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I gently bit the corner of my lip in response. I grabbed the drawings and laid them off to the side on his desk. “I can start at the parent assembly and do a quick overview of each of the sub-assemblies and focus on any of them you want.”“Sounds good,” came his response. With that, I launched into the first drawing showing the parent assembly of the machine. I began to go through each sub-assembly detailing out where it was and what was still left to be completed. Halfway through it subtly began building within me. I bit my lip as I curled my toes in response to the ecstasy that was consuming me. My breaths got shallower as my body responded to the arousal. Would Stan notice my sudden change in breathing? He was less than three feet away from me. I push my hands harder against his desk as if I could somehow physically suppress the arousal. It was doing this to me, it wanted me to submit and give in. My head began swimming with arousal and focusing was becoming more. Maybe just maybe I thought. Yes, I have a shot with thosenumbers.She then chained my penis cage to the table over which she me lay. Myarms were stretched past my head and chained to the table legs beyondthem. She adjusted the whip counter sensor on the floor just behind myass, the red LED shining brightly.There was now just one more variable to be decided. How hard would eachblow be."Do you want to know the pain number," she asked, "or would you rathernot suffer until the first blows?"Shit, I thought. See, knowing the pain number was tricky. She did notalways start the punishment right away. Especially when I was told of ahigh pain number. She might just leave me here waiting for the whippingto begin for hell who knew how long. It could be an hour. An hour ofpunishing anticipation before she began the actual whipping."You are quiet. Tell you what, I will set the second sensor now and giveyou a minute or two to ask or not ask. And as an incentive to asking Iwill reward you with a less.
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Although I was but a reserve officer, and in the auxiliary service at that, a captain of any Japanese vessel was still the lord. It was impolite to talk to a captain unless asking permission first. Respect must always be shown with a bow of the head.The Naval Infantry companies at this time of dusk in the Pacific war were a mixture of young boys sprinkled with a few old hands - mainly seamen who had lost their ships. They were once a proud service - raised at Kure and Sasebo - but attrition had sapped their vitality. Just as the army, now, were taking the scrapings of the Tokyo streets, these men and boys had the look of defeat in their eyes, the look of too many battles and comrades slaughtered.There were only two dozen infantry clustered in the aft hold. By contrast, the Naval Construction boys, nearly fifty of them, were crammed into the smaller forward hold where a canvass awning ineffectually struggled to keep out the sea spray washing over the forecastle. They had been.

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