Yabu

Yabu

This story was written by me, Dave Potter, but thanks must go to Cafter Homme for the editing and corrections which have made it a better tale than it was originally.

Author’s note:

This story was inspired by the following description of the lives of women in traditional Korean society written by Isabella Jane Bird in her 1895 travelogue ‘Korea and Her Neighbours’.

It is also worth the reader acquainting themselves with traditional Korean dress. These diagrams may help:

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The information on traditional Korean hairstyles comes from this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wfUROEyt39Y

 

Chapter 1

I suppose I should start off by introducing myself. My name is Beo-Jin, Pak Beo-Jin, and I am a high school student at Park Valley Private High for Girls in California. Or at least, I was. I’m not anymore. Not a student, I mean. Like, my name’s  not even Beo-Jin. But you’ll get it later.

What I was not and am not is a “normal” girl. After all, how many “normal” Korean girls study in an expensive private high in the US? No, I don’t think so, not normal at all. That was due to my dad. His name is Pak Cha-Ek and he was one of the executive directors of Chollima Inc, a global electronics brand worth, like, billions! That’s how he had the money to send me to such a prestigious school in States, convenient since he was in charge of their American operations. Oh, he paid for everything, but that was it. He never bothered himself much with either my upbringing or my welfare, too busy making money and serving the company. A typical Korean businessman, I guess you’d say. Anyways, we weren’t close.

Nor too did my mum bother herself much about me. I mean, like,  she neither raised me nor cared for me; I was always an afterthought. My dad got together with her when he was forty-two and she was just an air-headed nineteen-year old beauty queen. My guess is she had my brother Ryu to get a ring out of my dad, cause knowing him he would’ve just dumped her for the next floozy that came along. Like he had the last. If there had ever been a “spark” between them, it was dead and gone by the time I was here, like, a year or so later. She now spends her time living off of a healthy stipend from dad, usually on the French Riviera where she bathes on yachts, gambles in casinos, and looks for new sugar daddies. Like with dad, we weren’t close.

Despite this rather fucked up family though, I wasn’t depressed or anything drama. You don’t miss what you never had, right? Like, school was alright, especially playing field hockey and soccer; I loved K-Pop, I dyed my hair ginger and did my makeup like Hyuna with no one to stop me; oh! and I loved partying with my cool Cali friends! Yeah, when you’re sixteen and rich in the sun, life ain’t bad.

1-26_hyuna_clriden_3

Or at least, mine wasn’t until the letter arrived. Dad wanted me to come home, and by home I mean Korea. He called it a “summons,” I called it a waste of time. It was only for a visit of course, or at least, that’s what I assumed. I just guessed he’d gone through one of his occasional bouts of parental guilt and wanted to show me what a great dad he actually was. Whatever. It was a bummer, as always; the summer holidays were approaching, and I’d been planning to go with Kelly down to her mum’s place in Mexico. Still, I knew better than to refuse my father. After all, if I pissed him off, my allowance could stop, and bang would go any cool plans and stuff. We all have our cross to bear, right? This was mine. Or so I thought.

The letter informed me that I had a flight booked to Seoul on the Saturday after I finished school, first class of course. It went on to say that I would be met by a car which would drive me to our house which, I was surprised to learn, was a new one that dad had some fancy architect build over the previous year. This was a total shock; why had he mentioned nothing about this a few months back when he’d popped over to LA for business? The letter also mentioned that he had now taken on a new job, from Chollima to Chongsanri, of which he was now Vice President again. You have no idea, I almost, like, screamed. Chollima was big, but Chongsanri was, like, HUGE! The leading Korean tech outfit by a mile. My God, what must dad be making now?! It didn’t really matter, it was good news for me!

Ahh, if only we had the benefit of hindsight!

As promised, I got picked up at Incheon Airport by a blank-faced lackey chauffeur who showed me towards a limo with blacked-out windows. I settled in the back, made myself a coffee from the minibar and watched the world go by. Seoul soon faded away and we were well into the countryside. I was puzzled. Dad had always preferred city life, and in Korea that means Seoul or bust!

Still we drove on and on, up into the mountains. Then, somewhere near to Pyeongchang, we headed off up some creepy side road that made me mistrust the dumb chauffeur, winding through forested slopes until we came to the house itself. Let me tell you, it was not what I had expected.

It was an unsurprisingly large place for Dad but, weirdly, it was built in a very traditional style, like super old fashioned like some sort of Buddhist temple with a walled compound and large pavilions and stuff. Actually at first, you might’ve thought it was ancient; it was only upon a closer look that the modern details became obvious. The car swung into the courtyard and I was shown out by the driver. There to meet me was some maid I had never seen before dressed in like a full, traditional hanbok. Weird. She bowed towards me and told me to follow her, but like, her accent was strange, and I couldn’t place it. Either way I did as she asked, and she led me into one of the pavilions, down some corridors and into a large bedroom furnished in that same old, traditional style. And believe this, on the bed was this ridiculous outfit.

“Your father is busy right now,” said the maid, “but he will meet you for dinner. Please bathe and then dress in the clothes on the bed. If you need a hand, please ring. Otherwise, I shall return at six to show you to him.” And then, with those oddly-formal words, she left.

I was so confused. The opulence was something, but like not that strange?

But all the emphasis on tradition just puzzled me. I mean, you have to understand, Dad had never been that kind of guy. And the outfit that I had to put on matched the surroundings: it was a hanbok. I had worn hanboks before, of course – which Korean girl hasn’t? – but only for special occasions like graduations. But why one today for just a meal with my father? Still, weird as it was, I was super glad to change after the flight, and besides, it was pretty!

I bathed in the adjacent shower and then returned to the room naked. First up was the underwear, which looked like it had come out of the fuckin’ Ark with Moses or something. I was really tempted to put my good Western lingerie back on, but it was a little bit stinky from the long flight so I decided to bite the bullet. Next came the sokchima or underskirt which was supported by hoops, so wide that it was about a metre and a half at the bottom. Then came the chima or skirt which was a golden colour and covered with some super gorgeous embroidery. After that was the jeogori which was in black and also beautifully embroidered. I tied off the otgoreum just below my small, firm breasts. Finally, there were some pretty beoseum socks for my feet and white silk gloves for my hands. After fitting these I looked at myself into the mirror and nearly burst out laughing! Apart from my dyed ginger hair and 21st century make-up, I could have been a girl from the Joseon Dynasty. This was getting to be just ridiculous.

How little did I know.

At six the maid returned to escort me to my father.

gold hanbok

 

Chapter 2

What transpired that evening over dinner is seared into my memory forever. I often replay it over and over in my mind, and it always gives me like serious goosebumps. On that evening my life changed, irreversibly.

What struck me first was his costume. Ok, so I was wearing a hanbok already, but in Korea many girls do, especially on special occasions. But dad had on the male hanbok, something no guy ever does except maybe when he’s like getting married or something. But there he was, sitting at the table, sipping soju and looking like an extra out of one of those period dramas on TV. Weird.

That was only the start, though. Then came the sudden change in attitude. Suddenly he was all formal with me as if he had somehow changed. The word that comes to mind when I think about it is ‘brainwashed’. Yes, like as if someone or something had washed out his old, corporate, money-making brain and replaced it with something straight out of the nineteenth century. He was formal and particular and although we discussed nothing really beyond small talk and pleasantries during the meal, in my gut I just knew something was up. I also noticed that he didn’t really even ask me about school either, and when I started to tell him about my time on the beach and parties with my American friends, he was clearly uninterested. All he would say was, “Some things are going to change.”

After dinner we chilled out in a traditional sitting-room and after I pressed him a bit more he explained to me what. It was all to do with him moving to Chongsanri. The corporation, at least in it’s highest echelons, seemed to have a very different philosophy than Chollima, or really the rest of the country. At all of dad’s previous jobs it had all been about making money as quickly as possible, but Chongsanri was something else entirely. Chongsanri was all about Korea. To paraphrase another slightly-deranged demagogue, their president was obsessed with trying to make Korea great again. And in my dad he had apparently found a willing disciple.

“The problem is that we try to ape the foreigners, the Westerners, the Chinese, even the Japanese, all those who have oppressed us in the past. We mimic their business methods, their Christian religion, their mode of dress, their tinny pop music and even their hair colour.” He looked at my ginger locks when he said this and I felt uneasy. “But we are not Western, nor Chinese, nor Japanese. We are Koreans! A great nation, millennia old, glorious and cultured! Yet it is as if we are ashamed of our heritage, as if we try to hide it. At Chongsanri they are trying to change that. We are prosperous, yet also true to our Korean roots. We provide jobs for Korean people and extoll Korean culture. Look at this country and the sorry state that it is in! I know this sounds incredible, but even the North, that poverty-stricken, dictator-dominated hellhole, even they are better than us. At least the Kims that they worship were true Koreans who battled the outsiders, not gave in to them or aped them. They glory in their identity! None of their women dye their hair, and their music sounds like true Korean music should. And their women are chaste too! None of this sex before marriage and cohabitation. Compared even to them, we are cultural paupers!”

As he was speaking all this nonsense, like I totally recognised the strange accent of the maid. She was from the North!

“My new boss, Kwon Yong-Byok, the CEO of Chongsanri, has shown me an alternative way, and I have embraced it. I now live as a businessman, yes, but also as a true Korean. This house for starters; it is like the houses that our ancestors dwelt in, except that there is a crucial difference: technology. Back then people died early, got sick, endured the cold and many other deficiencies in life, because the technology was not there. We were vulnerable to domination because of this. What Yong-Byok and now I do, is live in the traditional Korean way but with technology on hand to help us to enhance that wonderful mode of life even further. So the house for example, it has ondol heating as is typically Korean, but the heated vapours are geothermally generated and time-controlled. We have taken tradition and refined it with technology. The happy news is that our family can now live in an almost perfect, original, Korean manner.”

“But dad, like, I’m at school in America, so is Gyu. And mum is, well, mum is wherever she is…”

“No, Beo-Jin, you were at school in America. The old me sent you there. But I have summoned you back here because we’re going to start living as a family again and we are going to live in a true Korean fashion. You shall not be returning to your school; from now on you’ll live here as a proper Korean girl.”

“Fuck that, like, no way! I want to return to Cali! My friends are there and–”

“Lesson Number One, Beo-Jin: Korean society is Confucian. We obey our parents. When I say that you shall be living here, then you shall be living here.” His voice wasn’t angry, but unforgiving.

“But I don’t want to! And besides, up here in the mountains, like, we’re away from everything that means anything. I mean, I’ll be fair, it’s like nice and all, but there’s no school, no jobs, no opportunities. Do you even have wifi?”

“Beo-Jin, you will not be returning to school. It is unnecessary. A Korean girl’s destiny in life is to marry and become an honourable wife to her husband. School will not teach you that, certainly not the schools that you have been attending up till now. From tomorrow onward you will be living at home and learning your future duties as a submissive and honourable wife.”

“Jesus, Dad, I’m sixteen! I don’t want to marry, like, for ten years, at least! I want a career and to go out with my friends and…”

“Silence! There will be no speak of false western idols in my home! What you want is immaterial! A Korean girl’s destiny is to obey her parents and then her husband. And sixteen is a perfectly suitable age to be married. Indeed, in the Joseon Era girls were often wed well before then. Besides, you are not ready yet. You need training to become a suitable wife and that will take time.”

“No, dad, no! This is my life, not yours and I’m not some stupid fucking submissive drone who is going to be ordered about by a man. This is not the nineteenth century, it’s like, the twenty-first! We’ve had a sexual revolution, or haven’t you realised that? I love you dad, but I will not live as you want! I’m sorry but that is that!”

And with those words his face changed. I’d expected anger, but instead he just looked defeated and disappointed. He slumped in his chair and poured out another measure of soju. “This is too much, too fast, I suppose,” he said.

“Yeah, it is,” I replied, glad that he was speaking like a human being again.

“Ok, we’ll see about amending things then. Forget what I said for now and drink some tea with me.” He poured a cup from an exquisite Joseon Era teapot and I raised it to my lips. It tasted really nice and wasn’t too hot, so I drained the tiny cup in one.

Within seconds my sight began to blur, and I slumped to the floor in a faint.

 

Chapter 3

I awoke in the floor-level bed in that traditional bedroom where I’d changed after first arriving, feeling pretty strange. Then I realised that under my head was not a usual pillow but a traditional Korean buckwheat pillow in its hard, bundled rolls. Raising my head, it felt strangely heavy, so annoyed and confused I got up and walked to the mirror. What I saw shocked me.

My ginger styling was all gone and instead I had natural, jet black hair again! More than that, this hair was long, very long, reaching past my waist when unpinned from the top of my head. That was the weight I had felt. But what had happened? Obviously, I had been drugged and during the time I had been out they’d dyed my hair black. But what about the length? I checked. Extensions. Hmm… Nothing else seemed different. Why would my deranged father drug me just to redo my hair? He must be going mad!

I took off my slip and checked my body all over. The hair was gone from down between my legs, which was a bit disconcerting, but that was all. Oh yes, and a small mark like a tiny incision or a bug bite just above my love slit. What was it? Hmm…

That same maid came in. “You are awake, Miss Beo-Jin. Please, bathe yourself and then let me prepare you,” she said with her Pyongyang accent.

I took a shower and then came back. Lain out on the bed was another hanbok, this time with a yellow chima and a pink jeogori. “I’d prefer a different outfit,” I told her.

“There are only hanboks in this house,” she replied.

I was naked and my suitcase was nowhere to be found so, reluctantly, I put it on. Then she sat me down and started doing my hair in an elaborate fashion. “Please, just a ponytail,” I said. It was starting to become obvious what was happening.

“Your father orders this style,” she replied simply.

I knew there and then that I had to put a stop to this before it went too far. “Fuck what my father wants,” I told her. “This is my hair! My body! Haven’t you people heard of like, feminism?”

And then I got up and dashed out of the room. I had to get out of here, to escape. Dad obviously wasn’t going to observe my wishes, so to hell with him! I expected her to try and stop me, but to my surprise she just nodded and passively let me get away. Hurriedly, I walked down the corridor to the courtyard. I crossed the courtyard to the main gate. It was ajar. I went to go through it when suddenly like this piercing pain racked my body, like an electric shock starting at my genitals and coursing outwards. I tried to push myself through, but the pain was too great, like fire and ice all at once coming from my mound! I jumped back, and it subsided. What the fuck was that!? I turned around to see my father and the maid standing on the pavilion, silently. He was smiling. “You cannot leave,” he said calmly.

“What the fuck was that!?” I demanded.

“Your new implant. It was inserted whilst you were asleep. It ensures obedience. Whenever you try to leave the woman’s quarters of our home, it will activate. I am sorry to do this to you, but you need to be taught how to become an honourable Korean woman. You will be punished whenever you try to leave or whenever I feel it is necessary. Your maid informs me that you refused to have your hair styled correctly. Beo-Jin, I will give you another chance because this life is new to you. Return to your chamber and prepare yourself accordingly. I am your father.”

I stood my ground. “Forget it! I’m not your doll to be made up and kept in a cage, let me go!!”

And I stormed past the invisible line again and my pussy instantly contracted in pain while the rest of my body contorted, trying to dispel the intense shock, the pain, but it was no use, I retreated back toward them.

My father was not smiling anymore. “Beo-jin! You will be punished for your insolence, return to your chamber!”

I wanted to object, to counter, to rebel, but the memory of the pain was too horrific. Like the submissive Korean girl that he wanted me to be, I returned to my room and let his maid prepare me.

She sat me down on a chair and then started to work, combing my long hair out, parting it down the centre and then plaiting it into a long ponytail. This was then rolled up and fastened low behind my head. A black padded form with red silken ends was then attached to the top of my head using pins and long platts of real human hair brought out, each over a metre long. I later learned that these, like the maids, came from the North, with Chongsanri paying huge quantities for North Korean girls to donate their hair. The platts were wrapped around my head and the form and then attached with pins creating a high and round structure but revealing the red silk end of the padded form. This was then decorated with jewellery, I admit really exquisite stuff if I hadn’t been furious by that point.

“This style is called eoyeo meori,” she explained in a neutral voice when she had finished. “It was the usual style for noble women of the Joseon Era to wear their hair, and so your father has decreed that this is the style for you to wear every day. On special events I shall do your hair in a more elaborate fashion.”

More elaborate! This style had taken the best part of an hour to complete and it was so difficult to wear! The weight was tremendous, and it jangled whenever I moved. And I was expected to endure this every day!

But that was not all.

Eoyeo Meori

Next came the make-up. Turns out I was not to leave my room without being made-up from now on. Defeated and passive, I sat there whilst she started the process, applying a really thick coating of white foundation to my entire face and then white powder to create a sort-of porcelain look. Whilst she did this, I tried to engage her by asking her name and so on, but her replies were neutral: “I am only a maid”, “My age does not matter, mistress” and so on. She wouldn’t even admit to being North Korean. “Where the master hired me from is unimportant,” she blithely said. I was starting to really hate this bitch.

After my face, my eyes were done with a variety of cosmetics, including black eyeliner and false lashes to emphasise my femininity. Then came the brows, thin black lines drawn high to emphasise my haughtiness. And finally, the mouth, a pair of red rosebud lips. The china doll was complete. Well, almost. The finishing touch was a pair of white cotton gloves for my hands and that was it.

My first day had no lessons. The maid said that I was to get used to my clothes and my surroundings. It was so weird, just pacing around in that fine dress, the ridiculously wide hooped skirt bumping into things and my heavy hair feeling unsteady as it jangled away. I warily drank tea, and explored the house, or at least, the little I could. Many doors were locked and only one courtyard open to me. When I say “locked,” you might think the doors wouldn’t open, but they did, the whole complex was technically ‘open,’ it just sent powerful ripples through my implant whenever I tried, warning pulses that quickly turned to pain when I looked through, or worse, stepped over the threshold. These were the women’s quarters, and I was barred from the rest, kept modest and pure in my own little prison. I seethed with anger but knew that there was nothing that I could do… yet.

That evening I dined with father again. He was full of praise for my new appearance and called me a “proper Korean maiden”. What a fucking joke I must have looked like, I felt sick to my stomach but said nothing, remembering the pain all too clearly. Whenever I spoke for too long, I would see his hand wander into the pocket of his robes, no doubt waiting for me to say something out of turn. I had no desire to re-live that pain, though, so I gave him no reason to chastise me. Turns out he already had reason enough.

That evening, my head and neck aching from the weight imposed upon it and the trauma of the day, and I looked forward to bed and a chance to become a normal human being again, but bedtime too held some nasty surprises. The maid helped to undress me but then came something that caught me like totally off guard: with a firm grasp she grabbed by wrists and handcuffed them behind my back. Then she led me to the shower and attached the handcuffs to a hook on the wall. After this I was washed thoroughly by her before then being led back into the bedroom and leant over a chair. “Your father has decreed that your misdemeanours be punished. These include any form of disobedience or unladylike behaviour. There have been countless today, but he has told me to go easy on you because it is your first day as a real Korean lady. So, I shall only administer ten strokes for the most heinous.” And then, taking out a large wooden paddle, that pious bitch stood behind me and…

Thwack!

“That is for refusing to have your hair styled.”

Thwack!

“That is for attempting to escape.”

Thwack!

“That is for swearing at your father.”

Thwack!

“That is for swearing at me.”

Thwack…

That night I lay in my bed and tears streamed down my face whilst my bottom was like red raw. Worse still, my hands, encased in padded gloves, were tied to a belt around my waist so I could not dry those tears, whilst my legs were immobilised, encased in a long single stocking with my feet tightly bound in the end, so there would be no nocturnal wandering or touching myself, as I had grown very used to doing every other night back in California. Even this was off limits now.

My life had descended into hell.

Chapter 4

And so, my new life began.

Every day I awoke, was showered and then dressed in my sumptuous yet restrictive outfit. Then I attended lessons with my tutor, another North Korean. These were neither interesting nor educational, absolutely nothing like my school in Cali. Instead they were a series of phrases that I had to repeat over and over again. Phrases like “Silence is regarded as a wife’s first duty” or “A wife must be chaste and pure.” With time I realised that they served a dual purpose: to educate me in my new station and to break my spirit. If I made any mistakes they were rewarded with paddles on my bottom before bedtime and for the first few months my bum was always red and sore. I felt like a goddamn child, it was so messed up!

My misery did not end with these lessons though. For the rest of the day (basically the afternoons) my time was my own, but there was so little that I could do now, I was like bored out of my mind. I was officially confined to the female quarters which meant my bedroom, my classroom, a sitting room and dining room and a small courtyard. I was by all means a prisoner, and so in my spare time all I could do was pace around the tiny confines of my prison and wish I was outside. Even that though, was not unobstructed. After my first day, my tutor decreed that my gait was unfeminine and not suitable for a Korean lady. “A noble lady should glide in her hanbok, not prance!” she declared. And so, I was fitted with two straps: the first a thick band of material that was tied just above the knees and the second a leather strap of some twenty centimetres or so fastened to bands that went around my ankles. Now I could only glide – or shuffle – along at a snail’s pace and ascending or descending any steps was like super hard.

In the evenings I still dined with my father elsewhere in the house, and although I now truly hated him, I looked forward to the experience just as a change from the simplistic daily schedule. He would speak at length (not really to me, but at me) about the Chongsanri Corporation and its vision for the rejuvenation of the country. He spoke of the CEO, Kwon Yong-Byok, as if he were a god and spoke of future plans and ideas.

I did not rebel. It is true that in those first few weeks I made several off-hand derogatory remarks to him, instantly resulting in extremely painful contractions in my pussy, but I soon gave that up as it became de-rigueur for me to be gagged after the meal so he could talk at me without interruption. This gag consisted of a large white plastic intrusion with a white leather panel on the end and a strap that reached around my head, buckled at the back. It looked simple but it must have been connected in some way, as every time I groaned or sighed I was rewarded with an appropriately-sized shock below. Dad lauded this gag as an example of how Chongsanri had improved upon the traditional ways. I felt absolutely humiliated, especially since it had ‘A female’s duty is to be silent’ in hangul characters on the front of the panel.

I was docile not just because I remembered the pain, but also because I knew that now was not the time. At our first dinner together after my new life had begun, dad had mentioned that Ryu would also be forced to adopt a traditional lifestyle. I imagined my younger brother, used to his American high school, wandering around in a male hanbok pretending to be some yangban from yore and smiled. Yes, he would never accept that. He would be my ally. Until then, I could wait and endure the charade.

To pass the time it was decreed that I be allowed “feminine pursuits”. If I did well in my lessons I was allowed to paint traditional Korean pictures with an inkbrush or write a scroll in hangul characters. Once I wrote a really nice poem, but using the English alphabet, a “crime” for which I received no less than twenty-six paddles, one for each alien letter. Korean girls, apparently, are only allowed to write Korean characters.

Yes, it was that ridiculous.

Even that pleasure however, was not always allowed to me. Concerned about my unfeminine behaviour, in the women’s quarters I was never far from a maid or my tutor, even when I was supposed to be having free time in the courtyard. Combine this with my sleeping situation, unable to move my hands or legs at all, it didn’t take very long for me to start skipping off to the bathroom in search of privacy. One day during the part of my cycle that always makes me hot and needy, and after I had worked up the courage, I found myself in the bathroom with nowhere to sit (traditional korean toilets are embedded in the floor), determined to get off somehow. Thinking ahead I pried off the tight white gloves, hiked up my massive chima skirt and brought my fingers down, past the faint implant scar to touch my clit, only to receive the most intense, body-wracking shock since my first day here, leaving me sobbing and spasming on the ground, getting my dress all dirty. smearing my makeup, attracting the attention of every maid in the compound.

After this incident, another item was added to my wardrobe, a sort of sleeve which went over my arms when they were crossed in front of my breast, covering them completely. This looked elegant enough, but what a casual observer could not see was that underneath the hanging cloth, my forearms were bound together in a laced sleeve, making use of my hands impossible. This was initially instituted for walking in the courtyard only, but gradually I was expected to wear it inside as well, sometimes for an entire afternoon, greatly hampering my precious free time, restricting my allowed feminine pursuits. And, as the weather grew colder, a new and even more cumbersome item was added. This was a kind of all-encompassing veil that left only my face free and from October to April was decreed mandatory outdoors.

About a month after my captivity began, a new figure entered the household. She was introduced as Mi-So and she was extremely beautiful yet also North Korean like all the other servants. What shocked me was that she dressed in sumptuous gowns just like me and had her hair done in the eoyeo meori style as I did. Unlike the other servants, she joined dad and me at dinner, sitting like really close to him, and afterwards she would play the traditional gayageum exquisitely well or even dance for us. I was in awe of her.

After a couple of days, I saw her sitting in the women’s courtyard alone and so slowly, gracefully, I approached her. Unlike the other servants, she was happy to talk to me. She told me that she was a gisaeng and when I expressed ignorance at the term, she explained that it is like the Japanese geisha, something of a cross between a courtesan and an artiste. She explained that she came from Pyongyang originally and because of her musical talents and expertise at dance, she had been sent to the premier school in the North Korean capital where girls are trained in such things to the highest standard, called a gwonbeong. She had expected, as all the girls in her class did, to graduate and go on to serve the Motherland either in an artistic troop or a teaching capacity, but then one day, some esteemed visitors from the Chongsanri Corporation had come to the school and watched the final year students put on a performance. Afterwards, five of the girls who had taken part were summoned to the Party Office and told that they had been chosen to serve the Motherland by becoming employees of Chongsanri and practising their arts in the decadent south. Although shocked at first, they had been assured that the Marshall wished this of them and that they would be well-paid which, Mi-So assured me, she was, although 90% of that money went straight to the state. And so she had come with four friends – deemed to be the prettiest of their year – and a busload of other Chongsanri employees, over the border near Kumgangsan and up to the mountain mansion complexes of the Chongsanri elite (it transpired that all of dad’s co-executives and their homes were situated within a few miles of each other, a veritable ministate of traditional values). This whole story fascinated me, and I was glad to be able to share my lonely life with someone, although I now felt uncomfortable in the evenings as my father would openly fondle Mi-So, pushing his hand under her jeogori and slapping her bottom whilst she would kiss him passionately on the mouth.

Indeed, as time progressed, it became de rigueur for me to be dismissed straight after dinner, though this did not always save me from the gag.


My heart trembled with excitement as my maid assembled my new hairstyle. In view of the auspicious occasion, it had been decreed that I would wear the tteoguji meori style, which is even more elaborate and difficult to wear than the eoyeo meori as it involves adding to that style an enormous black wooden ornament, the tteoguji, which is fastened to the hair by means of pins and ribbons. Even this added encumbrance I did not mind however… for my brother was coming home!

tteoguji meori.png

I minced towards the main chamber in a purple hanbok which I had to admit was nice, arms bound in front of me as was becoming more and more common, excited to see my brother and make him aware of my plight. The door was opened for me to reveal him seated already for dinner with dad and, to my surprise, Mi-So and another gisaeng who had her gloved hand resting on his thigh. Furthermore, he was already dressed in a traditional male hanbok. This did not look good, I thought to myself.

We ate making only small talk, Gyu complimenting me on my beauty and dad saying how much I had changed for the better. I scrutinised his face for clues to the anger I wanted to see, but he remained impassive. And then, after dinner, I was dismissed, leaving the two men alone with their gisaeng.

The following day though, I got my chance. He came to the women’s quarters, walking through the forbidden door like it was nothing, and asked that I be excused from lessons to walk around the courtyard with him. As he was a man, this was not refused.

As soon as we were alone I began pouring my heart out to him and warning him of the dangers to both of our futures. To my surprise – and dismay – though, he merely frowned and replied, “Beo-Jin, what you say is wrong. I can understand how hard this is for you, I really can; after all I was an American high school student myself only a few weeks ago, but what choice do we have? Dad controls all the money and to disobey him would be to cut ourselves off from our future. And besides, what’s so wrong with this whole traditional thing anyway? Why should we Koreans forever be aping the Americans? We were wrong you know, to try to be like them; we’ve got an ancient culture of our own that’s rich and…”

I wanted to slap him across the face, bring him to his senses, but my arms were laced together pretty securely. “Gyu, come on man! You’re sounding like him now! Look at us in these ridiculous clothes, like we’re in some costume drama or something. It’s a fucking joke and not a funny one. And you don’t even understand, I’ve got some sort of sensor implanted in me that shocks me when I wander off! I’m a prisoner here and all I can do is fucking recite lines, paint random shit, and strut around this fucking courtyard. Help me, bro, this is hell!”

“Beo-Jin, you always were too rebellious. What’s wrong with you being feminine for once in a while. And besides, I like this life. Back in the States I was too geeky, none of the girls looked at me yet here I’ve got Mun-Ju who is hot as anything and what we did last night…”

“You mean, you accept it because dad gave you a gisaeng slave to fuck!”

“Not just one, he’s promised another and he’s shown me the girl I’ll be marrying; she’s a total babe… in a Joseon Era kind of way of course.”

“Marrying?”

“Yeah, President Kyon Yong-Byok’s youngest daughter. She’s fifteen now so it won’t be for a year or so but the engagement is official and in the meantime there’s Mun-Ju and…”

“I can’t believe you, Gyu! You’d sacrifice your own sister for the sake of your dick! Help me here bro, I need to get out of here! I have to leave, Gyu, or I’ll go mad!”

“Well, relax then sis, because you will be leaving. Dad arranged it this afternoon.”

“What do you mean? How?”

“Why do you think I’m here, Beo-Jin? Me and dad celebrated your engagement this morning. On the fifteenth of next month you’ll be getting married to Kyon Yong-Byok’s son and heir, Yong-Gon.”

Chapter 5

The day before my wedding my life changed forever. For most people it is on the day on the actual wedding but for me it was the day before. Because on that day my father did something to me, something so cruel, so inhumane, so… words fail me, even today.

Like, literally.

I had received all the pre-wedding indoctrination of course. Hour after hour of it, going through every detail of the ceremony, how I should behave and what would happen to me. But one thing above all was stressed over everything else. “Silence is regarded as a wife’s first duty. During the whole of the marriage day the bride must be as mute as a statue. If she says a word or even makes a sign she becomes an object of ridicule, and her silence must remain unbroken even in her own room.” My tutor had repeated those words over and over again until my head rang with them. Of course, I did not intend to obey. In fact, inwardly I smiled. This was my chance, and seriously, like, low-hanging fruit! I didn’t want to get married and I hated my dad for how he had ruined my life, and this was to be my revenge: silent! You could forget it! I would be as loud, rude, obnoxious and unfeminine as a girl possibly can be when dressed in an elaborate outfit with a ridiculous hairstyle. And as for the electric shocks, well, would they dare to use them in public? Of course not. That would reveal I was being held against my will! This was my moment!

That evening after dinner I asked my father if I could go back to my room, thinking of painting a picture, as these days that was the best option to kill the time. However, waiting for me there was a stranger whom I had never seen before. She had the white coat of a nurse and she looked pretty serious. “What is this?” I asked in surprise.

“Oh, nothing to worry about,” she replied as my maid grabbed hold of me from behind and a needle was plunged into one of my bound arms.

I awoke soon afterwards and found that barely an hour had passed. I was just lying on my bed still clothed. I sat up. Nothing seemed to have changed. They had not disrobed me or done anything immediately apparent. So, what had happened? I rang for the maid and she entered immediately. “What was that all about?” I demanded angrily.

Except that the words did not come out of my mouth. Nothing did. Air flowing without a sound.

I shouted, and I screamed, I called her the bitch she was, but silence reigned. “You have been muted, mistress,” explained the maid. “It is your father’s wedding gift to you, a means of helping you stay honourable during the ceremony. He told me to tell you that it is the latest Chongsanri invention, and a brilliant example of how technology can help us women lead a proper, traditional lifestyle.” Then her expression hardened, and her tone changed. “He also instructed me to warn you that, if you try any funny business during the ceremony, the same can be done with your hearing.”

I sank to the floor in shock, testing myself, hoping even a hum would escape my throat, but there was nothing.

Late that night my father, brother, and I sacrificed before the ancestral tablets, and acquainted our ancestors with the event which was to occur on the morrow. It all passed by like a dream, no, definitely a nightmare.


When the auspicious day arrived, an hour before noon, my bridegroom on horseback, and in court dress, left his father’s house accompanied by two men who walked before him, one carrying a white umbrella, and the other, who was dressed in red cloth, carrying a goose, which is the emblem of conjugal fidelity. He was also attended by several men carrying unlit red silk lanterns, by various servants, and by his father. Upon reaching our house he took the goose from the hands of the man in red, went into the house, and laid it upon a table.

I record all of this but I did not witness it. My maid and the other servants informed me enthusiastically, concentrating on the symbolism of each item. Later, when I learnt that fidelity in a Korean marriage is only ever expected of the woman, the goose seemed particularly ironic.

I heard but not witnessed this because of how I was dressed. That I wore an extremely cumbersome hanbok with a sleeve that immobilised my arms is not worth mentioning, nor too a ridiculous elaborate and heavy hairstyle, a variant on the tteoguji meori style. Such things I expected by this stage. What I did not expect was the make-up.

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For a traditional Korean wedding, the bride’s face is covered with a thick layer of white powder, patched with spots of red. When they had finished I looked like one of those Japanese geisha in the films. That, however, was not all: after they had done my face, they moved onto the eyes. Surprisingly, no eye make-up was done but instead an adhesive compound was applied to my eyelids which were then glued together, after which the white powder was smeared over them too.

I went through the entire ceremony blind, unable even to open my eyes!

I was led out by two attendants to the room where the ceremony was to take place and then instructed to bow twice to my “lord”, after which he bowed four times to me. This alone made the marriage valid. A cup of wine was then given to my bridegroom, who drank a little, after which it was handed to my maid, who gave me a sip.

And that was it. Afterwards within the house, my now-husband and the other men were served an elaborate feast, but I merely retired to the women’s rooms. He rejoiced with his friends in the men’s apartments but we women got no simultaneous banquet.

Then, during the afternoon my husband returned to his father’s house, and after a time I, still bundled up in a mass of wedding clothes, and with my eyelids still sealed, attended by the two maids, some hired girls, and men with lanterns, went there too, in a rigidly closed chair, in the gay decorations of which red predominates. I was received by my father and mother-in-law, to whom the maid instructed me to bow four times. Then I was taken upstairs to the wedding chamber where I was disrobed completely, my hairstyle dismantled and the powder washed from my face and my body showered. The eyelid adhesive however, stayed. I was then taken to the bed and my wrists chained to the posts and there I waited.

I did not wait long. My unseen husband came and took me with vigour. It was my first experience of lovemaking and, after the initial pain, one of the most intense. Perhaps it was because I didn’t even know what this man who was inside of me looked like, or perhaps it was because I was so silent and passive, so in his control. Perhaps it was because I had not been able to get myself off in months. I cannot say. That though, was my wedding night.

Chapter 6

I woke up to my husband climbing on top of me again. During the night the eyelid adhesive had worn off (I later learnt that it was designed – by Chongsanri – to last for twelve hours maximum) and so this time I saw who was inserting himself into me. The good news is that he was passably handsome.

The bad news though, far outweighed the good. After he had finished and removed himself from me, he untied me from the bed and helped me to sit up. Then he explained my future.

“Like your father and my father, I too believe in a traditional lifestyle, augmented by modern technology, of course” he began. “Unlike them, I doubt it will lead to the rejuvenation of the nation or any other similar claptrap. I guess you could say that your new husband is a bit more cynical although, on second thoughts, I guess you can’t say anything.” He laughed at this cruel joke and I immediately decided that I hated the man I had been married to.

“Your life from now on will be simple. You are my wife and that is your whole purpose in life from this moment forward. Your former name will no longer be used. In accordance with tradition, people will refer to you as ‘the wife of Kwon Yong-Gon’. I, on the other hand, shall refer to you as ‘Look here!’ (Yabu). Apparently, this was the norm in traditional Korean society because your duty is to look to me when I call. Without fault, do you hear? Nod. Ok good. After that your duties include remaining chaste and silent (no issues there I’m sure, ha, ha!), and to provide me with offspring so as to continue the respected Kwon family line. That means sex, of course, and you’ll be glad to know that I love sex. Indeed, one could almost say that I am addicted to it and so we’ll be having a lot of it. Your duty is always to accept my advances, whatever your own feelings. As you can clearly see, a Korean wife has clearly recognised duties to her husband, but just so you know, he has few, if any, to her. I will always treat you with respect in public, for you are mine and so to disrespect you brings shame on me. Furthermore, you will want for nothing. However, as was the norm in Joseon Era society – and this is why I love the traditional ideal so much – whilst I demand chastity and fidelity from you, you may not demand it of me. I keep gisaeng in this house and you must welcome them and show them respect. I do not look for affection in marriage, but who knows, maybe we shall find it? You are certainly prettier than I expected, and, despite your natural inexperience, I enjoyed last night and this morning.”

He paused as if to take stock and noticed my confused expression. “Yabu, you wonder why I say all this to you?” It wasn’t my main question but I nodded. “I guess I have a streak of sadism in me. Like you, I have lived in the west and learnt from it. Feminism, yada yada. I feel for your plight, the silence, ridiculous clothes and hair, lack of freedom and everything, but at the same time it turns me on. That is how I am, Yabu. Your duty is to submit, however distasteful that might be.”

Disgusted with his callousness, I yelled nothing, shook my head, and pummelled him with my unbound fists in an act of pathetic resistance. He laughed and took my weak wrists in his hands. “Such disobedience should be punished and I can’t wait to land a slap on that beautiful rounded bottom of yours!” he exclaimed. I tried to back away and he laughed again. “Not now, Yabu, not in our wedding bed.”  He paused again and then reached forward, grabbed me and forced my face to his, kissing me with gusto, exploring my mouth with his tongue. I tried to bite down but he was too quick and, strangely, although he angered me, his actions excited me too. “By God Yabu, you turn me on!” he declared, when he finally extracted himself from me. He put his left arm round me and started to explore my body with his right hand, squeezing my breasts and stroking the bottom that he had just praised. Handled against my will, hating my body’s instincts, I began to desire him.

“Hmm, Yabu, I think you and I will enjoy each other as well as hate each other. However, that is for later. I must say, you are much better than I thought you would be – and far better naked than in that awful bridal outfit – but there are still areas of concern. These tits for starters! Pert, yes, but way too small for my tastes. I was in the west a long time, you know.” I began to hate him again and my desire faded slightly. “Not very Korean I know, wanting big tits; my father would not be impressed, but I cannot change how I am and you are mine, Yabu, to do what I want with. However, before that, I need to explain some things to you.”

This guy needed the same procedure I had, I thought to myself. I wanted to ask him what he meant by doing what he wanted with, but, mute as I was – and still am – I could not.

“You know your duties as a wife and you know how you will live – much as you did with your father, in predetermined spaces and roles, yes. However, what you do not know is how I operate my household. I studied Psychology at uni – can’t you tell? – and I guess I am a bit of a disciple of Skinner. Hmm, Yabu, your confused look suggests that you don’t know who he was? Well, he believed in a theory of reward and punishment to motivate people and so that is what I shall institute here. I demand sex from you whenever I want it, but what I cannot demand is your enjoyment or the quality of sex that I am accustomed to. Therefore, it is up to you. If you please me sufficiently, I shall reward you. If you fail in your duties, I shall punish you. I believe that your father already instituted a paddling regime; good man. Personally though, I prefer to smack a rounded bottom with my own hand. Your punches earlier, they warrant a smack or two for example. Punishment alone though, does not work.

“Yabu, every day you will dress in full hanbok and eoyeo meori hairstyle as in your father’s house. Here however, you will also wear the arm sleeve as a matter of course. That is to say, silent as you are, denied of the use of your arms, you shall be largely unable to communicate. Your maid will feed you and attend to your toilette. However, if you please me, the sleeve will be removed. For example, a satisfactory morning blowjob will result in three hours without the sleeve in a single day. This can enable you to write a letter, paint a picture, or engage in conversation with another female. Enthusiasm during vaginal intercourse could result in a different reward, say the use of the neolttwigi for an hour.”

He saw my confused look and stopped. “Yabu, do you not know what is neolttwigi?” I shook my head.

“Neolttwigi is our traditional Korean see-saw. Yangban women developed it as a way of seeing beyond the walls of their houses. You will never be allowed out of the house save in a closed carriage so, if you want to see something of the beautiful forests that surround this mansion, neolttwigi is your only option as when you jump up high, you can see beyond the wall. It will also help keep you fit, important considering your sedentary lifestyle.”

neolttwigi.jpg

I could see his sadistic enjoyment in delivering this monologue, yet despite this, I was cautiously excited at the prospect of neolttwigi. Even the tiny freedom of being able to glimpse the outside world seemed so precious to me now! Even if it was only the other compounds of the Chongsanri settlement.

“There are other benefits of course; huge ones for anal intercourse and other subversive pleasures, but you don’t need the details now. I shall provide a full list when you are ready. For now though, why not try earning your first reward?”

And as he said those words he moved me close to him and playfully slapped my arse. “And there’s the punishment for the punches,” he said, causing my subconscious desire to heighten once again. When we had finished we lay together exhausted and he called for tea.

Seconds later I had blacked out again.


I awoke on the bed, naked but unrestrained. I moved my hands to my chest, remembering his words and half-guessing what had happened. Sure enough, where my A-cups had once sat, two sizeable and extremely fake mounds were now to be found.

I felt different down below too. I moved my fingers lower and discovered why. My sex was sealed off with a chastity belt, one with attachment rings for clipping my nighttime gloves to. It was made of polished silver and covered me like a pair of underpants. As I shifted my body I felt that it did more than just cover my holes, which had been off-limits for quite some time. Inside two rods now filled me, teasing me, making me ache from being stretched like this.

I got up and went to the mirror. The face that stared back at me was my own but subtly different. Now the nose was more of a button and the lips more like a full rosebud. He had changed me, improved me, created the perfect Korean doll wife.

I stared at that image for a long time, angry and traumatised but unable to resist what had been done to me.

Chapter 7

And so, my married life began. Was it better or worse than life with my father? That is hard to say. It was different.

The biggest thing was the sex. I enjoyed it, I really did. I hated my husband and yet, at the same time, I desired him. Perhaps because this was the only time that I had power and control over my destiny, because with the sex came rewards.

Without the rewards, life was harsh. No use of my hands whatsoever and no voice meant that I was incommunicado, a mere elegant ornament to the household, fit only to be ignored. But if I gave him a blowjob I could indulge in a painting, or if I pleasured him sufficiently during normal sex, I could jump on the neolttwigi with one or two maids on the other end, for a precious moment or two I could soar into the air and glimpse the trees and the beautiful mountain slopes. And if I submitted to the painful ecstasy of anal intercourse then…

I get ahead of myself. First, I need to introduce Jong-Suk. When I saw her on my first day of marriage I hated her. She was my rival, the primary gisaeng that my husband sought pleasure in. She was impossibly beautiful and, when she started to play and sing, impossibly talented. I could never sing now, never again. Oh, how I hated her!

Yet, at the same time, she did not hate me. And in my lonely world, I needed a friend and she was the only one to be had. We would talk with my writing messages for her on paper using an inkbrush and her speaking the replies. And we would sit together and she would hold me and then brush her lips against mine and whisper bedroom secrets of how to bring Yong-Gon to ecstasy.

In short, I fell in love.

And Yong-Gon knew it.

“Yabu, the reward for anal intercourse is Jong-Suk.”

I happily submitted.

And the day after, my bottom hole still throbbing, I was allowed to retire early and she would lie with me. I was restrained, of course, with chastity belt, gloves, and ankles tied, but she was not and she would explore my bare skin with her hands, whilst her tongue explored my mouth and I gasped silently in ecstasy.

And my husband watched on through a peephole, with another gisaeng bringing him to fulfilment with her mouth.

And that was that, save for when, after only a few months, I fell pregnant. Nine months later, my son was born and my husband named him Ju-Hwan. He was the love and light of my life and I treasured holding him and feeding him.

Several months after his birth, I was pregnant again. By this time my husband had acquired two more gisaeng.

And so my life has continued. Restricted and silent, a songless bird in a gilded cage. I have my pleasure – both in the bedroom and in the seven children that have resulted from it – and I have my pain, but it is a life. Like countless generations of Korean women before, I have grown accustomed to it. I no longer even see the doors which would have once brought me pain. It is our tradition, these are our customs. I am Yabu, nothing more. Yes, Yong-Gon?

 

Chapter 8

Thirty years later

And now I shall take over the narrative. In the months running up to her fortieth birthday, I ordered my wife to write down the story of her remarkable life. By that time, her rebellious spirit had been quelled long ago, and she assented to my every wish. And besides, it meant time with her hands free being able to communicate with others. She enjoyed it immensely. I am a just man.

I wanted her to write it all down as an historical record of the start of our movement of national rejuvenation. Well, that was the reason I gave officially. Unofficially, as I told her myself during the first morning of our marriage, I am a sadist with a high libido and tales of female suffering turn me on.

That is why I asked her to do it, but why I ordered her to do it then was for quite a different reason: after her fortieth birthday she would no longer be able to do such things.

Yabu was pretty. I don’t think she ever realised just how pretty she was. As hot as any of the gisaeng I’ve had and, believe me, I’ve had a few. My latest, the delectable little Mi-Kyung is nestled beside me as I type this in fact. But even the prettiest of women fade with the years and the fact that I used her as a breeding machine for the Kyon clan, forcing seven babies out of her, means that she faded faster than most.

And I cannot do with a faded woman.

But traditional Korean society is strict about many things. Most of the rules suit me, but one that doesn’t is that about monogamy: once a man has married, he may not marry again, even if he has disowned her. And Yabii gave me no reason to do that, no reason at all, so we are attached to one another until death do us part.

Thankfully, Chongsanri has an answer for that too, and after Yabu’s fortieth birthday, the age when she is declared past childbearing age, I instituted it.

That evening I slept with her for one last time and then put her to sleep using the same tea draught that I had used when we first wed. This time though, I was doing more than just pump up her tits again.

Once out cold, she was transported to the Chongsanri medical facility in the heart of our little community up here in the mountains and there her transformation began. Her hair was shaved off completely and her head laser treated to stop any future hair growth. Similar treatment was conducted on her brows and lashes. Then the object was produced.

Back on that first hospital visit, over twenty years earlier, as well as pumping up her tits and lips, I’d had a cast done of her virginal young face. That had been saved, entered into the Chongsanri database and then, this year, reproduced as the mask of a hood which was designed to encase her ageing head until the day she died. Carefully it was fitted, an intrusion going into her mouth and a tube down into her stomach to feed her. Tubes also went up her nostrils and then lenses were placed over her eyes with only a pinhole in the centre to allow limited sight. The whole thing was made of a new plastic compound that stays flexible (to a degree) and allows the skin underneath to breathe. Developed by Chongsanri of course. Similar treatment was also meted out to her hands and arms, although the new covers kept the hands rigid. She would never use them again.

She panicked when she awoke three days later but, unable to do anything for herself, and unable to deny my will anymore, though she hadn’t tried in many years, she slowly got over it. Today, as before, she is still dressed in the most sumptuous hanboks, her hair styled in the most elaborate Joseon Era styles, but she is now permanently and completely incommunicado. She barely sees, cannot turn her head or use her hands.

Nor too can she have sex. I had her pleasure nub and inner petals taken away and then had her vaginal opening closed permanently with just a small hole for wastes. On top of this I refitted her chastity belt, this time with nothing to fill her, the key for which is embedded in a prism of glass on my desk at work. The president’s desk, which is back in Seoul. After all, what use does a forty-year old woman have with such things? Now those parts will only be used for their essential tasks, and whatever is communicated to the implant of course.

But although she is forty, she does not look it. Instead, my darling wife, my Yabu, is forever seventeen, the blushing bride who was married to me all those years ago. These days she has no life of her own. Instead she stands or sits in my room as an elegant ornament, a dutiful and submissive accessory to my wealth and status. I often gaze upon her staring mindlessly into space whilst Mi-Kyung or some other gisaeng sucks me off to ecstasy.

There is a lot to be said for tradition, you know.

 

Notes on the Status of Korean Women during the 1890s

Notes on the Status of Korean Women during the 1890s

Taken from ‘Korea and her Neighbours’ by Isabella Lucy Bird (pub. 1898)

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From the chapter ‘Korean Marriage Customs’[1] p.114-20

PAIK-KUI MI was not without a certain degree of life on that Sunday. A yang-ban’s[2] steward impressed boats for the gratuitous carriage of tiles to Seoul, which caused a little feeble excitement among the junkmen. There was a sick person, and a mutang or female exorcist was engaged during the whole day in the attempt to expel the malevolent daemon which was afflicting him, the process being accompanied by the constant beating of a drum and the loud vibrating sound of large cymbals. Lastly, there was a marriage, and this deserves more than a passing notice, marriage, burial, and exorcism, with their ceremonials, being the outstanding features of Korea.

The Korean is nobody until he is married. He is a being of no account, a ”hobbledehoy.” The wedding-day is the entrance on respectability and manhood, and marks a leap upwards on the social ladder. The youth, with long abundant hair divided in the middle and plaited at the back, wearing a short, girdled coat, and looking as if he had no place in the world though he may be quite grown up, and who is always taken by strangers for a girl, is transformed by the formal reciprocal salutations which constitute the binding ceremony of marriage. He has received the tonsure, and the long hair surrounding it is drawn into the now celebrated ”topknot.” He is invested with the mangan, a crownless skullcap or fillet of horsehair, without which, thereafter, he is never seen. He wears a black hat and a long full coat, and his awkward gait is metamorphosed into a dignified swing. His boy companions have become his inferiors. His name takes the equivalent of “Mr.” after it; honorifics must be used in addressing him — in short, from being a “nobody ” he becomes a “somebody.”

A girl by marrying fulfils her “manifest destiny.” Spinsterhood in Korea is relegated to the Buddhist nunneries, where it has no reputation for sanctity. Absolutely secluded in the inner court of her father’s house from the age of seven, a girl passes about the age of seventeen to the absolute seclusion of the inner rooms of her father-in-law’s house. The old ties are broken, and her husband’s home is thenceforth her prison. It is “custom”. It is only to our thinking that the custom covers a felt hardship. It is needless to add that the young couples do not choose each other. The marriage is arranged by the fathers, and is consented to as a matter of course. A man gains the reputation of being a neglectful father who allows his son to reach the age of twenty unmarried. Seventeen or eighteen is the usual age at which a man marries. A girl may go through the marriage ceremony as a mere child if her parents think an ” eligible ” may slip through their fingers, but she is not obliged to assume the duties of wifehood till she is sixteen. On the other hand, boys of ten and twelve years of age are constantly married when their parents for any reason wish to see the affair settled and a desirable connection presents itself, and the yellow hats and pink and blue coats and attempted dignity of these boy bridegrooms are among the sights of the cities.

A go-between is generally employed for the preliminary arrangements. No money is given to the bride’s father by the bridegroom, nor does the daughter receive a dowry, but she is supplied with a large trousseau, which is packed in handsome marriage chests with brass clamps and decorations. There is no betrothal ceremony, and after the arrangement has been made the marriage may be delayed for weeks or even months. When it is thought desirable that it should take place, but not until the evening before, the bridegroom’s father sends a sort of marriage-contract to the bride’s father, who receives it without replying, and two pieces of silk are sent to the bride, out of which her outer garments must be made for the marriage day.

A number of men carrying gay silk lanterns bear this present to the bride, and on the way are met by a party of men from her father’s house bearing torches, and a fight ensues, which is often more than a make-believe one, for serious blows are exchanged, and on both sides some are hurt. Death has occasionally been known to follow on the wounds received. If the bridegroom’s party is worsted in the melee it is a sign that he will have bad luck; if the bride’s, that she will have misfortunes. The night before the marriage the parents of the bride and groom sacrifice in their respective houses before the ancestral tablets, and acquaint the ancestors with the event which is to occur on the morrow.

The auspicious day having been decided on by the sorcerer, about an hour before noon, the bridegroom on horseback, and in Court dress, leaves his father’s house, and on that occasion only a plebeian can pass a yang-ban on the road without dismounting. Two men walk before him, one carrying a white umbrella, and the other, who is dressed in red cloth, a goose, which is the emblem of conjugal fidelity. He is also attended by several men carrying unlighted red silk lanterns, by various servants, by a married brother, if he has one, or by his father if he has not. On reaching his destination he takes the goose from the hands of the man in red, goes into the house, and lays it upon a table. Apropos of this emblem it must be observed that conjugal fidelity is only required from the wife, and is a feminine virtue only.

Two women who are hired to officiate on such occasions lead the bride on to the veranda, or an estrade, and place her opposite the bridegroom, who stands facing her, but at some little distance from her. The wedding guests fill the courtyard. This is the man’s first view of his future wife. She may have seen him through a chink in the lattice or a hole in the wall. A queer object she is to our thinking. Her face is covered with white powder, patched with spots of red, and her eyelids are glued together by an adhesive compound. At the instigation of her attendants she bows twice to her lord, and he bows four times to her. It is this public reciprocal “salutation” which alone constitutes a valid marriage. After it, if he repudiates her, he cannot take another wife. The permanence of the marriage tie is fully recognized in Korea, though a man can form as many illicit connections as he chooses. A cup of wine is then given to the bridegroom, who drinks a little, after which it is handed to the bride, who merely tastes it.

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Afterwards within the house a table with a dainty dinner is set before the husband, who eats sparingly. The bride retires to the women’s rooms, and the groom rejoices with his friends in the men’s apartments. There is no simultaneous banquet. Each guest on arriving is supplied with a table of food. Such a table, in the case of people of means, costs from five to six yen (from 10s. to 12s.), and a very cheap wedding costs seventy-five yen, so that several daughters are a misfortune.

During the afternoon the husband returns to his father’s house, and after a time the bride, bundled up in a mass of wedding clothes, and with her eyelids still sealed, attended by the two women mentioned before, some hired girls, and men with lanterns, goes thither also, in a rigidly closed chair, in the gay decorations of which red predominates. There she is received by her father and mother-in-law, to whom she bows four times, remaining speechless. She is then carried back to the house of her own parents, her eyelids are unsealed, and the powder is washed from her face. At five her husband arrives, but returns to his father’s house on the following morning, this process of going and returning being repeated for three days, after which the bride is carried in a plain chair to her future home, under the roof of her parents-in-law, where she is allotted a room or rooms in the seclusion of the women’s apartments.

The name bestowed on her by her parents soon after her birth is dropped, and she is known thereafter only as “the wife of so and so,” or ” the mother of so and so.” Her husband addresses her by the word yabu, signifying “Look here,” which is significant of her relations to him.

Silence is regarded as a wife’s first duty. During the whole of the marriage day the bride must be as mute as a statue. If she says a word or even makes a sign she becomes an object of ridicule, and her silence must remain unbroken even in her own room, though her husband may attempt to break it by taunts, jeers, or coaxing, for the female servants are all on the qui vive for such a breach of etiquette as speech, hanging about the doors and chinks to catch up and gossip even a single utterance, which would cause her to lose caste for ever in her circle. This custom of silence is observed with the greatest rigidity in the higher classes. It may be a week or several months before the husband knows the sound of his wife’s voice, and even after that for a length of time she only opens her mouth for necessary speech. With the father-in-law the law of silence is even more rigid. The daughter-in-law often passes years without raising her eyes to his, or addressing a word to him.

The wife has recognized duties to her husband, but he has few, if any, to her. It is correct for a man to treat his wife with external marks of respect, but he would be an object for scorn and ridicule if he showed her affection or treated her as a companion. Among the upper classes a bridegroom, after passing three or four days with his wife, leaves her for a considerable time to show his indifference. To act otherwise would be “bad form.” My impression is that the community of interests and occupations which poverty gives, and the embargo which it lays on other connections, in Korea as in some other Oriental countries, produces happier marriages among the lower orders than among the higher. Korean women have always borne the yoke. They accept inferiority as their natural lot ; they do not look for affection in marriage, and probably the idea of breaking custom never occurs to them. Usually they submit quietly to the rule of the belle-mere, and those who are insubordinate and provoke scenes of anger and scandal are reduced to order by a severe beating, when they are women of the people. But in the noble class custom forbids a husband to strike his wife, and as his only remedy is a divorce, and remarriage is difficult, he usually resigns himself to his fate. But if, in addition to tormenting him and destroying the peace of his house, the wife is unfaithful, he can take her to a mandarin, who, after giving her a severe beating, may bestow her on a satellite.

The seclusion of girls in the parental home is carried on after marriage, and in the case of women of the upper and middle classes is as complete as is possible. They never go out by daylight except in completely closed chairs. At night, attended by a woman and a servant with a lantern, and with a mantle over her head, a wife may stir abroad and visit her female friends, but never without her husband’s permission, who requires, or may require, proof that the visit has been actually paid. Shopping is done by servants, or goods are brought to the veranda, the vendors discreetly retiring. Time, which among the leisured classes hangs heavily on the hands, is spent in spasmodic cooking, sewing, embroidering, reading very light literature in En-mun, and in the never-failing resources of gossip and the interminable discussion of babies. If a wife is very dull indeed, she can, with her husband’s permission, send for actors, or rather posturing reciters, to the compound, and look at them through the chinks of the bamboo blinds. Through these also many Korean ladies have seen the splendors of the Kur-dong.[3]

When the Korean wife becomes a mother her position is improved. Girls, as being unable to support their parents in old age or to perform the ancestral rites, are not prized as boys are, yet they are neither superfluous nor unwelcome as in some Eastern countries. The birth of a girl is not made an occasion for rejoicing, but that of the firstborn son is, and after the name has been bestowed on him, the mother is known as ‘* the mother of so and so.” The first step alone of the first boy is an occasion for family jubilation. Korean babies have no cradles, and are put to sleep by being tapped lightly on the stomach.

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Taken from the chapter ‘Social Position of Women’ p.340-3

It is really difficult to form a general estimate of the position of women in Korea. Absolute seclusion is the inflexible rule among the upper classes. The ladies have their own courtyards and apartments, towards which no windows from the men’s apartments must look. No allusion must be made by a visitor to the females of the household. Inquiries after their health would be a gross breach of etiquette, and politeness requires that they should not be supposed to exist. Women do not receive any intellectual training, and in every class are regarded as beings of a very inferior order. Nature having in the estimation of the Korean man, who holds a sort of dual philosophy, marked woman as his inferior, the Youth’s Primer, Historical Summaries, and the Little Learning impress this view upon him in the schools, and as he begins to mix with men this estimate of women receives daily corroboration.

The seclusion of women was introduced five centuries ago by the present dynasty, in a time of great social corruption, for the protection of the family, and has probably been continued, not, as a Korean frankly told Mr. Heber Jones, because men distrust their wives, but because they distrust each other, and with good reason, for the immorality of the cities and of the upper classes almost exceeds belief. Thus all young women, and all older women except those of the lowest class, are secluded within the inner courts of the houses by a custom which has more than the force of law. To go out suitably concealed at night, or on occasions when it is necessary to travel or to make a visit, in a rigidly closed chair, are the only “outings” of a Korean woman of the middle and upper classes, and the low-class woman only goes out for purposes of work.

The murdered Queen told me, in allusion to my own Korean journeys, that she knew nothing of Korea, or even of the capital, except on the route of the Kur-dong.

Daughters have been put to death by their fathers, wives by their husbands, and women have even committed suicide, according to Dallet, when strange men, whether by accident or design, have even touched their hands, and quite lately a serving- woman gave as her reason for remissness in attempting to save her mistress, who perished in a fire, that in the confusion a man had touched the lady, making her not worth saving!

The law may not enter the women’s apartments. A noble hiding himself in his wife’s rooms cannot be seized for any crime except that of rebellion. A man wishing to repair his roof must notify his neighbors, lest by any chance he should see any of their women. After the age of seven, boys and girls part company, and the girls are rigidly secluded, seeing none of the male sex except their fathers and brothers until the date of marriage, after which they can only see their own and their husband’s near male relations. Girl children, even among the very poor, are so successfully hidden away, that in somewhat extensive Korean journeys I never saw one girl who looked above the age of six, except hanging listlessly about in the women’s rooms, and the brightness which girl life contributes to social existence is unknown in the country.

But I am far from saying that the women fret and groan under this system, or crave for the freedom which European women enjoy. Seclusion is the custom of centuries. Their idea of liberty is peril, and I quite believe that they think that they are closely guarded because they are valuable chattels. One intelligent woman, when I pressed her hard to say what they thought of our customs in the matter, replied, ”We think that your husbands don’t care for you very much” !

Concubinage is a recognized institution, but not a respected one. The wife or mother of a man not infrequently selects the concubine, who in many cases is looked upon by the wife as a proper appendage of her husband’s means or position, much as a carriage or a butler might be with us. The offspring in these cases are under a serious social stigma, and until lately have been excluded from some desirable positions. Legally the Korean is a strict monogamist, and even when a widower marries again, and there are children by the second marriage, those of the first wife retain special rights.

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There are no native schools for girls, and though women of the upper classes learn to read the native script, the number of Korean women who can read is estimated at two in a thousand. It appears that a philosophy largely imported from China, superstitions regarding daemons, the education of men, illiteracy, a minimum of legal rights, and inexorable custom have combined to give woman as low a status in civilized Korea as in any of the barbarous countries in the world. Yet there is no doubt that the Korean woman, in addition to being a born intrigante exercises a certain direct influence, especially as mother and mother-in-law, and in the arrangement of marriages.

Her rights are few, and depend on custom rather than law. She now possesses the right of remarriage, and that of remaining unmarried till she is sixteen, and she can refuse permission to her husband for his concubines to occupy the same house with herself. She is powerless to divorce her husband, conjugal fidelity, typified by the goose, the symbolic figure at a wedding, being a feminine virtue solely. Her husband may cast her off for seven reasons — incurable disease, theft, childlessness, infidelity, jealousy, incompatibility with her parents- in-law, and a quarrelsome disposition. She may be sent back to her father’s house for any one of these causes. It is believed, however, that desertion is far more frequent than divorce. By custom rather than law she has certain recognized rights, as to the control of children, redress in case of damage, etc. Domestic happiness is a thing she does not look for. The Korean has a house, but no home. The husband has his life apart; common ties of friendship and external interest are not known. His pleasure is taken in company with male acquaintances and gesang; and the marriage relationship is briefly summarized in the remark of a Korean gentleman in conversation with me on the subject, “We marry our wives, but we love our concubines.”

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[1] The notes on marriage customs which follow were given me by English-speaking Koreans and were taken down at the time. They apply chiefly to the middle class.

[2] Yang-ban = noble

[3] An annual royal procession through Seoul.

Serving the Dear Leader: Part 10

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Part 10

Chapter 15 – A Night at the Opera

Back at the mountain retreat and life settled into a monotonous and strange routine for Yong-Hee. Every day she was dressed in her uniform complete with monoglove and, more often than not, gag, and forced to sit through endless sessions of political education interspersed with sexual training sessions with her new partner, Valentina. The political education, which had been a feature of her life since as early as she could remember, felt different now and distinctly more uncomfortable, a discomfort caused not by her monoglove either. As she watched the newsreels telling of how the Dear Leader was exerting Himself, going through great hardships for the glory of the People and the Motherland, then she felt somehow betrayed and cheated. Such feelings were unnatural and false of course, and she never repeated them to anyone, but she still felt them nonetheless. Had not she seen and heard ample evidence to the contrary during those months spent in the capital? All those times when the TV and radio declared that He was out visiting the Front or factories or hydro-electric power stations when she knew that it was his double or the story simply made-up and the Dear Leader Himself was instead thrusting His cock into her mouth or drooling over a famous actress, singer or sportswoman whilst watching hard-core porn films in His private cinema. Her mind battled with itself; half said that she must be wrong, that the impressions that she was getting were somehow misleading whilst the other thought the unthinkable: that the Dear Leader was the heartless, debauched corrupt tyrant that the Western imperialist lackeys made Him out to be. Such thoughts made her feel so ashamed as to wish she had never been shown such great benevolence by such a man.

Soon after her arrival, two changes were made to the usual life with the platoon of young pioneers. The first was that, in anticipation of the arrival of some important allied diplomats from Africa, the butt plugs that all the pioneers of Platoon 72 were to wear were to be upgraded to larger ones. By now Comrade Yong-Hee had been in the platoon long enough to know what this would ultimately mean and although, like everything else that was part of her life these days, she knew that it would be an honour to please a black man who supported the Global Revolution for Socialist Transformation embarked upon by the late Great Leader, the idea of having an enormous, throbbing black penis shoved roughly into her tender bottom, was not a pleasant one.

The second change was that Comrade Kim announced that all the pioneers would be enacting an opera for the honoured visitors from the People’s Republic of Tanganyika. Yong-Hee had always loved doing plays at school and so this change was one which she welcomed greatly.

The play however, whilst familiar in some parts, was, in other aspects, not quite so mainstream. It was a brand new one written by a great playwright from the capital and told the story of people overthrowing capitalist oppression. That was not unusual, and indeed every play, film or book that Yong-Hee knew about followed the same theme, and rightly so since capitalist and imperialist oppression is terrible, but none of the others did it in this way.

The story was set in the days when the Nipponese cruelly occupied and oppressed the Motherland. Called the Rape of Manpo, the storyline involved a new Nipponese commander taking over and systematically taking all the beautiful young virgins of the city for himself, keeping them in a prison where he would rape them and play perverse sexual games with them. Some were tied up, others raped simultaneously by several soldiers and so on. He also devised elaborate fetish devices and costumes which the poor young women were forced to wear. All the platoon was in tears when this aspect of the plot was read out to them, partially out of pity for the poor oppressed victims of Nipponese imperialist but partially also because, in acting the play, they would be dressed in similar costumes and devices.

However, all was not lost and the Great Leader came to the town, saw the suffering and, gathering a band of loyal socialist patriots, stormed the city and freed the women who then all joined the Glorious People’s Revolution in gratitude.

All the pioneers had a similar role, that of oppressed young Manpo virgins imprisoned by the evil Hitoshi Tanaka. In Yong-Hee’s case, she was raped by him in the first team, then in the second forced to couple with another Manpo virgin and then finally she wore an extremely strange costume indeed. It involved her having her legs and arms bound so that they were folded against themselves and then covered in rubber pouches. Similarly a rubber garment covered her whole body only having holes for her eyes, nose, mouth, breasts and bottom. Then she was covered in a brown fur costume with a dog’s head so that she looked exactly like a dog and could only see out of two peepholes. I say “exactly like a dog” but that is not entirely true, for her enlarged and firm breasts hung out of cut-outs so that it was very clear that she was woman, not canine. Inside it was hot and sweaty and the enormous plug in her bottom from which the dog’s tail protruded, she had to learn to wag. She was firmly gagged but had to make growling noises when, in one of the key scenes, Tanaka was taking her up the bottom roughly when the Great Leader bursts in and kills him. Then, thankfully, in the final scene, she had to wear a partisan’s uniform and joyfully march towards revolution with all the others.

Rehearsing for the opera was hard as all the scenes, including those of a sexual nature, had to be performed to the very exacting standards of the theatre director. Tanaka was played by a famous actor from the capital whom Yong-Hee had seen act in several films and had, she had to admit when she had been younger and more innocent, been the object of a teenage crush. Even so, that didn’t make the scenes when he was taking her roughly up the arse whilst she was dressed as a dog and barked for all she was worth, exactly pleasant.

Finally though, it was the big night when all the great and good of the nation were assembled as well as the Dear Leader’s honoured guest, the President of Tanganyika, an enormous black man who wore colourful tribal robes. Before the performance all the pioneers lined up to greet him as he arrived and then she was whisked off to get ready for the role. Despite the humiliating and degrading nature of what she had to portray, Yong-Hee did realise that this was only what her ancestors had had to put up with whilst suffering under the yoke of Nipponese oppression and so did her tasks the best that she could and at the end, as she stood there welcoming in the Revolution in a partisan’s uniform, the young pioneer felt both proud that she had performed so well that the entire hall was clapping like mad and also that she had, at least, seen the last of the hateful dog costume.

When the opera was over however, Yong-Hee found to her dismay that she hadn’t seen the last of the dog suit. President Umbago of Tanganyika had, it transpired, been very impressed with her acting during the doggie scene and asked that she dress in her suit again and accompany him as he met with the Dear Leader and talked about the glorious construction of socialism in his homeland. It was most humiliating being led everywhere on a leash and having the trot about on all fours but what made it so much worse was that she was a member of the most superior race on all the earth, the race which had spawned both the Great and Dear Leaders and provided the world with the Juche ideal, yet the man now leading her, patting her head and caressing her naked breasts was a negro, the most inferior of all races whom the imperialists had used as foot soldiers to rape her beloved homeland. How could the Dear Leader allow such an indignity to be meted out to a faithful and loyal pioneer of His select Platoon 72.

And it only got worse when, after a large banquet and copious quantities and champagne, President Umbago decided to turn in for the night and take her, still dressed as a dog, to his sumptuous bedroom. And once in there, rather than undress her and enjoy her in the usual fashion, (which would have been degrading enough), instead he merely fastened her leash to the headboard, removed her tail from her anus and then started lubing it with gusto. Terrified when she saw the enormous size of his member, easily twice that of the Dear Leader’s, she started to scream and plead with him to avoid what was to come but due to her hood and gag, these merely came out as canine-like growls and barks which excited the African so further so that when he positioned himself behind her his penis was rock hard. With a roar and a slap on her furry buttocks he pressed and pressed shouting, “Come on doggie! Come on doggie!” until her sphincter muscles eventually gave in and the enormous throbbing tool was thrust in. Never before had she felt so completely filled and so completely and utterly mastered and degraded.

And never before had President Umbago experienced anything like it.

Chapter 16 – The President of Tanganyika

The day following the performance of ‘The Rape of Manpo’ and Comrade Yong-Hee’s doggie humiliation, all the pioneers were given a day’s rest before being taken to their quarters where they were stripped, showered and then made-up since there was to be another naked ball held that evening, this time in the honour of the Motherland’s Eternal and Faithful Ally, the President Umbago of Tanganyika. Yong-Hee struggled to see how a king could be so honoured and close to a country that prides itself on being socialist and against such things as monarchies as being against the socialist ethos but, as always, she knew that whatever the reasons, it must be for the best if the Dear Leader decided it.

Whilst this was Yong-Hee’s second ball, to her surprise – and dismay – this one turned out to be quite a different experience. The president it transpired, had not yet tired of her charms and was as taken with her out of the doggie suit as in it and so he attached himself to her, (or to be more precise, the opposite way round, as he placed a collar around her neck and led her around by a lead), all night before finally taking her upstairs where he took her vigorously again, although thankfully, in the more usual fashion this time. This was most shame-making not only because of his inferior race but also because Umbago was incredibly corpulent and ugly. Nonetheless, the feeling was not mutual and the following day she was taken into the top-secret negotiations between the president and the Dear Leader and, to her horror, whilst the two men talked politics, she had to kneel under the president’s desk in her uniform, arms forced behind her in her monoglove and, most humiliatingly of all, her mouth kept open by a ring gag so she drooled continually.

After the men had talked business, she was ordered to suck and lick the penis of the President of Tanganyika whilst they both relaxed and Valentina provided the same service for the Dear Leader. Now relaxed, the conversation turned from minerals and armaments to personal pleasures.

“You know what, I really am impressed by your pioneers, Kim and especially this little cutie here. Back in Tanganyika I keep a full harem of exotic and beautiful women, from all over the world and they are trained fully by my eunuchs, but not one can suck cock like Yong-Hee here.”

“Platoon 72 are trained to the highest standards and have given me great pleasure over the years, although I have to say that at the moment I am most taken with this white girl here who was a present from the President of Pridniestrovia.”

“Ahh, he is a good guy, I have been to his place as well, and the women there are incredible! However, you can keep your white slut; I have several such girls at home, this little rascal here is more to my taste. I love what you have done with their tits, such massive breasts on a tiny frame, it is really alluring.”

“Thank you.”

“But have you never considered corseting them? Tightlace a girl to 40cm and then the contrast is all the greater, as too is her discomfort!”

“The idea sounds promising, I must order some. Yes, that will be a fun project! But what do you think of the monogloves?”

“A masterful touch, genius. I have never come across one before but now I am thinking of having some ordered for all my harem. Yes, I shall.”

“We can supply them, as a gift of course. And I have another gift as well. Can you guess what it is?”

“No, what is it?”

“Yong-Hee here. Take her with you. I am bored of her now and wish to make a space in the platoon in order to take a young pioneer I met whilst opening an apartment complex in Hyesan. Please, take her with you when you go.”

“Kim, thanks, that’s an incredible present, so thoughtful of you. How can I ever repay you…?”

But Yong-Hee never learnt how the Dear Leader could be repaid, for instead her head was reeling with a dozen conflicting emotions. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach. On the one hand she would be leaving, leaving the Motherland, her family and friends, leaving the Paradise of the People, the only land that she had ever known, for some hot desert to serve a corpulent African despot who already had a harem of women. Although she knew that she had a valuable role to fulfil in Platoon 72, she had always assumed that once she retired, she would be able to marry and live a normal life afterwards, with children and a loving husband. Yet how could she now, if she were exiled thousands of miles away, cast into a harem of abused women? And wrestling with the emotions that such thoughts bring were her attitudes to the Dear Leader. On one hand she was devastated: He had said that He was bored of her, bored! Had she not tried her best, gone through some traumatic experiences in order to pleasure Him and now He was just bored! Part of her wanted to shout and rage at the man whom she had given everything to and who now just tossed her to one side like a used tissue. Yet at the same time all those years of devotion, of almost worship to His name made her feel ashamed. Bored of her meant that she wasn’t good enough somehow. Even after all those weeks sucking Him off in Pyongyang and having the lies exposed: He wasn’t really at the front, He didn’t really exert Himself for the Motherland, instead He spent most of the day being pleasured by young pioneers and actresses, watching pornographic films, eating fine food and getting drunk. Yet even though she now knew the truth, that ancient, deeply inbred sense of devotion was hard to shake. She had bored Him; she had let the Motherland down. And then too there was an excitement and a sense of release. Knelt there, the throbbing cock of a fat negro filling her mouth, she realised that a life spent gagged, anally-plugged, sexually-frustrated and restrained, existing only to be raped by political leaders, that was no life at all, that deep down she was unhappy and lonely and wanted to escape. Well, now she would be escaping, starting a new life. But what would that life be like.

At that moment the President of Tanganyika erupted in her mouth and salty semen flooded her throat. Little did Yong-Hee know that her silent question had just been answered. That was what her life would be all about in Tanganyika, just as it had been in Platoon 72. Well, for as long as she pleased the president and then it would just be forced breeding and cast out to be a whore amongst his guards. No, very soon Comrade Hong Yong-Hee, the brave young pioneer from the elite Platoon 72 would realise that serving the Dear Leader was not such a bad role in life after all.

Fact or Fiction?

Some people may read this work of fiction as a veiled attack on the regime of the Late Kim Jong-Il, the Glorious Leader of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea who shone the Light of Socialism brightly across the world and challenged the imperialists and their lackeys. This is obviously a false reading and the Dear Leader in this tale has nothing to do with that Dear Leader at all, despite their being some linguistic similarities. Kim Jong-Il after all, was not a debauched despot in any way whatsoever and instead His only concern was the welfare and progress of the Motherland.

However, there have been articles written, heinous imperialist propaganda no doubt, which describe debaucheries not dissimilar to those in this tale. They are, naturally, wholly false and this tale was written as a means of pointing out the inaccuracy of the Western viewpoint towards the Dear Leader of the DPRK. However, for academic reasons only, please check out these heinous articles which cast terrible aspersions upon the good character of the late Dear Leader.

DP

The Pleasure’s all the Dear Leader’s

http://www.atimes.com/atimes/Korea/MB23Dg01.html

Wikipedia page of Kippumjo

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kippumjo

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Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Serving the Dear Leader: Part 9

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Part 7

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Part 10

Chapter 14 – Strangers in the Night

Three nights later Yong-Hee was sleeping in her bed, catching up on some rest after a hard day having the a ;politburo member’s piss squirted down her throat, when the light suddenly snapped on and a voice said, “Get up!” Startled, she wondered what was happening, for the voice wasn’t that of Comrade Jun but instead a male voice, a soldier in the People’s Army. “What is happening? What have I done?” she asked in some fear, scared that she might have displeased the Dear Leader in some way. She’d heard terrible stories about prison camps for those who tried to subvert the regime and she hoped dearly that she wasn’t being mistaken for some sort of a traitorous person.

“Put on these clothes,” was all that the soldier said.

The clothes were not her Pioneer uniform but instead the normal attire of a worker. As she put them on she felt dowdy and plain but at the same time was glad to be free of both gag and monoglove. Then, when she was dressed, she was led out of the room and then the building itself by the soldier and without a word, bundled into the back of a car.

The car sped them down the mountain and then, to Yong-Hee’s surprise – and some relief – the railway station. The time on the clock read 04:10 and the Departures board stated that the express to the capital was due to arrive at 04:20. So, she was not being taken to prison but instead to the big city, the place that she had heard so much about and dreamt about but never thought that she would be seeing. But the question was, why?

At 05:00 the train arrived and she began her long journey. Although the soldier did not travel with her, there were plenty others on board and she knew that the carriage attendant had strict instructions to keep her safe. So, she sat back and watched the scenery pass by her window. Seeing such a beautiful country, she was not surprised that the Imperialists had tried so hard to capture it, only stopped by the wise generalship of the Great Leader of course. However, what was more confusing was how devastated and broken everything looked. Yes, her home county was the same but she had always assumed from watching the TV that most of the country was a Glorious Beacon of Socialism.

At the terminus she was met by another soldier who commanded her to follow him and they circumnavigated the ticket barriers and ID checks and got straight into another waiting car. Then they sped along the empty roads of the great city up into the hills before passing in front of a vast palace which they then drove round the back of. Then she was ordered out and marched into the building, down lots of corridors and up several flights of stairs to a small bedroom. In the room was an outfit laid on the bed. “Shower and then get dressed in these,” said the soldier and then report downstairs, third door from the left, Room 42.”

Yong-Hee stripped and then stepped into the en suite shower. After washing away the dirt of the journey, she re-emerged and put on the outfit. She couldn’t believe it: it was a beautiful hanbok made of the finest materials in white, blue and pink with an exquisite decoration for her hair. Over recent days, perhaps because she’d seen Him copulating with an inferior foreigner, Yong-Hee had begun to have some slight doubts about the Dear Leader. How stupid she had been? Was not this proof of His love for all His people? She had been granted a trip to the capital and then dressed in the finest silks. Who on earth could match the Dear Leader for wisdom and generosity?

Dressed in the outfit, she felt like a real lady and loved the way that it swished around her as she made her way downstairs. There she found the room that the soldier had mentioned and entered it. It was empty but there was some sweetly-scented tea and half a dozen cakes. Hungry and thirty after her long journey, Yong-Hee grabbed a couple and then helped herself to a cup of tea. Then she waited. After about ten minutes later she heard footsteps approaching and two figures walked into the room. One was a beautiful lady, also dressed in a hanbok of stunning colours. She was about fourteen years old and was exquisitely made. Behind her walked a young girl of about twelve, also dressed in a hanbok. “Aha, Comrade Yong-Hee?” she asked. Yong-Hee nodded and they bowed to one another. “My name is Comrade Chu and I am in charge of you here. You are probably wondering what is happening to you, but do not fear. In His infinite generosity, the Dear Leader has decreed that you are to be blessed with some time serving Him in the cpaital as thanks for the excellent work that you did in Platoon 72 when He visited there recently. Hmm, looking at you, I can see why He was so impressed; you’re very pretty girl, very pretty indeed. However, first things first. Du-hyang, mittens!”

The young hanbok-clad girl bowed and then approached Yong-Hee with a pair of white silken mittens which she proceeded to fit on the Pioneer’s hands. As she did so, Yong-Hee noticed that Comrade Chu was also wearing an identical pair. When they were on, Yong-Hee discovered that they were padded and inside had some sorts of rods so that she could not bend her hands. They were tied at the wrists with pretty ribbons and it was clear that with them on her hands were merely two useless paddles and without outside assistance, she could not remove them. “Like with Platoon 72, we must be wary of Imperialist infiltrators here in the capital,” said Comrade Chu by means of explanations. Yong-Hee nodded gravely for she was fully aware of just how insidious the imperialists were. Then, her hands rendered useless like the older ladies, Comrade Chu gestured for her to sit and snapped an order at Du-hyang to feed them both a cake and then present dainty cups of tea to their mouths to sip. “Du-hyang is my apprentice,” explained Comrade Chu. “She will take over my role one day but in the meantime she must fulfil my every need.”

Over the tea and cake that following, Yong-Hee learnt that the Dear Leader had specially requested that she be sent down to the capital, primarily because of her “first-class sucking skills” and that He would be arriving that evening by helicopter accompanied by “a Platoon 72 member who comes from Pridniestrovia”. Her duties would now be to accompany Him whenever He did On The Spot Guidance and to service His needs when He needed them servicing. Generally she would wear the hanbok, but on days spent on “desk duty” she would have a different outfit.

The Dear Leader did arrive that evening and they all lined up to greet Him as He stumbled out of the helicopter, Valentina helping to prop Him up. Du-hyang handed Him a bouquet of flowers and then He lurched towards Yong-Hee, gave her a special kiss and then ordered her to accompany Him and Valentina to His bedroom. There both girls undressed (except for the mittens of course and Valentina’s monoglove), and He attempted to enjoy a period of congress with both but the sheer amount of alcohol that the Dear Leader had imbibed (and was continuing to imbibe), prevented this and within twenty minutes He was fast asleep, snoring loudly, as the two Pioneers caught up with each other’s news by His side.


Chapter 15 – Plagued by Reactionary Thoughts

After that first night – and the activities the following morning when the Dear Leader was far more able to enjoy congress with his pioneers – began a new period in Comrade Yong-Hee’s life which caused her to have strange doubts about her role and that of the Dear Leader Himself. Naturally, she kept those doubts to herself, sure that they were the result of being subconsciously affected by some imperialist propaganda or thought control, but nonetheless, they still bothered her.

Her role now was to accompany the Dear Leader wherever he went and then to service Him when He needed it. This duty she accepted eagerly, knowing full well how much He gave to the Motherland of His time and energy, tirelessly travelling the length and breadth of their sacred and embattled land giving valuable On The Spot Guidance to comrades in every province. When He was doing so, she would accompany His entourage, the only pioneer to do so as Valentina could obviously not be seen in public due to her inferior race. Then she would be dressed in a hanbok, arms unrestrained and would smile charmingly and then, when needed, would follow Him to a private chamber where He would ravish her, use her mouth as a receptacle for His seed or water, or simply caress her lovingly. This Yong-Hee did not mind, for it was her job, but what worried her was how rarely she did it. She spent a total of two months based in the capital yet she only went out with the Dear Leader giving On The Spot Guidance a total of four times.

Of course, Yong Hee was well aware that He had other duties to attend to and far more often she was dressed in her Platoon 72 uniform, arms in a monoglove, and taken to His spacious and beautifully furnished office where she had a little cupboard underneath His mahogany desk. Her face was then strapped to the opening and every so often, in between working, He would thrust His tool into it for her to have the glory of swallowing His sperm or water.

However, even these days could not have numbered more than ten during the entire two months and for the rest of the time she accompanied the Dear Leader as He lazed by the pool, played on His private funfair, went riding His horses, completed a round on His private golf course, watching porn films in His private cinema or indulged in a session in His dungeon where either she or Valentina, (or both at once), were whipped, stretched and tortured for His sexual gratification.

And whatever He was doing, she never once knew Him to rise out of bed before eleven.

But why all this bothered her more than anything else is that, in between her hard work servicing the Dear Leader, Yong-Hee continued her political education and every day on the news there were reports of the Dear Leader visiting factories and collective farms, army battalions and schools giving invaluable On The Spot Guidance yet she knew full well that, a few select occasions aside, He had not been doing that at all and instead had spent most of his time lazing about, drinking and using her and Valentina for His sexual pleasure. Naturally she asked Comrade Chu about this and the older lady replied in a blasé fashion that of course a lookalike was used most days.  More worryingly still, after a while Yong-Hee began to notice that the few occasions when the Dear Leader did bother to fulfil His duties as President, were on outings when He would be most likely to meet attractive young female comrades. He never once missed an outing to survey a dance troupe or female university.

All of which caused her to awake at night with His tool flaccid inside her and wonder if, perhaps, He wasn’t such a superhuman saviour of the People after all. Indeed, on very dark nights, her bottom still throbbing from the assault on it earlier, she even wondered if He was in fact, not just a lazy, corrupt playboy who was simply living off the backs of the hardworking citizens of the Motherland. Naturally, the moment she had such thoughts, the more reasonable and rational side of her told her how ridiculous they were, how her mind was being addled by contact with evil imperialists and that it could even be Valentina’s fault since she was so very foreign, but nonetheless, they continued and Yong-Hee hated herself for having them.

Thus it was that, at the end of her time in the capital, she was almost glad when she was replaced in the middle of the night by another member of Platoon 72 and sent packing on a train – which stopped in the middle of nowhere for seven hours due to an electrical power shortage – back to the platoon base up in the mountains. At least there, maybe, she could order her thoughts and return to some sort of normality.

And let her poor body recover from the repeated assaults upon it.

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Serving the Dear Leader: Part 8

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Chapter 12 – A New Friend

The next morning, after the Dear Leader had enjoyed another bout of passion with the pretty Pridniestrovian and then a lengthy lie in, Yong-Hee was taken to her room for a shower by Comrade Jun and then dressed in her usual uniform. As the Dear Leader was in the complex and some pioneers would be needed to serve Him, all the usual political and sexual education was cancelled. However, to Yong-Hee’s surprised, she was called to Comrade Kim whom she found standing in her office with none other than the pretty Pridniestrovian. However, what was more surprising was that the Pridniestrovian girl was not dressed in her foreign clothes, but instead a Platoon 72 pioneer’s uniform complete with monoglove and gag and, what is more, she did not look very happy about it.

“Comrade Hong Yong-Hee, thank you for joining us. I have called you here today because of two reasons. Firstly, I have consulted your school records and it seems that you studied the decadent imperialist tongue of English whilst in Hamyong Province. Is that true?”

Yong-Hee nodded.

“And you achieved a reasonable degree of proficiency?”

Yong-Hee nodded again, less surely this time.

“Good. Now, as you can see, Comrade Valentina from Pridniestrovia has joined our platoon today in order to serve our beloved Dear Leader. Usually, as you know, Platoon 72 is for Children of the Motherland only, but on this occasion, our Dear Leader has wisely and graciously allowed an exception to the rule. Comrade Valentina has joined us but sadly your copulation partner, Comrade Ju-Ae has left the platoon. In the ball last night, the President of Pridniestrovia was most taken with her and used her for his pleasure and thus, in the interests of proletarian solidarity, the Dear Leader has granted her request to serve the President of Pridniestrovia permanently as his sexual servant in Pridniestrovia.”

Yong-Hee felt sorry in the depths of her heart for Ju-Ae having to leave the beloved Motherland and lie with a foreigner. How glorious was her contribution to the global proletarian struggle, but how hard also!

“Comrade Valentina does not speak our language so you must talk to her in English and introduce her to the platoon. I will remove both of your gags.”

Comrade Kim did this and Comrade Valentina let forth a flurry of angry Russian. Then Yong-Hee spoke to her. “Hello Comrade Valentina. Welcome you to Platoon 72 of Young Pioneer. Big welcome you! We happy here! You happy here!”

“What you mean, ‘Welcome Platoon 72’? I am go back my country today!”

“No, you stay here. You lucky in Platoon 72, big honour. Everyday you make happy Dear Leader.”

“No! No! I can’t! I must go back! What about my family? I only signed up for this for a week because the money was good. I need to go back to Tiraspol. I can’t stay here being fucked by that old pervert!”

Yong-Hee didn’t understand the word ‘pervert’ which was probably just as well. “No, you stay here. You Young Pioneer. You in bed make many happy Dear Leader. Everyday me you practise sex play so make Dear Leader maximum happy.”

At this point Valentina burst into tears.

Chapter 13 – The Politburo Conference

That afternoon the President of Pridniestrovia left and all the pioneers went to see him off, including Valentina who glared at him and struggled at her bonds which, for some inexplicable reason, made the strange foreigner roar with laughter. On his arm was Ju-Ae, dressed in a beautiful hanbok and looking very scared at what the future might bring. Yong-Hee’s heart went out to her.

Afterwards all the pioneers were taken to the gymnasium where they had their exercises and watched a short film extolling the virtues of the Dear Leader who cares for the People and the Motherland like a father cares for his children in direct contrast to the leaders of the imperialist nations, and then Comrade Kim explained that several pioneers had been honoured to be selected as Servicers during a conference that the Dear Leader was holding with His politburo following the important visit of the President of Pridniestrovia. The names of the lucky few were read out and to Yong-Hee’s delight, she was one of those picked.

She and the other chosen pioneers were then led to the dining room where they were fed a bowl of noodles with real meat in it and then, to their surprise, were stripped totally naked. Then each pioneered was had oil massaged all over their bodies and strange garments were brought out. They were all in black and made out of thick rubber and it soon became clear that they were some sort of all-encompassing body suits. Comrade Jun started to fit Yong-Hee’s. At first it was much as she expected, a suit that covered her legs, then her bum and body and arms but then she began to realise, with a degree of horror, just how all-encompassing the suit actually was. “You are all to be attending the Dear Leader and the great men of the Motherland and they shall be discussing extremely important issues of national security. Therefore, they cannot leave the room for fear of secrets being leaked to the Western imperialist spies and you must neither hear the negotiations nor see any confidential files, maps or images. Therefore, wearing these suits is absolutely necessary.”

To Yong-Hee’s – and the other pioneers’ – dismay, the suits continued up the neck and covered the entire head save for three holes: two tiny ones at the nostrils and one for the mouth. However, before it was fitted, plug were fitted into her ears which were attached to a small device which Comrade Jun called an i-pod and which were, apparently, popular amongst the bourgeoisie of the decadent nations, and this was then attached to the back of her head where her hair was also bunched up. Comrade Jun pressed a button on it and it started to play revolutionary songs and stirring speeches by the Dear Leader Himself. Then a large ring gag was produced and fastened around her head causing her to keep her mouth open all the time. Then the hood was fitted and Yong-Hee’s world went black and she was alone with the sound of revolutionary marching bands.

She stood there in her own cocoon and then her rubber-clad arms were bent behind her in the usual monoglove and a collar fastened around her neck. She was then led by this collar for a certain distance until having a hand pressed on her head so that she knelt and then the chain was attached to something and Yong-Hee found that she couldn’t move further than a few centimetres.

And so there she stayed, the wisdom of the Dear Leader filling her head, for a period of time that she had no idea about. Nothing happened except that after some time she detected the smell of tobacco which made her realise that the elite of the Motherland were probably all in the room discussing confidential and important matters. The speech finished, then music began, then there was another speech, then more music and after a while the original speech began again. It was all on loop.

Then, whilst she was listening to the Dear Leader talk inspiringly about grain production in North Pyongan Province for the third time, she felt her chain tugged and to her surprise – and disgust – a flaccid male tool was inserted into her ring-gagged mouth. Then, horror of horrors, slowly water began to trickle from it, gathering in speed until it was a gushing torrent of acrid urine hitting the back of her throat. Trying to combat the natural gag reflex, the young pioneer gulped it down as fast as she could feeling violated and humiliated and yet also knowing that it was an honour that she should be glad for as she was serving the Motherland and, who knows, perhaps the penis in her mouth was that of the Dear Leader Himself?

Once the flow had finished and she had licked and sucked it dry and it had withdrawn, she began to think about it and wonder as to what it all meant. And then she realised: had not Comrade Kim said that the men were not allowed to leave the room because of the machinations of imperialist spies? But what if the room had no sanitary facilities? How great was the wisdom of the Dear Leader she realised at this point to provide an alternative to using the toilet and how ingenious was His solution to the quandary. Of course, that still didn’t stop her feelings of disgust, but now that she understood why this was happening to her, it made it easier to bear.

And so it continued until Yong-Hee realised that it wasn’t just the Politburo members who needed to use the toilet for she felt a familiar build up in herself, no doubt due to the fact that she had endured two streams of piss jetting into her throat during her incarceration in rubber. But what was she to do? She tried to hold it in but soon it became unbearable and so she let flow. The pee, with nowhere to go, simply stayed around her, seeping between her skin and the rubber, making it even slippier than before. She felt it trickling down her legs and longed to clean herself but of course, it was impossible. Instead she was entombed in rubber, getting hotter and sweatier, having pee spurted down her throat from the tool of an unknown male whilst her own wastes swilled all around her and endless speeches on the construction of new apartment complexes for steel workers in Ryanggang Province filled her ears.

After some time, something else unexpected happened. Something different was thrust into her mouth. It was a tube. She sucked on it and soup came through. She sucked and sucked realising that it must be dinnertime and the Dear Leader had thoughtfully considered the needs of His anonymous rubber-clad pioneers. After the soup, some water was fed through which was so clean and refreshing after all the pee. But then came the afternoon session, more of the same, with her politburo member peeing regularly, no doubt due to him drinking lots of water as the pee did seem to get more diluted.

She herself was also peeing on a regular basis and the liquids sloshed about in her suit, warming her further. Then came the need for something else, which she tried to stop, but again it was inevitable and after some time her solid waste was also mixed up with the rest. Thankfully, it wasn’t long after that when she felt her chain being tugged and she was led, her legs aching terribly from having been kneeling so long, to her room where she was freed from the terrible rubber prison, cleaned thoroughly by Comrade Jun and then thankfully put to bed.

Not that her ordeal was over though. The conference continued for another three days.

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Serving the Dear Leader: Part 7

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Chapter 10 – Taken Again

Two nights after her deflowering, Comrade Hong Yong-Hee was again summoned to the bedroom of the Dear Leader, this time Comrade Ju-Ae going with her at the outset. They were stripped by their minders, their bodies waxed and perfumed and then, to the pioneers’ surprise, their bottom plugs removed and a plug of scented solid fat, rather like a block of butter, put up there instead. At first this rather large plug stretched Yong-Hee’s bottom hole painfully, but as it stayed up their it slowly melted until her rear opening was greasy and slippery.

Once in the bedroom, they discovered that their sleeping arrangements, whilst different to the last time, were not to be the ones that Yong-Hee had fantasised about. There was a large bolster running across the middle of the bed which they were both told to lie over, face down. This forced their tummies up so that their bottoms were in the air, inviting the any man. Then a bar was fastened over their calves behind the knees so that they could not move back whilst their hands were unfastened from their monogloves and attached by means of cuffs to the head of the bed. Then they were left in the darkness for the man-god to arrive.

When He did arrive some thirty minutes or so later, the Dear Leader gave a cry of delight when he saw the two pioneers proffering themselves like mares in seasons. He came up to them and gave their bottoms hard slaps with his hands causing the flesh to quiver. Then he quickly undressed and positioned Himself over the girls, caressing the outer breast of each girl with his hands before nuzzling His face in their hair. Yong-Hee felt His member grow hard against her skin and then gave a gasp of delight as He reached down under her and started tickling her beauty bud ring. This caused her to involuntarily wiggle her bottom in excitement at which the Dear Leader chuckled and then got up. For a moment their skin did not touch and she wondered if he had abandoned her but then she felt a new sensation. Something was touching her well-oiled bottom hole trying to get in! After a split second of confusion she realised, it was His penis and He was going to take her there! Sure enough, slowly but surely, grabbing hold of her body for leverage, He forced His way in. It was painful initially, yes, but more than that, the penis of that man-god entering her in such a way made her feel so violated, so controlled, so helpless that she could not comprehend her own thoughts. Surely she should be glad to be honoured in such a way, to be able to serve Him who serves others so much in such an intimate way and yet somehow, inexplicably, this was simply too much.

Once fully in there the Dear Leader started rocking to and fro, thrusting in and out. “Clench! Release!” commanded the Dear Leader, slapping her buttocks hard with each motion that he wanted. Yong-Hee felt so used, so shamed and degraded and yet she tried her best, clenched and released in time with the painful slaps and somehow slowly, perversely, she began to enjoy it, to want more, to relish the manly, omnipotent thrusts up inside her when…

He exited. The hole was empty and gaping, pleading for more. But he had left her and instead had turned his attentions to Ju-Ae. By the motions of the bed and the little that she could see by turning her head, He was doing the same to the other pioneer now. Yong-Hee felt so insanely jealous of her friend now, so angry that she was pleasuring the Greatest Man on Earth, the Father of the People. She had wanted that honour; no one else deserved it.

But the Dear Leader did not stay inside Ju-Ae for long. Savouring His pleasure, He exited her and went back to Yong-Hee, but once again, just as she was beginning to enter the heavens, He exited her again and went back to Ju-Ae.

And so it continued, turn after turn, as the Dear Leader strung out His ecstasy and left His two pioneers unsatisfied. Eventually though, when He could take no more and He was pumping away at Yong-Hee, He exploded deep within her before collapsing on top of the both and nuzzling His face in their hair. Then He went to the bathroom and whilst He was away their minders came, unfastened them, put their arms back into monogloves and attached their leads to the head of the bed and left them with the Father of the People.

That night, with the Dear Leader’s head nestled in her ample breasts, Comrade Hong Yong-Hee felt a pride such as she had never felt before. He had chosen her to explode His salty seed into. She had served the Motherland well.

Chapter 11 – The Grand Ball

The purpose for the Dear Leader’s visit to His mountain retreat was to entertain the President of Pridniestrovia. To be honest, neither Yong-Hee nor any of the other pioneers in Platoon 72 had ever heard of Pridniestrovia before but Comrade Kim explained to them in a political education session the following day that Pridniestrovia was one of the Motherland’s greatest allies and was another country created against the will of the imperialist aggressors and loathed by them for its strict adherence to socialist principles. Not that Yong-Hee was listening much to all of this; for the entirety of the session she was more concerned with the ache in her rectum from the previous night’s exploits.

But they were being educated for a reason. The President of Pridniestrovia was flying in that day and they would be holding a grand ball in his honour and afterwards some of the girls may be called upon to entertain him. Both Yong-Hee and Ju-Ae were very excited at this prospect for neither had ever been to anything so thrilling as a ball before and they both dreamt of sweeping around the dance floor dressed in beautiful gowns, clasping the man of their dreams tightly as the sun set.

But this being Platoon 72, things were not quite as expected for the innocent young pioneer. When the time came, instead of Comrade Jun removing her pioneer’s uniform and monoglove and replacing them with a beautiful and elegant ball gown, she simply removed the uniform. “At the Dear Leader’s balls, all the pioneers are to be entirely naked except for their monogloves, as ever a necessary protection against the infiltration of the Western imperialist spies.” As with so many thing connected with Platoon 72, at first Yong-Hee struggled to fathom out the reason for this, but then Comrade Jun explained. “At the Dear Leader’s balls there are a great many guests apart from the Dear Leader Himself and His main guest which this time is the President of Pridniestrovia. Tonight there will be all the aides from Pridniestrovia and also many great figures from the Motherland, generals and party secretaries and the like. The Dear Leader insists that all of His pioneers are naked so that they look alluring and tempting but then puts the instruction upon all of His men that none of them may touch a pioneer except for Him and also His honoured guests. It is a test of their loyalty and will power, both extremely important qualities for serving the Motherland.”

Once again Yong-Hee realised that the wisdom of the Dear Leader was unending!

The ball that evening was a surreal experience. The main hall of the house, (which was usually left in darkness to save on electricity), was lit by glorious glass chandeliers whilst out in the gardens tiny lanterns illuminated everything. Music was provided by a full orchestra specially flown in from the capital and all the men were dressed smartly in dinner jackets or uniforms. The maids wore pretty black and white uniforms but all the pioneers were wholly naked save for their arms bound tightly in monogloves covered in black satin pouches. They stood together and giggled whilst the men milled around, drinking their lovely bodies in with their eyes but daring not to touch, except for the Dear Leader and the President of Pridniestrovia of course who came up to every girl, kissed them and groped or slapped their buttocks or breasts. It was most disconcerting for Yong-Hee, especially when the President enjoyed her company for she felt so uncomfortable being touched by one of another race when she had always been taught that the children of the Motherland were the purest, finest people on earth. It was one thing being touched by the Dear Leader but quite another by a foreigner.

What was also shocking is that they were not alone for it transpired that the President had brought along his own troupe of girls from Pridniestrovia. They were long-legged blondes and brunettes with elegant walks and fine figures. As the gentlemen were not allowed to touch the pioneers or the president’s girls, then the two sets of girls danced together and Yong-Hee talked to a few in the halting English that she had learned at school. They were all from Pridniestrovia and, unlike her, had not been picked by their leader but had been hired which seemed most strange to Yong-Hee’s ears.

As the evening progressed the music turned from classical strains to decadent K-pop which quite shocked Yong-Hee as she had always been taught that this was the worst music on earth although it sounded quite catchy. After her initial grope and kiss with the two great men, she wasn’t molested again but she saw nothing of Ju-Ae for the President of Pridniestrovia was most taken by her and spent the evening with her in his arms whilst the Dear Leader, obviously for the purposes of international solidarity and diplomacy only, had latched onto a red-headed Pridniestrovian. Into the night they partied until the lights went out late and Comrade Jun came to take her up to the Dear Leader’s bedroom. This surprised Yong-Hee since the Dear Leader was still firmly attached to His Pridniestrovian whom He had taken into the gardens, but when she got there, the reason became clear.

The bedroom was full of half of Platoon 72 who were all stood by the bed. Then, one by one, they were gagged and had their monogloves removed and were securely fastened to the bed, one face down, the next face up, horizontally, stretched to the maximum, their wrists and ankles firmly secured to the sides of the bed until they formed a new mattress for the Dear Leader; a moving, warm, inviting human mattress!

Sure enough, a few minutes later the Dear Leader entered with His pretty Pridniestrovian and they lay down on top of the bed of beauties and consummated their new relationship with a passion and vigour which astounded Yong-Hee. Then, tired and spent, they slept whilst the bed of girls lay there in silence, straining under the weight.

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Serving the Dear Leader: Part 6

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Chapter 9 – Taken by the Dear Leader

“Comrade Pioneers, I have great news for you all! The Dear Leader is gracing us with a visit!”

The whole room erupted with joy. There were screams of happiness and claps all round. Well… there would have been had not all the members of Platoon 72 not been gagged and had their arms bound tightly in monogloves. Their minders however, did the job for them. Comrade Kim waited until the outpouring of joy and exaltation had died down and then continued with her announcement. “He shall arrive tomorrow after lunch and you shall all be presented before Him. Then He shall choose who He will grace with His favour. Remember your training Comrades and remember the Motherland!”

Hong Yong-Hee was filled with happiness. Although she had met Him before, she had never met Him as a member of Platoon 72, the most elite of all the Young Pioneer platoons, and she had never had the opportunity to serve Him before. But would He pick her? Would He even remember that shy young girl who once handed Him flowers? Her mind reeled with the possibilities. As she trained with Comrade Jun-Ae that afternoon she imagined that it was not her friend but the Dear Leader Himself whom she was copulating with, exploring with her tongue, serving in the most intimate way possible. She imagined lying on her grand bed with Him, arms around each other, indulging in the steamiest of passion. It took far less time than usual before their minders had to pull them apart from one another.

That night she hardly slept and in the morning, after her shower and dressing, unlike her usual visit to the pool, Comrade Jun laced her straight into her monogloves before then applying make-up on her face whilst another unnamed comrade styled her hair.

After lunch they were all taken to the gymnasium with the large portrait of the Dear Leader with His fawning pioneers. Stood in a line, ungagged and excited, they waited.

When He arrived, Hong Yong-Hee could barely contain her emotions, but she did so for she was scared that any tears would make her exquisite make-up run. The Dear Leader was not quite as she remembered, somewhat smaller and looking worse for wear, although that was only to be expected after a long journey and doubtless countless days of a lack of sleep and a build-up of tension as He committed Himself to the Motherland. He strode down the line purposefully, his shoes click-clacking on the hard floor, stopping at each pioneer, kissing her on the mouth and making a comment. When He came to her He smiled, took her head in His hands and kissed her on the lips, His tongue exploring the inside of her mouth. His breath stank a little of alcohol but Yong-Hee remembered her training and reciprocated. After awhile He withdrew, looked her up and down and then fondled her bulging breasts with His hands. “My, my, how the little girl has grown!” He commented with a smile, causing Comrade Kim to laugh sycophantically and Yong-Hee to blush with pride. “What’s your name again my lovely?” He asked.

“H-h-hong Yong-H-h-h-Hee, Dear Leader,” she stammered.

“So delightful, demure and virginal,” He commented. “I shall break her in tonight, Kim.”

“Yes, Dear Leader.”

Tonight! She would be given the chance to put into practice all her training tonight! She imagined herself snuggled up to that living man-god, arms entwined as lovers, entering a second heaven before sleeping in each others arms and almost swooned at the thought of it.

That evening, as He was having dinner, accompanied by the other pioneers, Hong Yong-Hee was showered thoroughly, oiled all over and then had her make-up reapplied. She was then stripped and dressed only in fine lacy lingerie, taken by Comrade Kim and led by her chain to the Dear Leader’s chamber, a room so sumptuous as to barely be imaginable. Soft music played in the background and wispy curtains blew in the breeze from the open doors which led to a balcony. She climbed onto the enormous bed where she expected to be told to wait. However, Comrade Kim was not finished with her charge. She attached cuffs around her wrists and then attached them to the top two bedposts. Then she did likewise with Yong-Hee’s ankles and the bottom two bedposts so that the girl was spread out like a starfish. Then she got a bolster and placed it underneath the pioneer’s bottom so that her beauty lips and the ring running through her beauty bud were presented prominently. Then she took the ends of the chain at each post and tightened them so that Yong-Hee felt pressure in every limb and could hardly move. Finally she took an inflatable gag, inserted it in her charge’s mouth and squeezed the bulb until Yong-Hee’s cheeks bulged and her jaw ached. “This is the traditional way in which the Dear Leader takes a virgin Pioneer,” explained Comrade Kim before switching off the light and closing the door behind her.

Spread out and exposed like that, Yong-Hee felt most uncomfortable, both mentally and physically. She had so wanted to demonstrate all her training to the Dear Leader, to please Him in so many ways yet like this she could do nothing and was more like an offering to some false god such as was common in the country before the glorious advent of socialism. Strangely, although she knew that she was being extremely honoured by the Dear Leader, at the same time she also felt degraded. This emotion did not make sense but she felt it nonetheless. ‘Never mind Yong-Hee,’ she thought to herself, ‘soon I shall be alone with Him and it will all be wonderful!’

But as with many other things, in this Comrade Hong Yong-Hee was mistaken. For when the Dear Leader did arrive, stumbling through the door a glass of champagne in one hand, she found that He was not alone for His other hand was draped around the middle of another girl, another Pioneer, Comrade Ju-Ae in fact. She was still dressed in her pioneer uniform with her arms firmly strapped behind her in a monoglove but she was ungagged and groaning in pleasure as the Dear Leader massaged and fondled her bottom. Seeing her friend offered up for sacrifice, Ju-Ae looked at Yong-Hee in a way which could almost be mistaken for pity had both not been so aware of how honoured they were to be in the presence of such a man.

The Dear Leader also saw Yong-Hee spread-eagled on the bed. He smiled and removed his shirt and underwear. Then he snapped his fingers and Jun-Ae dutifully knelt in front of Him, sucking lovingly on His penis in order to bring it to arousal. When fully erect, the Dear Leader pushed Ju-Ae roughly aware as if she were an unwanted rag doll and then climbed on the bed. He covered Yong-Hee with His body and then lowered Himself onto her. As He did so, Ju-Ae approached behind and started massaging his rectum with her warm tongue. Lost in pleasure, the Dear Leader slammed down onto Yong-Hee, breaking her virgin membrane and thrusting Himself deep inside her. It did not take long before He erupted His warm seed inside her and then rolled to one side. Then to Yong-Hee’s shock and disgust, Jun-Ae crawled up onto the bed and after sucking the Dear Leader’s now flaccid tool clean of her juices and blood and His seed, she then proceeded to do the same with her friend’s beauty lips.

By the time she had finished, the Dear Leader was fast asleep, using Yong-Hee’s enormous breasts as a pillow for his head, snoring loudly and dribbling champagne onto His devoted young pioneer.

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Serving the Dear Leader: Part 5

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Chapter 8 – Comrade Ju-Ae

The daily sucking session was not Yong-Hee’s only interaction with Comrade Jun-Ae and indeed, it seemed that Comrade Kim had decided to specifically pair the two young pioneers together.

Each afternoon, after their lunch of noodles, the platoon would all be taken to a large gymnasium which was unusual in that one wall was decorated by an enormous painting of the Dear Leader totally naked, his member standing proud, (and looking larger than the rubber replica that Yong-Hee now knew so well), and several young pioneers knelt around him, their rounded buttocks showing underneath their too-short skirts and their bulging breasts straining at their blouses, all of them looking up adoringly at the Dear Leader’s erect penis. In that strange room their clothes and restraints would be removed. Then collars would be fitted around their necks which were attached to heavy chains which were held by their minders, Yong-Hee’s being Comrade Kim of course. Then the girls were paired up and, as I have already said, Yong-Hee’s partner was Ju-Ae. The girls were then made to kiss one another, not normally, a quick peck on the cheek or mouth, but in a different and more disconcerting manner. Comrade Kim, (who walked around inspecting all the couples), insisted they stick their tongues into each other’s mouths so that their saliva mixed and they explored each other’s cavity with their tongues. At first Yong-Hee found this quite embarrassing and even repulsive, but her initial resistance was punished by a sharp smack on her buttocks by the cane that Comrade Kim carried with her and so she knew that this, like many other services to the Motherland, whilst arduous, was a trial that she must endure. And indeed, once she had accepted that, she began to enjoy it. Ju-Ae was a very pretty girl and, sharing so much, after a few weeks the pair began to develop a close affection for one another. They were similar in age and although from different parts of the country, both came from outlying provinces and humble backgrounds. And the more she liked Jun-Ae, the more it seemed natural to express that affection through kissing in such an intimate manner and indeed, by the look in Ju-Ae’s eyes and her motions, it seemed that her new friend felt likewise.

Soon, they were not just kissing but holding one another tight and letting their hands explore as much as their tongues. Yong-Hee loved exploring Ju-Ae’s smooth back and rounded buttocks, caressing her similarly taut and rounded and artificially-enlarged breasts, rubbing their denuded crotches together and then, playing with her nipples which, like her own, had been pierced and ringed. As the two girls played with each other’s rings whilst kissing and grinding her crotch against her companion’s waves of pleasure passed through her body causing her to tremble with anticipation and excitement. Sweat poured off them as their movements became more frantic and then one day, about a week or so after they had first joined together in such a manner, Yong-Hee felt that anticipation, excitement and pure pleasure build up inside her to such a point that she was on the verge of exploding with bliss when…

“Stop!”

She was yanked away from Ju-Ae by Comrade Jun and her companion was similarly treated by her minder holding her own neck chain. As the feelings subsided, the two gazed at one another in regret and desire. Never before had she felt like this and although she had never previously been attracted to women, at that moment she could think of nothing better than being with Ju-Ae.

Comrade Kim was called over and when she saw what had happened, she smiled. “Good work girls,” she said, “that is what the Dear Leader desires. Gaze at His image on the wall and pour those feelings of desire into His personage.” Then, turning to their minders, she rapped, “Put them together again when they are calm.”

And so they did. When the waves of desire had passed, the girls were placed together and ordered to kiss once more and so they did until the tension built and built as it had the time before.

They managed to achieve that moment of almost-bliss everyday from that day onwards. Comrade Kim explained that on occasions, as an aid to relaxation and as a treat for his guests, the Dear Leader often enjoyed having members of Platoon 72 perform before him as a prelude to him honouring one of them or another platoon member with his body. However, whilst the displays must always be “stimulating” and “genuine” the explosion of pleasure that Yong-Hee had felt coming on must “never be allowed to take place” for to indulge in such a feeling is “an act of adultery against the Dear Leader and as such, a crime against the Motherland and the People”. Whilst Yong-Hee was a virtuous and good citizen and respected the Dear Leader with her very life, this command was one which she felt hard to bear for, after being brought to the edge repeatedly in such a manner, then she would spend the rest of the day in frustration, aching to be with Ju-Ae or just to touch her own crotch and rub it in order to bring on the feelings. But of course, as soon as the sessions were over, then her arms were laced behind her in the monoglove again and often she was gagged so whilst she and Ju-Ae could be together, there was no chance for any joyful copulation.

Not that all the sessions were so joyful mind. After a few weeks, instead of being ordered to kiss her friend, she was asked to suck and lick her crotch, similar to how she did during the sessions when Comrade Ju-Ae wore the replica of the Dear Leader’s penis, but this time her tongue exploring the Young Pioneer’s denuded cleft, it playing on the ringed beauty bud. As with the kissing, she could feel her companion tremble, sweat and get more and more excited until that dreaded and yet inevitable moment when their minders yanked them away from one another and they had to turn their attentions to the enormous image of the naked Dear Leader, imagining themselves to be one of those honoured pioneers kneeling at His feet. Then the roles were reversed and Yong-Hee was in heaven as her friend’s tongue explored and stimulated her, bringing her to greater and greater excitement until… “Stop!” Yank! Stare at the Dear Leader once more.

But after that things got really strange. Ju-Ae was ordered to bend down on all fours and her bottom plug was removed. Then she was commanded to approach her friend from behind, but her face into Comrade Ju-Ae’s bottom and explore her bottom hole using her tongue. This was not nearly so pleasant as the other tasks, but dutifully she did as she was told although she grimaced as she tasted her friend’s bottom juices. “Explore thoroughly and thrust your tongue up as far as it will go!” commanded Comrade Kim, using her cane on Yong-Hee’s own bottom, hitting her so hard that she gasped and Ju-Ae gave a small, ladylike fart into her face. Ashamed at how she may be letting the Dear Leader down by not displaying enough zeal, she exerted herself further and was soon rewarded by trembles and groans from Comrade Ju-Ae who obviously enjoyed the experience. And when the roles were reversed, Yong-Hee understood why, for whilst the action may be disgusting when performing it, when the recipient it was quite exquisite and it excited her almost as much as the other two activities.

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Serving the Dear Leader: Part 4

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Chapter 6 – Welcome to Platoon 72!

After being dressed, Yong-Hee was led to a large gymnasium hall full of extremely pretty girls all gagged and restrained just as she was. They assembled in rows just like normal pioneers and then Comrade Kim addressed them all, officially welcoming Yong-Hee to the platoon at which they all bowed to her.

Then it was time for Morning Exercises. This meant they all had to jump up and down, run around the gym, stretch and other such things, like normal exercises except that balance was now much more difficult with her enormous breasts now wobbling around in front of her and her arms pinioned behind her in the monoglove.

After that all the pioneers were fed a cup of water and it was time for the National Anthem which they stood up for whilst gazing at the Flag of the Motherland and the image of their beloved Dear Leader who loved them all so very much.

Political education next. There was a newsreel of the Dear Leader giving His famous On The Spot Guidance and then a rather difficult to follow documentary on Imperialist Aggression. So far, apart from the strange restrictions, this was not so different to normal pioneer activities, but then it all got a whole lot stranger. Another video was inserted into the machine but instead of depicting the glorious achievements of the socialist motherland, this was a film imported from the corrupt imperialist west and it showed an African man with an extremely large tool repeatedly penetrating a groaning blonde lady. They all watched the film in silence – and Yong-Hee in shock – and then Comrade Kim started to lecture them on what they had seen, but instead of offering criticism of Western decadence, she analysed the performance of the groaning blonde, ordering one of the pioneers to get up to the front and then, taking a large rubber doll, she ungagged her and released her from her monoglove and then asked her to replicate some of the moves, passing comment and judgement on her performance. Then the film was watched again, another pioneer picked todo similar practising and then the film was watched for a third and final time. After that it was another newsreel depicting the Dear Leader showing His great love for the People of the Motherland and then it was time to eat.

After their meal – which was spoon fed to all the pioneers like babies – Comrade Kim decreed a period of relaxation and all the girls were allowed to go out onto a terrace which overlooked a glorious mountain vista. There, their gags were removed although the monogloves stayed on, and they were allowed to converse with one another. All the girls flocked around Yong-Hee, welcoming her to Platoon 72 and kissing her on the cheek. Then she started asking questions about her new life. It seemed that the platoon was a special one dedicated to serving Him who has given so much to the Motherland and that all of them, although young and innocent, had actually been and shared a bed with the Dear Leader, an honour which bought tears to the eyes of several of the girls even in the mere remembrance of the great honour, and indeed, all were sure that Yong-Hee too would have that honour soon and that was why they had the lessons using the decadent imperialist pornography – of which the platoon had an enormous library apparently – in order that they may service His needs so much more more effectively. Yong-Hee could certainly see the logic in this and she understood that the changes made to her body may also help Him to relax and achieve contentment, but as she was still a virgin, the thought of sharing a bed with anyone, even a Man-God like the Dear Leader filled her with more than a bit of fear. She was going to ask about this with her new-found comrades but then a bell rang and all the young pioneers of Platoon 72 then lined up just in time for Comrade Kim and the others to come and refit their gags. Then it was back into the hall for more pornographic education and so it continued until bedtime.

Chapter 7 – Oral training

The next morning Yong-Hee found herself and another pioneer taken off to a small side-room by Comrade Kim straight after the Political Education.

“Comrade, one of the most important duties of members of the honoured Platoon 72 is to provide relief and relaxation for the Dear Leader and, if He desires it, to important diplomats from fraternal nations.  Do you know Comrade Yong-Hee how it is that we may help the Dear Leader relax?”

“No, Comrade Kim.”

The teacher nodded. “”Very well, then I shall teach you. Comrade Ju-Ae, please come here!”

The requested Young Pioneer came over and bowed to her respected teacher. Then, to Yong-Hee’s surprise, Comrade Kim removed the Ju-Ae’s skirt and fasted around her waist a strange belt. It was much like any other belt except that it had a third strap running from front to back going along Ju-Ae’s bum crack and on the front was a realistic replica of a rather small male penis. Ju-Ae, assisted in none of this fitting as her arms were firmly secured behind her in a monoglove, but she did not seem at all nonplussed by the strange turn of events.

“Kneel in from of Comrade Ju-Ae!” commanded Comrade Kim.

Yong-Hee did as she was bid.

“What your fellow Young Pioneer is wearing is an exact replica of the penis of the exalted Dear Leader himself. I am sure that Comrade Ju-Ae feels extremely honoured to wear such an item.”

Ju-Ae, who was securely gagged, nodded vigorously.

“Now, Comrade Yong-Hee, there is a lesson that you need to learn here. Look at this replica of the greatest male penis in the world. It may not be the largest it is true, but you must learn that size is not important. The Dear Leader is, after all, not the tallest or heaviest person on earth, but does that reflect on the almost divine wisdom that he shows and the expert way in which he guides our country from glory to glory?”

Yong-Hee shook her head solemnly. So did Ju-Ae.

“Good, and so it is with His penis. Small, perhaps, but perfect. Look at how beautiful it is and how the balls are perfectly balanced. When I see such male perfection I am almost reduced to tears of love for our Dear Leader.”

To Yong-Hee the rubber penis before her looked much like any other, albeit smaller. Not that she had seen many before; only those of her father and brothers as they came out of the bath, and of a couple of boys at school who she and some other girls had spied upon whilst they were changing for physical exercise. But nonetheless, she knew not to question Comrade Kim.

“The male penis is central to His whole being. It is with the penis that He provides us with children and that He receives pleasure. From now on the penis of the Dear Leader shall become your central preoccupation in life, as it is with Comrade Ju-Ae here.”

Again the gagged and bound girl nodded vigorously.

“Now, look at these testicles here. They are important to a man because they are where the seed is stored which is later ejaculated from the end of the penis here to make babies. Can you imagine Comrade Yong-Hee that within those sacred testicles of the Dear Leader is produced seed which can create copies of that almost divine personage. What an honour it would be to have that seed spurted into you in order that you may carry the child of such a man-god! Of course, that latter honour will never be yours for that is not the purpose of Platoon 72, but the former honour is likely, for you shall receive that sacred seed and in doing so become the envy of every woman in the land and billions more beyond.”

“However, there is a problem with how the male body works, that being that regardless of whether it is serviced or not, the testicles keep producing seed and, if they are not emptied regularly, then the man will become irritated and stressed. Oh how hard it must be for the Dear Leader whose only thought is the Motherland, tirelessly spending his days at the Front, giving On The Spot Guidance to the workers and inspiring us all, when does He have time to be serviced, to have His tensions lessened? It is a hard role for Him but He is up to it and blessed are we all for that! And your job is, when He does find a spare moment, to help relieve Him. And the first way we may do this is as follows. Please, take the penis in your mouth.”

A little shocked, Yong-Hee leant forward and put the rubber appendage in her mouth. Once this was done, Comrade Kim ordered her to start sucking which she did. Quite why this should be done, she really couldn’t fathom out, but she guessed that it must relieve that tension somehow and she felt saddened to think that the Dear Leader be burdened with stress in any way and honoured that she may be able to help Him in this.

As she sucked, Comrade Kim watched intently. She ordered Yong-Hee to change her actions, to lick the underside, to swirl her tongue around, to nibble gently with her teeth and then finally, the teacher took her pupil’s head and rammed it onto the rubber penis, taking hold with both hands and pistoning it back and forth until Yong-Hee was almost choking and gasping for air.

Then, all of a sudden, something happened. Strange salty good jetted out from the tip of the penis and filled her mouth, dribbling down her chin. Stunned, Yong-Hee coughed and tried to spit it out, but Comrade Kim held her head firmly. “Swallow it! Swallow it!” she commanded. The taste was disgusting, but Yong-Hee swallowed nonetheless. Then, when it was done, she stood up and Jun-Ae was ungagged and then ordered to lick her comrade’s face clean until not a spot of the salty goo remained. “That liquid is your reward for good work,” instructed Comrade Kim, “and you must always be grateful for it. You must learn to enjoy it, to crave it, to live for it. Your reason for being is to receive that liquid for whenever it spurts into you, either through that hole or one of the other two, then you have fulfilled your duty to the Motherland. Now, in order to emphasise that point, drink this.”

It was a small cup full of a similar salty goo. Yong-Hee drank it in one mouthful and grimaced. Then Comrade Kim took out the white ballgag and fastened it around Yong-Hee’s head. You shall wear this until mealtime. Do not swallow the liquid inside your mouth; I expect to find it still there when I remove this at the meal table. Instead savour the taste and learn to love it, just as Jun-Ae has been doing for the last hour. “Comrade Jun-Ae, here is another cup for you.” Jun-Ae drank hers and her ballgag was replaced. It seemed to be standard practice for all Platoon 72 members to have such liquid in their mouths.

And from that day forward, the exercise was performed everyday, an hour before each meal. Jun-Ae would wear the belt and Yong-Hee would suck her, before the roles were reversed and Yong-Hee had her skirt removed and Jun-Ae would suck her off. Then both were given a cup of goo which they kept in their mouths until they ate. From that day on, the taste of semen in her mouth became the norm for the brave young pioneer from Hamgyong Province.

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Serving the Dear Leader: Part 3

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Chapter 5 – Unexpected Encumbrances and Revelations

On the morning after she returned to her room, Hong Yong-Hee completed her shower as usual, playing with her new breasts with interest, marvelling at their weight and roundness and the large size of the nipples. Once dried she dressed herself in her uniform, the blouse now straining against her mammoth breasts. Then she returned to her bedroom and, to her surprise, Comrade Jun had a new item for her to wear.

“Yong-Hee, this item is mandatory for all members of the platoon to wear when in the presence of the Dear Leader Himself. It is necessary because if the platoon was infiltrated by Western imperialist lackeys, then they would be unable to harm Him.

The item was made of dark blue leather and had an attached collar. Hong Yong-Hee was ordered to put her arms behind her back, palm-to-palm and then, to her surprise, the item was fitted over them. It was some kind of sleeve and it was quite snug but not painful although it did restrict her from using her arms at all. Yong-Hee could see how it would stop an imperialist spy from harming the Dear Leader as it rendered the wearer helpless but wondered why she needed it as her loyalty to Him was never in question. Still, she knew to accept His wisdom and so meekly let Comrade Kim fit it over her arms and then attach the collar around her neck. Then came something most unexpected and unpleasant. Comrade Jun took some laces at the back of the glove, (which, as she pulled, she informed her charge was called a ‘monoglove’ because it made the two arms as one), which she then began to tighten. At first it wasn’t too bad as they merely forced her hands, palm-to-palm, closer together but as she moved up the arm it became more and more painful, causing her first to squeak with every pull and then, as she approached her elbows, cry out in real pain. Eventually Comrade Jun stopped with a tut and announced, “Hmm, that is enough for today although we are still a way off. Your arms need time to adjust.”

“Adjust to what?”

“The monogloves has to be fully closed so that your elbows touch each other. At the moment it is not so elegant and it does not correct your posture sufficiently.”

“My posture?”

“Yes, the monogloves is not only to keep the Dear Leader safe, but also to make your posture more elegant and ladylike. You are a peasant from Hamgyong Province and you walk like a peasant, not like an elegant lady such as all the members of Platoon 72 should. This monogloves will teach you to do that.”

“But it hurts Comrade? How long before I can take it off?”

“You cannot take it off Comrade Yong-Hee. As you can see, you can do very little wearing it which is how it should be for a member of Platoon 72. That is why I am here, as your personal servant. Every member of the platoon has one. No, you cannot take it off and neither am I allowed to do so. Platoon members wear their monogloves for most of their waking hours and at night too, even when the Dear Leader is not here for He has instructed that it is healthy for a girl’s arms to be restrained in such a manner for at least six hours each day. I remember well Comrade Yong-Hee when He came to our quarters when I was supervising my last charge and, after viewing the lacing up of a monogloves gave some of His immortal On The Spot Guidance saying to me, ‘Comrade, although these girls may find wearing these gloves difficult, it is your duty to ensure that they are fully laced for as long a period as possible for it is the last hours that do the good. The third hour does more good than the first and second taken together. The fourth hour does more for the habits than all three earlier ones. The fifth hour provides a more persuasive remedy than all four previous ones, and the sixth hour is the most curative of all those which have gone before. I believe and I recommend that you should bind your charge’s arms in this manner for at least six hours each day moving on to all day long unless they are needed for other purposes and, when she is able, at night as well.’ Dear Comrade Yong-Hee, that was the happiest day of my life when He spoke to me with such care and consideration for my duties.”

“I can imagine Comrade, but please tell me, what did the girl who was being laced up say?”

“Oh, she said nothing because she could not as she was wearing what I am about to put on you: a gag.”

And as she spoke Comrade Jun produced a white ball of plastic on a strap which she inserted into the surprised pioneer’s mouth and then fastened tightly behind her head. With it in there, her mouth was forced wide open so her jaws began to ache and the only noise that she could make was a muffled groaning.

“So silent and elegantly restrained!” exclaimed Comrade Jun. “Comrade Hong Yong-Hee, you do so remind me of my old charge, Comrade Han Jong-Sim, what a beautiful girl she was and such a favourite of the Dear Leader. It was sad for me the day that she moved on from us but I am sure that she is very happy in the home of General Kim Kyong-Hui. Now, how are you feeling? All ok?”

Yong-Hee wasn’t feeling that ok to be honest. Her arms throbbed painfully her mouth really ached. But helpless and silent as she was, she couldn’t express such thoughts to Comrade Jun and besides, even if she could, hadn’t the Dear Leader Himself decreed that Platoon 72 members wear such things? Whatever hardship she was enduring, surely it was nothing to what the soldiers at the front, the workers on the Huichon Power Plant and, of course, the Dear Leader Himself who toils ceaselessly for the good of the Motherland. Nonetheless, she would liked dearly to have removed both the gag and the monogloves and then, what was to come next.

“Please Comrade, come to the bed, kneel on the floor and bend over so that you upper body is lying face down on the mattress. Now what I am doing now may seem a little strange and shocking to you, but again it is on the personal instructions from the Dear Leader and so you are not to resist, do you understand?”

Yong-Hee nodded and did as she was asked. She bent over so that he newly-enlarged tits were squashed under her like two huge cushions whilst her arms were left up in the air like the mast of an old sailing ship. This done, then to her shock and dismay, Comrade Jun removed her panties and took out a small object made of white plastic which was shaped a little like a pine tree but with a wide base. “All the platoon members must wear a plug,” explained Comrade Jun, “for your rear hole may be used just as much as the front and so it needs to be stretched. Indeed, looking at the shape of your lovely bottom, one of the finest that I’ve seen, I don’t doubt that you will please Him far more there than in the usual way.”

This speech did not make much sense to Yong-Hee, but things began to get very clear when the hanbok-clad servant began massaging a lubricant around her bottom hole and then trying to force the plastic plug into it. “Relax your muscles, Comrade, don’t fight it!” instructed Comrade Jun as she worked it into a place where Yong-Hee had never even thought of having something inserted. Eventually it popped it and would not come out again, her sphincter muscles closing in around the ‘trunk’ of the ‘tree’ holding it in place.

“As I said, all platoon members are plugged and gradually those plugs are changed so that the stretching is sufficient. You are wearing the smallest now; there are four sizes up to go.”

The smallest it may have been, but it made Yong-Hee feel very full down there. Her panties were pulled up, her skirt patted down and she was declared ready to attend her classes. And so she left the room, full down below, her arms pinioned behind her and throbbing agonisingly, her enormous breasts thrust forwards due to her pulled-back arms and her mouth silent and jammed open by her gag. What on earth was Platoon 72 all about and what more would she have to endure for the benefit of the Motherland?

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