How to kill the girl you love in four years (1)

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

Okay, I'm using clickbait. This is my revised version of "My Four Years as a Sex Slave."
Some of you probably already know I'm a very ambitious person (laughs).
I've always felt that human life is a particularly absurd and nonsensical farce.
I'm an outlier among erotic writers; some readers like me, but most don't or don't really
like it. The reason they don't like it is because I'm rather artistic, and they don't understand it after reading it. But that's not necessarily true; the spread of writing
also depends on dissemination techniques. Chen Huiqin was the first long story I wrote, and she gained a very wide circulation
, far exceeding most erotic literature.
Conversely, I don't particularly care about being liked by the most readers; I just want to write what I like.
That's why I say I'm ambitious. Serious face.
For a while, whenever a new erotic forum opened, and the repost section had twenty or thirty posts,
"My Four Years as a Sex Slave" and "Snowy Past—We Hunted Female Beasts" would basically appear. Every time I saw them, I felt
both joy and shame. Joy is inevitable; even if I don't care,
vanity is inherent in human nature. So I feel quite pleased. Shame comes from not daring to look at them again.
I'm well aware of their problems. I started writing the lengthy *
History of Torture of Women in Central and South Asia* in 2005, and later gained some insights and received valuable experience. I no longer like
the sentence structure I used when I started writing *My Four Years* and *Snowy Plateau*. I'm dissatisfied with the expression methods there, and I'm
reluctant to reread them. If I force myself to continue, I start blushing from the third or fourth paragraph. Another issue
is that designing the plot is one aspect, but expressing the imagined scenes, especially
the psychology of the characters, using words is another. The latter heavily tests a writer's writing ability, which I
didn't fully possess more than ten years ago. Looking back at *My Four Years* and *Snowy Plateau*, I know they have excellent,
very unique aspects, but there are also many parts that I couldn't satisfy myself with at the time, and
were simply forced out for fun.
For example, see the following:
Original text:
"Old Manle, it's been a long time since I've seen a little bitch, let's have some fun with her to relax." Then
the old chieftain named Manle, whose face was as bitter as a gourd, showed some vitality: "Go, go, crawl to the back of the car
." He even looked back at the village.
They were fucking me back and forth in the back of the jeep, making several of them sweat profusely. Old Manle first
stripped himself naked and sat on a rock to the side, looking at us for a while before his genitals showed any interest.
I lay on my stomach, thrusting my buttocks up and down to deal with Xiao Xu who was inside me, while secretly glancing at Old
Manle. The old guy was getting impatient and started using his hands to help. Xiao Xu was really understanding; he pulled himself
out and said, "Go help our chieftain."
I crawled forward to touch him, sliding up and down his wrinkled, dry foreskin for a long time, but it still
wasn't good enough. I cursed inwardly, "I still have to use my mouth."
After taking him in, I used my teeth to cut his glans, my sharp teeth taking small,
quick steps down to his bumpy base. At this point, my entire tongue pressed his penis tightly against my palate, swallowing
saliva like I was sipping cola, making a "tsk tsk" sound. After a couple of rounds, he felt a little better. I
took his free hand and pulled it between my thighs, handing him the wooden handle.
"Pull it—mmm—pull—this is what female slaves love—thrust—harder—mmm—
mmm—" I made my whole body sway along with it.
I lifted my face from below and looked at him, slowly pulling his now much larger member out. I planned to
lick up his belly to make him anxious, and then ask him if he wanted to ejaculate in my mouth or inside my vagina. I never
expected that his penis would tremble in front of my eyelashes as soon as it left my lips!跟着那个小
口子里就忽地冒出一大股白浆。
我的脑子轰的一下，做了这几年女性奴最怕的就是这个：没让服务对象射在
自己的肉里面。平常在军营里犯下这样的大错弟兄们不把我打死过去三五回是决
不会罢手的，除非那是他们自己愿意。我猛扑下去抿进了他的第二波，第三波—
—没有了，这个老不死的一转眼就软得象条死虫子一样。
我只好上下来回地舔他的肉条来拖延时间，小许哈哈大笑起来。「起来吧姐
姐，把东西给我。」
这对于他们只不过是游戏，可这游戏不是我的。对于女奴来说最后只有挨揍
这么一个结果。 "The female slave deserves to die, please punish her, Uncle Xu."
Revised:
"Old Manle, haven't seen our little bitch in a while, huh? Want to have some fun with her? Relax, relax, let's do it
."
After such persuasion, the old chieftain named Manle's bitter face indeed showed a bit of vitality.
"Go, go, crawl behind the car." He beckoned to a naked woman like he was herding a
hen. While herding her, he glanced back at the village.
A group of men were pounding into me from behind the Japanese jeep, sweating profusely. Old Manle
probably had some self-awareness; he first stripped naked and sat on a rock, looking at our group
for a while before his penis showed any interest. By then, my stomach had gotten a little better.
I grabbed a clump of wild grass, arching my back and thrusting my hips upwards, dealing with Xiao Xu who was inside me, while stealing
glances at Old Manle. The old man was getting impatient and started using his hands to help. Little Xu was truly understanding; he
pulled himself out and said, "You little bitch, go help our old clan leader!"
I crawled over on my knees, picking up the whip handle that Little Xu had tossed aside. The old
man was completely impotent; he'd definitely have to rely on sex toys. I knelt before Old Manler, staring at him and smiling. I
knelt before him, spreading my legs wide and my vulva spread again in a particularly seductive manner, then, after removing the bell, I
inserted it completely, tip and all, for him to see.
A pair of thin, bony hands, bound by heavy iron shackles, gripped Old Manler's shrunken, dry foreskin, sliding
up and down and tossing it for ages. My little wrists ached terribly, but he still wasn't getting better. I
cursed inwardly, but I had to keep going.
After taking him in, I used my teeth to gnaw at his glans, my teeth making tiny, sharp steps down
to his bumpy base. Then my tongue pressed his penis firmly against my palate,
swallowing saliva like I was sipping cola, making smacking noises. After a couple of rounds, he
seemed to feel a bit better. I pulled his free old hand and stuffed it between my legs, where
the half-inserted whip was. Even if he was stupid, he should know to grab the wooden handle inside, right?
"Pull it out a little... mmm... pull it out a little, oh... the little slave's little pussy
loves the chief's big stick the most... thrust it, thrust it, mmm, use some force to thrust the little pussy, big stick
..." My whole naked body swirled around his big stick, a truly intricate motion
.
My mouth was still full of cock. I looked up at him from below, my eyes flashing, while
slowly pulling my lips back. His thing had finally grown bigger after all that effort, and I figured
it was time to retreat. My plan was to let him go, let him cool off for a while. He might be impatient, but I wasn't
. I could leisurely walk along his stomach, licking all the way up, then slowly lick his chest
. Then I could ask him if he wanted to cum in my mouth or in my pussy.
The problem was, plans don't always go as expected. I never expected that his penis, the moment it left my lips,
would tremble wildly beneath my eyelashes. Then, a large gush of white fluid suddenly gushed from that small opening.
My mind went blank; it felt like something terrible had happened. Apparently, most men don't like being left empty-handed;
they often talk about penetration and ejaculation inside. A woman's flesh is warm, moist, and comforting;
being outside makes life feel incredibly empty. I'd gotten into the same trouble in the military before, and I
'd usually get a beating from the soldiers, who wouldn't stop until they'd beaten me to death three or five times. But then again
, sometimes some brothers would specifically ask me to use my hands to finish them off, straight through
. And secretly, some even wanted me to use my feet to rub them until they were satisfied.
In short, I was captured specifically to do this job; I was the lowest, most despicable
sex slave. If they were even slightly unhappy, it was always my fault.
我猛扑过去把他的第二波全接进嘴里了，该是还有第三波……可是没了，这
个老不死的一转眼就软得象条死虫子一样。我只好上下来回着猛舔他的肉条条拖
延时间，小许哈哈大笑起来。「起来吧姐姐，把东西给我。」
这对于他们大概只是场小游戏，可这游戏不是我的。对于我这么个欠下了主
人血仇的女奴才，条条大路通皮鞭，反正最后唯一的结果，总是一顿胖揍就对了。
「女奴隶该死，女奴不会做事，求小许叔叔责罚。」
举例完。
原来写的能看出写手的意思，写手自己心里清楚这件事是个什么样子，可是
写成文字了其实有点含糊。我觉得我现在能把人物，场景，意思道理各就各位，
安排到妥当了。
接上前边的话茬。 So, a couple of years ago, my friend Xiaohu asked me to post some of his old articles on this forum,
and I was really reluctant... Later, I shamelessly asked Xiaohu to post his collection himself. The root of the problem
lies in my own ambition.
Of course, I know that the internet is vast, and once an article is posted, it gains its own independent life. Even
its owner... my father, no matter what I do, cannot change its life trajectory. But I just don't like
it, and I always want to do something that I can enjoy someday.
Another equally important reason is that I also really like these two early stories
. I wanted to make them something I could like, something that wouldn't make me feel ashamed.
I might not have had that same determination for other short stories from my own time.
Finally, I mustered the courage and determination to go through both novellas from beginning to end
. Mainly, I rewrote the sentences according to my current standards, so that I could read them and feel happy.
I'm sorry to say, but for me, good articles have sentences that are smooth, pleasant, and rhythmic to read
. A good article can't achieve what it can't. And I'm determined to achieve this even in erotic stories.
I'll shamelessly advertise here that for those who genuinely enjoy my stories, please
keep a copy of this new version on your computer. At least for now, I think it meets a higher
standard.
On the other hand, as mentioned earlier, I've
redone the parts where I tried to describe scenes and logic in the original but clearly messed up due to my lack of skill at the time. With my current writing skills, I believe
I've achieved a relatively clear and substantial version.
I want to emphasize this very much: this is not an embellished version! I haven't added any new characters or scenes
. To revise an already completed work and add all sorts of newly conceived beauties and bizarre elements is
a bit too... too self-inflicted discomfort, and I probably wouldn't do that.
I won't go into detail about sentence structure, nor will I discuss the merits of Westernized long sentences versus short, tense
combinations of nouns and verbs. But since I'm going to dredge up this old relic and resell it, I
have to include some Easter eggs or something to make it a bit entertaining, otherwise I'd really come across
as narcissistic and shameless.
Following this logic, before each chapter I repost, I'll type out some
thoughts, opinions, and feelings, keeping them as long as I feel like it. Having written erotic stories for so many years, I do have
some experience and reflections to share. Or you could consider these as a simple self-assessment.
Don't start a story 　　with a slap in the face .
Don't begin with "My name is so-and-so, my age is so-and-so, where I live is so-and-so, what I do is so-and-so, what my parents do is so-and-so, what my girlfriend does so-and-so..." 　　A storyteller who writes like that is insecure, bowing and scraping as they hand someone a 　　business card, a gamer who needs to write a whole bunch of settings to understand and control their own world. 　　Since writing is a difficult thing, requiring genius, the writer needs to have an aura of dominance, 　　needing no introduction of themselves or their protagonist, possessing the courage 　　and ambition of a Peking Opera character who can awe the entire audience with a single entrance. 　　"My master assured me that by the time people read this autobiography, I myself will 　　have died in extreme agony. He told me he would insert a smooth-topped wooden stick into my anus, then 　　stand the stick (along with my body) upright and bury it in a pit dug in front of his villa." 　　This would have been a truly horrifying opening ten years ago, and it still is today. Few people 　　can write sentences like this, which is why I keep saying "sentences, sentences." Writing unusual sentences 　　is crucial for writing an interesting story. 　　The beginning of a piece of writing is like the opening move in Go. It requires full concentration, composure, or perhaps intense emotion, 　　gently placing a small point or striking the star point. It's not just about touching the reader's heart, but also about touching your own 　　. 　　My recent opening lines are: 　　On this long, ever-westward road, to the south lie thousands of miles of yellow sand, to the north, riverbeds 　　with a trickle of water deep within. Relying on these water sources, slowly seeping through the yellow sand and red soil, poplar and 　　jujube trees grow sparsely along the road. 　　Hebei is a low-lying red soil plateau and growing thorns. After passing two or three low red soil slopes, there will 　　be another many miles of yellow sand. On this road that traverses endless sand dunes and always heads west, the farthest 　　place is always in the westernmost part. The westward gaze is eventually 　　blocked by a winding, wall-like reddish-brown mountain range at the edge of the horizon. The jagged peaks of the mountains always gleam with 　　the white light of snow, regardless of winter or summer. They are the boundary of another plateau that extends deep into the continent. 　　The woman, Reja, stands beneath a poplar tree, gazing at that boundary. ... 　　This is the first cut in "The Kunlun Slave." By this time, Reja has been defeated for many years. 　　Li Henan, the owner of Yangzhou Li Ji Old Wine, is not only a poet but also a man who enjoys himself. He enjoys himself 　　because he has a beautiful foreign wife. 　　"Aja" is also a first cut. Aja is already in her early twenties this year, and the story begins with her birth 　　. 　　Therefore, writing a story must start from the middle, a horizontal cut to show the fresh, juicy cross-section. 　　Even if I have already imagined a rough story structure, I will spend time starting to develop this 　　initial idea, which can take three to five days at most. If you start with a smooth opening, the energy and rhythm can flow seamlessly, dominating 　　the entire scene. 　　The difficulty of the opening is one thing. After that satisfying first move, you need to go back and clearly explain the origins, the causes, 　　and the backgrounds of each character. Frankly, that takes real skill. It requires logic and patience 　　to slowly connect each link in the chain. Specific methods depend on your own intuition and skill accumulation, gradually exploring and refining 　　. My own method is not to rush; I casually write down scenes I like, changing them around, and 　　interjecting briefly whenever a suitable opportunity arises. The main thing is to remember the order of events in the narrative, so you don't get 　　confused yourself. Looking at the first chapter of Lin Qingqing's story, the two main characters, "I" and "my master," are presented in a fragmented, unhurried manner. 　　"I" was a farmer who "didn't finish primary school, but is now a businessman dealing in narcotic plant preparations," "able to read 　　," "possesses a lot of money," 　　and "my younger brother was arrested by my husband on the other side of the border more than four years ago and executed ten months later." "I" am also present, having been arrested four years ago, shackled and naked 　　, 　　the daughter and wife of a narcotics officer, pregnancy and childbirth, the rules of the hostage game, and so on. 　　This results in an inevitable consequence: the narrative doesn't follow a chronological 　　order. This seems to be one reason why some readers find it confusing. Well, I won't dwell on that. 　　If you don't like this reading experience, you can simply ignore the background, skip to the parts that feel good, or just 　　not read at all. That's my standard for a good story. 　　When I originally posted "My Four Years as a Sex Slave," I gave each chapter 　　a title like "Naked Display" or "Naked Abuse," but I don't really like them now; they seem a bit silly. But changing the titles again doesn't seem appropriate either. So 　　I'll just stick with "Part One" and "Part Two." 　　------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 　　My Four Years as a Sex Slave - 　　Part One 　　My master assured me that by the time people read this autobiography, I would have already 　　died in extreme agony. He told me he would insert a smooth-topped wooden stick into my anus, then stand 　　the stick (along with my body) upright and bury it in a pit dug in front of his villa. He laughed, 　　saying experience told him the stick must not be sharpened, otherwise it would pierce my intestines, causing 　　premature death from massive bleeding, but a smooth tip would be different. The thing would rely on my body weight 　　to slowly and firmly pierce my large and small intestines; it might pause briefly at the pylorus at the bottom of my stomach 　　, at which point my master would give me some assistance. He would have two red bricks tied to each of my dangling ankles 　　to ensure the thick wooden stick could easily pass through my stomach and finally push upwards into my 　　throat. 　　"It should be around these next couple of days!" my master said, based on his experience of perhaps more than ten times.

Judging by this, a young woman like me would be incredibly lucky 　　to survive a day and a half under these circumstances .
My master said that after that, he would post my story, which I'm currently writing, on an adult website
, and then select a few photos from the pictures of me being raped by him and his men to attach to the end. Of course, he would find
those showing my most lewd expressions, and there would definitely be clear close-ups of my breasts and private parts. My master also said that
even if my account is based on real experiences, it might not get the most attention from netizens, but it would still
be worth a look. He laughed again, saying that perhaps some people would particularly like it.
Now I am kneeling in my master's spacious study. Besides the bookshelves covering the entire wall and a mahogany
desk, there is a large leather sofa that forms a seating area for guests. At my kneeling height,
the marble coffee table in front of the sofa is just right to serve as a writing surface. Someone brought me a stack of
manuscript paper with a dark orchid watermark; it looked clean and beautiful. "This is stationery for a real female master's student, of course
it has to be pretty," the master's trusted bodyguard, Achang, laughed boisterously. He leaned back on the sofa behind me,
idly fiddling with a wide leather belt.
My entire body, from head to toe, was still completely naked, as
it had been since the day I was brought here to serve the master four years ago. The master later fitted my body with a complete set of iron
shackles. A collar was placed around my neck, one end of an iron chain attached to this collar, the other
hanging down over my chest, hinged to the iron ring around my waist. This chain continued downwards,
splitting into two at knee height, each branch connecting to the iron shackles on my ankles. Besides
these, my shackles were a meter-long iron chain, and the chains on my wrists were the same length as the shackles.
When I stood up and let my arms hang down, the curved bottom of the bracelets almost touched the ground. My master told
me that these instruments of torture weighed a total of fifteen pounds, supported by my neck, waist, hands, and feet. "For
a rotten whore like you who deserves to be skinned alive, this weight is already quite considerate," my master said.
This made me feel very inconvenienced during my first year working for my master, but now I've gotten used to
these restraints. However, whenever my master was in a good mood or a bad mood, he would put on an
extra pair of handcuffs, like I am now, my hands are cuffed tightly together as I write. I can only
twist my left hand over and place it on the back of my right hand, moving it along with my right hand holding the pen.
My master sat on the single sofa to my right, watching my naked body, a kind and gentle
smile on his face. My master must have been in his fifties, thin and clean-cut. My master was once
a farmer who didn't finish elementary school, but now he's a businessman dealing in narcotic herbal preparations. His wealth has brought about
a dramatic change in him in middle age.
He watched me finish writing the sentence above with amusement and couldn't help but burst into laughter. I immediately stopped, lowered
my head, and stared intently at my protruding belly, which swayed slightly in my vision
, as fear made my whole body tremble. I was truly terrified of my master;
the fear of him had permeated every cell of my body. At any time, in any place, even just hearing
him clear his throat would make me tremble and kneel down—it had become a complete
instinct.
"Ah Qing, people who have been to school are truly different. Dealing in narcotic herbal preparations..." he deliberately
pronounced the sentence in a strange tone, "I like your cleverness and obedience. From now on, call me whatever you want
, you're just a drug dealer."
For the past four years, my standard name has been "bitch," or more affectionately, "little bitch," or of course, "
whore." Only when my master was happy would he call me Lin Qingqing, that was my original name. No matter what he called me, I
had to reply,
"Yes, Master."
"Come, stand up and let me see you."
"Yes, Master."
I obediently stood up and turned to him. After four years of hellish sex slavery, my slender
limbs were thin and stiff, like withered branches in winter.
Rib bones jutted sharply from the skin on my sides, and in the deep hollows between them,
a finger could almost be buried. Strangely, my stomach was taut and protruding, whether from malnutrition
or some kind of ascites caused by illness, I didn't know. And hanging from my narrow, shrunken chest were
a pair of unimaginable breasts, firm, full, round, and heavy, almost like those
large papayas that grew everywhere in the area. A network of bluish-purple veins radiated around the breasts, and even the dark brown areolas, as large as bowls
, protruded almost half an inch. I am no longer a normal
woman. My master has tried many bizarre drugs on me, some for humans, and perhaps some for animals. I
don't quite understand what kind of hormone could turn a young woman's breasts like this.
However, the tips of my breasts are missing nipples; A-Chang branded them flat with a red-hot metal a year ago
. My master looked at me for a while and said, "A tamed bitch, it's almost a shame to make soup with her.
But look at yourself, what part of you still resembles a woman? Not a single hair left
. How much money would it take for a man to fuck you?"
"You're really useless now."
My genitals are completely hairless. From my lower abdomen down, along my thighs, completely covering my genitals
is a large patch of shiny brownish-red branding marks, covered with smooth little fleshy bumps and pits
. If a burn doesn't heal properly, the skin will grow back like that. Destroying my genitals has always been
everyone's favorite thing to do. Forget about those curly black pubic hairs; there's not a single
pore, sweat gland, or freckle left in that area. It's a completely barren wasteland.
But that's not the most important thing. If I were to spread my legs in front of a man and let him...
What's truly shocking isn't something as trivial as whether or not I have pubic hair. My mons pubis is still there, but I don't
have those two plump, soft labia covering my female genitalia. I don't have labia.
There are only two rough, wrinkled scars at the base of my thighs, holding a thin strip of pink, moist mucous membrane. It's a
piece of red flesh shaped like a willow leaf, slightly sunken and embedded in my body. My vulva is completely bare, cleanly
exposing two wet, fleshy openings, one above the other, one small and one large. That's all. All those delicate
, intricate, folded, elaborate structures, those little lids and bowls that can open and close like a flower, have vanished
.
This place is my master's imaginative masterpiece, and he examines it with satisfaction. "Come here, a
little further forward," my master says. The master, holding a cigar, reached forward and pressed the smoking
ember against my pubic bone.
It hurt. I twisted my legs, desperately trying to clamp them together. My knees ached so much I couldn't straighten them
; I could only press my handcuffed hands hard against my stomach. The master's rules forbade me from
dodging or shouting while serving him. Of course, I couldn't be foolish enough to push his hand away.
He twisted it back and forth a few times, finally extinguishing the ember. Only then did I dare wipe
the tears streaming down my cheeks. The master waved his hand, and I went back to kneeling behind the coffee table.
The master had specially arranged such a large, elegant study in his villa. Considering his
life experiences, it was clear that my master was very intelligent, loved learning, and, more importantly, possessed
an incredibly strong will. After achieving considerable success, he even hired someone to re-teach him reading
and writing. As I'll mention later, I even taught classes at his request.
At seventeen, my master and his younger brother fled across the border to the US; their business
was truly a life-or-death struggle. After countless bloodshed and trials, he finally established himself in middle age.
During this time, he lost his brother.
I tensed my back, and then Achang's leather belt slammed heavily onto my spine,
the end with the brass buckle. In the moment before closing my eyes, I glimpsed my master nimbly standing up.
I was dragged by the hair to the open floor outside the reception area. Someone kicked my buttocks, flipped me over,
and then kicked my breasts; a dull, throbbing pain pressed against my heart. I opened my mouth but
couldn't breathe; the only thought in my mind was, please don't scream, please don't. I shoved my clenched
right fist tightly into my mouth.
When I opened my eyes, they had stopped. I saw four or five pieces of skin peeled off my thigh muscles
, and blood was already flowing onto the floor; it hurt terribly. I didn't even know when Achang had whipped my leg.
I didn't dare stand up; I just slowly crawled back to pick up my pen, my hair disheveled.
No matter the time or the circumstances, as long as my master's brother was mentioned, I would definitely be beaten; the only difference
was whether it was harder or lighter. Of course, I knew this, but I couldn't help it; there was no way
to avoid it. His brother was arrested by my husband on the other side of the border more than four years ago and executed ten months later
. At that time, the brothers were trying to open a new drug trafficking route.
I won't go into detail in the following text, but whenever the phrase "master's brother" appears,
my body has definitely already been whipped two or three times.
Yes, I am the wife of a narcotics police officer, which is why I was kidnapped here. My master
allowed me not to reveal my husband's real name and rank; I will refer to him as Dai Tao from now on.
He had long been a promising young department head in the provincial police system.
He was eight years older than me, the older brother of my high school classmate. He started pursuing me fervently when I was seventeen
, back when he was still a clumsy young policeman.
I spent four years in college in another city, having several messy relationships, but
after graduation, I returned to my hometown and registered my marriage with the policeman. Perhaps I enjoyed hearing his
legendary stories, whether true or not, or perhaps he pleased my father.
I left home to return to college for a master's degree, while my husband's career took off smoothly. On one
hand, he was indeed a very capable person; on the other hand, he was now the son-in-law of a veteran policeman.
My father was one of the highest-ranking officers in the provincial police force, the second or third-highest rank.
After graduating with my master's degree, we had a very grand wedding with a very tall, multi-tiered cake. We lived together
for less than a year.
A few tears fell onto the manuscript paper, wetting my delicate handwriting.
After a year of being a female slave, I stopped thinking about my past and my family unless my master ordered
me to do so. Every year before the Spring Festival, my master would make me call my husband and father, or as he
put it, "to let them know I'm safe." The first year, I cried my heart out while holding the phone receiver. I choked out
that I had given birth to our daughter ten days earlier, and that my master was very good to her. Then, looking at the note my master held up in front of me
, I told him that he was also very good to me, and that he made his brothers fuck my pussy at least twenty times a day.
"Fuck my pussy," that's what the note my master showed me said. Right before my eyes, the Kazakh
bodyguard, Achang, lay naked on the deep red wool carpet. He had a Marlboro cigarette in his mouth and
glanced at my sweat- and tear-streaked oval face with a half-smile. I was straddling his rough, hard hips
, shaking my ample buttocks with great enthusiasm. I arched back and forth on his waist, high and low, my sensitive,
tender pussy gushing warm, sticky fluid with a squelching sound. Compared to myself now,
Ah Qing back then could be considered a pretty, voluptuous young woman.
Before dialing my husband's number, I had already fondled Ah Chang's genitals and inserted them
into my vagina. My master ordered me to do so. Later, my husband's voice came through the receiver, and I began
to speak to him as the belt slid down my bare back. Someone shouted fiercely, "You filthy bitch, move!
Hurry up!"
I moved and cried as I spoke, my body, tightly bound to the shaft,
dancing and leaping wildly, the chains jingling and trembling all over me. "Move! Bitch!" The man's firm, full
penis thrust in and out, tearing through my skin, my flesh, and my sensitive, tender fascia layer by layer. I felt
as if my internal organs had melted into a thick soup to nourish his flesh… I didn't know
what to do with his flesh; I just felt I needed to cry out loud. "They're fucking me, fucking me until I cry! Husband!"
I shouted into the phone. Suddenly, my vaginal opening
tightened like an over-tuned string on a piano, like a knotted thread, again and again. I collapsed onto him, crying and vomiting. In my hazy state, everyone
was hitting me desperately, but I felt no pain.
A month before I was kidnapped to the US, I discovered I had stopped menstruating, and my pregnancy only
became apparent three or four months after I arrived. Even on the day I gave birth, A-Chang and more than ten others gang-raped me for a
whole morning. I was forced to kneel on the ground, barely able to cover my large belly with my body. I just
desperately held onto my stomach, letting them climb on top of me one by one. When the contractions started, I
struggled and screamed. They couldn't hold me down anymore, and probably couldn't find the right spot, but
the methods they came up with were even more vicious. A-Chang twisted my two big toes with wire. Since I was struggling to push
and give birth, they hung me upside down from the door frame. I swayed and spun around in the air
, with nowhere to support myself and use my strength. How was I supposed to push my little bundle of flesh
upwards?
That nightmarish fear, that I could never wake up from, that wave of
excruciating pain that felt like every bone in my body was being torn apart—I think few women in the world have ever experienced that.
My first year here was the most painful and agonizing. Now, my days are difficult too
, but compared to those 360 days, they're practically a vacation. To deal with a girl like me
, my master used unimaginable cruel tortures that year, yet I still managed to give birth to a
beautiful little girl weighing over four pounds, and she was alive! She cried loudly!
My master didn't truly torment our daughter like he did me. He found a local
middle-aged woman from the village to be her nanny, and she was raised properly on the third floor of this villa.
The rules of the game my master gave me were: I was destined to die—sooner or later. If I obeyed all his orders and arrangements
, without resistance, escape, or suicide, he swore not to harm my daughter; he was willing to adopt her
and even send her back to his country. My master told me about the law of M country: one person's blood
washes another's blood. He would certainly abide by it.
Of course, I had absolutely no chance of escaping. The only resistance I could mount was
to bang my head against the wall when the guards weren't looking, hoping to break it in one hit, or suddenly swing
the chains on my hands and smash them against my master's back on the head. If I tried to do that, my master said he also
swore to raise my daughter well until she was fourteen, and then… treat
her the same way he was treating me. Every hair on my body stood on end.
In short, my little daughter was a hostage in my master's hands. Could I trust a drug dealer's oath of contract
? But I had to trust a drug dealer's oath of revenge. Seeing that I understood his meaning, my master
allowed me to move freely within a certain range. For example, now I could go to the barracks below to serve the soldiers
without bothering Ah Chang and the others to follow me. All I had to do was say, "You bitch, get to the Self-Defense Force!" and I would
obediently walk out of the villa, naked, dragging my chains down the more than four hundred meters of dirt road. This is nothing,
really, it's far from the most humiliating thing for me.
I spoke with my family several times, but by the following year I wasn't so agitated anymore. It was like
telling a story that had nothing to do with me to complete strangers. "Dad, this is Qingqing. He
made me talk to you on the phone while I'm being stabbed with a stick. Oh, Uncle Chang, please go slower... Please don't
hang up, my master said if you don't listen for half an hour, he'll stuff chili sauce all over my mouth and vagina
. I'm kneeling on the floor, lying face forward, so I can stick my white, tender buttocks up in the air. They
're not going to do my vagina, they're going to use a very thick dildo to forcefully stab my anus, it's really
painful. Oh, please spare your female slave... Dad, I'm not talking to you. But you don't need to worry too much,
my master's soldiers have been using your daughter's buttocks and intestines for the past two years, I've been trained
. Now even this three-centimeter-thick dildo can go in at least ten centimeters, I can still take it.
Oh, oh!... My master also asked me to ask you if you received the videotape he made of me?... "
That's how it is. I read the note my master gave me in a flat, monotonous voice, interspersed with
cries of unbearable agony. Truly, I was quickly taught by my master to accept the tragic fate of a lifelong sex slave, and
sooner or later, to meet a brutal death when my master grew tired of me.
I no longer saw myself as a woman; I was a double-layered leather sheath. The inner layer was to
encase a man's penis, while the outer layer endured endless, brutal beatings. How could I possibly be worthy of experiencing shame,
embarrassment, self-respect, or resentment—emotions only women could possess? How could I
shed tears for the loving father and lover that only women could have?
In these long four years, my body's orifices had probably been filled with over twenty thousand streams of male
semen. Not to mention my master's twenty or so bodyguards and his nearly two hundred private armed soldiers; they
knew every inch of my body as well as they knew the toilet in their own homes. I was once escorted and
paraded naked, shackled, through the villages for four months, traversing
the mountainous region effectively controlled by my master. I was assigned to stay in each village for several days; during the day, I was publicly tortured—Achang and his accomplices devised various
methods to beat me mercilessly, repeatedly until I was nearly dead. At night, they encouraged all the villagers to actively participate.
They gang- raped me relentlessly. Achang told me then that this route led to Thailand, and he also
said that the master had sold me to a brothel owner there. "What's a couple of slaps? Hmph," he said,
"You'll know what a bad person is when you get to that place."
Ever since the master's brother's accident, all he wanted was to kill me with his own hands for revenge. Achang was just trying to
scare me that time. People are especially afraid of unfamiliar things that haven't happened yet. Looking back now, I realize that
being a prostitute isn't that hard. Actually, "prostitute" is a more sophisticated term; here they just call me a whore.
Without any warning, I suddenly felt a lump in my throat. I tried to write a few words, but couldn't
manage a single decent character. Not only did I stop writing, but I also suddenly collapsed onto the table
and burst into tears. I've never been like this before; what kind of slave can cry whenever they want while doing their work
? My master insisted that I write my entire story from beginning to end, which brought back so many memories of the past that
I was starting to feel overwhelmed.
The image of a woman sobbing with her forehead pressed against the back of her hand, her narrow, thin, bare shoulders trembling,
must have looked pitiful. Of course, no matter how pitiful I looked, I wouldn't expect my master to forgive
me. "Alright, alright," my master said, gently patting my back. "Go to the kitchen and get the coffee pot to make me
some coffee, then have Ah Chang comfort you."
My bare feet trod lightly on the cool, polished marble floor, almost silently, but
the long shackles trailing behind me made a racket like an entire factory.
The spacious corridor leading from the study at the back of the first floor to the front hall was about twenty meters long, with a single piece of bulletproof glass on one side, offering views
of the neat lawn and a small swimming pool in the backyard, its white surface reflecting green water. It was always very
hot outside during the day; that place was where my master would take a walk and rest after dusk. Besides the beautiful dancers hired at high prices from Thailand
who would sing and dance there, I was also his important entertainment tool. Most of the time, my dance partner was
a small python lazily sunbathing in a glass box in the corner of the yard. In his spare time, the master spent a lot of
effort training my relationship with the snake. The python finally learned to enjoy the fleshy openings and
tubes of a woman's body. When it rolled and coiled in my bodily fluids and even blood, it was truly both violent and tender
.
The master's villa was indeed a large house, perched on a sunny slope, nestled against the mountainside.
A simple road wound down the hillside outside the gate, passing through a small village and leading further into the mountains. Outside the village entrance were
two long, narrow wooden houses, clearly some kind of communal facility, housing
my master's armed guards.
Compared to the stilted bamboo houses in the village below, this villa was more than a
century ahead of its time in terms of modernization. Two Land Cruisers were parked in the garage at the bottom of the villa, and the computer screen on the study desk flickered.
My master ruled his territory, which spanned about fifty kilometers. In the county government, he was a wealthy and generous
gentleman, and he had a well-equipped private army. Whether bureaucrats or county councilors, they would want
such a friend, or at least not such an enemy. They quickly decided to appoint my master as the
administrative head of this district; it was a tradition in the border regions of M country to bestow official titles upon local strongmen. As for the local people
, they regarded him as a savior from poverty. This meant that my master could take me
to the village below at any time and dismember me in public, and no one, official or commoner, would utter
a single word of dissent.
My master's bodyguard, Bamo, stared blankly at the television projection screen in the two-story living room,
while the local M tribe maid stood respectfully with her arms crossed at the doorway between the dining room and kitchen. Bamo
was also of American descent, but having spent a lot of time with my master, he could speak quite a bit of Chinese. Bamo turned his head and saw me,
then yawned widely: "You bitch, come here, let Uncle piss on you and wash your dog mouth."
I went over and knelt at his feet, saying, "Master sent me to fetch something, please don't make me do it
for too long."
He stood up carelessly, without even unzipping his pants. I unzipped his jeans, pulled open
the crotch of his underwear, and pulled out his sweaty, filthy genitals, carefully smoothing the curly pubic hair from under the elastic band, my cautious
movements resembling those of someone holding an Italian vase. At this moment, the man was most irritable towards the woman at his feet;
if he was even slightly displeased, he would kick me in the stomach. I freed one hand to cup my breasts,
trying to appear as lewd as possible. Heaven knows
what a woman like me—skinny, bloated, and wrinkled—looked like when she tried to be seductive; I looked at least forty. Sure enough, after only licking
his scrotum twice, I heard him say, "Okay, take it in your mouth. I'm just peeing." His
precious thing was limp and unresponsive.
He urinated hot urine into my mouth, then gently shook his body. I quickly closed my lips, wiping away
the droplets of urine clinging to his glans. I had to swallow it all cleanly; if even a single drop spilled, a
few slaps would be a mercy. More likely, I'd be made to wash the hall floor repeatedly all night.
When I first arrived here, I was frequently beaten half to death, partly because they wanted to teach me how to
drink urine. I won't go into the initial disgust and resistance, but even if I genuinely wanted to swallow it, it took a long time
to master. Because the person in your mouth urinates continuously, you have to learn to swallow continuously as well.
The urine accumulates in your mouth, and it overflows with every breath. A group of people stood by, staring wide-eyed, and
when they saw a yellowish, watery liquid at the corner of your mouth, they surrounded you and started punching and kicking you. The most terrifying thing was in
the military camp below. After the soldiers had drunk their fill of beer, they lined up and asked me to fill their bowls. I knelt in a large wooden basin and
drank desperately, until my stomach bulged out. Then I vomited in the basin, and
then continued drinking. Urine soaked my face and body, filling most of the basin. I remember finally sitting
in the nearly waist-deep dirty water, stunned, completely blank, my mind a complete void. Even so, the soldiers still...
Not enough fun. They tied me to a long bench, my back facing upwards, and several of them stripped naked, scooping up
urine from a basin and continuing to pour it down my throat. They wanted to swell my belly. Once it was big enough, they picked up a stick and started hitting me with it, one blow 　　after another
. The urine inside my belly would spray out from my head, nose, and anus in gushes. They kept going until they ran out of water. 　　Now I can handle about ten men without stopping, and I can clean it up perfectly. My master and 　　his youngest wife once went months without getting out of bed to relieve themselves, 　　using my mouth the only thing they did in bed. It's even harder to clean up after a woman; how do you collect the stream flowing down a slope 　　? Ideally, the youngest wife would condescend to sit on my face. 　　Watching me writhe and struggle under all this barbaric torture and ravaging, my master must be very 　　happy. But I know he also likes this quiet atmosphere now. He leisurely watched as his enemy's wife, naked 　　and submissive, knelt at his feet, working, the chains on her wrists jingling softly, 　　making him appear like a victor in his war with my man. I laid out the entire coffee set on the coffee table, ground the coffee 　　beans, lit the alcohol lamp, and finally presented the small porcelain coffee cup to my master. He took 　　a small sip and leaned back against the sofa cushions. 　　"Were you so heartbroken just now thinking about your husband? Show everyone what you and your husband 　　do. And Ah Chang, put the handcuffs back on her." 　　I took a few steps back, lay down on the carpet, and closed my eyes. I started from his neck and gradually stroked 　　his breasts. "Tao Tao, Tao Tao... come and drink Ah Qing's milk, Ah Qing's milk has grown bigger, much bigger 　　," I murmured. 　　I never said this when I made love with my husband; it's just that they liked to hear me say it. 　　But if it were really Xiao Tao kissing and pressing down on me now, maybe I really would say those words. I've 　　changed a lot, Tao Tao. "I can use my mouth, I can use my asshole, I can use A Qing's bare little pussy, I can make you 　　ejaculate inside A Qing three times in one night... Tao Tao!" 　　I touched what should have been my left nipple, now there was only a rough, bumpy scar there. 　　My breasts were covered with layers of such scars, the skin that was originally as soft as velvet 　　had turned into a black, hard fibrous scab after being cut and burned time and time again. The excess flesh was tangled and knotted like worms and tree knots, while other places had never healed. On the tip of my right nipple 　　, a two-centimeter-deep hole was burned by a 　　scalding copper instrument, and even now a finger can still be inserted. 　　I squeezed and rubbed my breasts. I used more and more force. It was like kneading two lumps of dead 　　dough with all my might. The more I moved, the more exhilarated my nerves and muscles felt—it was a habit and instinct ingrained from the beatings of the past four years. 　　There was no burning heat in my heart or feet, no tingling, soft, trembling 　　sensation in my lower abdomen or groin. The only feeling was a sharp, stabbing pain. 　　"My Tao Tao!..." This wasn't moaning; it was a cry to the heavens and the earth, a cry for the gods to answer 　　. Venus shone brightly before my eyes in the darkness. I ran my hands down my waist and abdomen, unconsciously 　　bending my knees and lifting my long legs high off the ground, stretching them out openly into the air. 　　"Tao Tao, touch A Qing, touch A Qing's little pussy." I began to pant, my bare genitals exposed between my wide-open legs 　　, so clearly and completely exposed to the gaze of the two men in the room. 　　Amidst the hard, slippery scars, only a small strip of the mucous membrane remained, still tingling and soft. It 　　was slightly damp, slightly sticky, and the touch of it brought back a touch of 　　the sweet feeling of being a bride. I rubbed and squeezed it vigorously, tearing at it. I didn't know if I still had 　　any desire, but I had already pressed my right index and middle fingers together, eagerly inserting them into her. 　　My body was dry and astringent; I was in pain. With tears streaming down my face, I pleaded, "Come in, Xiao 　　Tao, don't be afraid, Qingqing wants you in!" I twisted my fingers, violently pulling them out and thrusting them back in, again 　　and again. I was a woman destined to suffer torture and humiliation forever, for all eternity. 　　Torturing my dry, astringent, and tightly clenched vagina was the only way I could dream of freedom and indulgence. 　　Finally, I began to feel relief. I felt as if I were emerging from a dark abyss, temporarily shedding 　　the eternal pain and shame. 　　"Tao Tao, Tao Tao!" I straightened my back from the floor, assuming a receiving posture, my dirty, 　　cracked bare feet arching high in the air, foolishly and ridiculously waving and kicking. "Ouch once, deeper 　　, ouch twice, deeper, my Tao Tao!" 　　"Aqing, not enough...!" I had been stabbed with that thick wooden stick for four years, 　　how could two withered, old fingers be enough? I cried and laughed, my hand reaching down to my crotch to find the thick chain dragging on my wrist 　　. 　　I let out a wild scream of joy, eagerly inserting the large, interconnected iron rings, one 　　after another, into my opening and closing cave... the slippery, lustful fluid flowing like my tears 　　. They were heavy, cold, clustered deep in my lower abdomen, pressing down all the way to my pelvis. I 　　gathered my strength in my hands, preparing for the next violent outburst. 　　"Fuck me to death, Tao Tao!" I screamed desperately, yanking the entire string of metal shoved to the end, 　　pulling it all the way out in one go. It was like a train wheel, crushing over the woman's tender, engorged 　　flesh! A massive, violent fullness, indescribable, swept through my entire body in that instant. My 　　limbs fell haphazardly back to the ground, my hands and feet spasming, saliva gushing from my mouth, like a violent epileptic seizure. 　　I poured my master a second cup of coffee. The tape was finished, and the projector showed a close-up shot of my genitals on 　　the large screen in front of the reception area. 　　My master had been very interested in filming me being tortured and raped, initially to edit together footage of me being...

The sight of me being abused and tortured was unbearable. I'd fill a cassette tape and send it to my husband in a package. Later, this became
his hobby. The security camera in the house was mounted on the sofa against the wall. I could imagine that each time
I masturbated according to my master's orders, there was a designated spot; I had to ensure my genitals were correctly displayed on
the screen.
I knelt properly beside the sofa, enjoying the view of my genitals on the screen with everyone else.
The semen that had just overflowed was congealing; my master wouldn't let me wipe it away, and the insides of my thighs
felt cold.
Achang asked me, "Is your husband better or the chains?"
I honestly said, "My husband is better."
"Do you get that horny when your husband penetrates you?"
"No."
"Then why do you say your husband is better?" His tone turned cold. Achang had been arrested by the police on the other side of the border, and
for four years he had openly hated me.
"Husband…husband is soft," I could only answer.
"Slap me!"
I awkwardly slapped my own mouth with my handcuffed hands. Once, twice, three times.
"Stop."
The entire wall was covered with naked, throbbing female bodies, and my incoherent
shouts blared from the speakers. He pointed at my frenzied writhing on the screen and said, "Look at your cunt moving around like that
, you still say you like soft ones? Say it again, do you like soft or hard?"
"Female slaves like hard ones."
"Go get your wooden husband."
"Yes, Uncle Chang."
This stick, which they called my wooden husband, had been in my possession for four years. It was three centimeters in diameter and
about forty centimeters long, with a handle shaped at one end and a larger bulge at the top of the other
. Most of the stick was smooth and shiny from being rubbed against my body, stained a deep black by my bodily fluids and blood
.
Chang didn't let me use it myself; he took the stick and gently patted his left palm. I felt a
chill run down my spine.
"Is this hard enough?" he said with a sneer.
I lay back down on the ground. He straddled my waist with his back to me, his large hands groping
the soft inner walls of my vagina.
"Your cunt is as smooth as your mother's asshole, I'm going to beat you until you're swollen like a rotten peach!"
He swung the wooden stick and brought it down hard, landing between my legs.
"Ahhh!...Uh...Uh..." I screamed in terror, my throat blocked by
the acid gushing from my stomach. It felt like a sharp wooden stake had been driven into my lower body, a
sharp pain like it had pierced my stomach, a tearing, suffocating pain that pressed down on my heart and lungs, a dull ache that
no living person could endure.
"Shout. Husband, harder, harder," A-Chang said lightly.
I dared not not shout. "Uncle Chang, ouch... please stop hitting me, I'm a slave girl..." Before I could finish speaking, I was struck
a second time.
"Husband, harder!"
A third strike. "Ouch, husband!"
The fourth, fifth, and sixth strikes, "It hurts!... Ah Qing, it hurts... husband!"
I lay on the ground, drenched in cold sweat, too painful to move. This beast threw away the wooden stick and pulled
my hands to grip the iron chains hanging from my wrists. The chains danced between my legs, tossed high and fell,
striking my pubic bone with precision and force. A loud crash followed, and my vision went blank,
all human silhouettes turning into shadows.
The chains danced again, and I couldn't see anything.
When I woke up, I felt a fire burning below my navel. My nerves couldn't find my feet,
couldn't find my legs; my lower body seemed to have become a blazing void. Ah Chang stood high beside my
neck, kicking my chin, forcing me to twist my head back. I saw my genitals upside down
on the large projection screen.
I saw a hemispherical, swollen mass of flesh, perfectly round, blocking my inner thigh. The skin of the mass
was smooth and translucent, with a thin, thread-like slit on its surface, a few droplets of water clinging to its edge. The opening was also
pushed off to one side. I vaguely thought...shouldn't my opening be in the very center?
But the very center was only above the pubic mound, with a large, purplish-black blood sac bulging even higher at the edge of the mass.
Its subtle, undulating appearance made me think that the two blows from the iron chains had probably shattered the bones inside
.
Now Achang started to take off his pants. He pried open my bruised cleft and forcefully pushed his organ inside.
"My God..."
My swollen, stiff mass of flesh gripped the base of his penis so tightly. My stomach
was cramping from the pain, which made him ecstatic, jumping and leaping inside me. He pressed down on my stomach, roaring and
shouting with excitement. He deliberately pulled himself out completely, thrusting and ramming wildly inside and out of my bruised, swollen mass of flesh.
He pressed his hard bones tightly against my blood blisters, shaking me violently from side to side.
"Dad... ah!... I... I... be gentle..." I don't know what I was saying, and
I don't know how long he did it inside me.
...
I finished writing this last part while lying on the ground, my stomach soaked in a large puddle of sticky liquid
, which was the cold sweat pouring down my body. I felt like I didn't even have the strength to breathe, my chest felt
like it was filled with a pile of huge stones, I was short of breath, my heart was racing, and my vision was blurring. My master told me that I wrote
well, and that would be enough for today. Now it was time for more brothers to play with my swollen pussy.
"Ah Chang, take her to your room and tell everyone to work hard while she still feels pain.
Don't let her have any free time tonight."
As for whether he would put me on the stake tomorrow, the master said he would have to think about it.

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