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Message-ID: <36006asstr$1018185005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Keywords:  hanging, strangulation, breath control, gambling
From: anon3a9c@nyx10.nyx.net (Damien)
Cache-Post-Path: irys.nyx.net!anon3a9c@nyx10.nyx.net
Subject: {ASSM} ASA Story: The Chinese Watch (F solo, hanging) (REPOST)
Date: Sun,  7 Apr 2002 09:10:05 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This story was written by Ol' Sarge.  I (Damien) am posting it
by permission of the author.

Listen up!  Yes, I mean you!

There's a few things you gotta read before you go on to the story. 

First, there's sexually explicit stuff here.  If you're not old enough to
vote, go on to the next message.  Better yet, unsubscribe to this
discussion group.  Gwan, kid, shoo! And that goes double if sexually
explicit stories are illegal where you are!

Second, this is a work of <u>fiction</u>!  No actual people or animals were
harmed in the writing of this story.

Third, don't try this stuff at home.  You could end up dead!  Over 200
people a year die playing with asphyxia in the USA.  That's not counting
the rest of the world.

Remember, I didn't *make* you read this story.  If you think it's badly
written, that's one thing.  But if you don't like stories about people
getting strangled while having sex, don't blame anybody but yourself.

Here's some blank space to give you a chance to skip to the next message.
After that, you're on your own.






















Summary: This story includes a woman being hanged to entertain a group of
men.  Non-lethal semi-consensual.



		    The Chinese Watch
			by Sarge
		    anon5ab7@nyx.net

Ol' Sarge quotes:

    "...and it's not a cheap clip joint for picking up tarts.  That's
    right out...<ring><ring>
    (picks up phone)
    Hello...
    Yes, your watch will be ready at midnight.
    (impatiently) The CHINESE watch!
    Right,  bye <click>
    (viscously)Mother"
	    Monty Python, the Piranha brothers.

It is widely know throughout the sea services that the difference between
a Fairy Tale and a Sea Story [which is not to be confused with a War Story]
is this:

'A Fairy Tale begins "Once upon a time ...", and a Sea Story begins "This
is no shit ...".'  (War stories usually begin "There I was ...").

This is no shit, the first occurance of the Images scenario, or
anything like it, that I saw was in Hong Kong in the autumn of 1966.  I
was a young hard charging Lance Corporal Machine Gunner on R&R from an
all expense paid vacation in the sunny vacation land in SE Asia.  On my
second night there I went out of the hotel and flagged a rickshaw and
asked the puller to "Take me to a place where women get tied up" or words
to that effect (can you tell that I was an MP for a while?).  A friend of
mine (a Sargeant born and raised in Bermuda) had said, "Rickshaw runners in
Hong Kong know where everything is, and can get you there just as quickly
and more cheaply than a Taxi", and that "You can find and purchase almost
anything in Hong Kong, with the possible exception of tactical nuclear
weapons".  After some negotiations, hampered by my nonexistent Chinese and
his marginal English and the fact that after giving up on speaking English
to him I was using Okinawa pidgin, we agreed on a price (there was no
problem with the destination, that he understood instantly), and away we
went.

The trip took about 15 minutes, mostly at a trot and I was somewhat
confused as to where we were after 5 minutes (perhaps the quantity of beer
that I had previously consumed had something to do with it, usually I'm
very difficult to lose).   In any case, we ended up at a multi-story
building somewhere within a 15 minute trot (say 2 miles) of the President
Hotel, Kowloon, Crown Colony of Hong Kong.  There are probably a thousand
or so such buildings, they all look alike, unless you can read the signs on
them in Chinese (Happy Valley House), (Tenement of Joyous Nights Sleeping)
and so forth.  So he drops the poles of the Rickshaw, and says, "You come
with me, please".

We entered the building, (there is something about Chinese buildings,
they're alive, breathing, with thousands of invisible eyes watching you)
and take a lift to the <mumble> floor (it's been 25 years, I don't have
that good a memory, remember I didn't expect this to be real memorable at
the time).  We walk down the hall and the runner (rickshaw puller is a bit
clumsy, da?) raps on a door (looked like any other door to me, no numbers
(anywhere), no characters (anywhere), a real anonymous floor) and this
youngish Chinese guy answers -I never did get the name, because it was
never offered, let's call him Mr. Inside.  He and the runner seem to be
real pals, because his face lights up (don't let anyone tell you that
orientals are 'inscrutable', usually they couldn't hide an emotion under a
blanket <except when they are gambling>) and they start rattling away in
Canton (I think, Mandarin sounds different, and Shanghai and Hunan sound a
bit like Vietnamese, and THAT I could spot) and waving hands in my general
direction and towards the door (this was the clue, Canton is, like
Italian, a partially signed language).

After about 20 seconds the inside guy turns to me and says, in impeccable
British English (sounded like a old Wykehamist), "Welcome to our humble
establishment" ...you could have knocked me over with a feather, a real
live cliche...  and then he gives this big grin and I can tell that he's
having some fun at my expense, but that's OK by me, that's why I'm here
(fun).

"He", he says, not quite pointing at the runner, "says that you want to
see women, bound?"

"Yes, exactly".  This English accent stuff is contagious.

"That is good, you have come to the correct place, please pay him the
agreed amount, I would recommend that you tip him 10 per-cent of the fee
that you will pay here.  That would be twenty dollars, Hong Kong".

Now in 1966 the Hong Kong dollar was worth about $.35 US, so doing some
quick math, and drawing on my ready supply of beer befuddled wit I said,
"Huh?".  That's damn near 9 bucks for a 15 minute rickshaw ride.

"Our fee to view the show is two hundred dollars, Hong Kong". (I swear the
guy talked like that, you could see per-cent not %, and two hundred
dollars, Hong Kong not $HK200).  "We have never had a complaint, and the
performers usually get tips of that amount also".  I'm thinking "Shit, 70
bucks! for 70 bucks I can get layed what? 5, 6 times easy (at this time
there was little or no amateur sex available for transient personnel in
Hong Kong (meaning the guys coming up from 'Nam trying to unwind, not to
mention when a Carrier Battle group shows up and drops 8 or 9 thousand
horny swabbies all over), and damn little for the troops (The Queen's Own
Buffs, and the 1st Gurkas) stationed there) this had better be
out-fucking-standing".  Honest folks that's the way we talked and thought
then.

So I took out cash stash number 1 (you don't think that I took ALL my
money with me, hey I got four more days of R&R left), peeled off a 20 for
the runner, plus the 5 that I owed him for the trip (to put prices in
perspective you could, and I did later, eat a sumptuous feast for two for
$HK25 plus tip).  Then I peeled off another $HK200 and handed it to the
other guy and said, "You look like a gent to me, let's get rolling".  He
winced (yeah, well I've never really been able to beat around the bush,
and back then ...) at my lack of couth, and handed me back the money.
"Please, hold on to it.   You pay when the performance starts.   We have a
while to wait, would you care for a beer?".

The runner departed, well pleased I'm sure, and we entered the suite (as
it turned out).  There was a living room, unremarkable, with a few sofas
and chairs, 3 Chinese gentlemen were sitting there, talking quietly in
Chinese, a sort of businessmens dinner, sans dinner, they wore expensive
looking western suits.  I had one much like theirs on order ($HK75, ready
in 3 days, you come back day after tomorrow for second fitting, OK?). The
young man left and returned quickly with a beer, and a glass.

"Here you go, on the house.  Have a seat, the show starts in about twenty
minutes".

I sat down in what I hoped was a comfortable chair (it was), not too close
to the the other occupants of the room (I didn't want to cramp their style,
anyway they ignored me beyond a quick, appraising glance), and picked up a
magazine.  Couldn't read a word, Chinese, but the pictures were
interesting, oriental women, mostly Japanese (they were wearing Kimonos,
those that were wearing anything), tied up in various improbable
positions.  Some that, before I saw the photos, I would have sworn were
impossible.  I thumbed through that magazine and a couple of others as
well.  While I was reading a steady trickle of Chinese men came in, soon
there were about 15 of them, standing around in little groups, drinking
beer or tea, nattering away, just like a cocktail party back in the
world.

As I finished up my beer, the guy came back and said something in Chinese
to the other folks and then to me, "It is time for the performance, these
gentlemen have selected the scene to be played, do you wish me to tell
you, or would you rather watch it as it unfolds?"

I allowed as how I'd just watch it unfold, and he looked a bit surprised
then smiled a bit and said, "I think that you will be pleased that you
made that choice, the performance is most moving when you don't know what
will happen".

"Now, I must inform you of the ground rules here.  If they are not
acceptable you must leave and consider the beer as my gift to you, if they
are acceptable you must agree to abide by them".

I nodded, and said, "That seems reasonable to me, go ahead, shoot".

I guess that he wasn't used to listening to American idioms, he paused a
second then recovered, "The rules are as follows: First, you must stay
behind the barrier. Second,  you may not touch the women, nor speak to
them, for you this will not be a problem, as none of them speak any
English, and I do not think that you speak any Chinese".  I actually had
the grace and wit to blush a little at that, and nod my head sheepishly.
He continued, "These women have been doing these scenes for several years,
although you may think that they are in danger, please rest assured that
they have ALL done this many times before with no injuries at all".  He
paused and looked at me for a few seconds, "Do you agree to abide by these
rules?"

"If you can assure me that no one really gets hurt".

"I think that I can safely do that".

"OK, I agree, no touching, no talking, stay behind the barrier".

He turned around and spoke for several seconds to the other clients, they
all nodded their heads, and each said a single word.  I think that they
were regulars here.  He walked past them and opened a door, bowing
slightly and waving us into the next room.  I followed the rest in.
Paying, as they did, my fee.

The room was divided in two sections by a open fence of bamboo that came
about three feet up.  On one side was a brightly lit open space, with a
wooden frame about 4 feet wide, and all the way to the ceiling.  The frame
was made of 6 inch square wooden posts, and was securely attached to the
floor, and it seemed to be very sturdy.  There were eye bolts and pulleys
attached at various places along the inside edge, and on the front
surface.  Nuts and washers on the near side implied that the other surface
was equipped in much the same manner.  At one corner of the room was a
small lacquer table, and a bunch of low benches and stools, 4 or 5 all
together.

On our side of the fence it was quite dim, the lights were arranged in a
row above the fence, and all shone into the lit portion.  There were about
20 comfortable chairs in the room, everyone picked one and sat down.
Almost as if that has been the signal -well it probably was- three Chinese
women entered on the other side.

They were obviously sisters, and may have been related to Mr. Inside
(who was standing behind us) but I'm not sure.  The women were not
strikingly beautiful, but they had that wholesome scrubbed look that
many oriental women have.  They wore no makeup that I could see.  This
was in itself sort of strange, those of us that can remember that time
will recall that in 1966 makeup was rather garish, white or at least
very pale lips, long fake eyelashes, heavy eye liner.  Their hair was
shoulder length, glossy and healthy, cut in the 'Dutch' bob that seems
to have been invented in China.  They were all wearing Chinese dresses,
they're called cheongsams.  High collar, very short sleeves, buttons
up the side, to the bottom  of the armhole , then diagonally from
under the arm to the front of the neck, buttons are made from knotted
cord or fabric rolled into a cord; each wore a different color (or
should I say colour?) one Black with gold embroidery, one red with gold
embroidery, and the final one dark Blue with silver embroidery.  These
were long, down to mid calf, but slit up each side to mid thigh.  They
all wore high heels, nothing extreme, around 4 inches, with ankle
straps and hose (this was before panty hose).  Again no names were
mentioned, so lets call them Miss Black, the eldest, Miss Red, the
youngest, and Miss Blue, the best looking.

They came in and proceeded to ignore us.  First they pulled the table out
from the wall and pulled the stools around it, carefully sure to give us
flashes of leg as they sat.  From a drawer they extracted a small box with
a cup and some dice like objects, -I don't think that they were dice, but
they were used in the same way.  The began to play some sort of game,
gambling away with the chips in front of them.

Now, I'm sure that some of you are of Chinese extraction so please don't
get upset by the following over generalization.  Nobody in the world seems
to take gambling quite as seriously as the Chinese.  These three girls
were rattling away with the cup and bones(?), smiling when they won,
frowning when they lost, nattering away with their bird-like voices at 12
to the dozen.  Pretty soon, only Misses Black and Red were smiling  Miss
Blue was losing, pretty badly too, she'd win some, then lose it to the
others, finally she was down to her last few chips.  Defiantly she placed
them on the table, grabbed the cup, rattle rattle, BANG, she slammed the
cup down, paused a second and picked it up.  Her face fell, Red grabbed
the cup, swept the bones into in, rattled, and poured the bones in a neat
little pile.  Her face lit up, Blue's fell.  Then Miss Blue stood up, and
walked away from the table, complaining loudly (it sounded like she was
bitching about being cheated but what would I know).

The two winners went up to the loser and held out their right hands, palms
up, a universal gesture, asking her the question.  She spoke two words
shaking her head.  They crowded up to her, insistent, strident, waving
their hands under her nose.  Miss Red grabbed her and shook her, they
shouted at each other for a few moments, then broke apart, meanwhile Miss
Black slipped out the door, and returned a moment later with a bunch of
thick silken rope (it was nylon I found out later) a short piece of thin
rope, and a mess of leather and buckles that I couldn't make heads or
tails of.  Again they crowded her speaking harshly, and waving the ropes
and leather.  She shook her head, and stepped back.  Red grabbed her
again, and they struggled for a few seconds, then Miss Black dropped all
but the short piece of rope and dove into the fray.  In a few seconds it
was all over.  Blue's hands had been tied behind her with a single loop of
the thin rope.  (I remember thinking, "Shit is this all? this ain't worth
70 bucks").

They spun her around to the front and spoke more harshly, taking her by the
shoulders and shaking her, then pointing up at the beam, again she shook
her head, and whined something.  They spun her away again and grabbed the
leather thing, in a few seconds it was clear what it was, a single glove.
They pulled her hands away from her body, and slipped the open end of the
glove over them, then transferring their hands to the outside and held her
hands while they wrapped the glove around her arms.  Although she
continued to struggle they soon had all of the buckles fastened, forcing
her fore arms together to the elbows, and squeezing her upper arms in
also.  The straps at the mouth of the glove were wrapped around her upper
body, coming up from under her arm, across her chest, and then over her
opposite shoulder and then to the buckle on the top of the gloves.  She
was breathing rapidly now, and kept glancing up at the beam.  Miss Black,
holding her by the glove, said something, a question.  She shook her
head, and lowered it.  Red said two words.  Miss Black nodded.  Miss Red
brought a stool and a bench under the beam putting the stool right under
the pulley, and the bench in front of it.  Then she bent over and picked
up picked up the coil of rope.

As Miss Red stepped up onto the bench I realized what was about to happen,
I looked at Mr. Inside and he nodded, not smiling, and said, "many times".

    Ever since I saw Yvonne de Carlo try to hang herself in \A Band of
    Angels/ this has turned me on, I was about 9 years old when I saw that
    movie.  Every once in a while it comes on TV, I never miss it, if I
    can catch the first 15 minutes, otherwise it's a poor remake of \Gone
    with the Wind/.

She reached up and put the end of the rope through a pulley, then fed part
of the rope through it.  Deftly she fashioned a hangmans noose on the
running end, slipped it over the intended victims head, then jumped down.
The two then bodily lifted the bound victim onto the stool.  Then Miss
Black stepped up on the bench in front the stool, and very carefully
adjusted the noose, really taking her time, getting it just right.  Miss
Red took up the slack, then took a turn around a cleat that was
conveniently placed on the side bar.  She nodded to her accomplice who
stepped down, and pulled the bench back.  I was hardly breathing,
shivering.  They said something else to the victim, again she shook her
head, tense now.  Miss Black walked around behind the victim, and bent
down to grab the cord that was attached to the leg of the stool.  Miss Red
took another turn around the cleat, a short pause and then the cord was
jerked.  The back leg of the stool collapsed, and the stool dropped away
from under her feet.

The victim gave a little squeak that was chopped off as she hit the end of
the rope.  The gallows creaked just a little.  Her head was tilted to the
side by the knot which was just behind her left ear.  Miss Black moved to
the opposite side of the gallows from her sister, one to each side. They
watched Miss Blue like a pair of cats watch a mouse, never moving their
eyes from her.

At first she seemed to be breathing even with the noose tight around her
neck, gurgling and rasping noises came from her, and her breast rose and
fell.  After several seconds of dangling her feet started to reach, first
out, then down, then swinging around.  She began to rotate, slowly at
first and then faster as her feet kicked around, then slower as they
kicked the other way.  As she twisted around her eyes tracked whichever
sister was in front of her, snapping across to the other one as she
turned.  Her bound arms came up on one side of her body, as far as they
could (not very) then swung across her back to the other side and tried
again there, back and forth her arms moved, a constant sound of leather
across silk.

After a minute or so of this she gave a little flutter kick as if she were
swimming, then a stronger one.  When she kicked like that the knot moved
further around her neck towards the back as the noose tightened and the
gurgles and rasps changed tone and volume.  Her face began to darken, her
eyes bulged.  Her feet began to kick faster and more wildly, way out the
the sides in splits, then forward and backwards, her slit skirt didn't
hamper the motion at all but fluttered as if in sympathy.

Every time she kicked the gurgles and rasps became fainter, after a while
there were only gurgles, the rasping inhalations had stopped.  Her feet
changed motion, began to kick desperately up and down, with every kick the
noose tightened, working its way around behind her neck,  her head bobbing
down and back up, the gurgles becoming fainter and fainter.  Soon the only
sound was the creak of the gallows, and the wisp of stockings against each
other and across the silk lining of the dress.  The knot was directly
behind her head, the rope vanished under her chin.  Her face was now very
dark, and the kicking weaker, her arms still, her eyes were still open but
not seeing anything.

Her sisters gently lowered her to the ground and removed the noose.  As
the rope slackened she began breathing rapidly, panting.  Within seconds
she was conscious, her color normal, and in fact she may never have lost
consciousness.  They unbound her arms and wrists, then offered her a drink
of something from a cup (water?, tea?, whiskey?).  Within a minute she was
talking softly with them as if nothing had happened, her voice a little
hoarse, but otherwise seemingly none the worse for wear.

This part you can take with however much salt you wish:

I asked Mr. Inside how often they did this, he said, " Almost every
night.  It is their most popular act, although they have several others.
They've been doing it for a year or so now, soon we'll retire and I'll
sell this place to someone else with a different batch of girls".

He claimed that he was their cousin, and that they (including himself)
were building nest eggs.  He kept three parts of the gate, they split the
other part for spending money, the tips are all theirs, usually a few
hundred each. His money was going into a fund to buy a farm out in the New
Territories, theirs was mostly going into dowries.

He claimed that the gambling was real, the loser hangs, the winner gets
her share of the gate, "The girls claim that that makes it interesting for
them".

The play that was acted out was that the loser had no money to pay her
gambling debts, and was lynched by her companions.

I left with a wet spot on my trousers and only enough money to pay a
rickshaw back to the hotel.

The Ol' Sarge
   With fading memories
      of a time when the world
	  was young and everything
	     vivid and exciting.


 ===========================================================

Did you like this story?  You can find more at
	http://www.nyx.net/~anon3a9c/fair/entry.ssi

The author would also like to hear about it.  You can write me and
I'll pass it on to the author.  Remember, feedback from the readers
is the only "payment" the author gets.
-- 
A. P. Damien
Replies directly to this address will NOT be anonymized.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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