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Maik-lings do not wear clothes

      The Exhibition Hall is huge and can hold thousands, but it seemed almost vacant when I first visited.  Above the stage at the far end Zhenzhen’s body was suspended in mid-air, ropes pulling her apart by the wrists and ankles.  Red-clad matrons turned windlasses on each balcony which stretched the girl out to the limits of her elasticity, emphasizing the concavity of her tummy under her ribs.  She had her eyes closed, as if praying, while businessmen and women from around the world circled around, some with drinks in their hands, some even carrying food from the buffet.


        Guanxi Exhibition activities have been described in detail elsewhere so I will be brief. Besides being stretched by ropes Zhenzhen was viewed by me in one other position, when she was being mechanically pounded from behind by a motorized dildo which was made to thrust far up her rectum.  She was up on a padded platform, on her knees, with her arms grasping an overhead bar.  Her nipples were squeezed by clips on telescoped struts which allowed them to rotate half a turn one way and then the other.  The combination of pain and pleasure resulted in unusual screams which the visitors enjoyed greatly.  On other occasions she was exhibited in various corners of the hall lifting weights, doing a gymnastic routine, swimming and tumbling underwater in a glass tank of icy water, and even just reading a book while sitting in an open bottomed chair.  This last was a great sensation for some reason.  Even more so when in the same position she urinated into a bowl set below.


        This was the one Maik-ling I was allowed to interview, which I did on three occasions, but only the last was of any length.  On the first, she was stretched out on the ropes, but her attention was distracted in many directions.  Through inventive use of chairs and platforms, she was being attended to by ten matrons: one on each nipple, one on her vulva, one behind spreading her buttocks to noodle into her anus, two on each foot (one sucking the big toe, the other on her other toes), and two more standing and teasing her sides and her buttocks with gigantic feathers.  There was so much in the way of red matron uniform that there was very little of the girl visible.  I had to shout my questions and needless to say she was not able to carry on any kind of conversation while being so licked and sucked and teased, though she tried valiantly.  Her muscles being stretched by the ropes results in more intense orgasms, a fact which about a minute later was well demonstrated.

        The second setting was much quieter, though she was in another suspended position.  She and I were alone in a side room.  For some reason the ropes on her ankles had been pulled so as to split apart and raise her legs so that her face was half hidden from me, eclipsed by her crotch which was at my eye level.  Her eyes were just above the line of site of her anus, so that I was conversing with the pink puckered orifice as much as with her face.

        She spoke first, her mouth hidden behind her nether parts.  “Good afternoon, Mr. Zhu.”  Maik-lings are always respectful, just as everyone else respects them in return.

        “Good afternoon, Zhenzhen.  I have some questions, if you don’t mind. . . Do you enjoy your summer assignments?”


        “We are doing our part in the People’s Struggle.”


        Unfortunately this was the answer I was expecting.  Trying to look at up her eyes and not her anus, I said, “Do you mind being so totally exposed?”


        “I am a Maik-ling.  Maik-lings do not wear clothes.”  This, of course, did not really answer the question.

        “I understand your part in the People’s Struggle is to have orgasms while on display.”


        “I have . . . ‘come’ . . . thirteen times so far today.”  Her anus twitched, I am sure unconsciously.


        “You must experience a great deal of pleasure.”


        “Pleasure is not something we think about.  It is our part in the Struggle.”


        I feared I was getting nowhere, hearing just Party boilerplate.  I was formulating another question when the interview was terminated by a matron coming in with a photo crew.


        It was only the third time when I got some real questioning in.  I had to get up practically in the middle of the night, given the three-hour drive.  Shortly after daybreak I emerged from the car, took a deep breath of the freezing Gobi Desert air, put on my gloves and hat, watched an airplane fly off from the nearby airfield, and walked to the rear loading dock.  Among the men in work garb was the naked Zhenzhen, hefting garbage bags into a dumpster.  At one point she even jumped in to rearrange something, her hard bare feet making a metallic thudding sound as she landed.  It must have been disgusting work.

        When they were all finished the men went back into the building and Zhenzhen hopped off the dock and walked over to me.  I looked her up and down as she approached.  She was stained all over with leaks of garbage.  Her pubic hair was caked with gray dust.  Her toes were smudged with whatever vile black goo was at the bottom of that dumpster.  So was her left hand.  I knew that she would soon clean off with a hot shower inside the Hall -- with visitors watching of course -- but to see such beauty tarnished was disheartening.


        Once again, she initiated the conversation, with a courtesy.


        “Good morning, Mr. Zhu.”  As she stood respectfully before me I noticed that one of her cold-stiffened nipples was marked with what looked like ketchup.  With so many American visitors the crudities of the American diet here are an unavoidable presence.  She also smelled vaguely of stale hamburger.


        “I just have a few more questions. . . Do you take out the garbage every day?”


        “Yes.  Also I sweep the floors at night, and close the skylight.”


        “How do you do that?”


        “I climb up the ropes.  There is a ladder near the top.  I turn a winch which closes it.”


        “Have you ever been hurt by one of those . . . demonstrations?”


        “Of course not.  Nothing can hurt us Maik-lings.  Though sometimes it is uncomfortable.”  This must have been an understatement.  I remembered her nipples being twisted and her cries of what must have been pain.

        “What do you think about, when you are stretched out in those ropes?”

        “Mostly school things.  When you first saw me I was conjugating French verbs.”

        Though her face was smudged and dirty I must note that Zhenzhen is stunningly beautiful.  All the Maik-lings are pretty but this one is mesmerizing.

        Again I asked, “Does being so exposed ever bother you?”, hoping to get a different answer this time.

        Alas, no.  “I am a Maik-ling.  Maik-lings do not wear clothes.”  She thought for a second and elaborated.  “We do not need clothes.  Or shoes.”  I have to admit, this appears to be a true statement.

        “Did you talk to the American girl you replaced?”  Uniquely among the Maik-lings, Zhenzhen had been yanked from school early for this purpose.  This two-week stint was her second.


        “We met once, when I was first brought into the Hall, but we couldn’t talk.  She was onstage giving an orgasm and we spoke only with our eyes.”  (Maik-lings never speak of “having” an orgasm; it’s always “giving” an orgasm, to the cause of the People.)  In a concession to the cold, she hugged herself.

        I longed to take off my coat and drape it over her delicate shoulders but she would have been much insulted.  “Do you Maik-lings share your . . . impressions about this summer’s assignments?”


        She looked down at her grimy, freezing feet, as if wondering if she should answer.  Then she looked up at me, the rising sun shining in her eyes, and said, “We talk at home on weekends.”

        I decided to chance it.  “Have you met the Maik-ya?”


        “No.  Only Chyou has.  We’ve heard of him though.”


        “What did she say?”


        “He’s a nice boy.  Shy.  He’s invited to our place anytime.”


        “I understand he’s very busy.”


        “Yes.”  Again, she looked down.  Then she said, “If he visits us we will let him rest.”  This in fact is a widely shared sentiment.

        “I understand he’s a very good cook.”

        For a moment I thought she was going to smile.  But she didn’t.  Maik-lings are disturbingly humorless.  I wondered if I should pry further but decided against it.  She would say as much as she thought she was allowed to. After rubbing her arms again, she finally gave in to shivering.  “I’ve g - got to g - go.  Have a g - good day, Mr. Zhu.”  And with that she scampered off on her tough bare feet, over sandy soil and rocks and the occasional patch of frost. With a running jump she hopped onto the loading dock and disappeared into the rear entrance.

Evaluation:  This, of course, is the assignment dedicated mostly to Gaunxi.  The Maik-lings are worthy successors to the American girl they replaced, and it is perhaps more appropriate that the center of attention be a Chinese girl. Zhenzhen knows this assignment backwards and forwards and it is recommended she again be released from school when possible.

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