[Urban] Must be fucked to death (Complete) - 13-15

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-31

23: A stark white skeleton.

He said, "Your little slut's in a porn movie. I'm off."

The sports car sped away.

I stood there, stunned in the sunlight.

The videotape box was the most ordinary black plastic rectangular box, blank.

I opened it; inside was a beta tape, the label scrawled "d33" in marker. What did that mean?

I wanted to watch it immediately. I couldn't wait.

I walked back to the company building, stuffed the videotape back into the brown paper bag, took the elevator back to the conference room, placed the brown paper bag behind my chair, and watched the mouths around the round table moving.

I tried to listen to their turn to speak, but found I couldn't absorb anything.

I was absent-minded, all my attention focused on the brown paper bag behind my chair.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I announced the meeting was over, grabbed the brown paper bag, and got up to leave. The finance manager squeezed through the crowd, saying it would be best to talk privately. I said, "Wait a moment," and

he said, "I understand." I thought to myself, "What do you understand? You don't understand."

I went into the screening room alone, locked the door, opened the kraft paper bag, opened the black plastic rectangular box, took out the videotape, turned on the VCR, put in the tape, and pressed the "start" button—a flurry of activity.

The recording began.

My heart pounded, my fingers trembled slightly, and I didn't even bother to light a cigarette, staring intently at the screen.

On the pale green carpet, a young slut stood, wearing only a batik bodice, her arms and legs bare. Yes. I saw it clearly; it was indeed her.

[Anti-Xipi Yaoban] One man, shirtless, sang: "This woman is unusual!"

The young slut sang: "What kind of wicked heart does Diao Deyi have?"

Another man, shirtless, sang: "This little Diao has no shame at all."

The two men sang as they pressed themselves against the young slut, untying the thin string at the back of her bodice.

"I'm going to subtly inquire about her."

The young slut: "I must observe his expressions and guard against him."

"I admire your composure, wit, and courage; you dare to play tricks on the Japanese in front of them."

The young slut's bodice had already been removed. Now she was completely naked, wearing only white cotton stockings.

The following scene was a pure human flesh world, wild animal-level, low-budget.

Two men began to grope her naked body, grabbing her breasts and probing her vagina.

The little slut twisted her chubby waist, moaning excitedly, completely transformed into a cheap prostitute who wholeheartedly wanted to be fucked by men.

Seven or eight backup dancers appeared, performing a loyalty dance. "Diao Deyi" went around to the back and began to penetrate her vagina.

There were no close-up shots. What a pity.

While she was being fucked, she handed "Hu Chuankui" a cup of hot tea.

She sang clearly and distinctly while moaning. It was really hard on her.

When she finished singing "All who come are guests, all depends on their mouths," she opened her mouth, stuck out her tongue, and teased "Hu Chuankui's" big penis with the tip of her tongue, licking it for a while before taking it in her mouth and starting to suck on it. What

I taught her, she really put to use.

"Hu Chuankui" pressed her head down, but didn't hold on for long. Hearing "Diao Deyi" let out the distinctive howl of a man ejaculating, he too ejaculated with his mouth wide open.

His large penis withdrew from her mouth, and she skillfully rolled all the thick semen onto her tongue, opened her mouth, and faced the camera. The camera zoomed in.

Finally, a close-up: the thick, yellow semen looked extremely viscous. She swallowed, then opened her mouth again; it was clean, the semen was gone. She quickly grabbed the teacup beside her and drank large gulps of water; the camera didn't change.

Afterwards, an on-site interview was conducted (the questioner wasn't on camera, but it was highly suspected to be the director), asking her about her feelings about filming this scene.

While still lingering on her genitals, she answered with lyrics: "We meet with smiles, then forget about it.

Once the person is gone, the genitals grow cold, what's the point of being thorough..."

Watching the video, my penis was initially a little hard, but it softened more and more towards the end, and then it never got hard again.

Another scene: Soft, warm yellow sunlight streamed obliquely through the glass window in the afternoon.

Inside the room were a mimeograph machine, badges, yellowed literary newspapers, Cultural Revolution porcelain, and a large teapot with a copper handle. Off-screen ,

a loudspeaker blared the neurotic song "xxxxx is Good, is Good," accompanied by hoarse slogans and

overwhelming echoes.

The door opened, and the little vixen, wearing a red scarf, white shirt, and white skirt, walked in. She put down her military satchel, sat at the table, carefully looked in the mirror, touched her face, touched her hair, then touched her neck with infinite tenderness. She took off her white sneakers, touched her cotton socks, and excitedly smelled them—a Cultural Revolution version of Feng Xiaoqing.

She lay down on the bed, took off her white shirt, but left the red scarf on, wearing it shirtless. Her right hand went under her skirt, her left hand raised high, placed under her head as a pillow, and she impulsively smelled her left armpit while masturbating.

Her armpits were bare, with only a few light brown downy hairs. She opened her lips and groaned, lost in her own world.

The climax came, she convulsed and trembled, then fell into a deep sleep.

She was too tired, too soundly asleep, to hear the door open.

A middle-aged woman (mother? grandmother?) walked in, wearing a cleaner's uniform, rubber gloves up to her elbows, utterly exhausted. Seeing the little slut lying on the bed like this, she immediately flew into a rage, rushing over and pinning down the little slut's arms, pulling them both above her head, her large, gloved hands pinching hard until the tender arms turned white.

At this moment, a young man (brother?) returned, dressed in military green, in a bad mood. He entered and sat directly on the floor beside the bed, like a dog rushing to the little slut's white cotton socks that had just been pulled off, picking them up and smelling them. The old woman said something to him, and he frowned, untied the large copper-tipped belt from his waist, gripped it tightly in his hand, stood up irritably, tore off the red scarf from the young slut's bare neck, and used it to cross and tightly bind her two limp arms.

The old woman pinched her nipples hard, slapped her, and called her a "little slut," then went down to her lower body, pulled off the young slut's skirt and panties, forcibly spread her thighs, and savagely inserted her gloved fingers into her soft vagina, which had just reached orgasm from masturbation.

At this point, the young man began to whip the young slut's bare upper body with the large belt (had been bullied outside, and were taking it out on her at home? Everyone was venting, each venting in their own way).

The young slut screamed in pain, but also seemed to somewhat enjoy this game, because it was difficult to distinguish between pain and pleasure from her facial expressions. (Before climax, is a human's facial expression more one of pain or pleasure? Who can quantify it?)

The young man, after a while, sat down at the foot of the bed, grabbed the young woman's bare feet, and frantically sniffed, licked, pressed, and touched them.

The old woman began to insert her fingers into the young woman's anus, fiercely and continuously probing, then pulling them out and forcing her to smell them under her nose. She even forced her feces-covered fingers into her mouth and made her suck on them.

She vomited, vomiting incessantly.

The old woman began to undress. Naked, her body was wrinkled, slightly fleshy, and her breasts sagged.

The young man scooped up the sticky vomit and smeared it on the old woman's face and body. The old woman grabbed the young man's hand and greedily licked his vomit-covered fingers.

The old woman lifted her left leg onto the bed, grabbed the young man's hand, and guided him to touch her vagina, penetrate her vagina, and masturbate her.

The little slut was helplessly tied up, twisting her body, watching this scene with despair, begging them to continue.

At this moment, a middle-aged man (the father?) entered, hunched over, his expression extremely pained, as if he had just been reprimanded. Seeing the scene in the room, he came over and forcefully pressed down on the little slut's bare armpits, tickling her extremely sensitive armpits and soles of her feet.

It seemed the little slut was the entertainment center and leisure activity spot for the other family members. The whole family began to fuck her together, ravaging her in every way.

The little slut thrashed about on the bed, screaming and cursing, her body covered in sweat, tears streaming down her face in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Everyone went crazy.

The old man straddled her, performing 69, licking the nectar flowing from her vagina like an anteater, his erect penis slapping her face repeatedly, then shoving it into her mouth. She tilted her head, struggling, tightly closing her lips. The old woman pinched her nostrils shut. To breathe, she had to open her mouth. A large penis slid into her mouth.

After a while, the brother turned her over, made her kneel on the bed, untied her hands, twisted them behind her back and tied them tightly. The old woman lay under the young slut, the two women in 69. The brother forcefully pried open her anus, spat into her asshole, and inserted his fingers. After inserting them, he held his bright red penis and inserted it. After

a dozen or so thrusts, he pulled it out, and the old woman below opened her mouth. The bright red, hard penis was inserted into the old woman's open mouth, swirled around a few times, and then pulled out to insert into the young slut's asshole.

At this time, the old man went down to fuck the old woman's cunt.

Next scene: A large amount of honey-colored viscous liquid was poured onto her naked body. Thirteen black cats ran over, greedily licking the sticky liquid on her body.

A pure white Great Dane lay between her legs, its large tongue licking her fishy cunt.

The Great Dane's penis was hard and swollen. It was inserted, and it began to fuck her cunt with a squelching sound.

She moaned, "This little slut wants it so badly! Fuck me! Fuck me!"

She moaned and trembled in humiliation, her soul leaving her body as the big dog fucked her, experiencing repeated orgasms in her trembling.

Finally, the brother gave the little slut a blowjob. The little slut's tongue was incredibly skillful, her tongue technique becoming increasingly refined, and she swallowed a large amount of semen whole. Afterwards,

there was an on-site interview (with a voice-over asking questions), asking her about her feelings about filming this scene. Older women, older men, and young men sat around the little slut, panting as they watched her.

She smiled and replied, "It hurt a lot at first, but later I felt quite comfortable being tortured, I felt very secure and safe, and then when everyone was fucking me together, I really orgasmed. The dog's cock was so hot. I like being ravaged, raped, and hurt. I don't know why I feel this way..."

Seeing this, I was already sick of it. Disgusted.

Looking at the time displayed, it had only been 36 minutes. 13. There should be quite a few more to come. I took out the videotape, turned off the VCR and the TV.

I couldn't watch anymore

. Suddenly, I felt like there wasn't enough oxygen in the screening room, and I couldn't breathe. I pushed open the double-glazed window. A blast of cool, fresh air blew in from outside. It made my head feel dizzy and suffocated.

I walked out of the screening room with the videotape in my pocket and onto the carpet in the corridor.

Two young girls from the technical department walked towards me, whispering. When they looked up and saw me, they froze, their eyes filled with panic. They didn't even greet me. They

didn't even have basic manners. It seemed like they weren't planning to work there anymore .

I went into the restroom to pee. I glanced at the glass mirror unintentionally and suddenly shuddered, almost dropping the videotape onto the bathroom floor tiles.

There was a strange man in the mirror!

I risked looking again. The eyebrows and eyes looked familiar. After looking more closely, I realized that the person in the mirror was me.

But my cheekbones... My chin looks completely different now, my face is so thin, and my skin is so loose! It's hard to recognize me at first glance.

No wonder those two girls didn't dare greet me, no wonder they gave me those nasty looks.

I touched my face; it felt unfamiliar.

What happened to me? When did this start?

My back felt hot, my front felt cold, and I rushed back to my office, put the videotape in my bag, put on my coat, sunglasses, and head down as I walked out.

My assistant and the finance manager stood nearby watching me, not daring to say a word. I ignored them and walked straight out.

I started the car and called my mom while driving. I was really worried about her, afraid something might have happened.

Erguai answered.

I asked if anything was wrong. Erguai said everything was fine and then handed the phone to my mom.

I reached an intersection, turned right, and said, "Mom, is everything alright with you today?"

My mom said, "No, everything's fine. I had Erguai come with me for a walk today." "It's really cold outside today. The ground is slippery..."

I continued driving smoothly. My mother's voice sounded calm, and she was only talking about trivial things.

I said, "Mom, I won't go over today. There's something going on at the company, and I have to entertain clients tonight."

My mother said, "Entertainment clients again? Drink less. If you're going to drink, drink xxx, or drink ◇◇◇, oh right, don't forget to eat some □□□□..." (I omitted everything).

I deliberately used a strong tone to cover up my inner panic: "Mom, you're starting to nag again!"

My mother smiled and calmly said, "Mom is just nagging you. Who else would Mom nag if not you?"

That's true. Actually, at this special moment, I like to listen to my mother's nagging. When you are lucky enough to hear the nagging of someone who loves you, don't be annoyed.

Trust me. Thirty years later, when you look back on these nagging things that annoy you now (if you can still remember them), you will feel warm inside.

If the person nagging you now is no longer alive, you will regret losing your temper back then.

I said, "Okay!" "I have to go to a meeting soon. I'll hang up now."

Mom said gently, "Don't hang up, don't hang up. Let's talk a little longer." Suddenly ,

a man on a bicycle in front of me on the right suddenly turned left.

I braked sharply. My bike skidded sideways on the asphalt covered with a layer of hard ice, spinning its tail and heading straight for him, unable to stop.

The cyclist was terrified! His movements went awry, and the effect was immediate—he fell flat on his face, sprawled on the snow, looking up at me with eyes full of terror. Whether he survived or not was up to fate.

I immediately remembered the dream my little slut told me about her dad being run over, and the landlady telling me about "reporting for duty."

My bike finally stopped, with no more than eight millimeters between it and the man's body.

I was furious. Who the hell crosses the road like that in this snowy weather?! Turning without even looking! Isn't he just asking for trouble?! What if

I didn't let him? What if I used a forklift? What if I had a Tatra asleep?

I continued talking to my mother on the phone, trying to keep my tone calm and not letting my breath or voice change at all: "What are you talking about?" "

Mom asked, 'Is your meeting more important or Mom?'

Mom always manages to influence my tough self with a kind of gentle vulnerability, subconsciously making me extend that kindness to others, even strangers.

I gestured to the guy scrambling on the snow, telling him to get up and get out of there. He scrambled to his feet, picked up his bicycle, and pushed it across the road, still shaken, constantly looking back at me.

I calmly replied, 'Of course Mom is more important.'

I turned the wheel, gave it gas, and started again. "

My mother said gently, "That's more like it. Hey, what's your little one been up to these days?"

She was referring to that little slut.

I couldn't hold back any longer and said irritably, "Um, still the same, busy all day, shooting commercials."

My mother said, "Isn't that good? It's good for young people to be busy."

I said fiercely, "Alright, don't mention her to me again! I'll get angry if anyone does."

My mother laughed again and said slowly, "Look how worried my son is. He hasn't been this serious in years since the divorce.

This time, he's fallen for her at first sight."

I wanted to say, "Mom, how could you know that your son has been ruined by that little slut!"

Suddenly, I felt incredibly wronged, but I didn't dare say anything. My eyes welled up, brimming with tears, blurring my vision.

I thought about how even my appearance had changed; would my mother recognize me next time she saw me? Tears welled up even more.

I knew my mother was always worried about young, beautiful women catching my eye.

Seeing me swaggering around with young women always made my mother feel a pang of jealousy, yet she always forced a selfless facade, urging me to broaden my social circle.

On the other end of the phone, after a long silence from me, she seemed a little embarrassed and asked, "Are you really busy, or are you seeing girls?

... Shall I hang up?"

Actually, I wanted to tell her, "Mom, don't hang up, talk to me a little longer." But I was afraid she'd notice my unusual breathing, sense my distress, and worry about me.

I frowned, wiped my eyes, swallowed the bitter tears that hadn't yet flown, and forced a smile, saying, "I really have to go to a meeting, but right now I wish I could fly over and lick your urethra."

Hearing this, my mother tensed up and quickly whispered, "You're naughty! Is anyone around?"

It was another intersection. I drove cautiously, signaling left as if walking on thin ice.

I said, "Yes, my three daughters are circling around me, they haven't eaten meat for days."

Mom hurriedly said, "I'll settle the score with you when you get back. Go to your meeting. Bye."

I said, "Bye. Bye."

Mom hung up first.

I only hung up after I heard her hang up. For years, this has been my self-discipline: never hang up before Mom.

After hanging up, I focused my eyes on the road ahead, concentrated on driving, and went straight back to my apartment.

How could I face Mom like this? I'd scare her half to death again.

When I got back to my apartment, the first thing I did was look up at the ceiling. Thankfully, there were no cracks today. The ceiling that I had someone plaster smooth out last time is still white and flat.

Peace is a blessing!

I looked at myself carefully in the mirror. My face looked increasingly strange. My nose had become long and thin, elongating my entire face. Several age spots appeared, my brow bone was prominent, my eyebrows were sparse, my eye sockets were deep-set, my eye bags were puffy, the color of my eyes had lightened, the whites of my eyes were cloudy, and the edges of my pupils weren't as clear as before. My cheekbones were high, my ears were large and wrinkled, and my chin was pointed. I couldn't recognize myself in the mirror; only my head full of white hair looked familiar.

Mirrors are terrifying things. Looking at yourself too much will drive you crazy. Try staring at yourself in the mirror for forty minutes tonight.

(Even then, it won't work. You still won't understand my panic because you haven't changed much, but I have.)

I took off all my clothes and carefully examined the rest of my body. Thankfully, apart from the age spots, there were no other abnormalities.

When I showered, my hand felt strange as I touched my face, like washing the face of a strange uncle.

I got into bed, covered myself with the blanket, and didn't move. I was really tired. Exhausted, both physically and mentally. I was gripped by fear, my body limp.

I wanted a good night's sleep, but my eyelids kept opening and closing. I tossed and turned, almost going crazy, but still couldn't sleep.

I glanced at my watch: it was 3 AM. I recalled the slut's lewd actions in porn, and in the dark, I masturbated.

Three minutes passed. Five minutes passed. My penis remained erect.

I thought of my ex-wife, Teacher Xu, the mountain woman, my mother, the breastfeeding woman who said "I'm giving away my life today"...

No matter how I tried to guide my imagination, I just couldn't get an erection.

I looked at my watch again; it was 5 AM. My attempt to hypnotize myself with ejaculation had failed.

My wrists and shoulders ached. I gave up. This was the first time I'd failed at masturbation. I hoped it would be the last.

Still couldn't sleep. I lit a cigarette, remembering the time I sang with the slut, naked in the dark, in bed. Was this the time I really going to leave you? ...

I recalled all the orgasms I brought her to from the rooftop onwards, her body trembling under my hands, her secretions quivering under my lewdness, the sticky plums, the public abuse in the transparent elevator...

I remembered sharing a cigarette with her, the big bad wolf walking by the railway tracks and me dragging her away for my life, the way I tossed her sideways on the frozen lake watching her spin and drift on the icy surface...

I don't know when, but I finally fell asleep. Just as I drifted off, I saw the old immortal silently standing beside my bed.

I sat up, furious, and asked, "What happened to my face?"

The old immortal, standing beside my bed, said calmly, "Self-control is a virtue."

I said, "Oh. So you mean no matter how others bully you, you have to play the fool and pretend to be submissive, right?

I'm like this now, how can I be self-controlled?!"

The old immortal said calmly, "Child, your first pot of gold came from a dirty source. " "

I retorted, 'Whose first pot of gold was clean?! I said Qianmenlouzi, you said Dickhead. I ask you, what happened to my face?!'

The old immortal said, 'In one's lifetime, one should seize the time to atone for one's sins. Everyone is guilty. You are too.'

I said, 'Wait, wait! Explain yourself, what sins have I committed?'

The old immortal said, 'Since childhood, you've smoked, drunk, fought, cursed, and verbally abused others. These are all bad, all sins.

Not to mention your unrestrained lust, your debauchery, your insatiable lust for other men's wives and daughters, your boundless sedation, your mind filled with S&M, even defying fate, disturbing the will of heaven, and defying the spirits of the underworld.' I said, 'What the hell are these crimes? When you were young, didn't you fight and curse? You dare say you never fantasized or masturbated? A slut shouldn't be fucked.'" What! ? Why don’t you fuck me for free?

The old immortal said: "Look, instead of atonement, you are full of filthy words and rude words." If this continues, it may be difficult to send you to the Paradise. "

I said: "Fuck you uncle! I don’t give a shit about Nirvana! I am alive!

The old immortal said calmly: "My child, you are not living in this world, you are fucking this world."

I asked sincerely: "Master, shouldn't this world be fucked?" !

The old immortal said seriously: "I have no intention of arguing with you." "

I said: "I don't have time to talk nonsense to you! Change my appearance back! Hurry! "

The old immortal said: "You are doing whatever you want and you have no regrets. I didn't plan to take you, but now I have changed my mind. "

When I heard these last few words, I realized the seriousness of the problem. I asked: "What changed your mind?

The old immortal answered the question and said, "Why don't young people nowadays follow any old etiquette?" Alas! ~~"

I used my feet to pull the slippers under the bed, but I couldn't pull them away no matter how hard I tried. I anxiously pressed, "What did you change your mind about? Oh, what am I going to do about my face??"

The old immortal stared at me expressionlessly, offering no reply, and floated straight back, his sleeves billowing in the breeze.

I didn't even bother looking for slippers; I rushed towards him barefoot, grabbed his arm, and held on tight. "You bastard, if you don't explain yourself, I'm not finished with you today!" And

I actually got my grip on him!

Whose phone is ringing? One ring, two rings, three rings! Four rings, five rings, six rings! And still no answer! Damn, so annoying!

I opened my eyes and found myself sprawled on the carpet, clutching a large grilled sausage. The old immortal was long gone. I could still hear the phone ringing.

Looking around, it was broad daylight. After two more rings, I realized it was my phone ringing.

Who's so stubborn this early in the morning?! I picked up the phone and asked irritably, "Who is it?"

It was my assistant at the company, sounding nervous. "Manager A," he said, "a large group of tax officials came and are causing trouble at the company. Things don't look good."

My assistant is usually shrewd and calm, never flustered; his tone today meant something serious had happened. I frowned and said, "Damn! This is really bad."

My assistant said, "Yes, your inside help at the tax office has already taken care of it."

That's right. How much money have I spent feeding those inside help? Everyone in charge, from top to bottom, is practically rolling in money! What trouble could they possibly be causing?

I said, "This is suspicious."

My assistant said, "I don't know the details, but these are all unfamiliar faces. You'd better think of something quickly."

I said, "Okay, I understand."

I hung up the phone, mentally filtering through my business rivals, finding them all suspicious. (Here we go again!

People sometimes lose their way… see *Liezi*, Chapter 8, "Shuo Fu")

Damn it! What the hell is going on?

I splashed some cold water on my face to clear my head. Looking up, I saw my face in the mirror again, and it looked even worse.

No time for self-pity. I quickly checked the time. It was indeed early. Damn it! Whatever! I called the tax bureau chief.

It rang for ages before finally being answered. I heard a strange voice: "Hello? Who is this?"

My heart raced, and I blurted out, "You son of a bitch, where did you steal this phone?!"

The other person calmly replied, "My father is in the hospital. I'm here with him in the ward. He can't speak right now."

I quickly apologized, saying I was a good friend of the bureau chief. (Surname omitted)

I asked, "Is it serious? What happened?"

He said, "Late-stage stomach cancer. The doctor said the prognosis isn't good."

I said, "I'm coming right now. Tell me which hospital, which ward..."

He said, "Thank you, but you don't need to come, really. My father doesn't recognize anyone anymore. I won't bother you. If you have official business, you can contact the new director."

I said, "Okay, I called your father when he woke up, to say hello and wish him a speedy recovery."

The call ended. I knew: all the previous efforts were for nothing.

Old K Coffee.

Old K saw me, paused, took a cigarette and came over, sat down, lit a cigarette, and said, "Authentic, not bad."

I asked, "What's not bad?"

He calmly said, "Your easy-going manner is not bad, no big beard."

When you don't want a drinking buddy to share your burdens, it's actually quite painful.

I took the opportunity to back down, saying, "Not bad, right?"

He said, "Not bad."

I said, "Since you recognized me, I'll have to tidy myself up when I get back."

He took a puff of his cigarette and said, "I usually don't lend money to others. I'll make an exception for you."

I was taken aback and asked him, "Who borrowed money from you?"

He said, dumbfounded, "You. Aren't you going to run away? How much cash do you need? Just say it, it's okay."

I asked, "Why would I run away?"

He asked, "If you're not going to run away, why are you disguised like this?"

I was speechless. How could I explain it to him? Tell the truth? Who would believe that? Would you believe it if it were you? Sometimes, the truth sounds like a lie, and a lie sounds like the truth.

I said, "In this life, we're all on the run, just on different paths."

He clicked his tongue and nodded, as if he really understood.

I said, "We've never spent money together, and we never will, don't worry."

He changed the subject: "You told the young girl you sell jewelry? You're something else, practically a writer."

I said, "Go to hell! You're the writer!"

He said, "Why would a writer hire you? So many people are desperate to become writers."

I said, "I'm not a writer."

He said, "Why not?"

I said, "I despise writers. They work like laborers and get no credit. Lots of readers, few who care, it's like a charade. Can I take a nap when I have a spare moment?"

He said, "Sure."

Sometimes, his seemingly simple-minded nature can lull people into a false sense of security, making strangers mistake him for a genuinely naive fool.

The waiter respectfully brought my strong coffee and then left.

I asked, "Do you know the ◆ Bureau is about to fail?"

He said, "Yes."

I muttered to myself, "My life is so hard." Who's having a hard life? Let me tell you, myself.

He said, "Hey! What's so bad about his life? He's done his fair share of shady things. He's taken more bribes and ripped off more girls than anyone else. But then again, dying in the hospital is better than being caught. How much more miserable is that deadbeat in the bureau?"

I didn't care about that. I asked, "So who's the new tax bureau chief?"

He said, "△△△." (Name omitted)

I asked, "Who??"

He said, "His father, the bandit."

I said, "Never heard of him."

He said, "There are many you haven't heard of."

I asked, "Which faction does he belong to?" (I realized that even as an adult, I still unconsciously use simple childhood language.)

He said, "No faction, but he has powerful backing."

I asked, "Who's his backing?"

He said, "The all-powerful, iron-fisted, and invulnerable patriarch."

I asked, "Can you even speak to him?"

He said, "Hmm... we met by chance, strangers."

I knew this guy would back down at times like this. That's Old K's usual style.

I said, "Oh. Never mind then."

I frowned, pondering how to revive the company.

He changed the subject, saying, "Hey~ Hey buddy, can you dye your hair? It looks really weird.

Don't you think it's awful?"

I said, "No."

He asked me, "Have you seen the video?"

His tone was flat, like asking, "Have you eaten it?"

I said, "Yeah."

He asked, "It's a domestically produced, uncensored video with your face showing. It's not bad, is it?"

I cut to the chase: "Who gave it to you?"

He said, "None of your business. You don't know them anyway."

I asked, "Can I buy it? Have they burned it onto discs?"

He lazily replied, "The xx has already arrived, so how far away is the GC?"

I silently took a puff of my cigarette.

Yeah, the beta is already out, burning discs is a piece of cake, right? What do I want to do? Buy all the discs? Buy the exclusive rights?

He patted my shoulder, with the typical scoundrel's fake chivalry, and advised me, "Think positively! What are women anyway? Women are just cunts! What are women thinking about all day with their cunts clenched?"

I asked, "Yeah, what are women thinking about?"

He said, "Just two things."

I asked, "What two things?"

He spoke with the confidence of an expert, "Who gets fucked, and how they get fucked." "

I said, 'That director really dares to call people by name. These young people these days!'

He said, 'Oh, what did you say? That guy is a pioneer of underground films, a soul and spiritual leader of modern art, famous and has won many awards! People abroad are lining up to buy his works.'

I said, 'That bastard? He can win awards with his head slammed shut?'

He said, 'You're smart but stupid. Only stupid people take things seriously. In this world, the more someone's head is slammed shut, the more awards they get. It's like that both domestically and internationally, don't you know? I think your head really should be slammed shut too, otherwise it's a waste of your talent.'

I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up, saying, 'Come with me!'

He said, 'I have a meeting later!'

I said, 'I don't care!'

I put him in the passenger seat, and I drove, crunching through the snow, carefully keeping my tail between my legs." (Or, to borrow ymh's "original words" from Lao Luo: "Living with your dick between your legs"...)

The sky suddenly darkened, and by 11 a.m. it was as dark as dusk.

Forty million tons of snow piled up overhead, the haze as black as ink! It looked like this the day Liu Hulan was executed (at least that's how it was depicted in the comic book).

Finally, we arrived at the artists' village.

Following Lao K's directions, we drove through the narrow alleys between dozens of abandoned factory buildings, finally stopping in front of y9u3x's studio and turning off the engine.

Several large motorcycles were parked at the entrance.

We got out of the car. Lao K started making a phone call. I carefully surveyed the surroundings.

The abandoned factory building was about 13 meters high and 200 meters long. The newly painted red iron gate was tightly closed, and the gray brick walls were sprayed with colorful paint cans, looking like a flowerpot. Glass windows only started appearing eight meters above the wall. The passageway between the factory buildings and the front row was narrow, with piles of oddly shaped scrap metal and over four hundred empty beer bottles neatly stacked like a small pyramid. (Is this considered a carefully crafted work of art?)

A moment later, the large iron gate opened, and the slut walked out, a cheap cigarette dangling from her lips.

She greeted Old K; seeing me, she paused, then used an exaggeratedly high voice to mask her inner terror, saying, "Damn! You look completely different! If it weren't for your white hair, I wouldn't recognize you!"

Looking at this bitch, recalling the naked "Sister Aqing" in the videotape, and then thinking of the first time I saw her on the rooftop, I said with a double meaning, "I almost didn't recognize you either."

In this cold weather, her top was too short, and she wore trendy low-rise jeans—a typical slut's outfit. She was already showing. Her belly was bulging, her large skin exposed.

I noticed a cross tattoo on her stomach, the intersection of which was right at her navel. She had dark circles under her eyes, making her look like a total Edward Scissorhands. A country bumpkin version.

She saw the car behind me and exclaimed excitedly, "You changed cars again? You're awesome!"

Old K said, "He didn't change. This is his first car."

The little slut said, "Damn, this car is awesome! What's it called? I've never seen it before!"

Seeing this, Old K quickly came over to laugh it off, "Ah, he... hey... aren't you cold? Wearing so little..."

The little slut ignored him, circling my car, and when she saw the license plate, she exclaimed again, "Wow!

So many 8s! You're pretty wild!"

A group of slovenly young men, smelling the car, gathered from all corners, their numbers growing larger and larger. (You've all seen Zhao Zhx's narration of "Animal World," right?)

I glanced at Old K and saw that he had unknowingly hidden behind the "Hyena Gang," alertly watching his surroundings.

The "Hyena Gang" of young artists are all sleazy and unkempt, dressed in bizarre clothes, with blue faces and fangs, their hair either growing long like wild men or shaved like bastards.

Then look at me, a vibrant thirty-year-old in the prime of my life, with a full head of silver hair, thick eyebrows, and a dark complexion. I look like either a respected underworld boss starting to go down on his luck, or someone who's filming a silly period drama and hasn't even taken off his makeup before trying to act like a big shot. A group of usirdos said to me, "Can you stop being so loud?"

The little slut, with her belly sticking out, proudly introduced her to everyone, saying, "This is my big brother from the underworld! My big brother is awesome! Back in the day, he went to the 'gangster' all by himself, carrying two axes in his belt!"

I quickly covered her mouth and awkwardly said to the group of oddballs, "Hehe, let's not talk about past glories, let's not talk about past glories."

The little slut struggled free, gave me a thumbs-up, and said to the group of oddballs who surrounded her, "Come here and call me 'big brother'!"

The group of oddballs bowed and called her "big brother" in a haphazard manner.

Hearing a girl talking about the underworld in front of outsiders made me feel uneasy.

I've been through it all myself, but I think men and women should use two different languages. Am I getting old?

I took out the videotape from my pocket and waved it at her.

When she saw the videotape, her domineering attitude softened slightly, and she turned to the artsy young man and said, "Go buy me a pack of cigarettes."

The group of usirdos scattered, leaving only the three of us.

I faced the little slut.

Old K leaned against the gray brick wall, put on sunglasses, took out a piece of chewing gum, unwrapped it, and started chewing, her head still darting around alertly.

I asked her, "How much do you get paid by the gang for making a pornographic film?"

She retorted fluently, "What for? To check taxes?"

I persisted, "How much do you get paid by the gang for making a pornographic film?"

She softened a bit and said, "Well, it varies, depending on the plot."

I got impatient and asked, "You've made several?"

She said, "Ah. What are you doing? Jealous?"

Old K took three steps away, took out her phone, and started playing with it.

I glared at her and yelled, "Are you stupid or just desperate for money? Are you risking your life for money?"

She said, "Look at you! You think I'm being loud? Why are you yelling at me like that? I finally found my career.

This is my career! You understand? This is art!"

I said, "Aren't you disgusted? There are some diseases you can't get; if you get them, you're dead."

She said, "Why am I so unlucky? I'm already unlucky enough."

I sighed and said, "You're in charge of your life, but you're different from others, remember that!"

She asked, "How am I different?"

I said, "You have hemorrhoids, you have to be careful."

She laughed and said, "Alright! Look at you nagging! Hey, you know what? I'm buying a car too! I saw one I liked, what's it called again? I think it's something like 'Si'~"

Humiliation had no effect on her—she had lost all sense of shame. Kind words were useless—she hated being lectured.

I handed my car keys to Old K, pushed open the door, and stepped into the y9u3x studio. The little slut quickly stopped me, saying, "Wait! We're filming right now. Director ■ is in a bad mood."

I asked, "Your scene?"

She said, "Yeah~ I'm in it, but not right now. We've filmed nine takes already, and it's still not done." ("Done"

means passed or barely passed, indicating that the director's requirements have been met, and the next scene can be filmed.)

Old K knew what I was thinking and said to the little slut, "I came all this way to see you, and you just make us stand outside?"

I said, "Really, rude, ill-mannered."

Saying this, I pushed open the large iron gate without any room for argument and went into the factory. The little slut followed me in. Old K stayed outside.

It was very cold inside the factory! Thick, black electrical wires tangled together like black snakes on the cement floor. A group of young artists were busily working.

I recognized the bandit first. He was easy to spot—short, fat, the kind who always had a hearty appetite, extremely obese, practically neckless. But today, he looked rather pathetic, sitting listlessly in a corner, watching the central scene. In

the central scene, under the white lights, the actress stood pitifully, topless, with a pale blue, semi-transparent scarf wrapped around her lower body.

The background was a large curtain covered with acrylic paintings of skulls, ghosts, and other grotesque, blood-soaked figures.

I felt like I'd seen this scene before! Where? I couldn't remember. Maybe in a dream… Next to him, poking around the table, was a tall, muscular man in jeans, with a gleaming bald head—not shaved, but without follicles. And

that magnificent beard on his chin! Thick, black, and dense; it seemed all the hair that should have been on his head had grown onto his chin.

I asked the little slut, "Is that the stupid director?"

She nodded, speechless. Even she had her moments!

The stupid director, hands on hips, brows furrowed, yelled at the assistant cameraman, "I finally got some tears, and you're still not focused?! You worthless piece of trash!"

The tripod and camera stood coldly. The assistant cameraman slumped dejectedly. A long-haired savage quickly went over and whispered something to the stupid director.

Just then, a young man came running up, panting, and handed the little slut a pack of cigarettes, whispering something in her ear while his bright eyes were fixed on me.

The little slut was a little surprised after hearing this, then looked at me warily.

What was he babbling about? Good things shouldn't be said behind someone's back. I cautiously turned my head to look around. I didn't see anything suspicious.

The stupid director was still angry, continuing to hurl insults.

Old K kicked open the iron gate, his face tense. He spread his index and middle fingers and crossed them vertically to form a "well" shape.

This sign language was a tacit understanding between us, something we'd known for years—it meant,

"Get out of here!" Sensing imminent danger, I turned and ran. The little slut grabbed my hand and whispered, "Didn't you want to see the footage of me?"

I shook her off and strode quickly out of the iron gate. The car was already moving; Old K was in the driver's seat, nervously checking the rearview mirror.

I climbed into the passenger seat, rolled down the electric window, and said reluctantly to the little slut, "Be careful.

How's the food and lodging here?"

The little slut opened her mouth and said something, but I couldn't hear her. I only heard the wind! The car, trailing smoke, whooshed and sped several hundred meters.

The gray factory buildings rushed past me. The car howled and swerved left and right in the narrow alley, like a madman.

I turned to Old K and asked, "What's wrong?"

His face was ashen, his eyes fixed on the road, and he didn't answer.

I asked, "What's wrong with you? Did you see a ghost?"

He said, "Yes."

The car sped out of the artists' village and onto the highway. Old K's breathing hadn't calmed down yet.

The engine roared even louder. The car was practically flying. I was certain all four wheels were off the ground. I glanced at the center console; the speed was already 200 kilometers per hour.

I said, "Hey! Watch out. There are

cameras up ahead." He acted as if he hadn't heard me, continuing to floor the accelerator, his eyes frantically scanning the rearview mirror. I looked back. There were no cars behind us!

What was wrong with Old K?

I looked at him, lit a cigarette, and placed it between his lips. He drove nervously, taking a thirsty drag, as if this was his last puff.

One big drag! Half the cigarette was gone.

Another big drag, and only the filter was left. I rolled down the window, removed the filter from between his lips, and threw it outside. The wind was too strong. I quickly rolled up the window.

I asked, "What did you see? What happened?"

His face was stiff, and his voice was strange as he said, "Never come to this place again!"

I asked, "What happened?"

He stared intently ahead and said, "I'll tell you later."

I turned on my hazard lights and said, "Pull over now!"

He said, "I can't stop now!"

He continued to floor the accelerator.

I felt sorry for my car; his pressing the accelerator felt like stepping on my heart, but I didn't say anything more. He must have seen something terrifying.

I'd recently experienced that chilling feeling (like encountering a "black cotton monkey"), so I thought I could understand him.

Finally, we reached our familiar exit.

He pulled out. On the side road, the car finally slowed down. After coasting for a while, the car finally stopped. I turned the key to turn off the engine and took the key out.

I turned to look at him.

In the dead of winter, his face was covered in cold sweat, his body was exhausted, and he was soaking wet, looking exactly like a drowning person just pulled from a swimming pool, with murky sweat dripping down his nose.

His hands were trembling uncontrollably, and his face was deathly pale. I unbuttoned his shirt. His shirt was completely soaked!

I asked, "Shall we go to the hospital?"

He said, "No... don't go! Don't go!"

I asked, "Back to your place?"

He nodded.

I struggled to get him into the passenger seat and drove him home.

When we arrived at his villa area, I helped him out of the car and into the villa.

His place was full of DVDs, 20,000 of them. He slumped onto the large sofa, looking like a giant squid washed ashore, or a god whose tendons had been pulled out.

I took out some wine, filled both glasses, and gave him one. He gulped it down and wanted more. I filled it again, and he drank that too.

He said, "I was just in the artists' village, and I spoke with Master Zhou Yi on the phone. He asked me to tell him the location, the more detailed the better."

I asked, "What did the master say?"

He replied, "After he arrived, he said, 'Get out of there! It's unclean.' I said, 'What do you mean?' He said, 'Half of the people around you are dead human figures!'"

I felt a chill run down my spine and said, "What?! Really?"

He said, "I quickly looked at them. Damn! They all had shadows!"

The old saying goes that ghosts have no shadows, but nowadays it's hard to say. Technology advances by leaps and bounds.

Which of those things in porn are ghosts? Can ghosts be projected? Things are unpredictable.

At that moment, my molars and buttocks felt numb, and my entire back along my spine was icy cold.

I said, "Take me tomorrow, let the master take a look at me."

He said, "He doesn't usually look at people. He doesn't look at strangers anymore."

I said, "It's okay, take me. Practice makes perfect."

He said, "Oh, I told you, he doesn't look at people anymore!"

I asked, "Why?"

He said, "Because he looked at too many people, now he's blind and has a bunch of strange illnesses."

I knew that secrets shouldn't be revealed, or they would bring divine retribution. I poured him another drink and asked, "Tell me~"

He tacitly gave me the answer: "Huh?"

For years, it's always been the same, no progress.

I said, "Do you think my little slut is still alive?"

Old K gulped down a big mouthful of wine, wiped his mouth, and ignored me.

I continued, "If she's not dead yet, I need to tell her to leave that place right away. Besides..."

He interrupted me, unable to bear it any longer, saying, "Listen to me, stop thinking about her. She's definitely a vixen, a menace.

Stay away from her!"

I said, "Are you sure?"

He looked up at me strangely, pointed at me with his cigarette between his fingers, and said angrily, "Take a piss and look at yourself!

You've been turned into this slut and you still can't let her go?!"

Yeah, right. I hadn't even had a chance to tell him about my messy work situation yet. I said, "Okay, I'll listen to you, alright?"

We drank bottle after bottle, the more we drank, the more we talked, and the more we enjoyed the wine.

He said, "Women can't bring you money or social status. Women spend the money you earn and lower your image in your buddies' eyes. Don't take women too seriously!"

I said, "But I'm not gay, I just like women."

He said, "Just play around, but you have to be able to let go."

I said, "I disagree. If you don't care about women, you'll never get deep enjoyment."

He said, "What deep enjoyment? Is deep enjoyment proportional to your investment?!"

I said, "No, it's not. So you haven't invested enough."

He said, "When a person gets really masochistic, there's no stopping them!"

I said, "Dad... " Dad picking up and dropping off his middle school son is being a jerk. Mom washing clothes for her high school daughter is being a jerk. Walking the dog is being a jerk to the dog. Cheating is being a jerk to the fish. Writers are being a jerk to their readers. Drivers are being a jerk to PetroChina and Sinopec. Dancers are being a jerk to their practice mirrors. Audiences are being a jerk to actors. Actors are being a jerk to directors. Archaeologists are being a jerk to history. Foot fetishists are being a jerk to the Queen's feet. Pregnant women are being a jerk to their unborn children. Everyone is actually being a jerk. Love is being a jerk. He said, "Wrong! Being a jerk at the right time, in the right place, and to the right person is love; being a jerk at the wrong time, in the wrong place, and to the wrong person is perversion."

I drank my wine in silence, no longer arguing with him.

Actually, he was wrong. There is only one kind of jerk in the world. If you're being a jerk, it means you're in love. Love is always being a jerk. Love = perversion!

It's a good thing for someone to have ambition but keep it hidden.

It's sweet for someone to have a secret pursuit but keep it buried deep inside.

He couldn't understand my heart. He couldn't understand the tacit understanding between my mother and me. He couldn't understand my tenderness for that little slut.

No one can truly understand another. It's always been that way.

I woke up to bright daylight, lying in my apartment bed. I immediately recalled yesterday's terrifying ordeal.

But how did I drive from Old K's villa back to my apartment after drinking last night? Which route did I take? I couldn't remember a thing.

I got up and looked in the mirror. Good heavens! My face looked even more grotesque. My eyebrows, nose, eyes, mouth—everything was completely different.

Remembering what the old fortune teller had said, I immediately scanned every corner of the apartment warily.

My mind was filled with thoughts of that little slut. She's heavily pregnant now, and I've abandoned her in some haunted, dilapidated factory. How could I be so heartless? But Old K's words yesterday also made some sense.

At the company, the tax issues still needed to be resolved. But how could I go to the company looking like this?

I called my assistant and learned that the tax officials had said they might come back at any time.

I called my mother, said good morning, and learned that everything was fine, which put my mind at ease for now.

I said, "I need to talk to you about something. Give Erguai double his wages and let him hide for a while."

Mom tensed up, immediately realizing something was wrong, and pressed me for details. I didn't say much, just that Erguai should leave before noon. I'll come to your place this afternoon to talk to you.

That afternoon, I unlocked the door. Erguai was really gone.

When Mom saw me, she was stunned. Terror struck her like lightning, piercing through her body from the top of her head.

Mom's eyes were wide open, the whites of her eyes filled with black pupils. I had never seen Mom's eyes so wide.

I briefly told her what the old sage had said about "capturing" me.

Mom went straight to the kitchen, but I stopped her, saying, "It's no use. When the time comes, nothing will work."

Mom asked, "Then what should we do?"

I said, "Before they come, let's do it one more time!"

I lifted the mattress, leaving only the iron springs on the bed frame.

I threw Mom, naked, onto the springs and tied her long hair to them. Thus, her head was firmly fixed in place. I raped her vagina.

My mother kissed my ear and my face, breathing hot air and moaning softly, "Fuck me suī- suī~~ Fuck it! Fuck it!"

I rubbed my mother's urethra with my fingers.

My mother straightened her neck and moaned, "Mmm~~ Ah... Yes~~ Fuck me suī- suī... Ugh! Ah..."

I inserted three fingers into my mother's urethra.

My mother said, "It's so itchy inside, an excruciating itch. What's wrong with me? I feel like I've wasted all those years."

My mother had now become a shameless, hot, fleshy hole.

I licked my right middle finger wet and then gently inserted it into my mother's urethra.

As mentioned before, my mother's urethra was looser than most women's, gradually forming a second soft vagina.

Mom arched her back, her taut lips emitting a hissing sound: "Hiss... Ah... Yes... Fuck my pissing hole... Fuck your cock in! Fuck Mom!"

I thrust my big cock into Mom's urethra.

Mom's moans turned into high-pitched screams. An orgasm flashed like lightning across her ravaged pelvis.

This sight excited me, because I saw a dutiful housewife transformed into a wanton prostitute beneath me.

I held Mom and fucked her wildly. Both of us were like we had no tomorrow.

Gravity accelerated, and we fell faster and faster. Dizziness! The kind of dizziness you get in a plane crash. Surging and surging.

I ejaculated.

Hot semen shot hard into Mom's urethra.

I finished ejaculating, and I thought I heard the footsteps of a man in black approaching. I looked up at the window and screamed desperately, "You motherfucker! Come on, if you dare!"

There was no response from outside.

My mother looked up at the window, then at me, and said mischievously like a high school student, "Next time you want to sleep with your mother, you don't need to make up this kind of excuse."

I said wisely, "Yeah."

My mother said, "That's kind of scary."

I said, "Oh."

Why explain?

It's good to be a woman (able to linger a little longer in lies).

After ejaculating, a man's mental state is very similar to that of someone who's drunk, especially bold. I'm fearless now. Come on.

In the distance, someone is playing Liu Huan's "The Helplessness of Love."

Love is no longer like it was in the days of first love; love only exists in memories, silently anticipated.

My love no longer blossoms, no longer has romantic verses, and no longer has passionate confessions. My love has been bleached by life, buried by busyness, and has long since become very real.

Love has forgotten the surging of my heart; love can only linger quietly in my heart.

My love no longer shines, no longer whispers sweet nothings, nor does it hold jealousy or hurt. My love is covered by the dust of the world, shaped by time, and has long since become helpless. The song grows ever more distant, ever more ethereal.

I held my mother, and we slept soundly in bed together.

Nothing was said that night. The next morning, I drove straight to the artists' village.

I have a good memory for directions. Following my memory, I arrived there, got out of the car, lit a cigarette, and sucked on it blankly, my expression vacant, like a baby in its mother's arms, full but still sucking on a nipple.

There were no abandoned factories; as far as the eye could see, there was only a huge pit, covering approximately 200,000 square meters.

An excavator was churning and digging at the bottom of the pit. Where the large shovel scraped, stark white bones were revealed.

This was clearly a mass grave.

06-01
24:

There were no abandoned factories in the garden, only a huge pit, covering about 200,000 square meters.

An excavator was churning at the bottom. Where the shovel scraped, stark white bones were revealed.

This was clearly a mass grave.

I remember the last thing I said to that little slut was, "Be more careful. How's your food and lodging here?"

She opened her mouth and said something, but I didn't hear her. I only heard the wind. Old K was completely out of his mind, just flooring the gas pedal and scrambling forward.

I heard Old K's words from last night again: "...Listen to me, stop thinking about her. She's definitely a vixen, a menace. Stay away from her! You've been seduced by her and you still can't let her go?!" A

chilling wind howled. I shuddered, threw away my cigarette butt, got into the car, and turned the key clockwise.

Please, please! "Don't let it fail again!"

Thankfully, the engine started. I floored the gas.

Off I went! The car left the rut.

After a series of twists and turns, I got onto the highway. Not a single car on the highway! Damn! This is insane! Is this the city I live in? It's clearly a hundred years after a nuclear explosion!

I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw a black Audi A8 appear on the empty road, following me.

At first, the distance wasn't too close, about twenty or thirty meters, so I didn't think much of it. But then I gradually realized it was up to no good. I moved to the left lane, it moved to the left. I moved to the middle lane, it moved to the middle lane. I eased off the gas, it eased off the gas. It went as fast as I went.

I couldn't shake it off. I was really uncomfortable.

While driving, I dialed my assistant's number. The call went through, but the call was disconnected.

I moved to the slowest lane, watching the rearview mirror. He also moved to the slowest lane.

A gust of cold wind whistled past my ears, like the car window was open. I checked, and all the car windows were tightly closed.

I looked in the rearview mirror. The A8 was approaching me. I looked closer; it had no license plate.

After two agonizing minutes, the phone rang. It was my assistant.

I asked, "How's it going over there?"

My assistant lowered his voice, panting like a machine gun, and said, "Mr. A, I'm in the restroom. Our company has been

shut down, assets frozen, a special task force from above has moved in, starting with bad debts. A storm is brewing, they're up

to no good, a wise man doesn't fight a losing battle, Mr. A,

you'd better hide!" His words were jumbled. The "calm and collected" attitude I had always taught him was completely forgotten. Was this the assistant I had carefully trained? Was disaster really imminent?

I stared in the rearview mirror. The A8 was only ten meters away. I asked my assistant, "Hide? Do you have any suggestions?"

My assistant said, "Why don't you fly to Rio? I'll book you a ticket. The earliest flight departure time is..."

Years of walking the razor's edge, my number one principle: handle safety matters yourself. Things that need to be kept secret, I won't tell a second person, no matter how good the personal relationship.

Besides, if something happens in the air, I'm there for everyone. Ground transportation makes me feel more secure.

I said, "I'll handle it myself."

My assistant said in a somber tone, "Take care, Mr. A."

He hadn't forgotten the "don't ask too many questions" principle I taught him.

After hanging up, I still couldn't concentrate on driving. Who did I offend at the tax bureau? Who above me is targeting me?

I know my company has countless bad debts and loopholes (which company isn't?), so I went to great lengths to smooth things over with the tax bureau.

Now it seems the situation has changed? Who did I provoke? Whose interests did I infringe? Whose path did I block? I'm completely at a loss.

Is it the former director of the tax bureau's enemy? Or is the new tax bureau official using my company as an example to make an example of others?

Damn it, bad luck can't be blamed on anyone.

I stared at the rearview mirror. The A8 was still right next to me. I glanced at the road sign. Ahead was the KZ exit (name omitted).

I floored the accelerator, drove in the fastest lane, and pretended to go straight. Just a tenth of a second before the exit, I swerved the wheel and pulled the car out.

Still shaken, I glanced in the rearview mirror. The A8, sluggish and smoking, had almost tipped over, but it had followed me out and was still relentlessly pursuing.

I resolutely plunged onto RFY Street, then dove into DHX Alley (name omitted).

I zigzagged left and right, right and left, weaving through the crowd like an eel, seemingly effortlessly.

It looked like the guy behind me lacked experience in stalking through alleys. He quickly lost me.

Having finally shaken off the A8, I didn't dare relax for a second, continuing my frantic maneuvering in the alley. In alley counter-surveillance, you must always be alert.

The general direction is always 90 degrees to the left, 90 degrees to the right, 90 degrees to the left again, and 90 degrees to the right, always maintaining a forward angle .

Visually, it's like this:

└┐In

an alley, if you want to counter-surveillance, go for your own death┌┐

┘

(

This is the general rule; there might be exceptions, like a fool encountering Forrest Gump).

Finally, after several minutes without seeing the A8, I secretly exhaled a breath of relief, but dared not relax my driving skills for a moment, continuing my desperate escape.

Driving out of the dense, spiderweb-like alleyway, the menacing black A8 still lingered in my rearview mirror, my heart pounding with anxiety.

I wasn't sure if I'd completely shaken off my pursuer. Years of experience (and lessons learned) had taught me: in times like this, I couldn't go home, couldn't talk to friends.

I couldn't go back to the company, couldn't go back to my apartment, couldn't go back to my mother's, and couldn't go see Old K. Who was the mastermind behind this? Could it be Old K? He was acting so suspiciously, but what good would it do him to kill me? It's not that I didn't understand; people change so quickly.

In the snow-covered streets, I drove anxiously, pacing back and forth.

Putting myself in his shoes: if I received a death order to follow him to the end, what would I do? Change cars and keep following?

As I drove, I nervously watched every car behind me through my rearview mirror, memorizing each license plate, its features, and the location and time it started following me. I suspected each car first, then used a process of elimination to rule them out one by one.

Before an hour had even passed, I was completely exhausted.

I glanced at the clock inside the car: 11:30. I saw a large state-owned auto repair shop on my right. I swerved the wheel and pulled in.

In the service room, I handed over the keys and said I needed maintenance: oil change and cross-stud tire rotation. (Again, cross-stud tires.

)

The receptionist was a madam, with soft hair and gentle eyes, looking very docile. I secretly love soft-spoken women, soft hair, and gentle eyes. If I encounter one, I'm sure to feel a connection.

After registering, I asked her for a car so I could "drive it for now."

She said, "Sorry, we don't have your kind of car."

I said, "That's okay. Any car will do. Do you have a 2020?"

She looked at me, a simple smile flashing across her lips, and quickly lowered her head to continue with the various procedures. No

matter how average a woman's appearance is, as long as she smiles at you, she's always pleasing to the eye. Those who like docile types will feel their hearts warm at the sight of a woman's docile smile.

I noticed that her fingers, which were typing on the computer keyboard, didn't have many wrinkles, and she wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

She meticulously completed all the formalities for me, then walked ahead with the keys, while I followed behind like a male dog. Her butt was so narrow. How did she give birth? It must have been a C-section. We chatted as we walked.

I said, "Your fingernails are quite beautiful. I work for a nail magazine. My colleagues are always complaining about not being able to find good models.

I told them they don't put in the effort. Beauty is all around us, but if you don't have an artistic eye to discover it, no matter how beautiful

a woman's fingernails and toenails

are, it's all for nothing." She laughed again, this time sweetly, and said, "What are you saying? Are you just sweet-talking me? My daughter is already taller than me."

As she spoke, she couldn't help but look at her own fingernails.

I've discovered that when you're truly relaxed, you feel incredibly at ease, even if you're a wolf in sheep's clothing. Non-action leads to good governance; being free from desires makes one invincible.

I said, "A woman is in her prime at forty, the perfect age. This outfit fits you well, very tasteful. Where did you buy it? I'll buy one for my wife too."

Hearing the compliment and serious inquiry from a married man, she relaxed, feeling like an expert, and said, "Bought it at the 'Bullshit Dynasty' store, fourth floor." (The location is fictional! Even an idiot knows that.)

I said, "Oh. I wonder if they have larger sizes there. My wife is more... well, you know."

She said, "Oh, maybe... Your wife is lucky. I bought mine myself."

I suddenly asked, "Why do you smell so bad?"

My face was expressionless, my tone extremely flat, as if I were asking: Why is the weather so dirty today?

She turned to look at me, her expression fiercely conflicted, a mixture of anger, excitement, shock, and shyness; her eyes seemed to be clashing with over a hundred different emotions, sparks flying, like a supernova explosion.

I saw her face quickly turn red, her lips opening and closing, her tongue stuttering, constantly struggling.

To be honest, I wasn't very interested in her. I was open to either.

If she wants to act like a jerk, I might just indulge her and use her cunt to calm myself down. If she gets so angry she faints, I don't care; she's just a madam, so what if she faints?

She hesitated for a long time, then asked me in a low voice, "You can smell it?" (The emphasis is on "you").

Actually, I couldn't smell anything, but I nodded and casually replied, "Yeah, I can smell it. It's strong."

("Strong" specifically refers to a strong odor.)

She whispered, "I'm getting my period. I can smell it myself down there, it's pretty awful~"

I said, "It's not awful. Some male dogs like this kind of slutty smell, like me."

At this point, we were completely open with each other, like longtime lovers.

Courtesy is like amniotic fluid; normally, the cunt is tightly contracted, a hypocrite, a sanctimonious beast, but once it's broken, it immediately leaks out. The tighter it's usually held, the more violently it collapses.

Men are all male dogs, women are all sluts. There are no exceptions. It's said that gay men are divided into male dogs and sluts. Lesbians are the same.

She said, "Nonsense. How awful is it?"

I said, "I'm not talking nonsense."

She said, "I've never met anyone who likes this smell."

I said, "That only proves one thing: you haven't met enough people."

She glanced at me but didn't say anything.

I asked, "Is today your 'second day of heavy flow'?"

She said, "How do you know everything? You devil."

By this time, she had led me to the yard outside the factory, where no one was around.

She walked to a car, unlocked it, and opened the door. It was a domestic car; I'm too lazy to mention the brand—a company that started by imitating others, and now they're laughing all the way to the bank.

I didn't say anything, took the keys, got in, and checked the car's condition. It was alright; the tank was full.

She bent down outside the car and told me, "Don't forget to fill up the gas tank when you come back."

I said, "Don't go. I need to test if you have brakes."

She pointed to an empty area inside the shop and said softly, "You can go for a spin in there."

I said, "I need to drive it out and give it a good run. Get in."

She looked at me, hesitating, weighing the risks and the odds in her mind. Adventure is a great human instinct, but unfortunately, it's been almost completely worn down by the nine-to-five monogamous lifestyle.

She was standing barefoot on the edge of morality and passion. The wind outside picked up. She started to sway.

I said frankly, "I'm a bad guy."

She said, puzzled, "Well, you're so good to your wife."

I played hard to get: "Okay, don't get in. What if there are no brakes? It'll ruin both of us."

She opened the passenger door, got in, and said, "Don't be so confident." Bang, she slammed the door shut.

I was expressionless and stepped on the gas. The car sped happily out of the repair shop gate.

I had just stepped out of the gate and run a short distance when a black Audi A8 came towards me, with a regular license plate.

Anyone can change license plates. I slammed into the inner A8, heading straight for it. The distance between us was closing, and we were about to collide, but I kept accelerating. The woman next to me covered her face with her hands and screamed.

I knew that if the inner A8 was "clean," he would panic and definitely swerve. If he was targeting me, if he had professional training, I could tell.

Through our windshields, I saw the driver inside looking completely innocent. He was already panicked. I continued to smile and accelerate, staring intently at the driver's face as I slammed the gas pedal into him.

Amidst a sharp scream, the A8 in the opposite direction swerved sharply to the right, its body moving like a fish. At the closest moment, it was only a centimeter from my left rearview mirror.

I continued to accelerate straight and came to a stop. The driver jumped out of the door, cursing my mother at my back.

It seemed that someone else had been following me that morning.

The madam, sitting in the passenger seat, was completely disoriented, shouting all the way, "Stop!"

I raised my knee high, exaggeratedly mimicking slamming on the brakes, and yelled in terror, "The brakes are gone!"

She screamed and pounded her chest.

I made several turns, veer from the main road onto a dirt road, then sped off the dirt road, stumbling and crashing into the woods. I checked the rearview mirror; no car was following us.

I parked the car safely on the grass behind the bushes. This was a desolate area, surrounded by mounds of earth and dense trees and bushes, so no one could see us. It seemed safe.

I didn't turn off the engine, unbuckled my seatbelt, and said, "Hehe, the brakes are back."

Looking at her, her lips were pale.

I seriously protested, "They really were gone just now."

She believed me, saying, "You scared me to death! You really scared me to death!"

She was still deeply shaken. I grinned. I couldn't bear to torment her any longer.

She punched my shoulder hard: "You're so mean! How could you do this?"

I grabbed her fist: "Calm down, calm down. I told you I'm a bad person, but you wouldn't believe me."

After the excitement subsided, my heartbeat returned to normal, my body relaxed, and I felt comfortable, like after a gym class.

Everyone's life is monotonous enough; everyone needs extra stimulation. That's why horror movies are always box office hits, and the walled city is never truly secure.

I looked around again. There was no one around.

I asked, "If all the seats in this car are laid flat, can it be used as a bed?"

She said, "Yes."

I asked, "How?"

She said, "Like this. I'll teach you."

She began to demonstrate, serious and earnest, as if she thought I really didn't know how; perhaps she knew better than I did what was about to happen.

With all the seats laid flat, it was a perfect double bed. I lay down and said to her, "Come here."

She climbed on top and closed the car door. Her hair was soft, her eyes gentle, and while she wasn't exceptionally beautiful, she was quite fair-skinned. Fair skin hides a hundred flaws.

I said, "Let me take a good look at your fingernails."

I carefully observed her hands. They were soft and well-proportioned, with clear nails, moderately sized knuckles, and relatively smooth skin (I hate women with large knuckles and thick, rough skin).

How many times had these hands reached into her soft vulva, rubbing her clitoris? How many times had they sunk into her hot, soft flesh, glistening with moisture?

She asked, "Really beautiful?"

I said, "Really beautiful."

She said, "What? You're all old and faded."

I said, "Not old. Really not old. Look at me, my hair's all white and I'm still being a hooligan."

She smiled and asked, "Do you have children?"

I casually replied, "I have a son. During his school years, I was his slave, watching him do his homework, taking him to and from school. Now he's successful, and he goes against my every word. I must have owed him something in my past life, you tell me."

She laughed and said, "That's right, kids are always here to collect debts."

I said, "Exactly. Hey, if I had really lost the brakes just now, what would you regret the most?"

She slowly said, "Hmm, if I had really slammed on the brakes just now, I would regret not cherishing my ex-husband. We never really communicated properly." "Yes. Actually, he's not a bad person. I regret being too strict with my daughter. Last month, she got second place in an exam and asked me to take her to McDonald's, but I haven't taken her yet. I also regret that I was too busy when she was little and didn't have time to spend with her, so I sent her to daycare. Every Monday when I took her there, she would grab me at the kindergarten gate and cry, asking if I could

buy her an ice pop so she could eat it before

going in, or if I could buy her a fruit leather candy. She would find all sorts of ways to dawdle and delay. At that time, I was going through a divorce with her father, so I was really annoyed and wouldn't agree, and I even got angry with her..." At this point, her lips trembled violently, and she couldn't continue. Thick, crystal-clear tears welled up in her eyes, like pieces of glass, and when they couldn't be held back, one fell with a "plop."

I stroked her beautiful fingers and said, "All these years, you've been busy taking care of your parents and your daughter."

She thought for a moment and said, "Well, actually, what I regret most is that I've neglected myself. I haven't lived my own life.

I haven't had time to take good care of myself. To be honest, it's quite a regret, really."

I said, "Now, the King of Hell is taking good care of you and won't let you die yet, giving you another hour. What do you plan to do?"

She said, "I really haven't thought about it..." Suddenly, she raised her wet eyelids and asked in horror, "You, you're the King of Hell?"

I said, "Take off your socks and let the King of Hell see your feet."

She hesitated for a moment, but still complied and took off her socks.

I stood head to toe with her. I looked closely at her feet, and a slightly sour smell hit me.

My heart fluttered, as if the most delicate part of my heart had been touched.

Her bare feet were more beautiful than her hands (not just because we see women barefoot less often than we see women bare-handed

). Her feet were truly a sight to behold; it was almost a waste that they were on her legs. Her

skin was fair and tender, cool and slightly damp, her toes long and slender, slightly plump, without athlete's foot, the lines rounded, her toenails healthy and clear, translucent like tender seashells in water. There were no calluses on her heels or calluses—exactly my type, more beautiful than most foot models' feet.

Such an ordinary job, such an ordinary woman, yet she had such beautiful feet. As the saying goes, you can't judge a book by its cover

. I caressed these treasures, then realized her pants were in the way.

I pulled down her pants, saying, "Take them off, take them off."

She said, "No… I'm cold…"

I turned on the car heater and pulled her pants down. She didn't really resist, only glancing out the window every now and then.

I said, "Don't worry, there's no one here."

Her thighs and buttocks were even whiter, like jelly, like tofu, jiggling at the slightest touch.

She had a sanitary napkin in her underwear, making it look bulging. I quickly pulled down her underwear.

The sanitary napkin was indeed soaked with a large amount of bright red blood, almost completely red, and heavy. The fishy, pungent smell from her crotch was at its strongest. I greedily inhaled the scent.

She mumbled, "No... the seat... it'll get dirty..."

I stuck out my tongue and passionately licked her bloodied vulva.

She cried out nervously in a low voice. She certainly hadn't expected this strange man to be so perverted.

She said, "Dirty... unlucky..."

I said, "I'm not afraid of the King of Hell."

People have many taboos about menstrual blood, but the King of Hell doesn't care about any of them. (a8 is indeed rebellious)

The King of Hell thinks women are most feminine during their periods.

Even the most hysterical woman becomes much more docile once her period starts.

I lifted her thighs, folding her up like a blanket, and licked her bloodied, pungent vulva from bottom to top, licking her blood-stained labia, even her anus.

She obediently let me lick her; wherever I licked, she trembled, but remained quiet, making no sound, like a female dog in heat being bred.

Seeing her biting her lip, I knew she was enduring it. She probably thought that women who easily made noise were wanton and indecent.

I sucked on her clitoris, gently sweeping her clitoris with my tongue, while simultaneously using my fingers to probe her wet, hot anus and slippery anus.

She couldn't help but let out a very soft "Ah~~"

—a sound that was incredibly beautiful. I remained calm and unhurried.

I treated it as the last time I licked her vulva. When faced with a fine dish, one must savor it carefully, eating until the juices splashed everywhere, eating with a loud smacking sound. I licked every drop clean, not wasting a drop.

Her moans gradually grew louder until she pressed my head down, crying out, "Oh, King Yama! Oh, I can't take it anymore!"

I ignored her and continued my rhythm, the stimulation relentless. She arched her body, lowering her legs, supporting herself with her head and feet, and raising her buttocks high.

I followed her buttocks, raising my head and continuing to lick and suck, my middle finger forcefully hooking her G-spot.

I could feel the resilient tissue inside her G-spot, like a piece of rubber the size of an egg protruding from the front wall of her vagina, warm to the touch, with over forty tiny granules on its surface.

I thrust into her G-spot viciously, saying, "Slut, come on! Let it all out! Let all your slutty energy come, let me weave you!" (A8 pays tribute to Wang Lao)

She gasped and moaned, like a terminally ill patient suffering in the intensive care unit, the decibels of her moans rising higher and higher until they reached the release threshold and then abruptly stopped.

I felt all her muscles tremble violently, the frequency of the tremors extremely high, like being struck by an electric current.

Some hot water spurted into my mouth and splashed onto my chin.

Was it urine? Or the "third kind of water" (femaleejac ulation) proposed by Zhang Jingsheng more than eighty years ago?

Whatever! Anyway, I knew she was enjoying it.

While she was in a daze, I inserted my wet ring finger into her contracting, slippery anus. Her anus was soft, and her rectum was burning hot! Her G-spot swelled further.

She groaned and sighed, as if regretting something, as if she had seen spectacular fireworks and realized the party was about to end.

Yama continued to lick her post-orgasm vulva without any gentle touch. There was no end to it. This tongue was endless.

After Yama licked her to a second orgasm by simmering her like a soup or stew (blood tofu?), I straightened up, pulled down my pants, put a condom on my penis, and thrust in hard, fucking her vulva.

Her vagina was warm, swollen, and super slippery, perfect for fucking. Flesh against flesh, it felt so good.

My hard cock slid in and out of her hot, bloody cunt, making a loud, loud slurping sound, the car swaying violently.

After a hundred or so hard thrusts, letting her know my power, I slowed down.

I asked her, "What do you call your vagina?"

She said, "Um... I don't have a name for it..."

I said, "Tell me."

She said, "I don't want to say."

I said, "I want to hear."

Her face turned bright red, and after hesitating for a long time, she whispered, "Um... I call it 'stinky,' 'slutty flesh,' and... 'shameless'~~"

A little creative. I asked, "Anything else?"

She got impatient and said, "Fuck me! Hurry up!"

I wasn't in a hurry and asked her, "Fuck you where?"

She said, "Fuck my stinky, fuck my slutty flesh!"

Her smooth, fleshy legs wrapped around my lower back, squeezing and hooking me tightly so that I could penetrate deeper. (A Chinese Ghost Story sequel: The Soul-Stealing Beauty)

I deliberately pulled out my penis and used my hand to flirt with the disgusting, bloodied flesh inside her vagina, saying, "Where are you, you shameless bastard? I can't find you!"

She frantically spread her vagina open, fully exposing her vulva, saying, "Here! Quick! Fuck this shameless bastard. Fuck this shameless bastard. Fuck her hard."

That's enough. I can't really piss her off.

I gradually increased the pace of my pounding. She immediately raised her head, opened her mouth wide, and shamelessly groaned wildly, like a peasant woman, parched and then suddenly showered with rain.

I picked up her heavy, blood-stained sanitary napkin and smelled it. The menstrual blood absorbed by the napkin was cooling down.

The fishy smell of fresh menstrual blood further stimulated my hypothalamus. My penis became even thicker and harder, and I brutally raped her.

I asked her breathlessly, "When was the last time you had sex?"

She gasped, "Ouch...ouch! Last time? Ouch...ouch...it's been four and a half years...ouch..."

As I continued, I grabbed her breasts and asked, "So what do you do when you want to?"

She blushed and said,

"I take care of it myself." I asked, "How do you take care of it yourself?"

She blushed again and said, "I just do it myself."

I asked, "How do you do it yourself?"

She turned her face to the right. I roughly turned her face back, staring at her, making her look at me. I said, "Do it now!"

She was very embarrassed, reluctantly putting both hands down, and then stopped moving.

I pulled out my penis and said, "Do it!"

My big penis was bloody, throbbing, shiny, covered with a lot of mucus and conspicuous menstrual blood. (Highlighted?)

I saw her left hand part her labia, and her right middle finger began to gently rub her clitoris.

I love watching women masturbate. I don't know why. I just love watching.

Perhaps it's because a woman masturbating allows you to glimpse her most authentic self.

She masturbated for a short while under my intense gaze, then stopped and said, "Hey, come in.

It's not as comfortable as you doing it yourself."

I said, "No. Do it yourself. I like watching."

She said while masturbating, "Come in. Fuck me! Let's do it together. Huh?"

I inserted myself, once again feeling her warm, soft vaginal cavity tightly enveloping me.

I focused on experiencing the feeling of a masturbating vagina tightly enveloping my penis.

Wet, slippery, and scalding hot, like inserting a full jar of half-melted butter.

Every cell of my penis excitedly received her massage.

Every cell of her vagina excitedly received my penis's massage.

Her clitoris was still being pulled by me, her G-spot was still being pressed, and she was still lying down, not doing push-ups. Who says women have it harder than men?

With flesh rubbing against flesh, generating electricity hundreds of times, her blood-red vagina became even hotter.

Her fingers, waving around her vulva, occasionally brushed against the base of my penis. (My old penis?)

I looked at her and said, "Fucking a masturbating cunt feels so good. Fucking a masturbating bloody cunt feels so good."

She cried out, "You don't even spare people when they're menstruating, you're such a pervert. King Yama, you're going to kill me..."

While I was fucking her hard, I lifted her legs up and licked her toes, between her toes, and the soles of her feet, while using my fingertips to scratch her bare, sensitive soles.

Under the combined stimulation, tears streamed down her face as she cried and laughed, writhing and screaming, "King Yama, no, no, King Yama! I'm going to die!"

With her cries, my penis hardened. Looking down, I saw a stream of blood-stained urine spraying onto my penis. She had lost control of her bladder from my scratching.

I shoved my fingers into her mouth and began my assault.

Her voice was hoarse as she looked at me, my fingers still in her mouth, and cried out incoherently, "King Yama, kill me! Kill me!"

I pulled my penis out, flipped her over, and made her lie face down. I penetrated her from behind.

I grabbed her left hand and pulled it from underneath, pressing it against her clitoris.

She understood my intention and began rubbing her clitoris with her left hand. My swollen testicles kept bumping against her left hand.

I grabbed her right hand and twisted it against her buttocks, pressing her middle finger against her anus.

She understood and gently massaged her own anus with that middle finger.

I thrust into her from behind, pounding away while watching the alluring sight of the mature woman touching her anus.

I gripped her soft, white buttocks tightly, stepping my right leg forward to her right, intending to penetrate her even deeper.

She actually started kissing my toes.

Her lips were warm and soft, licking me with such ticklish pleasure.

I pressed her right middle finger down hard. She understood what I wanted her to do and pressed harder on her finger as well.

Half of her beautiful finger was swallowed by her anus.

She moaned, "It's so itchy inside..."

I asked, "Where does it itch inside?"

Her head pressed against the back of the seat, she said, "It itches everywhere inside...it's killing me..."

I said, "Slut! Where does it itch?"

She shuddered, her vagina tightened, and her moans grew louder. It seems the word "slut" had a direct effect on her brain's gyri.

She said, "Shameless, itchy. My clitoris itches. My asshole itches."

I fiercely fucked the slut's cunt, thrusting into her clitoris again and again. My left hand joined her left hand, together ravaging her wet, squelching clitoris.

She trembled and moaned.

My right hand, through her sweater, unhooked her bra, went around to her chest, and reached inside her sweater, grabbing her breasts.

Afraid she'd get cold, I didn't strip her upper body completely. Her breasts were medium-sized, delicate and soft, the nipples standing erect and very full.

I fucked her cunt while cruelly twisting her large nipples.

She trembled and reached her third orgasm, a layer of hot sweat seeping from her buttocks and breasts.

I was overcome with lust, not letting her catch her breath, suddenly turning her arms around and gripping them tightly, her elbows pressed tightly together.

A woman can be so flexible at that moment.

I began to truly strike the bell. A sprint. Twice a second. My bald cock went completely wild inside her slippery, bloodied cunt, still reeling from her third orgasm.

I grabbed her hair and yelled, "You slut, I'll fuck you to death! I'll fuck you raw , you shameless bastard!"

She screamed and howled as I fucked her. Her screams echoed through the carriage. Her hair was completely disheveled.

Suddenly, I felt her vagina contract violently again! The intensity of this contraction caught me completely off guard.

I felt like my cock was going to die right there, definitely cut in half.

Five seconds later, I heard her apologetic cry: "I couldn't hold back~ I couldn't hold back!"

She sobbed, her shoulders hunched. Maybe it was guilt and self-reproach, maybe it was tears of joy. The orgasmic contractions hadn't even ended, and morality had already put her on trial. Poor woman.

I knew I was close to my climax, about to ejaculate, so I quickly pulled my cock out and stopped thrusting in.

She turned her head slightly, and I saw her lips relax, soft. Looks like this bitch really enjoyed herself today.

I held her, panting, and asked, "You've been to the slut's four times already?"

She nodded, "Yes. Never before!"

I touched her slippery vulva, which I had just finished with, and asked, "Which of these four times was the most pleasurable?"

She said, "They were all incredibly pleasurable. The first time was sharp. The last time was the most intense. It felt so deep, like it was coming from the bottom of the ocean."

I asked, "A tsunami?"

She said, "I can't really say..."

Her vulva, which I had just sucked clean, was now full again, with a mixture of arousal fluid, menstrual blood, and all sorts of other things.

I pushed my fingers into her vulva, playing with them greedily.

She trembled and pushed my hands away, her voice trembling as she said, "I can't take it anymore... Stop it..."

After saying that, she fell into a deep sleep, unconscious.

I gently covered her with my coat, lay down beside her, and kissed her cheek.

I took off the condom from my penis. The condom was covered with her translucent fluid and menstrual blood, and inside it was filled with a lot of fluid that I had unintentionally secreted during our battle.

I inserted the condom into her wet, bloodied vagina. She didn't react at all.

I looked at her closely. Her snoring was even, like someone under general anesthesia, like she was asleep, a complete mess. I dared not move, dared not make any other sound.

Eight minutes later, the mess had regained 90% of her strength and thinking ability, but that 90% was still not enough for her to notice the condom in her vagina.

We lazily put on our pants, socks, and shoes.

Her face was even redder than before, her cheekbones flushed and shiny. She looked radiant, much more beautiful.

She was truly passionate, completely letting loose, even her hormone levels had increased.

She asked, "Am I too lewd?"

I said, "A real woman is more beautiful. A woman who knows how to cherish herself is more beautiful. It's okay to be lewd occasionally, no one is perfect, who can resist being lewd?"

She embarrassedly smoothed her hair with her hand and said to me, "I'm not usually like this."

I said, "I believe you."

I straightened the seat and said I would take her home. She said okay.

I started the car. The car drove back onto the dirt road and then onto the main road.

Suddenly, she opened her eyes wide and said, "You haven't ejaculated yet!" I said, " Yeah, that's

right. When a bad guy reaches the ninth dan, the thing he cares about most is cumming on a woman, not cumming on himself." She said, "No, that's not appropriate!" I laughed and said, "It's okay. Really. Don't be polite." She said, "Consider it a debt. Next time. Look for me when you come to pick up the car. I'm here every day." I said, "Hehe, we'll see." She was still sighing, "I've never met a man like you!" I said, "Now you have." The car arrived at the gate of the auto repair shop. I stopped and said, "Should I go in? Maybe I shouldn't?" She said, "Yes. Okay." She sat still, her eyes moist, like a pregnant dog, full of longing, hesitant to speak, clearly reluctant to let me leave. I looked at her. The blush on her face hadn't faded. She looked at me and said, "I've never been like that before." I nodded and said, "I know. You're a good woman."

She said, "I am. I'm careful, well-behaved, and never do anything reckless."

I said, "I know. Go home and make a small pot of goji berry, brown sugar, and ginger water to drink while it's hot. Take good care of yourself."

She smiled, put her hand on the car door, and said, "Hmm. You're so considerate."

I said, "No, I'm a bad guy."

She said, "You're a considerate bad guy. Next time I'll take you to the 'Bullshit Dynasty'."

I said, "Okay."

She said, "I have to get out."

I said, "Okay. I have errands to run too."

Her hand was on the car door a second time, and she said, "I'll have them take good care of your car." "Get your car serviced."

I said, "Hehe. By the way, when you're feeling better, take our daughter to McDonald's."

She nodded and said, "You're so nice."

I said, "No, I'm bad."

She said, "Yes, you're a big bad guy."

Her hand was on the car door for the third time, and she suddenly said to me, "You can pick up your car tomorrow!"

I said, "I'm busy these next two days with the next issue of a magazine being published and the cover being finalized, so I might not be able to come tomorrow."

She hesitated, then gently kissed me on the cheek and softly said, "I'll wait for you," before slowly opening the car door and getting out.

I accelerated and drove off.

There are probably no more than ten dangerous things in the world, and getting entangled with a strange woman ranks third. Playing with a venomous snake without protection only ranks eighth.

(What about the others? I'll tell you slowly when I have time.)

I nervously scanned the rearview mirror the whole way. I didn't see a black A8 without license plates or any other suspicious vehicles.

After circling around many times, I still felt uneasy. I looked to my right and saw a large compound with a wooden sign at the entrance that read, "Internal Parking." There was no one guarding the entrance.

I suddenly pulled over, parked and locked the car, walked out of the parking lot, and hailed a Hyundai.

The driver was a chubby, experienced man in his forties or fifties. He started the car first, then asked me, "Where are you going?"

His face looked a bit menacing, but the car had already started moving, so I reluctantly said, "XCV Street, NWZ Community." (Street and community names omitted).

I was distracted, nervously looking back at the car, trying to scan every vehicle, noting their model, color, and license plate, but I never saw that license plate-less A8 again. The driver kept rambling on, telling me how tough it was to work as a courier, about his prostatitis, and how he couldn't do any physical labor without his car.

I didn't answer a word, occasionally glancing at the rear windshield. A desperate man doesn't chat with anyone. He drove, I paid, that was all.

When we arrived, I paid, got out, and hid behind a snowman in the community to observe my surroundings. There were no suspicious vehicles.

I went into a restaurant; there were seven or eight tables of customers eating. The guy saw me and greeted me politely but firmly.

I nodded to him and went straight into the back bathroom. The bathroom was empty. I went into a stall and closed the door. There was a small window at the back, an aluminum sliding door covered with yellowed newspaper.

My bladder had been sore for ages. I unzipped my pants, took out my penis, and waited to call my mother while I urinated.

No answer. Two calls, no answer.

For years, I've had an unwavering habit: I always carefully observe my urination and defecation to understand the inner turmoil of my body.

If you don't care about your own body, who will? Your body isn't an inexhaustible energy source, but a decaying, stinking sack of skin.

Still no answer. Could something have happened?

Here it comes. Here it comes. The urine is flowing. But before it even comes out, a sharp pain shot through my glans! Burning! Excruciatingly hot.

It felt like someone was poking a wire into my urethra.

I strained to relax my urinary tract muscles and finally urinated, but it was difficult; the stream was thin and long, and my urethra felt like it was on fire.

Mom finally answered, but the sound quality was poor; she must have used her foot to put it on speakerphone again.

I tried to sound calm: "Mom, I'm downstairs. Come down, I'll take you to a Mexican restaurant."

Mom, as usual, said lazily, "Oh! What day is it today?"

I nervously said into the phone, "Take the cards I got for you, and Ah Biao too, nothing else. I'm not coming up."

Mom said, "What's going on here?"

I said, "Hurry up."

Mom said, "Okay, fine. Wait three minutes."

I hung up. The urine continued to drip, until it stopped flowing, but I didn't feel like I was done.

I shook my penis a couple of times, just about to pull it back in, when I suddenly noticed two small drops of urine had landed on the web of my hand holding my penis—it was milky white! This was a first for me.

I shuddered and quickly looked down to examine my urine. It was incredibly cloudy, more murky than rice water and yellower than after taking vitamins.

My urine used to be perfectly clear, without any problems. Damn! I'm in my thirties and already have semen in my urine? Or is it from excessive sexual activity?

Am I not drinking enough water? Driving too long? Did I have sex with someone I shouldn't have, causing a urinary tract infection? Or was it from the shock?

I've actually developed prostatitis from not speaking up in meetings?

Just then, I heard someone walk into the bathroom and grab my stall doorknob. My

heart started racing. I quickly tucked my penis into my pants, opened the small back window, and crawled out. I rolled on the ground, then stood up and ran towards the gate of the complex.

The air outside was dry and cold, making it hard to breathe.

I felt a stream of semen flowing out, my underwear and long johns soaked and chilly.

They say "after fifty-three, your crotch is always wet," but I'm far from fifty-three!

I kept looking back. No one followed. Maybe it was a coincidence? Maybe a guy just needed to pee?

I reached my right hand into my coat, outwardly extremely relaxed, but secretly gripping my steel baton tightly, my muscles tense to the limit, ready to explode at any moment.

At noon, I actually saw a fat white dog chasing a skinny black cat, darting back and forth on the deserted road, barking and snapping wildly.

I felt a very damn ominous feeling.

Mom hadn't come out yet. Women always dawdle when they go out.

Suddenly, I remembered the first time I washed my mother's socks. How old was I then? What grade was I in elementary school?

I took off my mother's socks, originally wanting to prove that I was sensible and could help with housework.

I looked at the pair of white cotton socks in my hand. The area above the ankles was quite clean, the soles were slightly darker and yellowish, having been soaking for a day.

I picked them up and smelled them, and they smelled particularly good. To this day, I don't understand why I, a little boy, would smell my mother's worn socks.

I think foot fetishism is innate. It's all fate. Everything comes down to genes. Could my parents have a foot fetish?

A taxi pulled up, empty. I raised my hand to stop. This time it was a Jetta. I crouched down and squeezed in.

It's so warm inside the car. Before my butt even settled, the car started moving.

I said, "Hehehe! Did I tell you to leave?!"

The driver slammed on the brakes.

I stared intently at the neighborhood.

Mom still hadn't come out. I was frantic, looking around anxiously like a trapped animal.

The driver offered me a cigarette, which I pushed back. Why bother trying to be friendly?

I never accept cigarettes from strangers. That's why my A8 has been able to get by all this time.

The driver tried to light his own cigarette, but I immediately stopped him: "Hey, just wait a minute!"

The driver had no choice but to put it down.

Just then, Ah Biao popped out.

I quickly got out of the car and opened the back door. Ah Biao saw me, tilted his head, paused for a moment, then recognized me and rushed into the car.

Mom, wearing the fur coat I bought her two years ago, slowly walked out of the community gate. Without arms, walking on the icy ground was especially slippery.

I quickly went to help Mom, supporting her while nervously looking around, like a bodyguard. After

helping Mom to her seat in the back, I closed the door, looked around to make sure everything was alright, and got into the passenger seat.

The driver asked, "Uncle, where are we going?"

It was the first time I'd heard someone address me like that. I felt very uncomfortable. Am I really this old sparrow?

I said, "mpt" (place name omitted).

Mom asked me, "Where's your car? Was it impounded?"

I said, "Sent for repairs."

Mom asked, "Did you hit someone?"

I said, "No. Look at you."

Mom asked, "Why are you covered in snow? Did you get into a fight with Jingcha again?"

I said, "Can't you wish me well?"

The driver chuckled and chimed in, "You two old folks really know how to make a joke."

I glared at him. He quieted down and drove his car carefully.

Hearing "you two old folks" as an address, I felt a strange unease, a bit short of breath, like I'd drunk something, lightheaded, my brain about to shut down.

Mom must have felt it too.

After a brief silence, Mom said softly, "I was wondering why there would be so much noise over a meal.

Hey, where's your child? Didn't you bring her along?"

I said, "Oh, she's still busy, can't get time off. She's busy with her own things."

Mom said, "Don't think I'm nagging. You really need to think about settling down."

Hearing this, the driver glanced at me sideways, this time not daring to say anything. He was probably wondering what the relationship between these two old folks was like. The taxi

arrived at MPT, I paid the fare, helped Mom out of the car, and Ah Biao, all chubby and energetic, jumped out, circling around me, shaking with excitement.

I helped Mom into the parking lot of that company, Ah Biao followed, we switched to the car, and locked the doors.

Ah Biao sat in the back seat, Mom in the front passenger seat.

I started the engine and drove off.

Mom asked, "You really didn't hit anyone?"

I said, "Mom, don't worry. When has your son ever lied to you?"

Mom asked, "Your company is so busy, how come you can come out in the middle of the day?"

I said, "Making money isn't the goal. Happiness is the goal. Life is short, so we should enjoy ourselves, have fun, and be happy, don't you think?"

Mom turned to look at me and calmly asked, "We're going to run away, right?"

I said, "Actually, this... um..."

Mom said, "I knew it a long time ago. Tell me what happened?"

I said, "Nothing. Really."

When I got to the parking lot entrance, a middle-aged woman walked over, cracking sunflower seeds, and stood in front of my car on the right side, pointing at the "Internal Parking" sign and nagging me vulgarly.

Damn it! I slammed on the gas. The woman was startled. I scratched the ground and screamed as I flew out of the gate, down the slope, and then turned right onto the main road.

Ah Biao was thrown off balance by the inertia. Mom, who was also off balance, swayed even more and ended up in my arms.

Mom got up to comfort A-Biao, saying, "Biao, don't be afraid, don't be afraid. Dad will take us to have some fun..."

I focused on driving, not saying a word, knowing perfectly well that we were now on a road of no return.

When we arrived at the Mexican restaurant, I parked the car, helped Mom out, and locked A-Biao inside.

The restaurant was quite crowded, but not noisy.

The mysterious aroma, elegant furniture, heavy tablecloths, Mexican-style oil paintings (who knows how they differ from Gauguin's

Tahiti series), and ethereal, ambiguous background music made you feel like you had entered a mysterious and noble foreign royal palace.

The normally loud-mouthed bourgeois, influenced by the atmosphere and suggestion, finally learned to speak softly. Wow! That's impressive!

I always thought that Chinese people couldn't speak softly while dining!

The waiter approached and asked, "How many?"

I said, "Two. Do you have a non-smoking area?"

The usher led us to an empty table in the non-smoking area.

My mother and I sat down and ordered braised shrimp, finjana, dotia sauce tortillas, Mexican pretzel, Mexican pizza, taco salad, burrito, nachos, and Caribbean seafood soup.

While waiting for the food, I silently considered sending my mother to my father's place so he could take on his responsibilities.

But I quickly realized it was impossible.

My father was enjoying his sweet time with his mistress in their little apartment; his mind wasn't on my mother at all. He couldn't possibly take care of her.

After all these years, how could he possibly have even a shred of patience for her?

The relationship between the three of them was unstable. My mother would be driven away sooner or later. Sending her to my father was worse than abandoning her on the street.

Our food arrived one after the other, and it looked and smelled quite delicious. I fed my mother a bite, then ate a bite myself, completely absorbed. Everyone else in the restaurant seemed to fade into the background; their voices disappeared.

At that moment, the world consisted only of my mother and me.

I saw no one else. No one else existed. My mind was filled only with my mother. Would I ever have more opportunities to care for my mother in this lifetime?

The spicy sauce made my mom and me gasp for breath like dogs as we ate. It was incredibly spicy and satisfying!

I took a tissue to wipe the sweat from my mom's forehead.

She took off her shoes, lifted her legs, and used her bare feet to hold the knife and fork, insisting on eating by herself.

I said no, it's cold, she'd catch a cold and have to go to the hospital and get a shot. She wouldn't listen and insisted on doing it herself. My mom has pride.

In public, she especially doesn't want to be waited on like a "useless" person.

She wants to show the world that she can survive on her own.

I looked around. Many diners were glancing at our table sideways, whispering among themselves.

I was used to this. Being a woman is hard, being an old woman is even harder. Who can understand the hardships of life for an old, disabled woman abandoned by her husband?

I told my mom I needed to use the restroom, then got up and ran to the front desk to ask where the nearest ATM was.

The waiter said there was one to the left after exiting the building.

I went outside, withdrew a considerable amount of cash from the ATM, looked around (no one was there),

put the money in my bag, pulled out a few bills, and walked back into the restaurant through the back door, entering the kitchen.

I was allowed into the operating room without any prompting. The management was lax!

I walked towards the person in the white hat, noticing the "Sam" written on his brass name tag. (A fictional name. Everyone knows it.)

I said, "Sam?"

He was startled and looked up, asking, "Sir, what can I do for you?"

I said, "Give me some beef and bones. My son, Ah Biao, has a big appetite."

I stuffed a few bills into his pocket (how many exactly? What were the denominations? Who cares? This might be the last meal I'm preparing for Ah Biao).

He brought me a large stainless steel basin of raw beef and several large bones.

I said, "Okay, and a few steamed buns too."

He said, "Sir, we don't have steamed buns, but we have flatbread."

I said okay. He took two large flatbreads, tore them into small pieces, and sprinkled them into the stainless steel basin, adding some broth.

I carried the full basin out the back door to the parking lot, placed the basin on the snow next to the car door, and opened the car door.

Ah Biao darted out, excitedly circling me (a long-standing custom; no matter how hungry, he'd always rub against his owner first), then got into position and began his voracious eating.

Ah Biao's waist was thinner. He used to be so strong, every hair glossy.

If something happened to me, who would take care of him?

A pang of sadness hit me.

Ah Biao ate his food. I went back to the dining room, sat down, and continued eating.

My mind was racing: Who exactly sabotaged the company? When exactly did the underworld say they'd "take" me? Who sent that mysterious A8 this morning? What did they want? ...

Mom asked, "Special dry?"

I said, "Hmm? Special dry? You want some Bordeaux special dry?"

Mom chuckled and said, "Are you constipated?"

I asked, "Who's constipated?"

Mom said, "I thought you fell into the latrine."

I said, "Who went to the toilet?"

Mom said, "You."

I said, "I didn't go."

Mom asked, "Then where did you go? You've been gone for so long."

What did I go about?

I said, "I forgot."

My mother smiled silently, thinking I was teasing her, but in fact, I really couldn't remember.

I was a little terrified. The onset of aging was more frightening than I had imagined.

We continued eating. As we ate, my mother whispered to me, "That man at the other table, do you see him? The one in his forties, balding!"

I looked in that direction and sure enough, I saw a balding man in his forties at the table by the window looking at me. When he saw me looking at him, he immediately lowered his eyes and dared not look at me again.

My brain quickly searched its memory: Have I seen this person before?

I felt that he did look somewhat familiar. In what situation had I seen this person? What was his name? What did he do? Was he a threat to me?

I tried desperately to recall, but found that I couldn't remember a single thing.

My memory used to be so sharp! Now all the memories in my brain are broken, like a pearl necklace being torn apart by Goetz, the beads scattered all over the ground, none of them connected to anyone else.

I whispered to my mom, "I saw him. What happened?"

My mom whispered back, "He kept staring at you."

I ate a piece of salt and pepper steak and said, "Oh, maybe he was just released?"

My mom took a bite of her taco salad and whispered, "What? He must have never seen such a handsome guy like you! If he dares to look at you again, I'll go over and give him a piece of my mind."

Even in my mom's eyes, I'm still a handsome guy. A fifty-year-old woman with no arms was willing to fight for me, to stand up and question a stranger. I was very touched.

I put my arm around my mom's bald shoulder and whispered, "Okay, sweetie, this is such a romantic restaurant, why get angry? Don't be so serious when you're out and about."

My mom was still furious, still fiercely arguing with that man, a real strong female beast.

I ate a prawn with savory sauce, licked my fingers, and said to my mom, "Should I go over and give that guy a good beating?"

Mom chuckled and whispered, "Never mind..."

I kissed her cheek and whispered, "Honey! That pervert isn't looking at me, he's looking at this slut next to me. He's already hard just from the smell of fish~"

Mom looked a little awkward. I kissed her cheek again. Mom's face started to heat up noticeably.

Every woman is a slut.

(a8's words are rough but true. It's okay if you can't accept it right now. In thirty years, you'll agree with what a8 said today.)

I stared at the guy, winked at him, and teased him. The guy actually lowered his head shyly, occasionally glancing at us, his yellow face turning red (I didn't mention Huang Feihong).

I understand, that's what's going on.

I buried my head in my Mexican pretzel, but out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mom taking pictures with that guy while she was eating.

Was she protecting her son? Or expanding her attractiveness?

I kept searching my memory as I ate, but I just couldn't remember where I'd seen that guy before. Maybe in a past life?

I'm only in my thirties, in the prime of my life, and my memory is already this bad? What am I going to do in the future?

My mom gently reminded me, "Biao's still hungry."

I said, "Yeah. Let's hurry. Mom, are you done eating?"

My mom said, "Yes, I'm done. This place is nice."

After paying the bill, we got up. I helped my mom put on her coat and led her towards the restaurant door.

I lifted the curtain for her, and before she even stepped out, some jerk ducked in and rubbed against her.

My mom smiled wryly and muttered to herself, "Manners."

Why did that hothead rub against my mom? I turned to look at him, and he happened to turn around too, giving me a hard glare. I feel like I've seen him somewhere before!

June 1st,
where was it again? Where? The park I took that little slut to? No. At Old K Cafe? I really can't remember.

Oh my god! Who messed with my brain?! (A tribute to Spencer Johnson)

This place is ominous; we mustn't linger. I was nervous, but outwardly I had to remain calm and composed, helping my mother along in small, hesitant steps, afraid to show my alarm.

As we left the restaurant and headed towards the parking area, we saw Ah Biao standing beside the car, guarding an empty stainless steel bowl.

My mother immediately asked, "Why is the car door open? Biao! Who fed you?!"

Ah Biao stood beside the car, licking his lips, proudly guarding it, looking at us with satisfaction.

I looked around and tensed up too. Our Ah Biao has never eaten food from strangers since he was a child.

I muttered to myself, "What's wrong with him today? Is he possessed?"

I squatted down and examined Ah Biao's head closely; his mouth and eyes showed no abnormalities.

His mouth was clean, and his eyes were as loyal and unwavering as ever.

Suddenly, I remembered, and then told my mother that I had opened the car door and that I had fed the dog. My mother looked at me in horror, as if I were a complete stranger.

I helped Abiao into the back seat, then helped my mother into the car (to sit in the front passenger seat), and fastened her seatbelt.

Mom asked, "Honey, what's wrong with you lately? Huh? Mom's scared."

I started the car, looked ahead, and said, "I'm scared too. But being scared isn't enough. I have to face it."

I floored the gas and sped off, heading north, north, north, all the way north.

Outside the car window, on both sides of the road, towering, leaden buildings stood everywhere, iron-gray, heavy, solemn, tall, and inhuman.

In the city where I live, trees are becoming fewer and fewer, and the few remaining ones have been pruned bare by perverted landscaping workers, looking like telephone poles.

I put on my Bluetooth headset, dialed a number with the remote, and pointed out the window, saying, "I'll fuck all those idiots in the landscaping bureau! If you want trees like concrete poles, why not just plant concrete poles? Why kill so many trees?!

Fuck the landscaping bureau! If I shaved all your upper limbs bare, who would do it?! Fuck!" Mom kindly asked, "Are you calling the landscaping bureau?"

I said, "No. It's not."

The call connected. I asked, "What's the situation now?"

The finance person on the other end said nervously, "Manager A! Something's happened! I had a premonition the other day, and I wanted to tell you, but you were in a hurry to leave..."

My mother was next to me, so I couldn't say much, afraid she'd worry.

I said, "Hurry up. Tell me the important things."

The finance person said, "The company's been shut down, the investigators have moved in, and the vice president has been arrested. Everything's in chaos now. I don't know what's going on..."

Before she could finish, a call suddenly interrupted. I hung up on the finance person and answered the interruption. It was Old K: "Where the hell are you?"

I calmly replied, "In Hainan, on Wuzhizhou Island."

Like Old K, I've cultivated the ability to lie without batting an eye.

My mother said disdainfully, "Tch, you just spout nonsense!"

I freed my right hand and covered my mother's lips. My mother leaned forward and took the opportunity to kiss my palm. My mother's lips were warm and soft.

My mind was in turmoil, my left hand on the steering wheel, my foot on the gas, my right hand on my mother, staring at the windshield while keeping an eye on the rearview mirror.

Nothing unusual.

Old K's tone was the same as usual. He said, "I'm serious."

I said, "Go ahead."

Old K asked me, "Having fun?"

I said, "No."

Old K said, "Call your company and tell them you didn't go."

I said, "Yeah, right."

Old K said, "Did you go see that little slut again?"

I said, "No."

Old K sneered on the other end, "You didn't go? Ha, the whole of China is laughing!"

I said, "Spit it out."

Old K said, "Come over and sing karaoke."

"Come over and sing karaoke" was a phrase he liked to use, and it meant he had already taken care of "Guorer."

I could feel his wicked grin on the other end, his mischievousness seeping from every pore of his skin.

Years of experience and lessons have taught me: the more agitated you are, the calmer you need to be; the more agitated you are, the more cautious you need to be in your words and actions.

I withdrew my right hand from my mother's lips, focused on driving, and said to Old K on the other end of the Bluetooth, "You karaoke first.

Switch to vibrate later, and I'll karaoke it for you."

He grinned wickedly on the other end.

I said, "I'm hanging up now. I'm going to sunbathe."

I disconnected the Bluetooth.

Mom looked at the snow-covered landscape outside the windshield and asked, "Are we going to Hainan Island?"

I said, "No, just the suburbs, to relax."

Mom said, "Oh. Then why did you lie to people?"

I said, "Always telling the truth is like drinking plain water, so boring."

Mom asked, "How many days are we going?"

I said, "We'll see. Maybe two or three days? Who knows."

Mom sighed, seemingly relaxed, and said, "Oh, so you're making me bring all my cards? Seeing how tense you are today, I thought we were going to run away for our lives."

I didn't say anything more.

Mom is a bit like Schweik and Forrest Gump in many ways.

Where exactly is the line between "wisdom" and "foolishness" in "great wisdom appearing as foolishness"? Nobody can say for sure. But I know that many times, being smart is being foolish, and being foolish is being smart.

It was starting to get dark, actually just past four o'clock.

Forty million tons of hard snow were lurking in the clouds above the car, holding back from falling. The time hadn't come yet.

I hate driving in this kind of dim, murky light.

It strains my eyes. Everything's pitch black, I can't see anything. But

what can I do?

I've already entered the highway, constantly scanning my rearview mirror. The number of cars on the road is eerily low.

Just as I relaxed for a moment, Ah Biao suddenly made a strange noise.

I quickly checked my rearview mirror—when did a black Audi A8 appear behind me?

This time the license plate was visible, but it was covered by a red sign with gold lettering that read "A Century of Unity," not a single number was showing.

My heart skipped a beat.

After driving two or three kilometers, I checked my rearview mirror again, and it was still relentlessly following me.

After eight or nine kilometers, it was still following me at a leisurely pace. My head was spinning.

I eased off the gas, hoping to see who was in its car when it passed me.

Hey! It eased off too!

I accelerated, and it immediately accelerated as well, maintaining a 20-meter distance and constantly flashing its headlights at me.

This is weird! I was driving in the middle lane, and there were no cars in either of the lanes to my left or right.

What was he doing? I swerved to the slowest lane and stopped accelerating to see how he would handle it.

He also swerved to the slowest lane, following closely behind me, and slowed down as well.

Suddenly, the windshield blurred. The scenery I could barely see before was gone. Looking left and right, I realized it was foggy outside.

The fog was thick in front of and behind the car, with visibility barely reaching twenty meters. That A8 was still following me. I was in the middle lane, he was in the middle lane. I accelerated, he accelerated. This felt very annoying.

The sky was getting darker and darker, and I had to turn on my headlights.

I drove and drove, but I couldn't find an exit. What was going on?

I gradually accelerated, and my speed exceeded 160 km/h, but that A8 was still about twenty meters behind me. It was clear that he was a master at following other cars.

I didn't know how good the car's performance was, so I didn't dare to go over the speedometer.

I looked at the odometer, and damn it! I had already gone over 200 kilometers. I'll just swerve to the next exit.

Whoosh! Another fifty kilometers or so had passed. Still no exit. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't see an exit!

Three kilometers passed. No exit. That A8 was still right behind me.

Eight kilometers passed. No exit. That A8 was still right behind me. By this time, its malice towards me was obvious.

Twenty kilometers passed. Still no exit. That A8 kept following me closely, flashing its headlights, making me panic.

I couldn't see any road signs. My heart started pounding! Pounding!! The fog was getting thicker and thicker, visibility was only five meters. I couldn't see anything in front, behind, left, or right.

I kept glancing in the rearview mirror as I drove.

Through the thick fog, I could see a pair of high beams stubbornly flashing at me, like a mischievous boy winking at me with a wicked, neurotic grin.

It was completely dark. I turned on all the lights I could, including the fog lights.

The A8 was less than five meters away, menacingly lurching towards me.

I was going crazy. My mother was too nervous to speak. Ah Biao, as if facing a formidable enemy, was barking furiously at the rear.

As I drove, I tried to reassure Ah Biao: "It's okay, Biao! It's alright. He's just playing a trick on us."

Actually, I was saying this to my mother.

I floored the accelerator, glancing at the center console, only to see the scene I dreaded most: the fuel gauge was flashing red!

My heart pounded. I quickly turned on the high beams and stared to my right. Still, there was no way out. Even

a cornered dog will jump over a wall, a cornered rabbit will bite.

But if you're on the highway, you can only watch helplessly. The Audi A8 behind me started flashing its headlights at me more aggressively, making me dizzy and incredibly irritable.

Just then, the A8 behind me blared its horn, thirty decibels louder than a train whistle.

My mother jumped.

I was startled too; I was about to break down!

I couldn't take it anymore! Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a gap in the median strip on my left, but I didn't react at first.

In the blink of an eye, I had driven two kilometers when I suddenly remembered: there was a gap in the median strip?!

I accelerated abruptly. Reaching 200 km/h, I yelled, "Sit tight!"

and then yanked the wheel sharply to the left, instantly swerving into the fastest lane, and simultaneously slammed on the brakes.

At 200 km/h, the brake pads screeched and rubbed together intensely.

The speed plummeted, and I watched the speedometer needle drop.

The guy behind me, caught off guard, was thrown off to my right by inertia, pulling me to the side as I braked abruptly.

He never expected that after I swerved past him, I turned off all my lights, made a U-turn on the spot, and with a sharp, clean screech, floored the gas pedal and sped back the way I came. The night

fog was as thick as a tangerine peel in the windshield; I couldn't see anything.

I was going all in. When your opponent has no intention of living, you're the one who's terrified.

I braved the thick fog, driving back against the flow of traffic in the dark, no more headlights in my rearview mirror.

He couldn't turn as nimbly as I could. Besides, did he think he was a better driver than me?

I gritted my teeth and made a silent vow: if a second A8 comes from the opposite direction, I'll ram it into a Yoshino! I'll be dead, damn it!

Rather than avoid it, I'd rather face it head-on! Go ahead and kill me!

I widened my eyes and sped along the fastest lane against the flow of traffic. Something's weird. There's no car coming from the opposite direction. Is this the xxx highway?

I ran and ran in the dark until I reached a gap in the median strip, about five meters wide. Without hesitation, I swerved through it, finally no longer driving against traffic.

As I darted across, I glanced at my rearview mirror. Thank goodness! No cars behind me.

I continued to nervously scan my mirror. No A8 in the mirror. I breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't dare relax my footing, still afraid to turn on the headlights. I floored the accelerator even more recklessly, like a madman.

I knew the gas tank was empty, and I wouldn't go much further. My heart pounded, and I continued searching for a gas station. But where were they?

The bright red roofs I had previously hated now seemed strangely endearing, but there wasn't a single one within sight.

I eased off the accelerator slightly, reducing my speed to ninety, and took the slowest lane. One or two cars started appearing on the highway, whizzing past me—all normal vehicles.

Mom said, "You scared me to death just now! What happened?"

I said, "Nothing. I always speed when I see an A8."

Finally, I saw an exit. I didn't have time to think, and quickly pulled out.

Only after pulling out did I see the word "broken" on the road sign from the persistence of vision, and it looked like there was also the word "head." At first, I didn't think much of it, thinking that as long as I could get off the highway, I was safe.

I checked the rearview mirror. No car was following me. I relaxed, turned on the headlights, and drove slowly.

Not far ahead, there was a gas station. I let out a sigh of relief, drove in, parked, and collapsed in the driver's seat, exhausted.

The gas station was empty, not a single person. The office lights were on.

Ah Biao leaned over and licked me. I was too weak to pay attention to him.

After waiting for a while, no one was there. I honked the horn. Still no one.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, got out of the car, walked to the office door, and looked inside. Empty.

I knocked on the glass and said, "Is anyone here? If no one's here, I'll fill up myself!"

Still no response. Did someone go to the toilet?

I walked back, turned off the engine, opened the gas tank cap, removed the nozzle, and started filling up.

I looked left and right, but there was still no one there. Strange place!

It was quiet and dark outside the gas station; I couldn't see anything.

Click! The pump clicked off.

I hung up the nozzle, tightened the gas tank cap, closed the gas tank door, took out two large bills, stuffed them under the office door, and shouted, "The money's on the door!" I

went back, got into the car, locked the door , and started the engine

, driving out of the gas station.

Mom asked, "Did you hear that?"

I said, "Hear what?"

Mom said, "I heard a sound, like an old man sighing, and a woman sobbing."

I said, "I didn't hear anything."

Mom said, "Biao heard it too; his ears perked up, and his hair stood on end."

My cheeks and collarbone went numb, and I said, "Who cares who's sighing or crying! We have gas, let's go!"

The car drove smoothly on the dark road.

Mom asked, "What's this place called?"

I said, "I didn't see clearly."

Mom asked, "Have you been here before?"

I said, "No."

No one made a sound.

The car fell silent.

Suddenly, I heard Ah Biao mutter nervously, and at the same time, Mom whispered, "Listen!"

I clearly heard a "cough—" from somewhere in the car—

it was the old man's sigh.

I said, "Biao, don't be so scary!"

Mom said nervously, "It's not him!"

I turned on the radio. A terribly cheesy song played.

After the song ended, the female host's voice came on: "I'm your host, XX. Let's continue our topic: Does seeing a ghost mean your yang energy is depleted? Okay, our guest has called in. Please let the director connect us."

A man said, "Is it me? Is it me?"

The female host said, "Yes, it is. Please go ahead."

The man said, "Hello, host. I don't think this topic is suitable for discussion at night."

The female host said, "Have you ever seen a ghost?"

The man said sorrowfully, "I've seen it. In fact, I am a ghost, a wronged ghost."

His voice began to deepen, and he started sighing repeatedly, "I died unjustly! Cough...cough!"

The sighs were exactly the same as the one I had just heard, only louder and clearer.

I changed the channel and heard, "...I'll tell you about the strange things that happened on the vigil. That night, it was especially cold, just like tonight. The north wind was howling..."

My back started to tingle and ache, and my ears and sternum went completely numb.

I slammed the radio off.

My mother probably wasn't feeling well either. I comforted her, saying, "Mom, don't be so nervous. It's okay. But I really do believe in this."

My mother asked, "Which one?"

I said, "There really are ghosts. I had a dream yesterday..."

My mother said, "Okay, okay, can we talk about something else?"

There were more houses on both sides. I saw lights.

I realized we had entered a small town.

I saw billiard halls, small supermarkets, hot pot restaurants, foot massage parlors, shops making custom genuine leather shoes, general

merchandise stores, shops selling phone cards, plates, fish, fruit, cigarettes and alcohol, raw meat, and cooked

meat on both sides

of the street. Half of them were closed. The streets were sparsely populated, looking rather deserted and desolate. Perhaps it was too cold, and everyone was staying indoors.

I slowed down and found a guesthouse that looked quite clean. There was an iron fence around the courtyard, a wide gate, and a fairly large yard.

I drove directly into the yard.

I asked the female staff member to show my mother and me the room. It was alright; there was a large double bed, two sofas, and a private bathroom with hot water for the shower at night.

I asked about meals. The staff member said, "Eating is very convenient. There's a small canteen in the backyard, and a row of small restaurants outside."

I asked, "How many guests are staying here now?"

The staff member said, "Not many. The rooms are mostly empty."

I asked about the price: one hundred yuan per day. In places like this, with no security cameras, it's safe to stay. I checked in; room number 104. I went out to lock the car and brought Ah Biao in. I've always lived a simple life; my belongings consist of various cards and a laptop.

I washed my face; it was past seven. My mother and I ate at the small canteen in the backyard.

I gulped down water, one cup after another. I wanted to dilute my urine. My mother looked at me with puzzlement. I didn't tell her about my embarrassing problem.

Drink water, pee; eat, poop; earn money, spend it; have sex, then die. That's life.

Back in the room, I lit a cigarette. My mother said, "Can you stop smoking? It's choking, and your breath smells like smoke." My

mother was annoyed by my smoking. I put the bag of cash next to my mother, cigarette dangling from my lips, and went out, observing my surroundings from behind the hostel's iron railing.

It was too cold. There were even fewer people on the street. Across the street, a man selling roasted lamb skewers was hopping around from the cold outside his shop.

My Bluetooth beeped. I answered.

Upon hearing the voice, I recognized it as a woman's. She immediately said, "If your wife is next to you, just say 'wrong number.'"

I recognized her voice (auto repair shops always keep contact numbers).

I said, "Oh, you didn't get it wrong. I'm outside."

She said, "It's so late, why aren't you home yet?"

I said, "No."

She said, "This is my home phone number."

I said, "Oh."

She asked, "Is the car okay?"

I said, "It's okay. Is it a little less?"

She asked, "What's less?"

I said, "Blood."

She said, "Hmm, a little less. You bad guy! You even left me a souvenir!" (souvenir: referring

to the condom I put in her vagina).

I asked, "What time did you find it?"

I noticed three men, around thirty years old, were eating kebabs across the street.

She said, "Just now. I was wondering why my lower area felt strange, I thought you'd made it swollen."

I asked, "Isn't it swollen?"

She said, "Yeah, a little swollen. You're so naughty."

I said, "It's alright. What are you doing now?"

She said, "I'm doing laundry while thinking about you."

I said, "Thinking about what?"

She whispered, "Everything. You know what? Right now I'm turning over the 'thought you gave me' and sticking out my tongue to lick your wetness."

I asked, "Does it smell good?"

She said, "Yeah, it smells good, and it's salty too. Why didn't you ejaculate today?"

I said, "Didn't I tell you?"

She said, "Aren't you uncomfortable?"

I said, "Yes, I am." "How wonderful it would be to hold you forever."

She said, "Don't try to sweet-talk me. There are always plenty of women around the boss.

" I said, "That's right. Now, touch your lower part for me."

She said, "Hmm. If you ejaculate, that would be great."

I asked, "How?"

She said, "Now I can dig some out and eat it."

I said, "Wait. I'll make sure you're full next time."

She said, "I'm swollen again. I miss you so much. You've ruined me, I'm almost going crazy. How have I survived all these years?"

At that moment, I saw the middle one of the three men across the street glance at me quickly, then look away, but whisper something to his companion.

I said, "I miss you too. I have to hang up."

She said, "Okay. I'll wait for you, okay?!"

I said, "I know. I'm hanging up."

I finished my cigarette, threw away the butt, put the Bluetooth device in my inner pocket, and strode towards the three of them. A frightened bird is too tired to run away, so it's better to face it directly and resolve it as soon as possible.

The skewer vendor, seeing me approach, became excited and asked, "Uncle, how many do you want?"

A large basin of meat on the nearby iron table held over a hundred skewers. I picked one up, smelling the meat while scanning each of them with my gaze.

My stare was menacing. The three men lowered their eyes, startled by my gaze. These were all unfamiliar faces.

But with my current memory, even if I'd seen them before, would I remember?

Each of the three men held five or six skewers, eating silently.

We were all shivering from the cold.

The vendor asked again, "Uncle, how many do you want?"

I put down my skewers. The meat was indeed mutton, with a strong gamey smell.

I said coldly, "This meat isn't good."

The vendor immediately became anxious, confidently declaring, "My meat is the best here! Go check other places!"

I put my arm around him and asked, "Do you have any whipped meat or waist-slimming meat?"

I deliberately lowered my voice, but the three men could still hear me.

He stared at me, speechless, mouth agape. The three of them nervously watched the meat skewers they were holding.

I picked up a shiny steel skewer, grinned, and licked it, saying, "I like eating men's meat. It's super nutritious.

I haven't had it in ages, I'm craving it!"

As I rambled on, I scanned the three men intently. They exchanged bewildered glances, clearly flustered.

I continued, "Human intestines, ever tried them? You pull the intestines out of the anus, cut a section with a knife, skewer it in a zigzag pattern, with a little bit of poop on it, sprinkle it with cumin, chili, and salt, grill it until it's half-crispy and oozing oil, then bite into it—wow! Delicious!"

I licked my lips, staring intently at the three men. They looked at me warily, as if they'd seen a ghost.

I said, "Human strips are delicious too! Sprinkled with cumin, chili, and salt, tsk, hey, let me tell you…" The

three men couldn't take it anymore. Holding the remaining skewers, they paid and left, not daring to look back. Looks like they hadn't received any special training.

Why were they messing around with me for no reason?!

The kebab vendor was still staring at me blankly, his lips a little stiff, his tone unnatural: "Uncle, who told you I have... I have..."

I said, "Really? Think about it again?"

My right hand reached down to his buttocks, slowly touching his testicles.

His face stiffened, almost crying: "Uncle, how much do you want? I'm just running a small business, it's not easy for me..."

I wanted to laugh, but I held it in, my lips trembling, the trembling getting worse.

Under the streetlights, he looked lost, trying to search my pupils.

I released my lips and said, "Just kidding. Don't mind it."

He half-laughed, a big snot bubble popped from his nostril. He wanted to laugh but didn't dare, as if I would rip his guts out if he relaxed.

I laughed and said, "Ten for me, let me taste your meat."

He counted out ten and put them on the grill, fanning them with a fan while sprinkling cumin, chili, and salt. He was still very nervous, his hands stiff, his movements awkward.

I glanced behind him; the shop sign read "xxxx". The shop was empty, with hardly any customers.

I asked, "Are you the owner?"

He said, "Yes, I am."

I asked, "Do you have lamb offal?"

He said, "Yes."

I looked around the shop again. Through the frost pattern on the glass, I could vaguely see a woman sitting at the back, wearing a red cotton-padded jacket.

I said, "Is that your wife in the red cotton-padded jacket?"

He said, "Ah... she's my sister."

He looked at me nervously, wondering what mischief I was up to.

I asked, "Where's your wife?"

He said, "She ran away."

I said, "Oh. Don't tell me your sister got divorced."

He said, "My brother-in-law ran away with my wife."

Ten skewers were ready. He handed them to me.

I took them and went into the shop. My younger brother followed me nervously.

I ate my skewers as I walked in, saying, "The taste is pretty good. Where's the lamb offal?"

My brother nervously said to his sister, "Hurry up, hurry up!"

My sister lazily got up and went to the wall. There was a big pot by the wall. She lifted the pot lid. Inside were dry offal, some whitish, some pale purple.

I bent down, rummaged through it, grabbed a few pieces, and smelled them while glancing at my sister.

The smell was authentic. She was fairly good-looking, but seemed a little flustered, wanting to look at me but not daring to look too closely, her gaze darting around.

I gave each of them a piece of lamb offal and said, "Eat up."

The younger brother quickly and obediently opened his mouth, ate it, and started chewing .

The older sister took it, looking at her brother, completely bewildered by my next move.

The younger brother said, "Eat it. Hurry up."

The older sister, full of suspicion, ate it and started chewing.

I saw that after they swallowed, there were no adverse reactions. Relieved, I said, "Give me a plastic bag."

The younger brother filled a plastic bag to the brim. I took it.

After finishing the skewers, I pointed to the empty skewers and lamb offal on the table and asked, "How much is all this?"

My younger brother quickly interjected, "It's a free gift, no money needed, hehe, no money needed."

I picked up the lamb offal and sang, "On the seventh day of the seventh month, a young woman went to the market, but met a bad guy on the way..." as I walked out, listening to my brother behind me.

My older sister asked him with displeasure, "Do you know him?"

My brother said, "Ah, yes, a friend."

My sister said, "How come I've never seen him before?"

I left the small shop, staggered, crossed the road sideways, and returned to the hostel. It felt good to be a wolf. When I got back, I was going to strip the sheep's skin off!

Walking back to the hostel, the female receptionist was watching TV at the front desk.

I said, "Lock the gate."

The receptionist got up, grabbed a long chain lock, and walked out with a clanging sound, like she was wearing shackles.

My only task now was to ensure my mother's safety.

I watched the receptionist lock the big iron gate in the courtyard before returning to my room. My mother was half-lying on the sofa watching TV, again barefoot, stepping on the remote control. Bad habits die hard. Ah Biao, drawn by the smell, came over and circled around me.

Mom said, "That cigarette must be two meters long, right? You've been smoking for half an hour."

I said, "I went to scout out the spot."

I poured out some of the lamb offal. Ah Biao circled me again and then started eating.

Mom asked, "Where are we going tomorrow?"

I said, "We'll talk about tomorrow after today."

Mom said, "Look at him! He's eating so well."

I said, "Yeah. He lives such a simple life!"

Mom said, "I really envy him."

I said, "Alright, he has his own troubles. He's middle-aged and still hasn't found a partner."

Mom said, "Have you forgotten? We've tried to find him someone! He didn't even like them."

I said, "Do you think he's a runaway?"

Mom smiled and said, "We wouldn't know if he's a runaway, but he's probably already licked them clean."

I said, "It's pitiful. Should we help him later?"

Mom said, "You help him, I'll watch."

Mom and I just watched the dog and chatted back and forth. My laptop was just lying flat on the table, closed, untouched.

Suddenly, Ah Biao stopped eating, pricked up his big ears, and looked warily at the ceiling.

I looked at the ceiling too. No way?! Don't let it split again!

Just then, we heard a click from inside the room. It came from the table.

The three of us looked in the direction of the sound.

My laptop had popped open by itself and automatically turned on! A white cross, gradually thickening, appeared on the black screen, with the words "lust" and "death" flashing alternately in the background.

My face went numb. I forced myself to walk over and press and hold the power button to shut it down. No use. It wouldn't turn off.

Damn it, here we go again! What does this cross mean? What do these two words mean? Is it a curse that we will die from "lust"?

Die from lust? Die from lust? Dead people? To lust to the death? To commit sins because of lust?

Is this a curse? Who's manipulating this series of strange events?

Just then, the boring TV program suddenly switched to a close-up of an elderly man's face.

His mouth opened and closed, saying, "...I was looking at that corpse. I asked myself: Is she really gone? Cough...cough..."

More sighs! My mother was completely frozen in place.

I quickly went to turn off the TV. The TV wouldn't turn off. The old man continued to recount more details: "...Now I'm going to die too, I know my time is running out..."

I crawled under the table and pulled out the TV plug, but the old man was still talking: "...I saw them, they were all wearing black cotton-padded jackets..."

Suddenly, I heard my laptop emit a woman's pre-orgasmic moaning sound, accompanied by the old man's hoarse laughter.

My whole body went numb, and I frantically pressed the laptop's power button. It wouldn't turn off.

In desperation, I threw the laptop on the ground and stomped on it furiously. It shattered. I kicked the TV screen. The picture shattered.

All the external things that tempted us died. Finally, it was quiet. The groans, laughter, and incessant chatter were all gone. It was completely silent.

Ah Biao stared blankly at me.

I looked at my mother. Her eyes were empty. She said, "Let's leave tomorrow."

I hugged her tightly and said, "It's okay, it's okay, it's all over."

My mother said, "It's not over. I know! Sin!"

I said, "That's right. Who isn't sinful?"

I stood up.

My mother asked in alarm, "Where are you going?"

I said, "I'm going to take a shower. Do you want to shower?"

My mother said, "No. Don't leave me."

I started to take off my clothes.

My mother said, "Tell me, is it because we've done too much all these years? So you're starting to punish us?"

I took off my pants.

My mother said, "Say something."

I said, "Do you want to shower or not?"

My mother said, "You shower first."

I stripped naked and went into the bathroom.

In the bathroom.

I turned on the showerhead, and hot water gushed out.

I stood under the showerhead to shower and wash my hair. The hot water washed over my sinful body.

I looked down at my feet and saw the drain was clogged.

I squatted down for a closer look and saw clumps of white hair next to the drain. Whose? Damn!

I stood up and continued washing, subconsciously rubbing my hair. Clumps of hair came out with every grab.

I jerked back, quickly pulled back the shower curtain, and looked in the mirror. My mouth gaped open uncontrollably. I quickly stuffed my fist into my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

In the mirror, I saw a bald old man, his face covered in wrinkles and age spots, even his eyebrows were gone.

Death, like a sinister demon, tormented me in a corner I couldn't see.

I quickly grinned at the mirror. Thank goodness. My teeth were still intact. I dried myself, put on a shower cap, and walked out of the bathroom.

My mother said, "Why are you wearing that thing?"

I said I was cold. Just then, I heard Ah Biao snoring.

Mom sighed and said, "It's hard on you to be with me."

I said, "It's not hard. You carried me for ten months and suffered so much; I can't even repay you enough."

Mom said, "No, I don't mean it. I'm getting old, while you're in your prime, so young..."

I said, "Young what? My hair's all white."

I didn't dare say, "All my hair's gone."

Mom got up and went to the bathroom. I followed her in and whistled a "shh"

sound for her. Mom peed to the familiar whistling.

After she finished, she leaned forward, bent over, and stuck out her buttocks. I tore off some toilet paper to wipe her vulva.

Mom came out of the bathroom and got into bed. I stripped her naked, grabbed her buttocks, and started licking them.

Mom said, "Lick Mom's clitoris! Suck Mom's clitoris! Oh my~~ You're sucking Mom to death~"

I licked and sucked Mom's sweaty, smelly soles and toes.

My mother clamped her legs tightly around my neck, panting and asking in a low voice, "Do you want to fuck me?"

We were at a crucial juncture; I couldn't stop, or all my efforts would be wasted. Women need continuous stimulation.

I couldn't speak, only nodding repeatedly as an affirmative answer. My nodding intensified the stimulation of her clitoris with my mouth and tongue.

In silent trembling, my mother climaxed.

I assured xxx that I saw my mother's body radiating electricity. Pale blue and light pinkish-red rays of light radiated outwards from her lower abdomen.

In fact, an orgasm is like that discharge, a gradual accumulation of energy released in an instant.

After the climax, Mom encouraged me, saying, "Go ahead and ejaculate. Look how long you've been holding it in!"

I said, "Men who do more and ejaculate less live longer."

Mom said, "Holding it in isn't good. You can't hold back your poop

, pee, and semen." I said, "Touching without ejaculating, holding back semen, and using it to nourish the brain—that's the real hooligan. A real hooligan dares to face a passionate, wet cunt and dares to look directly at the dripping, lustful fluids."

Mom laughed, "Here we go again!"

I said, "No, no. The first part is from the *Jade Chamber Guide*, or maybe the *Plain Girl Classic*, the second part is my alteration."

Mom said, "Nonsense. Semen is like water in a sponge; if you wring it out, there will always be some."

I said, "Wrong. Semen is cultivated, haven't you heard? A hundred years of cultivation to share a boat ride, ten days to refine a tube of semen."

Mom laughed out loud, her breasts swaying.

Actually, I was afraid to ejaculate. I was afraid that if I ejaculated and fell asleep, I would be caught off guard if something happened. I was afraid that I wouldn't wake up after falling asleep.

My mother touched my face with her bare feet and said, "It's okay. Go ahead and cum. You'll get pent up. Come on, let Mom help you with her feet."

As she spoke, her bare feet moved down, finding my testicles and penis, and began to gently caress them.

I grabbed my mother's two fleshy feet, lifted them up again, and excitedly kissed and smelled them, but my mind was filled with thoughts of another cunt I had licked ten hours earlier. Does this count as cheating on my mother?

If my feelings for my mother are the only true ones, then are my feelings for other women all fake? How far can my relationship with my mother go?

Due to her physical disability, my mother's range of activities and social circle are limited.

I am able-bodied; my range of activities and social circle are not limited. This is a little unfair to my mother. But there's nothing I can do.

Is tonight the last night I can serve my mother?

My mother watched me lick between her toes, smiling, and said, "Look at you wearing that shower cap while doing this to me, it feels strange, really funny."

My mother's smile is so beautiful!

Will I be able to see her again tomorrow? I said, "Mom, I want to fuck your feet!"

Mom obediently lowered her feet to my crotch, clamping my hard cock between them, and started "footjob" on me. (Some people call it footjob. a8 prefers to say "footjob".)

Mom's nimble and soft feet came together, using the hole formed between her soles to simulate a "flesh vagina," letting my cock fuck me and making me feel good.

Actually, the very fact that I was defiling my mother's feet was enough to excite me.

I'd imagined countless times how perfect it would be to make love with her if she had arms and hands!

Unfortunately, reality isn't like that. (Not to mention, my mother would never tolerate me smoking.)

My mother looked at me and said, "Baby, shoot. Shoot Mommy! Get Mommy dirty!"

My hard cock, sandwiched between my mother's bare feet, gradually showed signs of defeat.

My breathing became rapid. My face turned purple. The main force had already gathered on the platform.

I quickly pulled my cock out from between my mother's fleshy feet and held it to her face. At the same time, I touched my mother's anus.

My mother's asshole was soft and moist.

My mother opened her mouth, took my cock in her mouth, and began to give me oral sex.

I squeezed my mother's big breasts, rubbing them, pinching her nipples with my thumb and forefinger, and looking down at my mother licking and sucking my cock.

My middle finger inserted into my mother's anus, and my thumb massaged her clitoris.

Mom said in a lewd way, "You pervert, are you going to kill me?"

I asked, "Does DouDou feel good?"

Mom said, "It feels so good."

I asked, "Does your ass feel good?"

Mom said, "It feels amazing."

I aimed my big cock at Mom's face.

Mom knew her son was about to ejaculate. So she closed her eyes and opened her mouth. This pattern had been rehearsed hundreds of times.

I furiously stroked my big cock with my hand in front of Mom's open mouth.

I squeezed and kneaded Mom's big breasts and asked, "Mom, am I horny?"

Mom nodded with her eyes closed and said, "Horny. Mom is a big horny cunt."

I said, "What should I do with such a big horny cunt?"

Mom said, "Fuck her to death! Fuck her to death."

Suddenly, I felt like I couldn't take it anymore! The sky was falling!

I frantically masturbated.

It's coming, it's coming!

I started to ejaculate.

From the first spurt of semen shooting out of my cock, I started to feel cold. I saw that the spurting semen was bright red and kept gushing out.

Blood in semen? Am I going to lose my erection?

Will I end up like Ximen, "fainting, limbs trembling... lunging forward," dying from exhaustion?

Every man knows that once the ejaculation reflex begins, it's hard to stop immediately. I quickly covered my mother's eyes, afraid she'd worry if she saw.

I watched my sticky, blood-red semen splatter forcefully onto her mouth and face. She couldn't see the color, reflexively swallowing her son's semen.

There were her underwear on the sofa next to us. I grabbed them and started wiping, wiping her face, wiping my glans, wiping frantically.

Finally, when it was clean, my mother opened her eyes and said, "You naughty boy, you really ejaculated a lot today!"

I tore open a wet wipe and continued wiping. I felt like I couldn't get it clean no matter how much I wiped.

My mother said, "Okay. You're tired enough today. Go to sleep."

I hugged my mother, smelling the unwashed fragrance emanating from her body.

Could I possibly make it through tonight? What if something happened to me? Who would take care of my mother then?

My mother shuddered. I knew this was the signature movement of my mother falling into deep sleep.

Sure enough, Mom's snoring grew louder, but I dared not close my eyes for a long time.

I finally fell asleep, and dawn broke quickly. Because I was in a hurry to get somewhere, I rushed out the door.

I was stunned when I opened it; someone was lying there, heavily pregnant, unconscious.

It was that little slut. So pitiful. What a twist of fate! The person you least want to run into is the one you most likely to bump into.

Had I still not shaken her off? How did she find this place? How could she be about to give birth so soon?

A whole host of questions remained unanswered. Saving her was the priority. I ran to the front desk, threw several large bills at the female clerk, and told her to quickly get me a vacant room.

The clerk looked at me with skepticism and said, "114, give me the key." I snatched it, turned around, ran to room 114, and opened the door.

I picked up the little slut, carried her into room 114, kicked the door shut, and put her on the large bed. Her belly was ridiculously large; she looked like she was about to give birth.

I stripped her naked. Her breasts were five or six times larger than before, and had become loose and sagging. Her areolas had darkened; was it from being fucked too often lately? Or was it due to hormonal changes?

I touched her vagina. It was wet and slippery, like it had endless vaginal discharge. A thick, fleshy vulva, the source of life.

Suddenly, I found her pregnant vagina quite stimulating; her breasts were large, and most importantly, her pregnant vagina seemed perpetually aroused. I like wet vaginas, I hate dry ones, like a menopausal neighborhood committee director.

She woke up and looked at me. I just watched her masturbate.

Suddenly, a large gush of warm water sprayed onto my hand. I looked down; her water had broken. Cloudy amniotic fluid flowed from her pregnant vagina, probably seven or eight pounds.

With so much amniotic fluid lost and the baby still not out, it was already dangerous.

I saw her clutching her stomach on the bed, rolling around in agony. It looked like contractions had started.

I asked, "Are you human or a ghost? Who brought you here? Who even knew you were here? What do you want? Speak up, you slut!"

I grabbed her nipples hard and furiously choked her neck. But she didn't answer.

Her screams showed that she was no longer human. (From her perspective, it was me who was not human. Who interrogates a woman at this time?)

I pulled down my pants, flipped her over, and did six-six (not 69) with her, thrusting my penis into her wet, pregnant vagina from behind.

The baby's head had already engaged. Her vagina had shortened under the pressure of the forty-pound "gift bag."

Shortened it is, it'll do. I grabbed her fleshy shoulders and fucked her three times tight and three times slow, cruelly torturing her pregnant vagina on the verge of delivery.

She writhed and moaned as my penis fucked her, like Jiang Jie being slowly tortured, like a castrated donkey.

I was raping a pregnant woman who had no ability to resist.

She must have sweated five or six pounds. She was soaking wet, her hair clump-like, as if she'd just washed it and hadn't dried it.

The room reeked of sweat, a sour smell. There was also the pungent smell of urine, and the sweet smell of her vagina.

As I fucked her, I looked out the window. Smoke rose again from across the street, and the man grilling skewers saw me.

During a lull in her contractions, I said, "There was a pregnant female soldier who was captured by the enemy."

She quickly picked up on my words, and her buttocks started swaying again.

My hand reached around to knead her clitoris. Her clitoris was swollen and shiny, like a boiled peanut.

She spread her legs, panting, and asked, "And then?"

I grabbed her hands behind her back and said, "The enemy tied her up tightly and masturbated her."

She said, "Oh~~"

I continued, "They even used needles dipped in saliva to prick her pregnant vagina, pricked her clitoris, and said, 'Baby, let us prick you, you don't know how much we love hearing your moans.'"

She opened her eyes and said, "You pervert! You're a pervert!"

I said, "It was the enemy who was a pervert."

My penis churned roughly inside her pregnant cunt, my fingers brutally kneading her clitoris. She closed her eyes, returning to the story. One shouldn't be too conscious while listening to a story.

I said, "All she could see were big, thick penises, each one longer than the last, vigorous and energetic, throbbing and pounding like a stud dog seeing Diao Chan."

She said, "Oh~~"

I said, "The enemy surrounded her. A big, thick penis started raping her. The others held her down hard. The female prisoner couldn't resist, she could only secretly enjoy it."

She sighed, "Ah!"

In her mind, she saw herself being held down and brutally raped by several "enemies.

" I cruelly fucked her, saying, "The enemy said while raping this female soldier, 'Smell this filthy cunt, it's so horny!'"

Her body hardened, her breathing quickened. I intensified my fucking of her rotten cunt, intensified my fucking of her clitoris. Suddenly, her whole body tensed.

We arrived. Sweat poured out, another layer of sweat.

Her body relaxed, panting heavily.

I said, "There's an old saying: fucking can induce labor."

She said, "Never heard of that."

I said, "Because a woman's orgasmic contractions can intensify uterine contractions, and the prostaglandins in a man's semen can too."

She said, "Compared to you, all the other hooligans are good people."

I asked, "How did you find me?"

She said, "I told you, this little slut is sticking with you. You can't get rid of me."

We pressed tightly together. I grabbed her big breasts. Her big breasts were heaving violently. I pulled her hair and continued to fuck her.

I said, "The enemy takes over fucking her. One cums, the next one follows, one after another."

She said, "Oh~~"

I said, "Later, the female soldier's father came in, put his finger in her ass, and then took it out and made her suck it."

She said, "Oh~~ no~~"

She was completely in character, and her pregnant cunt was leaking a lot of sticky fluid, all wet.

I pinched her clitoris and said, "Daddy's big cock is going to go in her ass and fuck her."

She trembled and said, "Oh, Daddy, fuck me! Fuck me to death!"

I fucked her harder and stopped talking. The fucking reached a fever pitch.

She squinted her hazy eyes, swaying her ass as I fucked her, like a bitch, reaching her second climax.

I stuck out my tongue and licked her sweaty face, like a dog. The deeper you sink, the more pleasure you get.

Soon, she reached her climax again in my arms, her whole body tensing and spasming.

Her cunt tightened violently, clamping down on my cock. I fucked her even harder, while vigorously rubbing her big belly.

She contracted in pain, her waist arching forward like a fat shrimp. A new round of contractions began.

She pushed me away and said, "Daddy, stop fucking me..."

I saw that she looked strange and her voice had changed, so I had to pull out my old gun.

Sticky stuff was hanging on my old gun, stretching out in strands.

I rubbed her wet, slippery anus. Her hemorrhoids had worsened; several clumps protruded, making her anus look like it was piled high with cherry tomatoes.

Suddenly, she stared wide-eyed and asked me in terror, "See that? Little devil!"

I looked and looked, but where?

She pointed to the corner where the upper right corner of the window met the ceiling and said, "Look! There they are! Several! Get rid of them!"

I looked and looked in the direction she pointed, but to be honest, I still couldn't see them.

I yelled in that direction, "Get out! Get out of here!"

Then I muttered to myself, "Okay, they're all gone."

I turned back to look at her. What I saw made my back ache and go cold!

On her swollen, shiny belly, the cross tattoo on her navel was getting longer and longer!

The horizontal lines ran across her waist and backward, the vertical lines went down to her vulva, and above them had already climbed over her cleavage. Moreover, the cross tattoo was getting thicker and thicker, turning a deep red color.

Her big belly began to writhe. She groaned in agony, urinating a large puddle.

I stared at the bizarre scene, my heart pounding, unable to move.

The cross tattoo continued to extend and thicken, then suddenly, with a "splat," her abdomen burst open, and a large sac of flesh ruptured.

Immediately afterward, amniotic fluid and blood gushed out in a chaotic mess. A pale blue tube of flesh, like a large intestine, was connected to her abdomen.

Inside, a massive mass of flesh bulged with blood vessels, its skin taut, dark red veins densely packed, like Tarzan's testicles, weighing at least thirty pounds.

Something was moving inside, causing the vascularized flesh to bulge and contract.

My penis immediately went limp, and I jumped naked onto the windowsill. A putrid stench filled the room. I felt like I'd entered a giant python's den.

Then I saw a bluish-gray, snake-like creature emerge from the fleshy sac, hissing and writhing on the bed, covered in slime, looking extremely painful and distressed, as if unwilling to be born.

The thing was about a meter long, with patterns on its back, a large head like a baby's, its eyes closed, its mouth wide open, spewing sticky threads.

Even now, thinking about what I saw makes me nauseous. Every cell in my spine stood on end; it felt like being bitten by a fly!

(I don't know which two characters are correct, but I understand it to mean uncomfortable, making you feel numb and tingly all over, like swallowing a live fly that hasn't been completely swallowed, its tiny claws scratching at your throat, making you want to make a pizza.)

The thing writhed and writhed, looking quite strong, bit off the umbilical cord, burrowed under the bed, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

A long trail of slime remained on the bed, filthy and disgusting.

The little slut tilted her head, opened her mouth, and over three pounds of yellowish-white porridge gushed out, running down her neck.

I felt completely limp and returned to bed. Outside the glass window, snow fell silently, swirling in the air.

I was drenched in cold sweat, my soul seemingly leaving my body.

A black bird blinked its eyes outside the window, then suddenly flapped its wings and flew away. I'd seen that bird before…

After it flew away, the guy at the barbecue stall across the street gave me a strange smile, then lowered his head to continue grilling meat.

The little slut sighed, her body relaxed, urine and soft feces gushed out, and then she became still.

Her eyes were wide open, vacant, her mouth slack, lips parted, motionless.

I mustered my courage and placed my hand under her nostrils. No breath.

Her cycle of reincarnation was over. When would the next cycle begin? Where would she be reborn? Where did the fleshy snake go?

I tried to close her eyelids. But as soon as my hand left, her eyelids opened again.

On the bed, the blankets were disheveled, the sheets were wrinkled, there was filthy slime and bloodstains, and a girl lay disemboweled. A scene of utter chaos.

I had to run. I left the hotel naked and started running, but I couldn't run fast. I ran in slow motion, like struggling in a huge, viscous swamp.

This scene of "not being able to run" was one I'd dreamed of many times. I knew it well. I couldn't breathe. I felt terrible. I told myself: Wake up! But I couldn't wake up.

Slowly, my body floated up, higher and higher. My body lay horizontally in the air, like it was floating in the Dead Sea.

I tried waving my arms, and I actually floated forward, like swimming in the air. I waved my arms a couple more times, and I flew far away again. A wonderful feeling.

I flew and flew, back to my office building. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I saw my assistant and the finance manager sitting in my office, leering at the secretary serving tea.

The company was running smoothly, everything was in order, no signs of being shut down. They'd taken over. They'd conspired.

I'd been played.

I panicked, I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

I was anxious. I was angry. I kicked. I woke up and saw my mother, naked, looking at me.

I was still wearing my shower cap, but I knew my forehead was covered in a layer of cold sweat.

My mother lifted her leg and "touched" my leg and stomach with her bare foot.

Ah Biao stood by the bed, looking at me worriedly.

I peeked out through a corner of the curtains. The streets were deserted, but it was really snowing heavily. I checked my watch, seven o'clock.

Mom said, "I just had a bad dream. I dreamt about your little boy."

I quickly covered Mom's mouth and said, "Don't say it. Don't say it."

The room was still the same as last night, with fragments of the TV screen and broken pieces of the laptop scattered on the floor.

I hugged Mom and buried my head in her soft breasts. Mom had a faint, fleshy scent. I inhaled it greedily. How many more days could I hug her? How much longer could I smell her?

I said, "It's still early, sleep a little longer."

Mom whispered, "I can't sleep. I'm scared."

I said, "Don't be afraid. What's meant to be will be."

Mom whispered, "Then tell me a story. Comfort me."

I whispered, "Tell me, there's a bustling commercial street in the city center, with cars and people coming and going, as bright as day. People are packed together. A big-breasted slut wiggles her butt as she walks by."

I touched Mom's smooth back under the covers.

Mom smiled and whispered, "You really just blurt things out like that? What's going on in your head?"

I rubbed Mom

's clitoris and continued whispering, "She walked to the front of a big shopping mall and looked at the shop window. The shop window was brightly lit, and there were two wedding dress mannequins sitting inside, looking dazed." I gently scraped Mom's urethra with one finger. She was very sensitive there. Mom started panting.

Ah Biao lay down, his head next to his front paws, his eyelids gradually closing.

I whispered, "A man came over, stood behind her, lifted her skirt, and touched her buttocks. She didn't dodge, and let the strange man touch her. When the man touched her, her vagina was wet."

Mom asked in a low voice, "Was she horny?"

I said, "Her, very horny. The man pulled her into the shop window, stripped her naked under the light, forced her to sit on a chair, and stood behind her touching her big white breasts."

Mom slightly twisted her buttocks. My finger slowly slipped into Mom's urethra, gently rubbing, and touched her vaginal fluid.

I said, "A living person went into the shop window. A crowd of all sorts of people gathered outside—migrant workers, professors—all came to watch. The man inside continued to touch her. She was very excited, breathing heavily."

My hand continued to grope my mother's urethra. My mother became excited and gently kissed my neck.

I continued, "He made you bend over, tied you to a chair, spread your legs, and forcefully opened your vulva for everyone to see. Lots of sticky fluid flowed out."

I had subtly changed the pronouns. My mother's face and body began to heat up.

I said, "He said you're shameless. He said you still have semen in your vagina and you still come out to be horny. You twisted your buttocks while he touched you, while he humiliated you."

My mother sighed, being rubbed by me in the blankets. I began to thrust harder into her urethra, my fingers and palms hitting her clitoris.

My mother whispered, "I need to pee."

I said, "He said, 'You all watch, this woman is going to pee. She's going to pee in front of you.'"

My mother kissed my chin. Her body temperature rose steadily.

As I intensified my fingering of my mother, I said, "He pinches your breasts, kisses you. He pulls out his big cock and says he's going to fuck you until you shit."

My mother responded softly, "Oh, you big scoundrel..."

I said, "The big scoundrel starts fucking you, spitting on your ass as he does so."

My mother asked softly, "What is he going to do?"

I said, "He's going to fuck your rotten cunt and then fuck your asshole."

My mother said, "Oh, um, oh, ah~~"

I grabbed my mother's hair with my left hand, violently tearing at it, while my right hand gradually increased the frequency of my fingering.

I said, "The big scoundrel interrogates you while he fucks you, he asks if you're a slut."

My mother whispered, "I am~~ I am~~"

I said, "You slut, the big scoundrel will fuck you to death in front of everyone!"

My mother whispered, "Oh! No~"

I said, "The big scoundrel fucks you hard. He's going to cum, he's going to cum, he'll shove a boiled egg up your asshole, and then continue fucking your cunt."

My mother kissed my face, her lips soft and warm.

I said, "He pulls your hair and inserts it into your vagina. He spreads your anus and barely squeezes his penis in. His penis is pressing against a hot egg, and the egg is pressing against your shit."

Mom whispered, "Oh! No~"

I said, "He shoves a big and small firecracker into your vagina, and lights the fuse with a Zippo lighter. The fuse with gunpowder hisses and burns, getting shorter and shorter."

This time Mom was silent. I knew she was close to climaxing. I masturbated her urethra and vagina even harder, wildly flicking and stroking, like a six-fingered violin demon.

I said, "It's going to explode, it's going to explode, it's about to explode. Drip, drip."

Mom suddenly let out a heavy "Mmm!" followed by her whole body tensing up, convulsing in a daze.

I said, "Finally, it exploded. Nothing is left. The universe is a chaotic void."

Mom urinated heavily.

I said, "Go ahead and pee, it's not a sin. Can a living person die from holding their pee? Pshaw! Tomorrow I'll buy two sets of bedding, one for when we're in bed, one for when we're on our backs, one for when we pee."

Mom chuckled silently, her body trembling, and more urine flowed out.

After we finished peeing, we both let out a long sigh.

I asked, "Was it comfortable?"

Mom whispered, "Comfortable."

I asked, "How comfortable?"

Mom whispered, "It's just...so comfortable, so very comfortable."

I'm not her, I'll never understand her feelings.

I asked, "Are you sleepy?"

Mom whispered, "Mmm."

I said, "It's still early, sleep a little longer."

Mom whispered, "Mmm."

I lay down comfortably, hugged Mom, and gently rubbed her back.

If zero represents wakefulness and ten represents deep sleep, Mom was now at six, and in her drowsy state said, "Don't leave me..."

I said, "I won't leave, I won't leave."

Mom's breathing became even. I stopped moving. In the morning light, Mom nestled in my arms, as docile as a big tabby cat.

Suddenly, Abiao abruptly opened his eyes, his ears perked up.

I was jolted awake because I clearly heard a knock on the door!

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