Chapter 7

Within a week, Sunny’s spine is paralleled with columns of grommets, one line right, one line left. And I’ve had great blow jobs. There is something triumphant in spending so deeply, copulating with her face. Not a word of protest, just a satisfying murmur as a gush of male seed seemingly explodes into her stomach... though I know it to be merely splattered into her well disciplined throat.

In the quiet confines of my office I retrieve the pictures torn from magazines, those fostering Sunny’s curious request and precipitating our nightly rendezvous.

Yes, arroycoo. Anthropologists believe the practice began as a method for tormenting, perhaps better termed torturing, the captives of opposing tribes. Later, enduring the torment became a form of training for warriors. The inability to withstand arroycoo indicated lack of fortitude, which if captured, the warrior would too rapidly concede, crack under duress and bring disgrace to his tribe.

Later than that, the advent of civilization ending internecine conflict, arroycoo became a form of hazing. Young males eager to display bravado challenged each other. Thus what began as a form of torture became a form of adolescent dare. There also evolved the method of restraint. Formerly penetration of the flesh utilizing sharpened wooden stakes preceded arroycoo. In the picture before me, the virile males of some unknown tribe are instead restrained by tightly pinching sizeable tufts of skin on the back or about the pectoral muscles.

Yes, one cannot help imagining the slow anguish as the entire human form dangles vertically, head high, feet held off the ground, utilizing wooden stakes, suspended by his own flesh. Originally skewered, now held by vise-like lengths of wood.

Obviously, as opposed to ancient times when the captive was left to slowly die, the modern version has become a contest... who will first implore for relief... to beg for the restraining rope to be lowered, for the pinched skin to be relieved of large clamps of wood. Yes, it is apparent that the initial agony of the pinched and stretched flesh forestalls the phenomenon of orthostatic syncope, the body’s tendency to shut down when positioned vertically and immobile for long periods. Soldiers standing at attention often experience syncope.

And that is how I perceive that many of the challenges conclude... a draw is declared when the contestants faint. If returned to a horizontal position within a reasonable time, there is no long term effect from orthostatic syncope. However, remaining vertical brings eventual death as endorphins flood and overwhelm the endocrine system and the body shuts down.

How could Sunny, my masochistic toy, not find attraction? One’s own flesh becoming the source of slow suffering. The control factor quite apparent. Hanging as someone’s puppet... a puppet in slow inextricable pain.

I stare at one photo. A group shot. Two African males hang facing each other. A circle of tribal members observe. The looks on their collective faces resemble those of spectators at a sporting event, smiling in amusement. Then my eyes shift to the contestants. There is agony yet determination. Each bears formidable clamps just above the mammary glands, huge tufts of skin wedged between dowels with wrapping strands of cowhide assuring a steadfast grip. In ancient times the pinched flesh would be skewered for good measure, adding to the suffering and the security of the restraint.

I am amused to note in one photo that two women stare in rapture as the bulge in the contestant’s loin cloth evidences a second phenomenon... the tendency of the male to tumefy as tension is applied to the spinal cord.

He who endures wins the admiration of tribal elders... anointed as a warrior. He who first beseeches for release, to be lowered and relieved, loses face.

And so one can understand the entertainment offered by the contest. For the males, displays of bravado as with many modern sports... for the females the exhibition of the rampaging phallus.

I envision my plans for Sunny. Augmenting the torment will be the extreme humiliation I shall instill. And I will assure that release does not bring the loss of face of surrender... for her entreaties will be ignored.

My watch indicates it is time for another cab ride to Ludlow Street. I spent Saturday afternoon furtively working in the machine shop. New grommets. Specially sized. A neck collar. I also modified my contraption, increasing the separation of the prongs. I can now penetrate thicker flesh. Since it is Friday evening, Sunny will have the weekend to acclimate... and she will need it.

***