And after a few days he would reappear in my study, only to draw the 
cord from its place of hiding and, with an impish grin, sternly order me 
to put my hands behind my back. And despite my fear of discovery, not to 
mention my more general and pervasive sense of guilt, I would comply, 
and give myself up to him as a prisoner to his will and a slave to my 
own perverted passion.