A Man's Confession

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

As I wearily thrust into my wife's dry, empty vagina, I remembered a line from the movie *Predator*, where a minor character said, "I said to my wife's vagina, 'Your vulva is so big!'... I only said it once! But my wife insisted I said it twice..."
My wife has never had children, and my penis isn't particularly large. I still don't understand why, after initially tightly gripping my slender penis, she now leaves me feeling somewhat lost between her large mouth and wide vagina.
I decided to explore a new place to grip her. After much effort, binding my wife and forcing my engorged penis into her anus amidst her painful sobs, the first thing I heard was a satisfied, comfortable groan. In that encouraging, supportive, and satisfied groan, my penis slumped in disappointment within the anus I thought was unusually tight but was actually quite spacious.
I couldn't help but slap her, yelling, "Fuck you, you bitch!" Blood trickled from her lips as she laughed loudly at me. Amidst vicious sarcasm and ridicule, I utterly defeated, lowering my raised hand.
I cannot divorce! Because my father-in-law, in their community, can kill whomever he wants. Because they have people willing to die with you. Back when I was "forced" into marriage by his daughter—of course, "forced" is for the sake of what I felt a man should have of face—I, like a woman, rejected my long-time girlfriend, the girl who didn't care about poverty or ordinariness. I half-heartedly indulged my wife's vanity in wanting a handsome man.
The moment my wife and I were together, I felt I had succeeded, bidding farewell to the countryside, to poverty, to my rustic parents and neighbors. But when I repeatedly ignored my parents' calls, causing them to stop calling, what awaited me wasn't wealth and glory, but rather the scornful looks from my father-in-law and brother-in-law.
When I was drunk, my two brothers-in-law cornered me in an alley, knocking me to the ground, a cold leather shoe sole stomping on my supposedly handsome face. Never hit my sister again. You need to understand, without her, you're not even a dog. Remember, not even a finger. As I struggled to my feet, watching their retreating figures, spitting blood, I glared viciously at them.
When I started searching for answers, I discovered that everyone else knew my wife was a perpetually horny bitch, wagging her ass. My bed, the KTV room and bathroom, the car in the countryside—everywhere bore the marks of her encounters with different men.
I even heard a man boasting to me, in a story, that one afternoon he and his wife, after drinking heavily, drove to the countryside. His wife, straddling the car hood, swayed her snow-white breasts, the kind all men admired, welcoming his large, thick member.
The man lewdly laughed and said, "Do you know what happened next?" As he thrust his penis forcefully into my wife's incredibly wet vagina, foaming at the mouth... He suddenly noticed a thick layer of blood on his penis. He pulled on my wife's buttocks and looked down; two bright red streaks of blood ran down her long, slender, snow-white thighs with each thrust. The contrast of red and white was shocking.
The man continued, saying that the sight had aroused his already wet, tightly wrapped penis to twice its normal size. This sudden increase caused my wife to start screaming uncontrollably. "Mainly because this bitch is so white," he said, reminiscing about the day. He stopped thrusting, leaving his penis between her swaying, demanding buttocks. "You're on your period, let's stop," he said. My wife groaned
, pulling away from the penis she so adored, and turned around. Looking at the bright red streaks between her snow-white legs, at the man's wet, blood-stained penis, she licked her lips and smiled seductively. "Do you mind this?" she asked him. The man paused for a moment and said he didn't mind. When my wife knelt between his legs, grasping his slightly limp penis and beginning to stroke it with her lips, she mumbled, "I don't mind either."
The man sighed, saying he'd seen countless women but had never seen such a wanton slut, even a bitch, as my wife. He said that when he saw my wife's mouth on his penis, red saliva overflowing, he couldn't hold back any longer. He grabbed her hair, pressed her head down, and forcefully thrust his engorged penis into her throat, ejaculating. He said it was the most pleasurable ejaculation he'd ever experienced.
He said that a few minutes later, when my wife drank some water to wash away the remaining semen and swallowed it, she immediately pounced on him. The man said, "When I saw her snow-white legs and the bloodstains between her legs that were almost congealed, I couldn't help but get hard again."
Listening to the man recount how he began his second frenzied thrusting, my wife, already impatient, lay with her legs raised high, her vulva wide open on the car hood, and how cooperative and satisfied she was , I loosened my hands, which were slightly white from clenching them for so long.
I stood up and faced the man, who was still dreaming of another time like this. I said to him, "Thank you for such a wonderful story. And one more thing, I am XX's husband. Goodbye." I turned and left, leaving him speechless.
I finally understood why my so-called friends would often abruptly stop their conversations when I arrived, followed by meaningful smiles. I finally understood. It wasn't what I thought; it was my problem.
The violence last time made me feel like I was invisible when entering or leaving that so-called home. I forgot to mention, my father-in-law lives in a villa. He said he wanted his daughter to support him in his old age, so we lived together. The repeated scornful glances and the wife who acted like a stranger, disappearing every night—I thought I should leave.
Years later, when I set foot on the land of my birth, tears welled in my eyes. I found that the place I once despised now felt incredibly dear. When I pushed open my front door, I even felt a childlike joy. I was ashamed of this emotion. The emptiness and desolation of the courtyard instantly chased away all my thoughts. I immediately had a bad premonition, and the process of that premonition becoming reality was too fast for me to accept.
As I hurried forward and pushed open the door to the main room, the first thing that caught my eye was a framed photo on the old eight-immortal table in the middle of the room. A wrinkled face in the frame looked kindly at where I stood. As my lips trembled, disbelieving, and my whole body shook, an old woman emerged from a side room. She silently watched me, utterly devastated.
My father was gone. Just when I was reveling in the wonderful feeling of having everything... My father couldn't close his eyes when he passed away, panting as he watched the door recede into the distance. What he hoped to see, I hope it wasn't me. I knelt before his portrait, slapping myself harder and harder. Amidst the crisp sound of the slaps, my mother calmly said, "My funeral arrangements have been entrusted to your father's nephew. His reward for handling our funerals is this courtyard. This is what your father instructed."
I don't know when my mother left. When I weakly stood up and left a few days later, I knew there was no place for me in this world.
I returned to this city, the city that had once satisfied my extravagant lifestyle. I was idle, using the little money I had tricked and swindled from my wife to find a run-down place to live. Every morning, I would take the bus, aimlessly shuttling through the city, staring blankly at the bustling crowds, unable to face them. I had completely forgotten how excellent a salesman I used to be.
In an unexpected exchange of glances, I spotted a pair of familiar eyes I hadn't seen in a long time. But as I mustered a flicker of excitement and tried to greet them, those once bright and clear eyes, now dull and lifeless, coldly turned away, their gaze filled only with the disdainful contempt of a vulgar middle-aged man. What should I do? Apologize to her? Disappointed, I sat back down. I said to myself, "You're just a salesperson."
That day, I saw the woman who was still nominally my wife. She was dressed to the nines and incredibly alluring as she got into a very high-end-looking car. Watching the car drive away, I maliciously wondered if that bitch would bleed to death today. When I returned to my place, gritting my teeth, I realized that after wandering around for so long, I was broke.
I thought it was time to settle things.
I called my wife and calmly said, "Let's meet. It should all be over." My wife scoffed, "What's over? Isn't it already over?" I immediately became humble and pitiful, saying, "A day as husband and wife is a hundred days of kindness, a thousand years of cultivation to share a pillow. Think of how good I've been to you! Let me see you one last time." Sensing the hesitation on the other end of the line, I added humbly, "I'm leaving tomorrow and never coming back." Perhaps remembering something, she began to ask decisively, "Where are you?"
As I expected, due to my usual fawning and insincere nature, she easily arrived at my place alone. She looked down on this sparsely populated, soon-to-be-demolished area. "Look at you now," she said, disgustedly staring at me. I smiled obsequiously and said, "I know I was wrong. I can't live without you." With that, I opened the door and led her inside, her eyes rolling.
I sat down on the only large stool in the room, a cold smile on my face, looking at the two long, white legs exposed beneath the quilt on the tattered bed. How many times had those beautiful, white legs brought me to orgasm? Now they lay there limply, no longer proud or arrogant.
Of course. As I closed the door and watched her disdainful back as she turned to say something, I angrily used all my strength to slap her on the back of the neck. Just like in the movies, she groaned and collapsed. I laughed, pulled out the nylon rope I'd bought, stripped her naked, tied her up, and put her on the bed.
I stood up, expressionless or perhaps menacing, and walked out. After locking the door, I headed towards the person I'd already targeted: the burly, dirty, ragged, and seemingly dim-witted beggar wandering the neighborhood. The reason for choosing him was simple: a chance encounter had shocked me with the bulging penis hanging from his ripped pants. I can guarantee that this penis was no less exaggerated than anything I'd seen in any European or American porn film, because even its limp state suggested how monstrous it would be when erect.
From that moment on, I pretended to pass by and tossed him a steamed bun and a cigarette. Soon after, he saw me from afar and began to grin obsequiously. I figured he wasn't stupid at all. I walked up to him, speaking and gesturing to make him understand. He obediently stood up, lingeringly looking at his dilapidated state, and followed me hesitantly.
After closing the door, I ignored the beggar standing in the middle of the room and walked over. I yanked back the quilt, which was beginning to writhe. My wife's terrified eyes told me how panicked she was. I looked at her mouth, which I had stuffed with her underwear, and gave her a sweet smile. I went to the beggar, took his hand, and led him to the bed. The beggar resisted, his body hesitant and unsure what to do. I used a little force to pull him to the bed and shoved him next to my wife's naked body.
I held his hand down, pressing it against my wife's well-maintained, perfectly firm, and elastic breasts. I guided his dark hand to knead and squeeze her snow-white breasts. I think he must have felt the comfortable softness and warmth, because slowly he stopped following my hand's movements and began to greedily knead them. I felt very successful.
The moment the beggar's black hand covered her, my wife got goosebumps all over. She struggled to break free, but unfortunately, it was difficult for someone with their hands tied behind their back. While encouraging the beggar to continue, I started to take off my own clothes. Seeing the angry look in my wife's eyes, I smiled and knelt between her legs. Holding her legs, I pressed my already erect penis against her anus. I looked at her and said, "You know, even though I don't like it here, there's no other way."
As I spoke, I lowered my head, spitting on my glans while resisting her attempts to close her legs. When my penis forced open her already loosely closed anus, she seemed to give up, ceasing her struggles. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, her body limp as I thrust into her. I laughed and said, "Don't rush. Actually, I didn't want to do you at all, it's just..." I gestured to the beggar and said, "He needs someone to teach him." The beggar, watching all this, began to huff and puff, his dark hands kneading and squeezing her snow-white breasts with increasing force.
Watching my wife's beautiful face contort with the kneading, I began to chuckle.
I lifted her legs and pressed them down, folding her up so the beggar could better see how my penis went in and out of her anus. I deliberately exaggerated the pleasure on my face, thrusting my body vigorously, allowing my penis to quickly and fully penetrate her anus. Watching her moan and shake her head, her body convulsing as she tried to escape, I became furious. I freed one hand and slapped her face. Seeing her angry shock, I laughed again, saying, "Don't do this. I really want you to enjoy what's to come."
With that, I exaggeratedly and loudly thrust my penis all the way into her anus, convulsing and ejaculating. Because I had seen what I wanted, the beggar was already erect, his engorged penis protruding dramatically from the tear in his pants, throbbing restlessly and arrogantly.
I forcefully turned her head away, panting and laughing, "Look, this is the gift I prepared for you as our marriage ends. I hope you've never experienced anything this big before." Seeing the terror in my wife's eyes, I chuckled. I stepped aside, guiding the beggar between her legs. I noticed that a clear liquid had begun to seep from her vagina, slowly sliding down onto her anus, which was still opening and closing as if expelling semen.
I encouraged the beggar to remove his tattered clothes like I had. He did as I did. When he took off his clothes, my wife and I stared wide-eyed. I was astonished, and she was terrified. We had never imagined someone could be so filthy. The filth covering the beggar's body had formed large scabs like scales, and to my surprise, several places on his body were festering, oozing yellowish-black pus. I immediately stepped back.
At the same time, I noticed the same thing near the beggar's grotesque glans. A chill ran through me, and I quickly put my clothes back on. As I frantically dressed, I saw a desperate plea in my wife's eyes. I froze for a moment. In that instant, I wavered, wanting to give up and stop the beggar from entering.
Today, I finally remembered the reasons that made me give up that day. I remembered the day I married her, hoping my parents would come, but being refused because they weren't a good match. I hesitated and agreed. I remembered wanting my parents to visit after the wedding, but this time being refused because her parents didn't like it. I hesitated again and agreed.
I remembered her rudely snatching the phone from my parents' call, saying I was very happy and doing well, and that I was about to marry into their family and even change my surname. I was angry for a second. Why only for a second, I don't know. I only know that when she hung up the phone, smiling, unbuckled my belt, and took my penis into her mouth, I wasn't angry anymore.
Actually, I don't hate her. To this day, I only hate myself, and embarrassingly... I transferred my anger towards myself onto her; I was despicable…
The beggar hesitated between her vagina and anus, looking at me in confusion for a long time. Out of fear, I didn't carry out my earlier fantasy of giving guidance. I pointed vaguely in the air, my aim being her anus. The beggar roughly understood, and imitating me, he lifted one of my wife's legs with one hand, and with the other hand, he held his thick, long penis between my wife's legs, pressing it against her thighs and thrusting in forcefully.
Seeing the beggar's grimacing and my wife's contorted face and pained expression, I knew he had entered the place I wanted. I moved closer and gasped when I saw it clearly. I had never imagined that a person's anus could be stretched to such an extent. My wife began to writhe restlessly as the beggar's penis penetrated deeper, her expression becoming increasingly ferocious. When the beggar exhaled, I saw that his penis was almost completely inside my wife's anus.
The base of his penis was exaggeratedly stretched into a semi-circle around her anus. From the beggar's expression, I knew he was extremely comfortable. After getting used to the initial tightness, the beggar began to slowly try to thrust. At this moment, the underwear in my wife's mouth could no longer contain her screams. A scream and gasp I had never heard before burst out from the gap between the underwear and the corner of her mouth. As the beggar began to thrust his penis forcefully, I heard a muffled groan filled with desperate pain.
I saw it. Soon, traces of blood appeared on the beggar's penis. Slowly, the area of blood grew larger, and as the blood meandered, my wife's crotch began to turn pitch black. Gradually, black marks appeared on my wife's snow-white legs as well. Watching the beggar panting heavily, spitting saliva, and straining with all his might
, I began to slowly back away. I couldn't bear to watch any longer. When I had nowhere left to retreat in the small room, I witnessed a bizarre scene I will never forget: a person covered in filth and festering pus slowly transferred their filth and darkness onto the person beneath them. Black stains gradually covered the snow-white breasts and thighs.
What made it even more suffocating was that at the point of their union, with the violent thrusting of the penis, large gushes of blood gushed out continuously, first onto the sheets, then dripping down the sheets onto the floor, each drop so heavy it could create a small crater in the ground. I couldn't take it anymore. I screamed, opened the door, and ran out.
I don't know how far I ran that day; I only had one thought: how to get away from this place as quickly as possible, this place that made it impossible for me to breathe.
Why should I die? I thought, let me live on like this, so despicable and wretched; perhaps this isn't such a bad punishment.

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