How to kill the girl you love in four years (2)

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

God said, " 　　The woman who loves you..."
Lin 　　Qingqing is actually a very sharp-tongued young woman. 　　I'm particularly proud of that line, "You use that to deal with girls?" It's so sarcastic and biting, without a single 　　unpleasant word. The word "girl" she uses is especially proud. 　　There are many other similar instances. For example, "I've performed this trick on them countless times, 　　but they still watch with great interest. Men are so boring in this kind of situation." 　　But... I'm a little curious, has anyone considered the plausibility of this writing style? It 's like 　　a Hong Kong drama set in a post office. Lin Qingqing's scene design was carefully considered, not haphazard. In the 　　scenario I created for her, she's kneeling naked on the ground writing, surrounded by a group of old thugs and hooligans watching. 　　In such a situation, what kind of story can a young woman write? 　　I even made her write 　　the sentence, "Watching me writhe and struggle under all this savage and depraved torture, my master must be very happy." That old drug dealer watched it all; would he 　　object to describing himself as "savage and depraved"? 　　Lin Qingqing is a very smart girl, and a bit stubborn. An ordinary girl in 　　the situation she encountered in the story, in the end, she'd definitely have to accept her fate. Death is just that—death. But I have to 　　find something to provoke you. A person needs to breathe while living, and if that breath isn't flowing, it needs to be exhaled. Even slaves 　　need to exhale. 　　Lin Qingqing is a little heroine. But she can't be like Liu Hulan in the movies, standing tall 　　and pointing at the villains, "You wolves and tigers that harm the people, the people will not let you go!"...and then getting 　　a beating. 　　That's not heroism, that's stupidity. 　　The portrayal of heroes in popular literature is far too simplistic and crude. 　　Lin Qingqing thought, "Since you want me to write, I can't refuse. I'll give you a taste first." 　　------------------------------------------------------------------------- 　　My master sat on the single sofa to my right, watching my naked body with a kind and gentle 　　smile. He must have been in his fifties, thin and clean-cut. My master was once 　　a farmer who hadn't finished elementary school, but now he was a businessman dealing in anesthetic plant preparations. His wealth had 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 if I were suffering from edema. 　　Fear made my whole body tremble. I was truly terrified of my master; 　　the fear of him permeated every cell of my body. At any time, in any place, even just hearing 　　him clear his throat lightly would make me tremble and kneel down; it had become a complete 　　instinct. 　　"Ah Qing, people who have studied are truly different. Dealing in anesthetic plant preparations..." He deliberately 　　read the sentence in a strange tone, "I like your clever and obedient nature. From now on, just call me whatever you 　　want, you're just a drug dealer." 　　------------------------------------------------------------------------- 　　This is a little trick. Men, especially those who have been through the rough and tumble of life, habitually pretend to be bold and straightforward. The young girl 　　writes so strangely, laughing and saying "hahaha" when she's in a good mood. Then she says, "Drug dealer, drug dealer, huh?" 　　After that, Lin Qingqing started writing some roundabout and strange things. With this groundwork laid, the old drug dealer might 　　have a few quirks, but it's not that big of a deal. We're savage beasts, after all. Even if we're 　　beasts, we'd still capture a master's graduate and make him our sex slave, right? 　　This kind of mentality is very possible for men. As a result, this master and slave pair 　　reached a consensus or tacit understanding without direct communication. 　　This is both a trick Lin Qingqing set and a trick I set. After setting this bar, and 　　thoroughly understanding the psychology of all parties involved, I was able to maintain a proper balance in my later writing. It's acceptable for Lin Qingqing to have a minor tantrum, or to subtly insult someone 　　. 　　Otherwise, Qingqing would have to constantly praise her master as exceptionally good; otherwise, it wouldn't feel real—like 　　drug dealers watching her! If she said it all the time, the sentences wouldn't be fun, lacking the wit and subtle 　　charm, and it wouldn't be a decent story at all, turning into a propaganda piece for a successful entrepreneur. 　　This is about the character personalities in your story, and the authenticity of your story. 　　The style of a female protagonist's self-narration of masochism almost certainly originated from my own experience. Before "My Four Years," I hadn't seen 　　any decent examples. I've done some since then, but I'm very sorry. I've actually 　　set a huge bar for the erotic literature circle. The background design for a female protagonist's self-narration of masochism is strictly limited. I've also buried landmines 　　: 　　"At the end of the year, my master told me that he had decided to kill me, and then forced me to write down 　　my experiences over the past four years. When I wrote the first part, I was still a little excited and couldn't control myself, but I calmed down a lot later. I 　　wrote on and off until February. 　　My master probably didn't expect that this matter would later become so entertaining online. When I 　　didn't want to write or couldn't continue writing, he would beat me. My master's life experience made him believe that 　　everything could be achieved through beatings, even writing. He would give me ten sheets of paper in the morning, and if 　　I hadn't finished writing by nightfall, he would make me stick out my feet and smash my toes with a wooden stick. 　　Then he would read what I had just finished writing, and if he felt it wasn't lewd enough, he would smash it a second time. Or he would have his brothers take 　　turns having sex with me all night, telling me to find the right feeling in practice. 　　I would faint again and again, and then wake up again and again, my ten toes were a bloody mess, and the sharp bones 　　were sticking out of my toe joints. I was in so much pain that my face turned pale. But my master would smile and say: Ah Qing,

"You're like that princess from a thousand Arabian Nights, surviving solely on telling stories to her husband." (
Landmine finished.)
Lin Qingqing was able to describe to some extent how she was pounded and penetrated because the old scoundrels
were constantly watching, and would beat her if they were slightly annoyed. No woman who isn't completely insane would willingly recount her
experiences of being humiliated and tortured by an enemy—especially a mortal enemy—in detail, especially vividly,
to her colleagues, friends, acquaintances, passersby, superiors, or subordinates. Such a structure fundamentally
lacks a basis in realism. To reiterate, the structure of a female protagonist's self-narration of abuse requires ingenious background
design!
Why is there so much surrealism in the world of erotic literature…
because erotic literature is a special place where men indulge in their own fantasies. We should all know that
women in reality are living, breathing people with brains just like men; besides being kind and gentle, they also possess wisdom and strategy
. They are as intelligent as we are, and…even more courageous and resilient. But almost all...
nearly all... the female protagonists in erotic novels are like female puppets with huge genitals. Just write
a scene: let's say a super beautiful, super noble, big-breasted, small-waisted, and incredibly aloof, mature, prestigious, and incredibly skilled
female warrior... She confidently swings her sword, only to be tripped up by this mischievous little man with a clever trick.
Then, naturally, comes the thrusting. After about twenty or thirty thrusts,
she'll supposedly have an epiphany, realizing for the first time how lewd a woman's desires are and how sweet a man's large penis is... and then, of
course, she'll stubbornly cling to the halo of the protagonist, the lewd man, forever sinking into the dark abyss of lust. Okay...
whatever makes you happy...
A common comment under my stories is: "Women are meant to be cherished, not beaten
..."
At first, I always thought this was a bit strange, but after seeing it so many times, I just can't help but smile bitterly. First, a story is just a story.
Cao Xueqin wrote *Dream of the Red Chamber* as a vast, pristine white landscape, not because he didn't love the characters,
and my writing about women being beaten doesn't mean I don't love those women. Now, I want to say something second.
None of you have carefully considered your women's personalities like I have. You
don't know the meaning behind their every smile and frown, you don't know their many quirky little tricks and schemes,
you don't know how they think or live. You only say they're incredibly beautiful, incredibly noble, a cold and aloof queen, a sweet
and innocent loli, and then it's all about sex… and then you say she loves you and you love her? You dare call that cherishing a woman?!
I've written about many female heroes so far, of course, I follow this genre. Women
are heroes worthy of our love because they possess many beautiful, unique, and extraordinary
qualities that evoke both love and pity. To write a good story, you must truly love your heroine; you must be
captivated by her, thinking of her day and night, frantically searching for ways to express these character traits.
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"Eighteen-year-old Mother, still in a white dress, unarmed, but with her hair down, sat in the middle of the carriage, beside my
personal maid, twenty-year-old Xiao Huan. She wore my Lanrui sword, her red dress like fire. From her appearance, no one could tell
that she was a valiant warrior. The cruel war had taught the young girl to kill, and everything had changed.
The city gates of Yuling opened with a 'creak' before our horses, revealing the well-disciplined, orderly
cavalry legion of the Great Zhou army." The banners of the Great Zhou army fluttered, the tips of spears gleamed in the sun, and at
the very front of the army stood General Luo Wenjun, clad in armor and expressionless. He would ride his chestnut horse and be the first
to enter the surrendered but hostile city. Mother and Xiao Huan galloped past his legion
without flinching. "
—The Story of Anada, Anada's Concession of the City
" Reja, riding on the back of the elephant Ka, watched the astonishing speed of the beast as it ran. The woman did not
straighten her spear, nor did she draw her ironwood bow. She used only her ankles, and
the spikes encircling her bare ankles. The woman stomped more fiercely on the sides of Ka's neck; the woman's ultimate siege weapon was herself
, and the beast Ka, which was accelerating beneath her, forever understanding and faithfully carrying out its master's every wish
.
Ka was still some distance from the gates of Anxi... At the twenty-step mark, Rega finally defied her will. It didn't
stop; it merely swept its trunk back over its shoulders as it ran, and the robust black woman, Rega,
was propelled forward like a lightly floating kite.
Lying on the ground, Rega watched as the elephant accelerated, running a thousand feet, finally reaching its maximum
speed. Carrying a weight of sixteen thousand pounds, it crashed into the iron-clad, copper-studded gates of Anxi. The gates weren't
opened by the impact; they shattered into countless fragments of metal and wood.
—The Kunlun Slave, Reja's Attack
"That evening, the sky was ablaze with crimson sunset clouds. The shipping lord went to find Little Pig under the covered bridge. Little Pig
sat idly on the ground, legs spread wide, the chain binding her feet carelessly locked,
connected to the rings used to restrain them in their fight. Old Pig said to his girl, 'For every extra hour you run, I'll give you an extra thousand taels of silver.' The lord
slowly revealed a strange smile. He said, 'I think you can definitely run until tomorrow morning.'
Little Pig looked up and saw the other man following behind Old Pig. She also revealed a
strange smile. The man had a composed demeanor and sharp eyes; even Little Pig could tell he was a very
important person. Little Pig should be afraid of him, but now she seemed to have no fear at all. Little Pig, sitting with her legs spread wide, asked him:
'I just want to know… can I beat your dog?'"
—Unknown return, the little pig wants to beat the prince's dog.
"On the fourth day, Achang only needed a wire brush. He took it and
brushed it heavily down my torn chest, all the way to my thighs. With just one stroke, the wire was covered with strands
of broken tendons and flesh. Bamo squatted beside him, holding a wine jar filled with locally made homemade liquor."
He scooped a ladleful of wine and poured it onto my numerous, interconnected wounds.
I cried, screamed, kicked, and rolled around, and none of them could hold me down. Then they drove four wooden
stakes into the mud, binding my arms and legs tightly to them. They effortlessly dipped a steel brush
into my wounds and slowly plowed them again. They lifted them up, waited a while, and then applied alcohol.
My entire memory of the following days is of endless, maddening pain. And then,
one night, I suddenly awoke from my daze for a few minutes and saw a
very bright star in the sky. I strangely thought that they must have recorded everything that happened these past few days. If Dai Tao
saw it, I wondered how heartbroken he would be. "I'm sorry, Xiao Tao," I thought, before sinking back into a hazy,
confused state. "
—My Four Years as a Sex Slave, Lin Qingqing Misses Her Husband
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These are some passages I really like; I've repeatedly pondered almost every word. For example, Little Pig
idly sat with his legs spread wide in the dirt. Why with his legs spread? For example, when she saw
the other man walking behind Old Pig, she also showed a strange smile. Why strange?
What does it mean to express the unique charm of the female protagonist?
It's like this.
My Four Years as a Sex Slave, Part
Two
I am 1.67 meters tall and weighed 50 kilograms the year I got married, but my husband, to satisfy his little bit
of vanity, always told others that I was 1.70 meters tall. It's clear I'm not a truly skinny girl, but
I've always been quite confident in my figure. Four years ago, when I was taking a shower, I would always turn over and
over in front of the mirror, studying my soft, white waist. On the contrary, at that time, my breasts were always small and pointed, and
my nipples were always soft like peach buds. Even during orgasm, it was like that."
My husband is strangely obsessed with my ankles, saying they're as slender as a deer's and he
can encircle them with just his thumb and forefinger—of course, that's just a lie. During sex, instead of holding my thighs, he bends my long legs
back and grasps my ankles. K City is a mild city; in summer I like to wear floral maxi dresses, but to avoid
upsetting my husband, I always wear strappy sandals with clear nail polish, barefoot.
After we got married, I constantly picked fights with him, but when I'm alone, I silently look at my delicate, snow-white
insteps, imagining Xiao Tao's large hands touching them, feeling the warm, honey-like moisture seeping through the
silk lace that clings to my body beneath my dress.
I studied agriculture and forestry and after graduation, I went to work at a tropical plant research institute. I wasn't a good employee;
I didn't do much all day, and of course, there wasn't much for me to do there. My family background allows me a
relatively comfortable life; at least I don't have to worry about making a living—that's just an unspoken fact. In
my circle, I was already
a source of pride for my father that I hadn't gotten involved with lounge owners or smuggled car dealers like some others.
I drove my husband to and from work every day in a Japanese car a friend had lent me. The night my current master made his
move, I was on the ring road, with few cars around. An Audi cut into my lane, and a few minutes later it
suddenly slowed down. I instinctively slammed on the brakes, and a Mitsubishi Jeep behind me bumped into my rear end.
All three cars stopped. If I were a well-trained policeman, I might have realized the car in front shouldn't
have stopped. The middle-aged man who got out from behind, who had initially been stern, smiled sweetly at a pretty young woman
. Phila played it all very convincingly; he was an important figure in my master's inner circle, a T-islander. Later, he
tormented me relentlessly for a week.
He said, "Excuse me, miss, I'm willing to pay for the repairs." The people in the Audi walked up behind me, laughing and talking
, but I didn't pay any attention. Then I felt a light prick on my buttocks, and before I could even feel a little
strange, I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I was lying on the concrete floor with my hands behind my back. Looking at my bare chest and the
dark pubic hair peeking out from the edge of my smooth abdomen, I almost thought I was having another one of those erotic dreams. But compared to the dream,
the men next to me seemed too real; they were staring at my body with undisguised interest
. My face flushed. This was truly the first time since I became an adult that I had been naked in front of any man other than my husband.
I twisted my body on the floor, my wrists tightly cuffed behind my back. I noticed that my feet were also
locked together with a pair of gleaming silver shackles. I started thinking about the car accident, and then about all
the news stories about carjackings, rapes, and murders. I thought this time it was definitely my turn; I would most likely be raped, and in this state, I would probably
die.
My heart was pounding, and I was sweating profusely. But I managed to control myself. With the
composure a young woman could muster in that situation, I asked, "Who are you?"
It didn't really matter who they were; I just felt I had to say something.
The old man in the middle began to speak, telling me who he was and where I was. For the first time, I gazed into the eyes
of the man who would decide my fate for the next four years.
He told me about his brother, who had been arrested six months earlier, and how his brother's men had infiltrated the police force.
He had personally returned to the country and been lobbying, finally deciding to kidnap me when all else failed.
He told me he would advise my father and husband to try and exonerate his brother. He said
he would never harm me if his brother could be freed. Now, he only needed my help to record a video.
The other two men helped me up as gracefully as possible and unlocked the handcuffs behind my back. The skin on my wrists
had been rubbed raw, and I only felt the pain when I saw the blood. They forced me to kneel, and I complied
. Then someone handed me a newspaper from that day, gesturing for me to hold it to my stomach below my breasts to
show that I was indeed alive that day. The newspaper wasn't written in English; my master is always cautious.
A new guy came in and recorded me with a handheld camera, making me read a short passage, the gist of which was that I currently...
Terrified, I pleaded with my father to do as the kidnappers demanded if he valued my life. The camera circled my
naked body.
After that, the shackles on my feet were removed. They only brought me a nightgown; nothing else
. Silently, in front of the men, I wrapped myself in it. It was a
spacious basement with exposed concrete walls. Barefoot, I climbed more than ten steps, and a beautifully designed three-story building appeared before
me. The sunlight in the US was intense and dazzling.
I was confined to a guest room on the second floor of the villa for eight days. The suite had a bathroom, and the wardrobe was filled with neatly
arranged changes of clothes. The only person I saw was the maid who brought me meals; she even changed my sheets every day
. On the ninth day at noon, they brought me back to the basement. A man who seemed to be the leader ordered, "Take
off your clothes, strip naked." Later, I learned he was A-Chang.
I felt the blood rush to my face. I didn't move. A-Chang didn't say another word; he just
punched me in the stomach. I stumbled back two steps and sat down on the ground. Achang stepped forward and calmly kicked my stomach. He
was expressionless, like a machine with precise rhythm.
I tried to block his kicks with my hands, but how could I possibly stop them! I couldn't take it anymore and shouted repeatedly, "I'll take it off,
I'll take it off myself, I'll take it all off!" He seemed not to hear me at all and kept hitting me until I rolled into a corner and curled up in a ball before
stopping.
I took off all my clothes there, and my entire flat stomach was now completely bruised.
"Shoes!"
I pulled down the flat cloth shoes they had given me.
It turned out that there were several more rooms inside the basement with the iron door. Even a girl like me could tell that the inner room
was a place for torture. In the middle of the room was a gleaming stainless steel table, next to which was a gas
stove and several large buckets. Some iron chains and hooks hung down from the ceiling at different heights, and
there were many iron rings fixed to the walls and the floor in a seemingly random manner. The cement floor had just been washed and was still wet, but
the black stains on the wall were probably dried blood.
I was terrified; my stomach and back, injured by Achang's kick, were aching terribly. When someone told me to "kneel down," I
knelt without resistance. Only then did I see the gloomy old man, my master, who had been sitting in
an old rattan chair at one end of the room. My face and chest were straight and flat, facing him directly. "
Your father is in the hospital. Don't be nervous; he's faking it. He's not answering the phone or seeing guests. Your
husband has also taken a long leave; he's handed over all his cases. He's even applied to be transferred to another department. My brother
has been transferred to a different detention center; we don't even know where he is now. The case file is about to be handed over to the prosecutor.
" He said slowly, "Your father is really determined."
Girl, how many people in the past opened their eyes every morning and the first thing they thought of was how to kill us
brothers, but in the end, it wasn't us who died. I had just built up a little foundation… and now my brother was truly
going to die. My master paused for a moment. “Ah Chang, come on.”
They easily pulled me up, but they commanded me like cats playing with a mouse: “Stand up and lie
down on the platform!”
I was a young girl, completely naked, surrounded by more than a dozen fierce-looking men.
What could I do? Perhaps I could only cry out loud. I bit my lip and forced myself to move, climbing onto the platform. I didn’t look at anyone; I couldn’t make eye contact with those around me. I just felt 　　the deep chill of the steel surface
beneath my back seeping into my skin. 　　Later, my master told me that he was indeed somewhat impressed by my composure that day. “How many women enter that 　　room and start making a racket like they’re killing chickens and ducks without even being touched.” 　　They spread my hands and feet wide and strapped them to the edge of the platform, and everyone began to undress. 　　I turned my head to one side and closed my eyes… My love! 　　They touched my body, touched my genitals, and pinched my nipples hard. 　　"Little bitch, your grandma's too small," someone said with a grin, probably rubbing me hard. 　　His naked body pressed down on me, kissing my lips with a heavy smell of smoke. He then 　　thrust into my vagina without any preparation, and I struggled to twist my hips to avoid him. His penis thrashed and 　　shoved against my opening for a while before withdrawing, and laughter erupted around us. I felt him part my trembling 　　labia to test the position of my opening, then this beast joined several fingers together and 　　shoved them hard into my humiliated, tightly closed entrance. He used all his strength; only one finger went inside my 　　vagina, while the others stuck in my tender opening. I think he tore my lining. I 　　screamed in pain and anger . He actually hooked the finger buried inside me, his nail digging 　　into my flesh, and then… then he violently pulled his hand out… 　　I wasn't a sixteen or seventeen-year-old virgin; I was already married. Sex, whether for myself or 　　for the one I loved, should be a sweet thing. I wasn't just willing; I longed to 　　spend the whole night with Xiao Tao, even on the floor, entwined in passion. My belly was even already carrying a 　　little seed for my man. But I never knew that sexual relations between people could be so brutal. I dared not struggle anymore 　　, letting him start thrusting his penis back and forth, searching for a place. Finally, he groaned, his thick organ forcefully 　　penetrating to the very end of me. I only felt pain. 　　He moved and moved, emitting ugly groans. When he stopped, I could feel his burning flesh 　　trembling slightly. "Ouch, ouch, it's coming out, it's coming out!" I kept whimpering weakly in pain, but 　　his frantic shouts were so piercing, so loud. "Damn it, that stinking cunt is drier than a log," he 　　muttered as he moved aside. 　　The second, the third, and by the fourth or fifth, the man below was clumsily trying for a long time. 　　"Little Xu, your mother didn't teach you how to do this, did she?" 　　"This cunt isn't as big as your mother's, can't find the hole?" 　　"Shoot it into the whore's belly button!" 　　Many voices laughed and cursed lewdly. I slightly opened my eyes.

The boy, no more than fifteen, was hunched over and on top of me. His round, childlike face was flushed red, and
his small chest was covered in sweat. My heart skipped a beat; I knew things were bad.
This little guy knew nothing; his third thrust was only halfway done before he completely messed up. He probably thought
all women were like this. Those despicable old men noticed immediately.
"Here she comes, the little bitch's in heat!" "Really, her little thing's all perked up..." "I never would have guessed,
such a gentle young lady, her clitoris's as hard as a little cock!"
"Her cunt's throbbing like a monkey's ass!"
My cunt easily let the next penis in, then gripped it tightly, thrusting hard,
thrusting, and thrusting again—I really couldn't stop! I trembled and cried out together with the man on top of me
. I knew my lower body was undulating like waves for this beast. My Tao Tao… do you know
what kind of suffering your little wife, who never flirts with anyone… is enduring?
How could a woman feel such pain, such shame, and at the same time crave their flesh so much…
When this man ejaculated, I was like a madman. My betraying body overwhelmed
the next man in just a few seconds, and then I lost most of my senses. But I knew they kept
climbing up.
When I opened my eyes, shivering, a large splash of icy water was exploding on my face. My
trachea was filled with a sour and painful sensation, making it hard to breathe. Later, someone said, “You’ve sold your cunt enough,
get down.”
I stared at this man, blankly trying to understand what he meant. I wasn’t intentionally disobeying him; I just couldn’t react. I watched as the belt in his hand swung in a circle, 　　sweeping across
my breasts . I watched as a bright red gash appeared on my white flesh, but it felt like just a 　　bump; it didn’t hurt much. I wasn’t particularly scared either. 　　I let them lift me up and put me on the ground. The straps binding my hands and feet had already been untied. I 　　knelt limply, sprawled on the cold concrete floor beneath me. They grabbed my hair and pulled my 　　upper body straight. Only then did I see the filthy semen dripping from my thighs, some beginning to congeal 　　, others slowly trickling down, speckled with dirt. 　　I knew I was bleeding. A stream of blood branched into several streams on my calf, flowing down and 　　dispersing into a sticky, frothy mass of blood and foam. One of my labia majora was torn open; 　　my vulva was barely closing. Their filthy, foul-smelling fluids couldn't stay in; they trembled, 　　thick and gushing out, dripping down with a "plop," leaving glistening 　　strands that draped over my pubic hair. 　　My master stared at my face. I think he must have seen something that pleased him: my disheveled black 　　hair, the filthy sweat and tear stains, and my bitter, resolute eyes. My mind was already distant and numb 　　. He uttered a sentence that still sends 　　shivers down my spine when I think about it later: "You will be fucked like this by my men every day until you can't do it anymore, then you will die." 　　"Unless my brother is released, I'll recite Buddhist prayers for him a few times a day." 　　The master, holding his teacup, stood up from his chair and walked out the door. After a moment of silence, A-Chang lifted 　　my chin and asked, "There are still about ten brothers on shifts up there. Has your policeman husband fucked your little asshole 　　?" 　　I wasn't finally alone until the next morning. Before leaving, they handcuffed my hands 　　behind my back again and nailed a long chain to my feet. The iron bars coiled into links 　　were thicker than my fingers. 　　I lay on my back on the cold ground with my eyes wide open, my mind blank, not thinking about anything, and 　　didn't move for the entire morning. A large puddle of sticky fluid slowly flowed out from under my buttocks, red and bright, and 　　I felt like I was bleeding at the same time. My lower abdomen felt like it was stuffed with a sack of wood chips, swollen, distended, heavy, 　　and numb. Even if I wanted to move, I couldn't muster any strength. I just felt a burning, 　　stinging sensation, but neither my front nor back hurt much. 　　No. My husband never did that. That night, many people probably spread my buttocks 　　and ejaculated inside my large intestine, but I have no memory of what should have been a very painful first time. 　　My consciousness never fully returned after the climax of passion that day. 　　After I finished writing the above sentence, my master coughed, and I stopped writing as he gestured. Just 　　like last time, he watched me with a fascination as I organized paragraph after paragraph of text. This was his 　　new game of humiliating me, making me write my own tragic story. The day I started writing was probably in December 　　, but now they tell me it's 2001. 　　The first day of writing turned into a long period of time. Even late into the night, they were still going in and 　　out, tormenting my swollen vulva from Achang's beating. Finally, they dragged me into the basement. 　　Behind the deepest iron door at the bottom was a small room, where the owner used to imprison people he didn't like. 　　Half of the twenty-square-meter room was divided into small cells like a cage with iron bars, while the other half had three or four square iron 　　covers on the floor. 　　Xiao Xu lifted one, revealing a square cement pit underneath, only about sixty centimeters long and wide 　　, perhaps eighty centimeters deep, with a drainage hole at the bottom. I knew 　　this pit well; for about a quarter of the past four years, I had lived in it. 　　Xiao Xu was now a handsome nineteen-year-old. I think he often realized that my body was his 　　first, which sometimes made him even harsher on me than Achang. He maliciously called me "Naked Butt Sister." 　　"Naked Sister," Xiao Xu said with a grin, "you'll be staying in there for a while. Put 　　this in your pussy, it'll be lonely in there, you'll have to rely on it to comfort you, at least you'll have some company." 　　This rascal even brought down that "wooden husband" too.

That day I couldn't stand up anymore. I just struggled to arch my buttocks a little to make room for that thing.
I groped and poked around in the gap for a while, and finally managed to insert the stick inside. My vagina was very swollen and painful,
but it was still moist, so I was finally able to insert it all the way in. Xiao Xu waited patiently and watched, and after I finished,
he would put the handcuffs on my back.
There were two ways to stay in that hole. One was to sit all the way down, bending your thighs and calves together and
squeezing them in front of your chest. The other was to kneel down first, and then sit back on your heels. Either way,
when the iron lid came down, you had to bend over and lower your head. From the side, you could imagine yourself as an
"h" or "z" shape, but the vertical part of the "h" was sharply bent down.
Then there was complete darkness. The human body and limbs were piled up together, and there was basically no
room to move. Most of the time, my hands were still handcuffed behind my back. You had to stay in the same position until the next time
they opened the lid of the can.
To block out light and sound, the lid was surrounded by rubber gaskets. Inside, ventilation relied solely on the gaps in the drainpipe;
it was incredibly difficult to breathe, especially given the hot climate of the US.
They would open the lid once a day to give me some water, and if they wanted, maybe feed me a few bites.
Without food and water, I would die, but not cleaning the cave wouldn't kill me.
The times I was crammed in there for extended periods of solitary confinement, I might have to endure a month before someone came to clean me. After opening the cave, they dragged over
a plastic hose and sprayed me directly over the head for an hour and a half. That was considered a bath
. You can imagine what it was like inside before that day.
They didn't pull me out until last night; my entire body was stiff and numb, like a piece of wood.
To ensure I could read another passage from my story today, my master had his two maids soak me in warm water in the bathtub
all night, then diligently massage my entire body, finally loosening my joints a little.
This was only a little over a month ago. One summer, I was locked in the cave for six months straight, only
released when someone wanted to use my body for pleasure, and of course, they had to scrub me clean first.
In that kind of situation, one quickly loses track of time; I had no idea whether a year or a day had passed in complete darkness
. My only remaining hope was that a man would think of having sex with me, allowing me to stretch
my limbs for a while and breathe some fresh air.
The master said, "You don't even remember the first time your little bottom, as dry as a walnut, bled?
Ah Chang and the others were completely infatuated with you back then. Use that a few times, and think about it yourself."
Today, Xiao Xu replaced Ah Chang to stay by the master's side. From the beginning, he made me insert that stick
into my vagina. Every time I wrote about being raped, they would say, "Stop and poke it a few times; that'll
make it more interesting to write."
I struggled to stand up, holding onto the table. Sitting in public was strictly forbidden; I could only
kneel with my knees on the ground. After all these years, the calluses on my knees had become as thick as my feet. Today, the master specially
allowed me to sit in his chair and use his large tabletop because I was too weak to kneel any longer.
I lay on the ground, sticking my buttocks high in the air, twisting my body to insert the stick into my anus, moving it back and forth,
then muttering like chanting, "Ouch... ah... so hard... so thick... this little bitch
can't take it anymore... my pussy is all wet... ah... ah... I can't take it... please."
I'd performed this trick for them countless times, but they still watched with great interest.
Men are so bored in places like this.
They keep going until their master is satisfied. "Okay, let's go back to the beginning and continue writing."
Back to the beginning. After being gang-raped for a day and a night, I lay in the basement until the afternoon, then was dragged out of the villa
's yard and made to walk naked, dragging an iron chain, all the way down the hill to the soldiers' camp.
Just those few hundred meters were enough to rub the skin off my delicate ankles with the iron rings of the shackles,
and my soles, which had never walked naked outdoors before, were covered in grass roots, splinters, and small stones.
I spent the night there, and in the morning they took me back to the villa.
Until the tenth day, it was the same every day. My master imposed some restrictions on the soldiers, arranging about
twenty men each night, each for twenty minutes, so the group of over fifty men could take
turns on me four times over these days. My master didn't care about his bodyguards; they continued to do so in the villa during the day
until they were satisfied.
By about the third day, I was already indifferent to the endless thrusting penises. I would
lie on the bed or the floor, almost instinctively spreading my legs, watching them climb on and
slide off one by one with boredom. If someone wanted anal sex, they would slap my buttocks and make a gesture, and I would roll over and assume the standard
position; if they wanted oral sex, I would climb on top and take them into my mouth. Sexual desire and orgasm were, of course, completely out of the question; the
feeling was probably comparable to daily bowel movements.
Turning a woman into a prostitute is truly an easy thing. No matter how sensitive or shy she had been, or
how well-educated she had been, for a woman, after having
sex with twenty different men twenty times, adding one more, or a thousand more, wouldn't make much difference.
In a few days, even becoming a prostitute would be difficult. My vagina and anus had been rubbed by men too many times; first they
became red, swollen, and congested, then completely ulcerated. A man's penis would pierce in like a red-hot iron bar, then be
pulled out, tearing my flesh and blood. After just a few thrusts, I would faint from the pain, and he would continue to thrust forcefully until the pain brought me
back to my senses. Fortunately, most men, seeing the bloodied sight, would let me suck on them, but
there were always a few who simply enjoyed doing it in the blood. I don't remember if it was the ninth or tenth day, but the master
announced to the soldiers in the camp that he would reward those still willing to use my vagina and anus. That day, I cried until my voice was completely
hoarse, and for five or six days I couldn't utter a sound.
During those days, I probably did everything a woman could do for a man. The strangest way—I've not
only never heard of it, never done it, I've never even thought it was possible. Someone actually thought of it.
And he actually managed to ejaculate inside my bladder. He forcefully inserted his penis into my urethra,
tearing the surrounding muscles in the process. I had no idea that a woman's private parts could expand so much
.
Although it hurt, being penetrated in the urethra was a strange sensation, especially when he pulled out;
it felt like releasing something that had been holding in for too long.
After ten days of this, I was bleeding from both front and back, and finally, I was allowed
to lie quietly in the iron cage in the basement for a few days. He injected me with the latest generation of antibiotics every day, and once that started, he never
stopped giving me the medication, continuing to this day. Otherwise, if I were rolling on the ground with my skin torn and bleeding every day, I probably
would have become infected and rotted into a pool of pus and blood long ago.
More than ten kilometers away from my master's villa, Lazhen was the administrative center of this district. A highway ran through
the town, and there were three brick buildings on both sides of the road. One was the district government office, and another was a military barracks
where my master's other half, a soldier, lived. There was another school at one end of the road, built with my master's money.
The rest were all ordinary houses made of bamboo and wood. Theoretically, my master should be performing his duties here
, but most of the time, Philashou is here as his agent.
The two-and-a-half-ton farm truck drove for about an hour on the mountain road, all the way to an open space on the edge of town
. This place always gathered many villagers from the village who came to do small business; it was the kind of spontaneous
trade market that formed on the outskirts of town. The bodyguards, dressed in local ethnic clothing, pushed me, naked, directly to the ground. After resting
for a few days, my body had recovered slightly. My hands were cuffed behind my back, and a large wooden sign hung around my neck
that read: "I am a female Wagong, I am a bitch."
The Wagong was an armed political force stationed in the western part of the area. They were defeated by the government army a few years ago
and have now changed their name to the Wa ethnic self-defense army. The Wa ethnic group's self-defense army had a very bad reputation in the area
, with frequent rumors of robbery and murder. Someone shouted to the crowd, "We're from Moyan Village.
This woman is the mistress of the commander of the Wagong Third Detachment; we've captured her. We've brought her to the district
to make her suffer and let everyone vent their anger."
First, they made me stand with my back against a tree trunk, binding me tightly with ropes. To torture a woman, piercing
her breasts was inevitable, and they didn't need very thick or hard tools. The girl's nipples were too sensitive
and delicate; they had prepared thin steel wires. I can never describe the
agony of a young girl's tender, delicate nipples, like small plants, being pierced by such fine thorns. It didn't just torment my superficial
skin and flesh; it was so fine, so resilient. It could slide along a woman's lactation ducts all the way to
the center of her breast, deep into the densely packed glandular cavity, and then even just a gentle push, a slight twist
… If you're not a woman, you can't imagine the torment a person suffers at that time. I can't even say whether it
was pain, itching, soreness, numbness, tingling, or a burning sensation. I only felt that even the deepest parts of my body—my heart, liver, intestines, and stomach—were convulsing
and twisting together, and I couldn't even scream.
"Please, please…" I pleaded breathlessly, "Come and fuck me, don't, don't
stab me… I'll do anything you want! God! Don't… I can't take it anymore!" They liked this, pulling the wire out and stabbing it back in, pulling it out again, stabbing it again, 　　endlessly repeating
this monotonous task .
The delicate muscles on my chest writhed like tiny worms. First came tears, then
cold sweat. My mouth was smeared with saliva, urine dripped from my legs, and even my vagina convulsed
, secreting sticky fluid.
At that moment, I would have done anything, truly, anything. But no one wanted me to do anything
. They just wanted me to writhe in agony, to suffer.
A large group of people stood around me, as if watching a circus performance. My head hung low on my chest,
my eyes tightly shut. "When will all this end?" When I opened my eyes, I saw my
small breasts, tightly gripped by dark, thick fingers, trembling beneath the wire.
"Stop, dear brother, dear uncle, oh, stop for a moment!"
They stopped. "Little bitch, want to try something different?"
I just wanted to catch my breath, and I nodded frantically.
The new trick was using bamboo skewers. Someone had already sharpened a bunch, about two inches long. They lifted my breasts with their palms and
forcefully stabbed them into my areolas, until only a small tail was sticking out.
Then they took another skewer, turned it at a different angle, and stabbed it in again. Four or five bamboo skewers surrounded my nipples, and this
was just the beginning. I watched helplessly as the sharp bamboo skewers circled and filled both of my breasts,
making them look like a pair of bloody little hedgehogs. Those two tiny animals clung to my chest,
looking both pained and scared… How pitiful they were. They
untied me. I sat under a big tree, leaning against the trunk, lost in thought, feeling nauseous. Achang held one of my hands and looked at it:
“Your neat hands are so beautiful. You’ve read so many books, but you’ve never dug cassava before, have you?”
My nails were carefully trimmed, very sharp, and hadn’t been ruined by them in the past ten days; the pliers could
grip them firmly. He bound my slender, white hands tightly to the tree trunk, starting with my right middle
finger. Achang gripped the pliers and pulled hard, and I saw my fingernail detach from the flesh at its base,
revealing a half-circle of blood.
Achang shook the pliers, then pushed them back, and I screamed. He pulled again. Only a patch of bleeding, tender flesh remained at my fingertip
, along with a drooping piece of skin.
Achang showed me the fingernail, still attached to the blood vessels and flesh, threw it away, and then clamped down on my index finger.
He didn't spare a single finger. Then he told me, "Just wait, you bitch, this afternoon I'll pluck all your hind
paws."
At noon, I was forced to kneel alone under the blazing sun, my handcuffed hands dripping blood from the tips of my ten fingers, my
breasts, studded with bamboo skewers, resembling two small hills planted with saplings. Two naked local
boys ran up to me, circling around, and then stared curiously at my chest. One of them stretched out one...
He touched the bamboo skewer stuck in the center of my nipple with his finger. He asked in Mandarin, "Doesn't it hurt?"
The bodyguards rested and ate under the shade of the trees, leisurely preparing for another round in the afternoon.
In the afternoon, I was made to sit on the ground with my legs stretched out in front of me, my hands tied behind my back. The townspeople, who had nothing else to do,
gathered around again. Toenails are not easy to pry open, but that was no problem for Bamo. He simply used an ordinary fruit knife to
pry open my toenail, and then he could easily pull it off with pliers. He pulled off one, and I
cried out, "Ouch!"
This time he left my two big toes. He rummaged around on the ground for a while and found two bamboo
skewers left over from the morning. He first forcefully inserted them into my toenail, and then casually used the pliers in his hand to drive them in one by one. My
heart pounded in my throat with each stab. I couldn't help but open my mouth, and what came out was a sour and bitter soup from my stomach.
Now, as everyone chatted and laughed, they casually looped a thick wire around the base of my big toe , where the bamboo skewer had just been inserted
, and tightened the joint with pliers. It was already very tight, but they kept twisting it round and round. The wire tightened so much that
the loops were embedded in my flesh that they were no longer visible, before they finally tied it to the other toe. In the intervals between my cries of pain, I
heard a cracking sound from inside my toe; I really didn't know if it was the bamboo nail breaking or my bone breaking.
The loose wire joint was tied with a thick hemp rope, and that rope was used to pull me up the tree. They pulled me up until
my head was off the ground. One foot was hooked onto a branch, and the other onto another.
My two big toes bore the weight of my entire body.
My face was flushed red from the blood flowing back down, but my whole body was chilled, and sweat
poured into my nostrils and eyes like a stream. Someone was roughly rubbing my exposed genitals with their rough hands
. Their fingernails traced patterns between the plump flesh of my thighs, scratching all the way down to my
labia majora. The feeling of being caressed while hanging upside down sent shivers down my spine. They laughed, then a belt snapped across my genitals
. A scream of "Oh my
god!" escaped my lips. I involuntarily pulled my leg away, my body twisting and turning wildly, followed by
a second cry: "My feet, ouch... my feet..."
They paused, letting me fully experience the pain throughout my body. Then, when things started to calm down a bit,
they struck again. The same spot, always the same spot.
A dull, throbbing pain, driving me mad, and I screamed again.
They continued hitting me like that, until I had no strength left to scream. Incontinent urine overflowed,
flowing into my mouth, along with a lot of cloudy, bubbly liquid—probably stomach acid and saliva—sticking my hair
into a wet curtain.
When I woke up, I was lying on the ground. I looked at my feet in terror; both my big toes
had been stretched halfway, and I felt as if my vulva had been split in two. It wasn't
dark yet, and my suffering wasn't over. The bodyguards smiled smugly, telling me that the next time would be even worse, but I
no longer had the strength to be afraid.
The next time, my toes were twisted together with wire, and I was hung upside down. I lay limp and powerless,
my face tilted back, seeing that I was still more than half a meter above the ground, my chest less than a meter off. Ah
Chang kicked me hard and accurately in one breast.
My whole body was thrown backward, crashing into a tree trunk. My body twisted horribly, like
a grasshopper leaping from a blade of grass. "My breasts!"
"My soft, tender breasts, pierced by a thousand arrows..."
My body bounced back towards Achang, who kicked me again, this time at the other breast.
I spent that night in the military camp in Lazhen. Nothing else mattered; the most miserable time
was when the soldiers grabbed my neck, pressed me down against the bed, and raped my anus. My
breasts, already oozing juice like rotten fruit, were squeezed in the middle. I could feel them twisted and flattened,
with a dozen or so bamboo spikes protruding inside.
I was kept in Lazhen for four days. Every morning, they took me naked to the market and tortured me severely in public
for four days. On the second day, they whipped my entire body with bamboo strips, embedding broken bamboo
slivers and splinters into my flesh. On the third day, they pressed red-hot iron bars into the cracks caused by the bamboo whippings, one by one, saying it was to stop
the bleeding.
By that night, I was a bloody, mangled mess, and no man would touch me anymore.
So they dragged me to the base of a big tree, made me kneel, and tied my hands tightly behind my back against the trunk. My legs were spread apart on either side of the trunk,
and a small wooden stool was shoved between them, with an alcohol lamp on it. The flames that leaped up after lighting it were right
on my vulva.
It scorched my labia majora until oil beads dripped from the outside in, making a sizzling sound, and
sweat poured down my forehead. They kept scorching me until midnight, then turned me around in the second half of the night. Fortunately, by then
my vulva was only numb, not painful. This time they made me kneel with my arms around the tree, arching my buttocks outwards.
After a while, they adjusted the lamp so that it could touch my anus.
On the fourth day, Achang only needed a wire brush. He took it and brushed it heavily from my torn and bleeding chest down
to my inner thighs. With just that one stroke, the wire was covered in
shredded tendons and bits of flesh. Bamo squatted beside me, clutching a jar of locally brewed liquor.
He scooped a ladleful and poured it onto my sprawling wounds.
I cried, screamed, kicked, and rolled around, and none of them could hold me down. Then they drove four wooden
stakes into the mud and bound my arms and legs to them. They effortlessly dipped the steel brush
into my wounds and slowly plowed them again. After lifting me, they waited a while before applying more alcohol.
My entire memory of the following days is of endless, maddening pain. And
then, one night, I suddenly awoke from my stupor for a few minutes and saw a very bright star in the sky
. I strangely thought that they must have recorded everything that happened these past few days. If Dai Tao
saw it, I wondered how heartbroken he would be. I'm sorry, Xiao Tao. Thinking this, I drifted back into a drowsy state.
I was lost in the mist.
From the videos my master later showed me, I saw that my eyes were always tightly closed. Whenever the branding iron was applied
to my flesh, or when I was doused with liquor, I would writhe and twist like a caterpillar,
making muffled "woo-woo" sounds.
When I regained my memories, I was lying in the guest room of my master's villa. My master had his doctor, Dr. Huang,
carefully treat my wounds. He used the best burn ointment to barely save my labia majora. Later, I was told that my master had come to see
me. I struggled to my feet and knelt naked on the floor in front of the bed.
"Take good care of yourself, Aqing," my master said gently. "In ten days or half a month, you'll be able to walk
. Then Achang will accompany you to visit a few villages outside. Is just one small town like Lazhen enough?"

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