## Archive-name: chinese_watch

From: anon3a9c@nyx10.cs.du.edu (Damien)

Subject: REPOST: F solo/hanging: The Chinese Watch

Keywords: hanging, strangulation, breath control, gambling

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.bondage,alt.sex.asphyx,alt.sex.stories.bondage

*** DISCLAIMER *** This story is fiction. Any resemblance to actual individuals, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Posted by permission of the author.

This story is for the erotic enjoyment of open-minded adults who
might enjoy reading it. If you are under the age of 18, don't read
this -- read some less explicit story.

This story contains extremely strong hardcore stuff, including
graphic depictions of hanging/strangulation. Don't read any further if
this bothers you.

* * * WARNING! * * *

[The following warning cribbed from one of Sarge's]
Don't try this at home. And if you _think_ you'd like to experiment
with asphyxia as a sex aid, at least read the alt.sex.bondage FAQ and
Ol Sarge's Breath Control FAQ first!!!

DO NOT, DO NOT try this kind of activity by yourself!! About 200 people
DIE in America each year doing this sort of thing -- people who had no
idea of how dangerous this activity is, and who had no intention of
dying. People who took very careful precautions, but died regardless.
* * * WARNING! * * *

Note: Flames cheerfully ignored. Other stories about breath
control/asphyxia wanted.

Copyright (c) 1992, 1993 by Hope/Sarge, This file may be redistributed electronicly only if the following two conditions are met: (1) This copyright is retained with the file and (2) that you make no further restrictions on resdistribution.

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, the 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 that 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 chinongsams. 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 the 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. The spun her away again and grabbed the leather thing, it 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, her 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.

Damien (a handle, not a name) Replies directly to this address will NOT be anonymized. For public key, finger anon3a9c@nyx10.nyx.net

Last modified (12/24/96 14:09:51) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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