WITH JEONG AT THE MONASTERY
by Painted Pony
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A snapshot, not quite focused, from my travel album... Young Buddhist monk-candidates watching the ritual torment of an older boy by their same-age fellow acolytes. They will soon get their "own" older boy to torture. The third boy from the left in my snapshot has already experienced this and is considered by the elders to be an expert in the ways of song-tri. This is a very old ritual test for older adolescent boys where the young monks are allowed to place the older postulate boy in strict bondage and torment him with very slow masturbation. In the West we would call this "edging," but here it is used as a test of spiritual strength and resolution. The younger boys are taught the techniques and then "given" an older acolyte, 13-16, as a sacred prisoner to torture, sometimes for hours.
Not intending to be an illicit voyeur, I witnessed a portion of one such ritual. The subject was a lad of fifteen or sixteen. He had been fastened spread-eagled to a kind of St Andrews cross in a courtyard of the monastery. He was naked, and his tormentors wore only loin cloths of saffron-colored cotton. There were six of them. Their ages appeared to be from about ten to twelve. They circled him slowly, each giving his erect member a single slow stroke as they passed him. He writhed, his strong athletic physique glistened with sweat, but he was stubbornly silent as the torture proceeded. After a minute or so of this I was discovered standing in the courtyard alcove and asked to leave. I never found out how the ordeal had ended.
The more I thought about what I had seen, the more I slowly came to the realization that I wanted to test myself in the same way. It was difficult, but I was finally able to convince the abbot that I was serious about this and would adhere to whatever stipulations of secrecy he demanded. Finally he relented, out of frustration and impatience I suspect, and assigned a young postulate to accommodate me, in the form of the ritual test. He did not allow the use the courtyard or a formal ritual room for the test but instead assigned us to an isolated cottage in the thicket of untended jungle behind the temple proper.
He was strict in his description of the process. The chosen boy was to be my master, my "owner", as he put it and would have complete authority over me during the period of the test. His orders were to be obeyed explicitly or the test would be declared at an end and I would be expelled from the monastery, with no visitation privileges forever. I was not to question or protest at what the boy did to me. I was to keep the secret of my test forever and not tell a soul about what transpired between me and my "owner" in the little cottage.
I swore to all this, despite a rising sense of unease. But I had to go through with my strange urge. I was committed.
The boy was introduced to me as Jeong, which I would later discover was simply a dialectical form of "master." I never learned his real name. He was eleven or twelve years old, well set-up, and with intense and steady eyes that regularly made piercing eye contact. In the first hours of our time alone in the cottage I would learn two important things about Jeong: that he was a master at knot-tying, and that he probably knew more about the human penis and its responses than anyone I was fated to meet throughout my lifetime, before or after. He also had a deep understanding of the psychology and physical practice of torture. It gave him pleasure. In our time together he was destined to experience much pleasure!
As was I. But in my case each time the pleasure was slowly transformed by him to a sweet, lingering torment, as was his role in the ritual. And perhaps because of the unusualness of the situation he had been allowed by the abbott to perform aspects of the ritual test seldom if ever allowed. To say he "used me" would be an understatement. No one should ever think these young monk-candidates are innocent, asexual creatures! He was a very strong, very precocious lad, and he took every advantage of the unusual task he had been set: to totally and completely break the Western visitor. The unlimited liberties the abbott allowed him delighted him.
The mechanics of my test were simple and the cottage had been well equipped for the test I was to endure. There was a kind of oriental version of a St Andrew's cross in the cottage. It was weighted in such a way that it could easily be swung to a vertical or horizontal position or anything in between. He could fasten me to it with supple leather straps set into the frame of the cross. There was also a pulley arrangement fastened to the huge wooden beam that ran thru the center of the cottage. Using the rings set into the the tiled floor for my ankles he could fasten my wrists to the pulley mechanism, whether straight overhead or spread widely and pull me up, even with my feet entirely off of the floor. The clicking of that pulley will stay in my memory forever. There was also a futon-style bed to the corners of which were attached more sturdy leather straps with brass buckles for wrists and ankles. In one corner was a chair, also with buckles at appropriate points of the chair's very rugged construction. Outside there was an open air shower which we used often as cleanliness seemed to be a monastery obsession and we both perspired freely and copiously.
I used to joke with friends that orientals had two genetic talents: sex and torture. Jeong could have been my "case in point."
I had neglected to inquire about, or specify, a duration during which my ordeal would take place. Only when we had been escorted to the cottage by a monk was I told that we were to be left there, completely alone, until Jeong sent a message, by pigeon, to the abbott that he was "finished." I did not much like the leer on the older monk's face when he informed me of this. As it turned out, we were at the cottage for the better part of six days.
I'm sure I was a dream come true for Jeong. I was a white man. A Westerner. A grownup. And I was his property, his plaything, for which he had carte blanche from the highest authority in his life, his abbott. His only direct orders were to "break me." And he did. Not once, but several times over the six days I was his possession and prisoner.
The ritual edging was not the only torment I endured at his hands. There were various tools for pain in the cottage as well. He was fond of candles, and the ingenious bamboo-spring clamps of which there was a large supply. Oh, how he enjoyed slowly applying them! And ornate brass weights of several sizes. The stretching capability of the pulley was also enjoyed by him. And the outside shower was supplied by a high tower that provided plenty of water pressure, which he could fiendishly apply with a very fine nozzle. This amused him very much. There was also the futon-bed with its corner-mounted straps which easily allowed for face-up or face-down positions for his prisoner. The face-down position provided me with my first experience of "activities" I never thought I would experience. These were not allowed in the traditional test rituals of the monastery. But these strict rules did not apply to him in his rule as my "owner." Did I mention that he was a strong and precocious boy? I believe I did.
Why did I not rebel? I'm not completely sure. I had instigated the "test" of course, but I had originally no idea of its extent, or its duration. I suppose I was stubborn. I wanted to last the course, show my mettle, tough it out. In that way I guess I was just as adolescent as Jeong.
His orange robe had disappeared immediately after we arrived at the cottage. Like other boys at the monastery he wore a kind of loin-cloth under the robe. But with the usual oriental lack of shyness about nudity he was most often completely nude once we were alone. It was therefore easy to tell when he was "happy in his work." He never seemed the least embarrassed about his frequent erections, nor about handling it in my presence. For his age he was well-endowed, and I would learn in our days together that he was surprisingly skillful in using and enjoying his endowment. Precociousness, again.
He liked games, sexy games. One of his favorites was to have me hide something and then "capture" and interrogate me to make me tell him where the object had been hidden.
"You talk now?" he would ask after applying some perverse persuasion to my naked and bound body. He enjoyed this game very much and it was evident in his own nakedness that it gave him great pleasure. I couldn't help but wonder if these cloistered boys were allowed occasional exposure to films or other usually forbidden entertainment.
I have often thought about my days of being young Jeong's prisoner, his toy. The subjects of the monasteries "tests" were considered final candidates for monk-hood, but I was a mere prisoner-- pure and simple. The straightforward but prolonged edging of the young candidates was about as far as the monastery tests went. But I was not only subjected to exquisitely prolonged pleasure-torment of my cock, usually without being allowed the relief of orgasm, but also other ingenious tortures devised by my clever, cruel young "owner." He was certainly a master of the hand-job-- shak wao-- with an uncanny ability to know when to stop in order to maximize my suffering. Begging for release was not allowed in the formal ritual test, but I confess I often begged and pleaded most shamefully. This amused him tremendously and quickly became a primary goal of his torments. Coupled with this he would also make me swear to perform something for him, but he would never finish me off until I had performed to his satisfaction. His pleasure always came first. He also knew the very best time to bring me off for the best results. "Best results" is a definite understatement. I confess that the knowledge that sooner or later, and usually later, he would make me come most spectacularly was an important factor in keeping my resolve to undergo the full ordeal, however long it took. In the years after my captivity at his hands no one has come close to achieving his level of skill in that department. Yes, I think of him often. Who could blame me?
I think also of the pulley and his fondness for it. So many of the times he chose to "finish" me I was stretched under it. Each click of the pulley created about a half-inch of lift. As his oiled hands worked me toward a climax that I expected to be denied, again, he would lift me by stages with the pulley until I was off my feet which were fastened by strap and short chains to the rings in the floor. Eight or ten audible clicks would have me hanging with my feet off the floor and tightened against the chains. More strokes, more oil, more begging from me. Three or four more clicks would tighten me at the threshold of pain against the chains. Then a series of long, slow strokes and when I was almost there three more clicks and he would finish me off. Devastating! Surely among the most powerful sensory experiences of my life. Oh, god! His hands!
Was Jeong a sadist. No, except for the natural sadistic instincts of boys his age around the world, I think he was just a boy reveling in a situation not of his making but definitely redounding to his personal profit, and pleasure. Certainly he was more talented than most other boys might have been, and certainly he took tremendous pleasure in what he did to me. The abbott was not ignorant of his nature, or his skills. But, no, he was not a sadist in the clinical meaning of that over-used term. But his absolute power over me was an unmistakable aphrodisiac for him.
What a strange chronicle this is! Thirty-something adult male willingly made the helpless captive of a twelve-year-old boy with a perverse imagination! Abused, tortured, and sexually used. Are there other experiences like this? If there are-- and I am sure there are-- I have not read about them.
"You could have ended it, you know." A reasonable response. I suppose I could have. Why did I not? Other than what I have already said on the subject, I cannot say. Did I like it? Is that why I went the course? "Like" hardly seems the operative word. "Compelling" might be better. Still, it remains something of a mystery, even to me.
And that is my memory of my visit to an unnamed monastery. Where is he now, Jeong? Despite temptation I have made no effort to find out. And that is probably for the best.
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