[Urban] Must be fucked to death (Complete) - 19-21

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

Chapter Four's climax was louder than thunder.

He said, "Our factory has plenty of equipment. I've already thought it all out: the meat, minced, mixed into pork filling and sent to the supermarket; the bones, chopped up and fed to the dogs."

I asked, "What did you eat today? Why do you keep talking about killing and dying?"

He said, "What day is it today? Have you forgotten?"

Damn it! Today is our sixteenth wedding anniversary. He's been possessing me for sixteen years! This sexy flower of mine has been blooming in vain for sixteen years!

He said, "Remember this, in this world, only I truly love you."

Love so deeply that it requires chopping? What kind of logic is that?

I said, "Just say 'love' if you love, why use such a scary term?"

He said through gritted teeth, "Because I hate adulterers!"

As he spoke, he gritted his teeth and lifted my bare feet from the foot basin, gripping them fiercely and wiping them dry.

I was speechless. A chill ran from my tailbone to the back of my head.

He said, "If I can't have her, no one else can."

I forced a smile and said, "Don't worry, your wife belongs only to you."

He suddenly smiled brightly and said, "Of course, my wife would never cheat on me, right?"

I said, "Yeah, right~ of course not~" I couldn't help but tremble, but I dared not.

He started wiping the water off my other foot, forcing a smile and saying, "Hmm, good girl, you knew my wife wouldn't cheat on me."

I had just relaxed a little when I saw him touch my shapely bare foot, kiss it, smell it, and say, "Look at these pig's feet, soft, white, and clean, so beautiful! If you stew them until they're tender, lift the lid, hey! Tsk tsk!"

Hearing this, I froze, my heart jumped into my throat again, I dared not move, and didn't know what to say.

This guy is really acting strangely today. He's basically never violent. In our second year of marriage, we were strolling around Longfusi Temple when three thugs barged in, groped my face, and tried to drag me into the nearby Bai Kui Lao Hao restaurant for drinks. I broke free and yelled at them, calling them hooligans and shameless. Before I could react, they slapped me four times. I was being bullied, and my husband just stood there watching!

I was furious! I yelled at him, telling him to go and beat them up, but he wouldn't budge. After the thugs left, he came over and said there were too many of them, and reasoning with them was pointless, so let it go. I was furious. He's usually so independent, so what's wrong with him today? What triggered him? Has he already sensed something? I'm so careful, how did he find out?

It seems that if you don't want people to know, you shouldn't do it in the first place. No matter how strong the paper is, it can't hide the truth.

I knew his sudden attentiveness was suspicious. Like a weasel washing my feet, he's holding back a fart.

My husband picked up my foot basin to pour out the water.

Just as he was about to leave my room, he suddenly turned around and said without looking back, "You go to bed first. I'll come over and sleep with you in a bit."

I said in a trembling voice, "Oh no~ no need~" He said firmly, "Yes."

I said, "I~ I'm not feeling well today."

He didn't say anything and left my room.

I quickly jumped up, closed the door, locked it tightly, and then hid under the covers to call that big bad guy, my voice trembling with nervousness. I whispered, "He probably knows."

"Impossible."

"Why not? Didn't you say anything is possible?"

"All's fair in love and war. Don't be afraid of him."

I said, "I miss you."

He said, "I know, baby. I miss you too."

"I really want you to hug me."

"Then come over?"

"What are you saying? Today is our sixteenth wedding anniversary."

Just then, I suddenly heard my husband banging on my door, a loud crash.

I quickly lowered my voice and said rapidly, "He's here, I'm hanging up."

He asked, "Are you in danger now?"

I said, "I'm hanging up."

Then I hurriedly hung up the phone.

Seeing the door lock, its screws loose and teetering on the verge of collapse, my heart clenched, like a frightened bird.

Like a thief caught red-handed, an undercover agent exposed.

I smoothed my hair, mustered my courage, and went to unlock the door.

The door was immediately flung open, and my husband burst in, screwdriver in hand.

He asked, "Why did you lock the door?"

I said, "I'm going to sleep."

He said, "This is my home. You're not allowed to lock the door in my house."

Yes, under the same roof, locking the door was tantamount to declaring war.

But I couldn't do anything; he had neglected me first. We hadn't been on the same page for a long time. How many years had we not slept in the same bed? I couldn't even remember.

I said, "Your snoring is deafening, like a light rail on an elevated highway. Wouldn't it be better if we slept separately?"

He asked, "Who are you keeping an eye on? Me?"

I said, "No... I'm not..."

He said, "That's good."

He squatted down, took the screwdriver, removed the lock, and then turned to take a shower.

I lay quietly on the bed. Helpless.

From then on, he could come and rape me anytime. I had nowhere to hide, and I couldn't call that bastard from home anymore, nor could I have sex with that black donkey. My privacy and dignity had been stripped away.

I really didn't want my husband in my bed. Now my body and soul had found a new home. Sleeping with my husband, I felt I was betraying that bastard, and betraying myself.

But, with a desperate man, refusing outright was tantamount to provoking him. If I refused too much, would he harm me tonight?

To be honest, I wanted to run, but running would be an admission of guilt, like waking him up with a bang. He would only become more suspicious. The situation would escalate.

What could I do? I wasn't divorced yet. I had no choice but to compromise.

One helpless act on one hand, one compromise on the other, strung together and presented before me, called a legal marriage.

Maybe there would be a turning point between my husband and me? He was, after all, my lover. After all, I was the one who cheated. No matter how much he wronged me, I betrayed my lover in my actions and in my body. Subconsciously, I wanted to atone.

The showerhead was turned off. The water stopped. I knew my husband had finished showering.

I heard the sound of his plastic slippers on the floor. Snap, snap. Closer. Closer still. The assassin has entered my room. The little lamb lay on the bed, trembling, too afraid to move.

My bed sank. I knew he was sitting on my bed.

I tilted my head slightly to look. He was hunched over, his legs bent, skinny and bony, a real-life demonstration of "shrimp and chicken feet—legs bent and back arched." Snap. Darkness. He turned off the light.

I felt him climb on top of me, spreading my legs.

I held my breath, waiting for him to come in.

I waited and waited. Suddenly, a sharp pain! Excruciating! I couldn't help but scream, "Ouch!"

How could he be so thick? I propped myself up on my elbows to look down. It was pitch black, I couldn't see anything clearly.

I wasn't wet down there, dry, and it hurt terribly from being penetrated.

I screamed, "No! No! Stop!"

He continued thrusting, ignoring me.

I turned on the bedside lamp and saw him gripping a hammer, stabbing it into my genitals. The handle was as thick as a rolling pin, and blood was clearly visible on it.

I couldn't bear it any longer. I kicked him away and asked, "How could you do this?"

He was expressionless, intently watching me wince in pain. At that moment, fear gripped me, and my body turned ice-cold. He was abusing me like this; even a hint of pleasure on his face would have been better.

But there was none. His face remained completely expressionless. He sat on my bed, intently watching the hammer in his hand, expressionlessly admiring the blood on its surface.

The hammer was causing me unbearable agony; his indifference chilled me to the bone.

Just two minutes ago, I had naively held onto hope for my marriage; I had thought his words stemmed from "love"—love so deep it was hatred.

Now, I was utterly desperate, wiping the blood from my genitals with a tissue as I cried.

I lay on my side, my body curled up like a wounded armadillo.

My husband clung to me, saying, "I love you. I love you so much..."

I said without room for argument, "Get out."

He silently got up and left the room.

I was drenched in sweat, silently asking myself: How could I have married such a beast? I

was in pain all night. I cried all night. The light rail next door howled all night.

I wished that big bad guy would fly over, sit beside me, talk to me, give me courage and strength.

I endured until 5 a.m., then I couldn't take it anymore.

I got up, put on a skirt and a silk top, washed my face with cold water, and left the house disheveled. I didn't care anymore. I couldn't care less. This was unbearable. I had to run. I had to run first.

Just as I stepped out of the building, I suddenly felt someone stand up under the poplar tree across the street.

Good heavens, it was him. He just stood there. How long had he been there?

I ran towards him, and as I ran, I couldn't help but feel a surge of sadness, tears streaming down my face like a waterfall.

I wanted to tell him how attractive he was. I wanted to tell him how much I missed him. I wanted to tell him about my despair, my confusion, and how I saw no hope. I wanted to tell him about my beastly husband.

I ran to him, looked at him, my lips trembling violently, unable to utter a single word. All the words in my heart turned into tears, silently gushing forth.

I stood there crying, afraid to let out a sound. This was the courtyard where I had lived for over ten years, with many old neighbors.

He took my hand and said, "Come on. Let's talk in the car."

I shook off his hand and walked forward. He caught up with me, and at the entrance of the community, he hailed a taxi.

In the morning light, the taxi slowly started, carrying Hongxing and her lover away. The lover was fierce and menacing. Hongxing was ripe, tears streaming down her face, blood flowing from her skin.

He asked, "Where are you going?"

I said, "I don't know. Just to get away."

He asked, "Why did he come in?"

I said, "He...he..."

The taxi driver glanced at me out of the corner of his eye as he drove, his expression stern and wary. I swallowed the rest of my words along with my tears. Even a fool could tell that the people on the train were an adulterous couple.

He said, "Take your time. Don't rush."

I asked, "When did you arrive?"

He said, "I came as soon as you hung up the phone yesterday."

I was surprised: "Ah? You stood downstairs at my house all night?"

He said, "Of course. I was afraid something might happen to you. Hey, I've never waited for anyone like this

before." I've never received this kind of treatment in my life. My heart warmed and trembled slightly. He was truly good to me. Actions speak louder than words.

I said, "I really don't want to come back."

He hugged me and said, "We won't come back. We won't come back."

In the enclosed train car, I leaned against him, finally feeling a little safe.

He said, "Why are your eyes so swollen? Tell me, what did he do to you? What happened?"

I couldn't tell him about the hammer incident. He fought so fiercely; if I told him, someone would die. I didn't dare to say it, yet I wanted to. I wanted to say it, yet I couldn't. I was so upset.

I said, "Don't ask anymore, okay?"

He said: No. I just asked.

I felt incredibly wronged. The bullied child went home, too afraid to tell me how he'd been bullied.

I said, "He's not human!" His eyes widened, and he glared at the taxi driver, saying, "Driver, let's turn around and go back!"

I quickly grabbed his arm, saying, "No, no, no! Don't!"

Then I told the driver, "Driver, go straight."

The taxi driver pulled over, neither turning around nor continuing.

No matter how outrageous the game, it can't end in death. That's my principle.

I said, "Can we go back to your place first? I'll handle my own family matters."

It wasn't even six o'clock when I got to his apartment. The sky had darkened, the air was humid and stifling, making it hard to breathe. The humidity was 90%, and the water molecules in the air felt like my tears, never drying.

He still wouldn't turn on the air conditioning. There was no other way.

I said, "I miss you."

He said, "Sister, I miss you even more."

I said, "No. I miss you even more."

Who loves whom more? How do you calculate that?

He said, "Sister, I really miss you, every moment."

He said, "Me too."

Suddenly, I felt my words were inadequate.

He took off his shirt and hugged me. My lips pressed against his bare chest. The masculine scent emanating from him made me dizzy.

I trembled slightly. Fear, sadness, and grievance. I had been ravaged; I was deeply hurt. This was the gift I received after sixteen years of marriage.

He pulled off my skirt and underwear, then habitually buried his head in my underwear, saying, "Sister, I'm going down now."

I tried to pull him back, but couldn't.

He froze when he saw my vulva, looked up and asked, "Damn! Is he a donkey? Your genitals are all swollen and bleeding."

I looked at him and said, "Don't be jealous. He's my husband."

He was still resentful: "Hey, didn't you say you two separated a long time ago?"

I pulled him up, kissed him, and whispered, "Do you still want me?"

He pressed me onto the bed, furiously tearing open my silk top, saying angrily as he ripped it, "He's not human, and I'm not human either."

I said, "No, no, he really isn't human."

He said, "I don't want to be human at all."

I said, "Want me, okay?"

He asked, "How exactly did he fuck you?"

I said, "Let's not talk about him anymore. Come on, my breasts are swollen, what should I do?"

He licked my breast, then opened his mouth and sucked fiercely. I felt so good, but his tongue couldn't soothe my panicked heart.

Like a newly escaped rabbit, my heart trembled and clenched. I could hear my heart pounding wildly.

His hands caressed and played with the space between my legs.

Slowly, something invisible inside me heated up and swelled. Outside the window, a torrential downpour was brewing, and a series of explosions inside were inevitable.

My hands trembled slightly, cold and sweaty.

I pushed his head down. He immediately understood, moving between my legs to lick my swollen vulva, soothing my wounds.

This scoundrel, with his rough exterior and rude speech, had such a delicate tongue. My husband, seemingly refined, did such cruel and cold-blooded things.

What did God do? He clearly put the wrong bag

in my life. Or perhaps, both men in my life are devils?

At 37, I stood at the crossroads, an anxious hitchhiker. I had to decide which bus to take.

The scoundrel patiently licked my buttocks, as if for him, sex = licking my vulva, and licking my vulva = sex.

My vulva never sees sunlight, is constantly secreting, and always has a strange smell from menstruation and diarrhea, yet he showed no humiliation or disgust as he kissed and licked.

This guy moved me deeply. No one had ever moved me like this before.

How could there be such a difference between men?

The scoundrel's lips and tongue rekindled my sexual arousal. Just that tongue alone was enough to make me decide to get a divorce.

I savored the wonderful feeling. I experienced the heartbeat.

Slowly, the pain down there lessened. Perhaps the swelling had subsided a bit. Before, I only knew saliva could relieve pain, but now it seemed it could heal too?

He licked for another half hour. I felt comfortable and relaxed, but I couldn't reach orgasm.

[Don't expect a newly escaped rabbit to have the same physiological functions as a normal rabbit immediately. Try it yourself.] He didn't force it. For him, reaching orgasm or not was like breathing—it didn't matter much.

He got up and went into the kitchen, clattering and making breakfast.

Being with him was stress-free, without taboos—it was wonderful. But could I really be with him?

I got out of bed, draped his large bath towel over myself, and walked barefoot onto the clean floor into the kitchen.

The scoundrel was frying eggs, naked. He turned and glanced at me, saying, "Coffee's coming right away. Sit there and wait."

I said, "Okay."

I obediently sat at the table, feeling dazed, like a princess, waiting for my breakfast and coffee.

Is this me? Is this my life? I've never enjoyed this in all these years, and for a moment I felt dizzy and unaccustomed.

Usually at this time, I'm at home, inhaling the fumes of cooking oil as I make breakfast for my bastard husband, but today I ran out and had another man lick my cunt for an hour. Am I still a good woman?

After breakfast, it was dark outside, and a strange wind was blowing, a wicked wind about to unleash its fury.

He asked, "Is it still wet down there?"

I said, "Almost dry."

He asked, "Does it still hurt down there?"

I said, "Much better. Have you ever treated other women like this before?"

He said, "No."

I asked, "How many women have you had?"

He said, "Ten. Now it's just you."

I said, "I don't believe you."

He said, "With my thick eyebrows and big eyes, do I look like a playboy?"

I said, "Yes."

He said, "I'll show you what a real playboy is in a bit."

I said, "You're so mean. Am I the only one who fell into your hands? My life is so miserable!"

We both laughed.

Suddenly, my phone rang. I looked at the number; it was my home number. I trembled again, unsure whether to flip the phone and answer.

He asked, "Is it him?"

I nodded.

The big bad guy picked up my phone and turned it off.

He looked at me, his electrifying eyes blinking, mesmerizing me. My heart clenched even tighter.

He sat diagonally opposite me and said, "Put your feet on my lap. I'll massage them for you."

I obediently put my feet on his bare legs. He grabbed my bare feet and began to massage them carefully, touching the soles, kneading my toes, and stroking the insteps.

My feet are incredibly sensitive; the moment he touched them, my whole body melted.

His hands roamed over my bare feet, as if he knew them intimately, his movements precise and thorough. His large hands were warm, giving me comfort, heat, and confidence.

I moaned, my whole body relaxing, from my tongue to my calves.

Suddenly, a thunderclap exploded on the rooftop. The little rabbit jumped up, almost leaping out of its skin, and cried out, "Hug me!"

He was all muscle, and hugged the little rabbit tightly, saying, "Don't be afraid. Be a good little rabbit. Thunder can't get in."

The little rabbit said, "Tighter."

He hugged her even tighter, saying, "You're not allowed to leave me."

"I won't leave. I'm yours. You can touch me however you want.

" "No, you belong to your husband.

" "I belong to my husband, and I belong to you too. Sooner or later, I'll be all yours."

"I'm so infatuated with you, infatuated with everything about you. What should I do?"

He reached over and touched my lower body. He was about to do something lewd again.

Looking into his passionate black eyes, my lower body twitched, it was a feeling of happiness, like riding a descending elevator, a moment of weightlessness.

He said, "You're wet again."

I said, "Yes~ my feet are very sensitive. Actually, my whole body is very sensitive."

He rubbed my clitoris while saying, "I know, you're very horny."

I went along with him and said, "Yes, I'm a horny woman~" One more 37, and it'll be 74. A naked 74-year-old woman appeared before my eyes—wrinkled, pale, foul-smelling, sluggish, with cracked heels and shriveled breasts.

The little rabbit tensed, unable to accept this reality [but I must admit]: half my life was over.

How terrible! I had to reclaim what I had lost.

Looking at his clean fingers, I teasingly asked, "Still want to mess with me?"

He said, "Of course, I'll kill you! You slut."

I became excited and said, "I like being messed with by you. I'm a normal woman now."

He said, "I really want to lick you, eat you~" Hearing this, my heart started pounding again.

I said, "I can't control myself anymore~" He asked, "Why 'control yourself'?"

My right hand involuntarily moved downwards, downwards, my hand instinctively searching, searching. Soon, I touched his... I caught him! He was so hot, so hard.

It was a magnificent bullwhip. The heat of the bullwhip penetrated my heart. My fragrance filled his nose.

He was excited and said, "Sister, you're seducing me~" I kissed him on the lips. He kissed my face. I gripped his penis tightly, afraid it would soften again.

I said, "You shouldn't be a hooligan on a stormy day."

He said, "Who cares! I'll be a hooligan!"

He got up, picked me up, and placed me on the table, licking my face, my hands, my armpits, my breasts, my stomach, and my lower lips. His lips were gentle and delicate, licking beautifully and with great pleasure. I felt like I was floating in paradise.

His fingers played with my erect nipples, making me feel dizzy and infatuated.

His hand returned to between my legs, gently, very gently, moving downwards from my vulva.

He explored. He probed. He caressed the base of my thighs. Waves of tingling pleasure washed over me.

He gently touched my labia, pressing and scraping. Ah, so good.

He pinched my clitoris, my labia. His fingers were so nimble, like a pianist, like a magician.

Before my eyes appeared a magician's clean hand, sensually showing me the palm and back of his hand, then picking up a red string, tying a knot with one hand, then untying it with the other—the scoundrel's hand was even more agile than a magician's. He knew the right amount of pressure, knew how to be considerate, and never hurt me.

His fingertips touched my wet vulva. My heart pounded wildly, making my temples throb.

His hand gently parted my labia, separating them to reveal my clitoris, my vulva, my clitoris.

He touched and touched with love. My love juice flowed continuously onto his hand. His tenderness flowed continuously through my body via his fingers.

His fingers slid and rubbed my already wet labia, even teasing my sensitive clitoris.

I released my lips, letting out an unbearable moan, and spread my legs for him. I revealed everything to him. I opened myself up to him, giving him everything. Giving him my entire self without reservation.

This big bad guy cherished me, cared about me.

He was a lion, holding a weak deer, with the dignity of a king, watching her, admiring her, tormenting her.

He pinched my clitoris. I felt myself getting even wetter down there, warm, sticky fluid gushing from my uterus and vagina, flowing uncontrollably to the outside, making my entire vulva slippery.

Now, he was like someone who had opened a bottle of fine wine that had been aged for many years. A treasure he had kept for him for years.

If he drank it down in two gulps and fell asleep, he would be a complete sex peasant.

He knew how to appreciate wine. He was a gourmet. His fingers gently slid along the foreskin of my clitoris. The foreskin rubbed against the sensitive, delicate pearl inside.

Repeated rubbing, repeated rubbing, repeated rubbing, fueling a raging fire, the breath from his nostrils hot as smoke. All my defenses completely crumbled. I was so happy I wanted to scream.

I felt a warmth and security I'd never experienced before, a thrill and pleasure I'd never felt before.

I looked at his face. His expression was very much like Yo-Yo Ma playing the violin on stage. [If you don't look at the violin, just looking at Yo-Yo Ma with his eyes closed, mouth open, wildly engrossed, and sweating profusely, doesn't it look like masturbation?] I felt wet, the spring deep inside me flowing endlessly, like a large, mollusc-like creature constantly secreting slippery fluid.

The milky fluid soaked into myself, and I struggled desperately, my lips half-open, emitting increasingly sharp moans.

His middle finger touched that hidden, moist, soft opening on my body.

I began to get excited. He made me breathless. I knew I was gentle, I was lovely.

Now, I was aroused. He had aroused me, my whole body was restless and uneasy.

He made me feel incredibly good. He held me, his hands caressing and kneading my body.

His hands moved like a deep-sea creature skillfully swimming among seaweed, their movements rhythmic and beautiful. I gently touched his lips with my fingers.

We pressed tightly together, breathing in unison. I felt myself getting hot, wet, and glistening.

He licked my slightly red nipples. My nipples, touched and stimulated, became aroused, swelling, firming, bright red, moist, and shiny. I felt them throbbing.

He parted my legs and stuffed cherry tomatoes into my vagina. One, two…

I was frantic, intoxicated.

He stuffed in a full twenty, only stopping when the plate was empty. I was full.

He said, “Squeeze it out.”

He sat back down, spread my legs, and stared intently at my vaginal opening, waiting.

I contracted my lower muscles, trying to expel them. But it wasn't easy.

Another clap of thunder sounded outside the window.

I said, "You bastard, do you think I'm crazy?"

He said, "Yes. Let's be crazy together."

I said, "Put it in~ Do me~" He said, "Now?"

I gasped, "Yes, now. Do whatever you want."

His fingers started "misbehaving" on my private parts, rubbing my clitoris slowly and quickly. He made me so excited!

He said, "Sis, your clitoris is swollen like a peanut."

Swish, my heart warmed, a warm current rushed from my heart to my uterus, and then down.

I said, "Pinch me~" He gently pinched my clitoris. That was my sensitive spot. He pinched my clitoris and shook it wildly, while his hand casually stroked my labia.

My face got hotter and hotter. I don't usually sweat, but now the fire inside me had nowhere to go, scorching my face. My face was completely red.

His hands were still caressing the core of my desire, like a musician playing a slow tune, like a tuner adjusting a piano.

The classic lines from Bai Juyi's "The Song of the Pipa" describing the finger movements of a zither player: "Lightly plucking, slowly twisting, stroking, and picking," are now being used. But his finger movements, so careful and cautious, seem somewhat lacking in power.

Perhaps this rogue wasn't planning on giving me a quick orgasm. He was a master of building up tension.

He pulled my hand and led me down to my groin. I understood; he wanted me to share the exquisite sensation of his fingertips.

I gently touched myself, slightly pulling back my foreskin to expose my glans, then rubbing my fingertips on the exposed glans.

He pressed his fingers onto mine, forcing me to rape myself. The combined force of the two of us was far greater than what I could achieve by masturbating alone. It felt strange.

His fingers trembled, transmitting the vibrations to my hand. The two of us were rubbing my clitoris together. We were in cahoots.

I straightened my legs, flexed my calves, and mustered all my strength to thrust. He pulled my hand down. I touched my protruding vulva. At the vaginal opening, I felt two small, exposed nipples.

He asked, "Does this masturbation feel good?"

I blushed and nodded, "Yes."

I continued rubbing my clitoris, and then I felt two of his fingers penetrate my vagina, forcefully pounding into me.

I heard the squelching sound of a cherry tomato being mashed, and the squelching sound of the fluid secreted from my vagina being pounded by his fingers.

I lay on the dining table, head tilted back, letting him pound into me with his fingers, letting the tomato juice flow out. Squelching.

He said, "Tomato juice can cure abrasions."

I didn't have time to care whether it was true or not. I felt his fingers deliberately curving upwards inside me, rubbing my G-spot hard. Squelching.

He made me feel so good. Squelching. I knew I was almost there. My lower body desperately wanted to be liberated.

He felt me arching my hips upwards, felt my body's desire. He freed one hand to support my lower back, while the hand pounding into my vagina forcefully hooked my G-spot.

His hand was like a giant iron hook hanging in a slaughterhouse. I was the sheep being hooked. He suddenly increased the pressure and quickened his movements. *Plop plop plop plop*

My fingers rubbed against her clitoris, grinding it hard. The poor clitoris swelled and throbbed more and more painfully, pulsating with agony. Despite the torment, it remained defiant and stubbornly upright.

I suppressed the throbbing, unbearable excitement. My groans turned into sobs; I was like Sister Jiang enduring torture. My whole body, every nerve, was so painfully pleasurable.

I trembled. Intoxicated.

I pleaded, "Fuck me! Fuck my pussy~" He lowered his head, pushing my hands away, and began to brutally fuck my pussy while sucking on my clitoris and licking tomato juice, making smacking sounds. I felt his sucking wasn't strong enough.

I pressed his head down hard, crying out, "Bite me! Bite me to pieces!"

He bit my clitoris harder.

I shouted again, "Harder!"

He shook his head, sucking on my clitoris and biting my flesh. A wave of heat quickly surged up, enveloping me. I couldn't bear it any longer; my legs straightened, and my buttocks rose high. It was too intense!

Another thunderclap. I came~ He held me tightly, supporting me quietly, until my legs could no longer straighten and my buttocks fell back onto the table.

My whole body went limp!

Hot!

The tide had just receded, and the sweltering heat followed immediately. I felt a thick layer of sweat, like a tidal wave, soaking my entire body. I felt like I'd been thrown into Lao Tzu's alchemy furnace.

He scooped the bits of tomato out of my vagina and smeared them on my face, then, while licking my flushed cheeks, asked knowingly, "What's wrong, sis?"

I said, "You're so naughty."

He looked at me intently, admiringly, and said, "You have no idea how beautiful you look right now. A woman in love is the most beautiful woman in the world."

My heart pounded, my voice trembled: "Let me get up."

He said, "Taking a shower so early in the morning? No way. Save some water for me."

I whispered, "You pervert. Look what you've done to me~" He was impulsive, saying, "I want to keep doing it to you." I said, "

Then go ahead. It's all yours."

He said, "I want to kill you."

I said, "Okay, go ahead~" He put one leg on the chair next to him and mounted me. His penis was hard and strong. I felt so full down there!

I didn't even look at the clock; it was almost nine o'clock. This was going to be a long day. I moaned freely.

That big bad guy once said my moans were the most beautiful music in the world. He said he especially loved listening to them!

I wanted to let him hear them.

He fucked me hard. I said coquettishly, "Kill me~" He dragged me back to the bedroom and threw me back onto the bed.

His lips, his fingers, and his bullwhip brought me endless pleasure, pushing me to countless climaxes.

The sensual passion and the complete union of body and soul made me increasingly greedy. I was like a starving beggar entering a buffet, a little foolish, feeling like I couldn't eat it all.

He hardly stopped. Was he even human? Doing it for so long~ I had orgasms, so many. That day I leaked so much fluid, his sheets were soaked, just like I had wet the bed.

He asked while fucking me, "Sis, how many orgasms did you have this morning?"

I didn't count, I really didn't count.

I said, "I don't know~ anyway, so many. I'm easily satisfied."

Being with him just felt so comfortable. How long had it been since I'd had one before? I owed myself so much over the years.

I've masturbated before, but the effect is nowhere near as intense as the orgasm from being fucked during intercourse.

The show was captivating, one scene after another. Orgasms came one after another.

During one of the intermissions, I asked, "Do you think I'll get pregnant if you ejaculate inside me last time?"

He said, "Yes."

I said, "You're so mean! I'm being serious!"

He said, "I'm being serious too. Of course, you could get pregnant if you don't use protection."

I asked, "I won't be that unlucky, will I?"

He said, "Hard to say."

A slight tension rose within me. His hand touched me again, quickly easing my anxiety.

He brought me to orgasm twenty times, but then a new problem arose: he wouldn't ejaculate.

We went on for a very long time, six hours, and he still hadn't ejaculated, sweating profusely. He took two warm showers in between, then came back and continued.

Finally, his penis softened inside me, and he naturally withdrew. He lay on the bed, looking exhausted, panting heavily, on the verge of collapse.

I touched my genitals, and they were a little swollen from the friction. I was a little anxious, but I didn't dare to rush him.

He said, "How did it feel just now?"

I said, "Mmm, it felt so good."

He asked, "How good?"

I said, "So good, so good."

He said, "How good is 'so good'?"

I said, "Mmm... well, it was incredibly good."

He said, "Tell me, exactly how good?"

I said, "Oh, come on, it was just so good. How about you?"

He said, "Me? I felt good too."

I asked, "How good did you feel?"

He said, "As good as you."

I said, "Nonsense, how do you know how good I felt?"

He said, "I just know."

I said, "You don't know. You couldn't possibly know. Because you're not a woman, you're not me."

He said, "Your expression skills aren't improving at all. Go enroll in a Chinese night school."

I asked, "Why didn't you ejaculate?"

He said, "I was tired. Anyone who disagrees, try doing six hours of push-ups in a row."

I asked with concern, "Were you uncomfortable?"

He said, "Yes, I was. It hurt so much to hold it in."

I said, "Then try ejaculating."

He said, "Do you think I don't want to?"

How can I want to ejaculate but not be able to? I don't understand. Is this the diversity of male physiology?

My husband is thin and soft, and his performance is incredibly short—like Edward, the quick-draw swordsman, finishing in five seconds with lightning speed.

My lover, on the other hand, is a master of deception. Last time he was listless and hopeless, but today he's rock hard, playing Ninja Turtle with me. He's weak against weaker opponents, and he won't ejaculate when he should—just like Chinese football!

Why is life always so imperfect? Is imperfection the norm? Is perfection always the exception?

I got out of bed and brought him a hot towel. His chest was still heaving, and he was soaked in sweat, like a boxer who had just come off the stage.

I said, "Here, let me wipe your sweat."

I gently wiped the boxer's sweat. Was it because it was too hot that the boxer couldn't ejaculate?

He said, panting, "Let's turn on the air conditioner for a bit. The remote's in the bedside table drawer."

I turned on the air conditioner, then went back to him and wiped his sweat with a small towel, asking as I did so, "Are you feeling better?"

He said, "A little better."

I asked, "Come on, rest for a bit. I'll get you a glass of water."

I poured him a glass of hot water. He insisted on drinking Coke.

Was I not exciting enough for him today?

I asked, "Are you thinking of doing something funny?"

He said, "You should rest for a bit. You've climbed so many mountains. Each summit attempt is exhausting."

I asked, "I'm fine. What do you want me to do now? It's okay. Just tell me."

He rested for a while, regained his energy, and got up to go into the bathroom.

After a while, I heard him say, "Come on."

I obediently went into the bathroom, naked and barefoot.

I saw him standing there naked, waiting for me. Next to the bathtub was a large bottle of water with a red rubber anal tube inserted into it, connected to a red rubber ball. Next to the bottle was a tube of lubricant.

He pointed to the large bathtub and said to me, "Get in, bend over."

I stepped into the bathtub, supporting myself with my knees and elbows, and obediently bent my buttocks upwards. I felt him come up behind me, spread my buttocks, and expose my anus.

Then I felt his fingers, dipped in cool lubricant, touching my anus lazily until my anus relaxed and felt slippery.

Suddenly, his fingers increased pressure and burrowed into my intestines, lubricating them.

It didn't feel too comfortable, but it was bearable. His fingers withdrew, and the anal tube was inserted. His left hand reached around to my front, rubbing my clitoris, while his right hand squeezed the rubber ball.

The water was warm, neither too hot nor too cold, seeping in in gushes, soaking the accumulated feces in the end of my intestines. I felt a warm comfort. My stomach was slowly filling.

Another tension was openly building, poised to erupt; a violent release was an obvious fact, inevitable.

I said softly, "I can't take it anymore. Let me poop~" He said, "What are you saying? Where are we?"

I asked, "You pervert, are you trying to drown me?"

He said, "Yes."

I reached back to touch between his legs. I touched an angry bull, hard and erect, hot and unyielding, stubbornly standing.

I felt him step into the tub. I felt his old penis enter my vagina.

He was giving me an enema while simultaneously violating my vagina. Suddenly, he leaned down and licked my ear and face from behind, saying passionately, "Sister, you look so beautiful like this, so horny."

I groaned, enduring the pressure in my intestines and his ravaging of me. He took out an orange-red rope. The rope was a meter long and thicker than a shoelace.

He pulled my arms behind my back and tied them tightly together.

I was bound and being fucked, my face rubbing against the bottom of the bathtub, my intestines filled with hot, viscous fecal water.

He pulled out the anal tube and pressed his thumb against my slippery anus, inserting it several times. Having just received an enema, my anus was relatively loose, and the sphincter wasn't as tight as usual. After being enemaed, I was bound and fucked by him. He thrust over a hundred times, then suddenly pulled out. Immediately afterward, I felt his penis enter my slippery anus.

Since I couldn't resist, I might as well accept it. The friction and stimulation from the nerve bundles of all the openings in my body were raping my brain.

He gripped my buttocks tightly, frantically ravaging my rectum.

I gradually became aroused. I climaxed again, howling, and in the howling, I gushed out unbearable fecal matter. The fecal matter oozed from our joined bodies, flowing down my four legs.

I tried to lift my head, but he held it down, and I couldn't.

Once a woman finds a man who attracts her, once her inner wildness is awakened and aroused, she will make sounds that even shock herself and do unbelievable things.

Finally, he pulled me up and turned on the shower to give me a bath. But he wouldn't untie me.

I asked, "Did you ejaculate?"

He said, "Not yet."

I had to find a way to make him ejaculate today. I wanted him to empty his bladder completely. We'd been making love all day, and my man hadn't even had an orgasm. I would be such a failure if he didn't ejaculate.

After the shower, he pulled me back to bed and tied my hands and legs together [hogtie].

He knelt beside me, his penis pointed at my face. I lay down next to him, mouth open. He stroked his penis at me.

I said, "Want to fuck my mouth?"

My hands were tied behind my back, and he squeezed my cheeks hard, forcing my mouth open. He stroked faster and faster. His glans was red and purple, swollen as if it were about to burst.

I caught it in my mouth, and he suddenly screamed, "Fuck!"

He ejaculated into my mouth. Thick, hot semen sprayed all over my mouth, face, and neck.

My big bad guy finally ejaculated. It felt good; I felt even more accomplished than him.

Whew... He conquered me. I conquered him.

He untied me.

I said, "I like you. You bewitched me, you made me hot, you satisfied me. You changed me, you made me realize I'm a normal woman."

He said, "Go home and get a divorce."

My heart was pounding, and my heart was filled with complex emotions. I like excitement, I like the feeling of being caught in hide-and-seek, I like that instant scream, weightlessness, loss of control, but can I really get a divorce?

I said, "Even a broken-down home is worth a fortune. Can you let me tidy it up?"

He said, "That's no longer a home. You're not happy there."

I said, "To tear a home apart, with cardboard boxes everywhere, scraps of paper everywhere, trivial matters everywhere, needles and thread everywhere—oh no, I can't imagine that kind of trouble."

He said, "Life is inherently this mundane."

I said, "Just thinking about it gives me a headache."

He said, "You're really conflicted."

I said, "Yes, sometimes I don't know what I want."

He asked, "You really don't know? Do you want a divorce?"

I said, "I haven't decided yet. I like being with you, I really do."

He asked, "What's next?"

I said, "Who knows?"

He didn't say anything more.

I could almost hear him say something like, "...Who are you wasting your time on? You're wasting your own time."

I asked, "Will things turn out well for us?"

He said, "The outcome depends on you. It's all about how you do it."

I asked, "Do you have any other women right now?"

He said, "No. I've already exhausted all my energy with you, I don't have the energy to mess around anymore."

I asked, "Do you like me?"

He said, "Yeah."

I asked, "What do you like about me?"

He said, "I like the way you look when you orgasm. I like that you can orgasm repeatedly. I like your sexiness. I like your silly side. I feel so relaxed with you."

I asked, "I'm older than you. Don't you care?"

He said, "I just like older women."

I said, "You rascal, I think you're more mature than me. Really. I feel like I'm a teenager again in front of you."

I said, "I have to go back."

He asked, "Why?"

I said, "To get a couple of changes of clothes."

He said, "Don't go back. I'll buy you some clothes if you need them."

I said, "Don't worry, I'm an adult too. Besides, that's my home. Why can't I go back?"

He said, "I'll go back with you."

I said, "No."

Walking alone in the darkness, I encountered a glimmer of light, but I was troubled and unsure if it was my hope. I hesitated, I wavered.

These past years have been unhappy, but divorce is a big deal. I'm already this old; I need to make the best of it, lest I end up with nothing and become a laughingstock.

I wanted to tell him I wanted to be with him forever. But is life that simple? Can a man and a woman who enjoy sex really spend the rest of their lives together?

Forget it, better to avoid trouble. Marriage is about mutual exploitation. Men use women's bodies for masturbation, women spend men's money.

Life is so helpless. That's just how life is.

I said, "Maybe this is how my life will be."

He said, "Never say you're powerless. Never give up."

Whose life is without regrets? Suddenly, I felt a sense of desolation.

How easy is change? Who can change whom?

Some use desperate shouting to cover up their guilt, some use the chaotic footsteps of constant pursuit to disguise their escape.

I went home, and the house was empty. The beast hadn't come home yet. I grabbed a few pieces of underwear and outerwear, packed them in my bag, and

opened the drawer. The black donkey was gone.

Where I'd hidden it, there lay a note that read: "I threw that thing away. Hope you'll respect yourself. Husband."

My blood boiled, I felt incredibly ashamed, and I quickly stood on a stool to check the top of the wardrobe. Thankfully, the little vibrator was still there.

Suddenly, I felt annoyed, fed up.

Suddenly, I wanted to leave, to shake off my responsibilities and burdens, to leave everything familiar. To leave far, far away.

Suddenly, I wanted to escape, to escape my family, to escape this cold-blooded beast. To give myself some space, to give myself a break.

I called the big bad guy.

"What?"

"Thinking of you, scratching the wall, suffering like hell."

I could almost see a caged beast before my eyes.

I said, "Nonsense."

He said, "No. I really miss you terribly. Are you alright?"

I said, "I'm fine. How's your getaway plan going?"

He said, "I've been waiting for your message."

I asked, "Did you get the car?"

He said, "Damn! It's like a piece of cake!"

I asked, "Are you from a car theft gang?"

He said, "Pah. I have tons of cars at my company, which one isn't mine? Are you going or not?" I

asked, "When are you leaving?"

He said, "Tomorrow, are you sure you can go?"

I said, "Hmm, let me think..."

He said, "How about tonight?"

Judging from his tone, he really didn't seem to be having an affair with another woman at the same time. Who can just leave when caught between two women?

I left my husband a note: "I'm going out for a walk. Don't look for me."

I took a change of clothes and a vibrator and went out, slamming the door lock shut and calling the elevator.

The elevator came. The elevator operator saw me go back in and tried to make conversation: "Just got back and you're leaving again?"

I said, "Yeah."

Thinking to myself: Why all this nonsense?

The elevator stopped. The doors opened. I stepped out of the elevator and reached the building entrance when I suddenly saw the beast's figure approaching from a distance. The outside light was bright. The hallway was dark. He hadn't seen me yet.

My heart immediately raced. What should I do?

I darted back, like a rabbit caught in a trap, and rushed up the fire escape.

Would the elevator operator make small talk with that beast again after seeing me? Would

that beast suddenly decide to climb the stairs?

How could I escape this cage?

(
Chapter 5: An Axe is More Powerful Than a Fork)

I left a note for my husband: "I'm going out for a walk. Don't look for me."

I grabbed a change of clothes and a vibrator, slammed the door shut, and called the elevator.

The elevator arrived. The elevator operator, seeing me go back in, made small talk: "Just got back and leaving again?"

I said, "Yeah."

(Thinking to myself: Why so much nonsense? )

The elevator stopped. The doors opened. I stepped out of the elevator and reached the building entrance when I suddenly saw the beast's figure approaching from a distance.

The outside light was bright. The hallway was dark. He hadn't seen me yet.

My heart immediately raced. What should I do?

I darted back, like a rabbit caught in a trap, and rushed up the fire escape stairs.

Would the elevator girl be making small talk with that bastard again, having just seen me?

Would that bastard suddenly decide to climb the stairs?

How could I escape this cage?

My apartment is in a large, wavy building [a deluxe version of a tenement building], eight units, all connected at the same level, allowing you to go from one unit to any floor and walk horizontally to any unit.

This "dormitory-style" design was probably intended to make things easier for people with bad memories or mobility issues [mistaking a unit number is no problem].

But there are always old men and women grumbling about so-and-so's house being burgled, how the building's structure makes it easy for thieves. They're calling for the horizontal corridors to be blocked off, allowing only up and down movement, not horizontal movement.

This issue has been stalled for a long time. Blocking them off is easy, but who's going to pay for it?

A wicked plan instantly formed in my frontal lobe. God help me!

The little rabbit, flustered, rushed up to the second floor, then turned sharply to the left. *Thud!* His face stung. He'd bumped into the metal railing. Plans never go as expected.

Damn it! When was this installed? For the Olympics? My high-rise hasn't done anything yet; it seems to be starting from the lower floors.

What to do?

A familiar voice came from the first floor.

Elevator girl: "Oh, sir, you're off work? My sister just got off the elevator. Did she go to pick you up?"

The rabbit: "Huh? Who?"

Elevator girl: "Didn't you see? Really? She just got off the elevator..."

He didn't have time to hear the rest of the conversation. The little rabbit sprinted up to the third floor, turned, and saw that the metal railing was installed, securely in place.

Just then, he heard the hunter's footsteps coming up the stairs, clattering, unhurried, steady, and sinister.

Too many highs during the day; the side effects were starting now: a sore back, shaky legs, and weak ankles. Go to the fourth floor?

Would the fourth floor have metal railings installed too?

I was panting and pounding on the door of apartment 301. I knew the creepy guy in 301 secretly liked me; every time we bumped into each other downstairs, he'd steal glances at me with a cunning, furtive look in his eyes.

The footsteps on the stairs below grew closer. To my ears, the footsteps sounded amplified; it was Kellerman, it was Mahone. The door to 301 finally opened, and there was the creepy guy's son, about fourteen or fifteen years old, a boy on the cusp of adulthood.

The creepy guy said, "Auntie..."

I rushed in, slamming the door shut and locking it, and asked, "Is your power out?"

The creepy guy looked completely innocent and said, "No, it's not."

I said, "It's out in my apartment. I want to take a shower. Our water heater is electric, so there's no water when the power's out."

The creepy guy seemed a little stunned, staring blankly at me.

I asked, "Where's your dad?"

The sleazy son said, "My dad hasn't come home from work yet..."

He stared blankly at the terrified, sweaty adult woman in front of him.

I said, "Help me out, turn on the hot water, quick."

I pushed him into the bathroom, closed the door from the outside, rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a spatula, and locked the bathroom door handle from the outside. The sleazy son was trapped inside.

I'll use 301 for now. I rushed to the south-facing window and looked out.

It's the third floor, not supposedly high, but the view of the neighborhood from here is still quite dizzying. The tree branches next to me are thick enough, but they're too far from the window [I've always hated PE class].

Luckily, their air conditioner compressor is mounted outside the window to the left, while the 201 air conditioner compressor is a little to the right, which is like a giant step given to me by heaven.

Bang, bang, bang, the sleazy son pushed the bathroom door open from inside. At the same time, the door to apartment 301 was also pounded on, roughly and violently, like a Tyrannosaurus Rex trying to break in.

To jump or not to jump? At this point, I had no choice. The fear of falling into the hands of this beast overwhelmed my fear of heights.

I climbed out the window, threw my sandals down to the first floor, along with my change of clothes, and then, barefoot, I stepped on the air conditioner compressor of apartment 301 and hopped diagonally onto the air conditioner compressor of apartment 201.

The model wife of the residential community for sixteen consecutive years, now, in the sweltering heat, barefoot, terrified and panting, I jumped along the air conditioner compressor mounted on the outside of the building, single-mindedly trying to escape my home.

Whew—thankfully, I landed safely.

Old Mrs. Xue, ninety years old, was standing by the window watering her flowers when she suddenly saw someone jump down from the glass. I saw her hand tremble, her eyes widen, and she loosen her grip.

The air conditioner monkey couldn't stop and immediately followed, hopping straight down to the ground.

A vertical jump. The spot where I landed was a large puddle of water, compressed by the air conditioner, and the underwater ground was covered with a thick layer of moss. As soon as I landed, my foot slipped, I lost my balance, and my teeth struck a triangle.

37-year-old Hongxing scrambled to her feet, ignoring her appearance and pain, grabbing her clothes and running like a frantic, defeated dog.

She ran barefoot on the residential street. The ground was littered with cigarette butts, dog poop, skewers of grilled lamb, beer bottle caps, and shards of glass.

A sharp pain shot through her feet. She just kept running forward, afraid to look back, but aware that the whole world was watching her.

When she finally reached the gate of the complex, she found that fate had been kind to her; the usual long lines of taxis waiting for fares at the gate were completely empty.

[The old man had already given her a huge safety net with the air conditioner compressor, what more could she ask for? One shouldn't be too greedy.] The heat was stifling, and she could hardly breathe. The more she ran, the weaker her legs became, and the less energy she had. In despair, a light motorcycle slowly overtook me. The rider, a female office worker, turned to look at me.

Without thinking twice, I leaped onto the back of her motorcycle, wrapped my arms around her waist, and hysterically shouted, "Go forward! Faster!"

The motorcycle wobbled, regaining its balance. The office worker cheered. My hair flew wildly. The motorcycle, carrying this unfamiliar pair, relentlessly crushed the asphalt road.

At that moment, I secretly thought that there was always a way out. Now, standing at the Bridge of Helplessness, looking back, I deeply feel the intertwining of fortune and misfortune.

Many times, we feel unfortunate, yet fail to understand that misfortune is actually fortune; and when you breathe a sigh of relief, congratulating yourself on your good luck, how can you realize that the real misfortune has just begun?

The office worker turned and asked, "Where are you going?"

I said, "The bus stop ahead."

At this moment, my tongue already felt the blood filling my mouth.

We arrived at the bus stop. It was rush hour, a busy time with many people, making the situation complex. Even if someone chased me, it would be relatively easy to escape.

I jumped off the motorcycle and sped off in a zigzag pattern, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

I ran, searching for an empty taxi. One, full. Another, also full. There wasn't a single one available.

Finally, I saw a taxi parked on the side of the road. The passenger in the back seat opened the door, one leg out, still sitting there grumbling and waiting for a receipt.

I rushed over, grabbed him, jumped in, slammed the door shut, and panted, "Driver, hurry up!"

The driver tilted his head and sized me up.

I grinned at him, revealing my bloodshot teeth, and said, "I have money! Drive!"

The driver started the car and slowly asked, "What's this? Should we go to the Women's Federation? Or find somewhere to turn ourselves in?"

I glared at him fiercely. Seeing my expression, he quickly laughed it off, "Don't be angry, haha, I just like to joke around."

He focused on driving, saying nothing more, probably thinking: "I'll have something to talk about at the dinner table when I get home—hey, I gave a female Rambo a ride."

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my sole; something had pierced it. I reached down and pulled it out. It was a self-tapping screw, pointed, Phillips head, short, and bloody.

This screw was a reminder. I couldn't go back. The

taxi headed straight for the big bad guy.

I kept turning back to look at the rearview window the whole way, still shaken. At that moment, I realized that I no longer had a "home."

We arrived. I paid the fare, got out of the car, and went into the apartment building.

I knocked on the door.

Why did those few seconds of waiting for the door to open feel so long? My heart was racing. My nerves were trembling. Sweat was pouring down my face. My body was shaking with excitement.

The door opened.

He stood there shirtless, wearing only his underwear. This time he was much gentler; he didn't drag me in sideways. He stared at me, stunned.

I stood in the doorway, my hair disheveled, barefoot, my face, elbows, legs, hands, and feet covered in moss and mud, my skirt torn, a wound on my arm bleeding—the cut wasn't as deep as the wound on my foot—and blood was already trickling down my shoulder.

He reached out his hand to me, led me into the apartment, closed the door, pulled me into the bathroom to shower, and then poured a bottle of baijiu (Chinese liquor) on my wound.

My lip was swollen from being bitten by his teeth.

Luckily, all my teeth were intact, though my front teeth were a little loose.

I tried to explain what had happened, but I found myself rambling, repeating some things over and over, omitting details.

I was a little tipsy, my lips unusually loose, speaking quickly, and laughing as I spoke.

He looked at me, his eyes showing concern.

I said, "I jumped off a building and landed face-first in the mud, then heard my skirt rip."

At this point, I suddenly burst into laughter for no apparent reason.

It was laughable how pathetic I looked then, laughable about my bitter life. It was laughable that I had wasted my youth, laughable about 37 sweltering summers and freezing winters.

I nervously twitched my shoulders, but the twitching only got worse, until finally I couldn't control my whole body shaking, laughing so hard I couldn't speak.

He hugged me and kissed me.

Slowly, I stopped talking and laughing. In the sweltering heat of summer, I shivered silently in my lover's arms.

He said, "Let's go."

I said, "Okay. Where to?"

I thought he meant we were going on a long trip. He said, "To the hospital."

I said, "No, I don't want to go to the hospital."

He said, "The hospital can disinfect it."

I said, "Didn't you already disinfect it?"

He said, "My white wine cleaning isn't proper."

I said, "I'm not going to the hospital."

He said, "Then where do you want to go?"

I said, "Leave Beijing. Now."

He said, "Are you afraid he'll come looking for you?"

I said, "Yeah. He said he'd kill you."

He laughed and said, "Oh ho, has he ever been in a fight?"

I said, "No."

He laughed and said, "Does he even know who I am?"

I said, "No."

He said, "That's it. Don't listen to his nonsense. Damn, we don't even know who's going to kill whom."

I said, "No, no, no, don't kill anyone. Just for my sake, okay? Promise me."

He said, "Okay."

I said, "Did you get a car?"

He said, "Oh, of course. It's parked right outside. I'm waiting for you."

I said, "Let's go now, okay?"

He said, "Okay, but let's go to the hospital first."

His car was really nice, spotlessly clean.

We got to the hospital, and I had my wound cleaned, disinfected, stitched, bandaged, given a tetanus shot, and prescribed antibiotics in the emergency surgery department. After leaving the hospital, he took me to a restaurant to calm my nerves.

The air conditioning was on, but the room temperature was a good forty degrees Celsius. The scene was chaotic, crowded with all sorts of greedy beasts, heads down, devouring food and slurping drinks.

The aromas of chili peppers, soy sauce, boiled saliva and oil, scallions, ginger, garlic, fish, and alcohol filled the air.

Finally finding a seat, I sat down, and only then did the pain intensify, making me sweat profusely, my hair soaked. My eyes remained warily scanning the restaurant window.

When the food arrived, he casually said, "Eat yours. It's nothing."

I said, "Something is wrong."

He asked, "What is it?"

I said, "I think he's around here."

He said, "Your husband? I'd give him the guts. All talk and no action, even a fool could do that. He dares to challenge me? Fuck!"

These two men in my life, both uttering harsh words, now seemed ready to clash sooner or later.

One was straightforward and domineering, the other insidious and cunning. In this battle of two tigers, who would die and who would be wounded?

I was restless, hastily picking up a couple of bites of

stir-fried potatoes, eggplant, and green peppers. Just as I took a bite, I caught a glimpse of half a figure peeking out from behind a telephone pole outside the window. That shape, that silhouette—I knew it all too well! My nostrils instantly filled with the thick, pungent, stale stench of the slaughterhouse; the aroma of the food vanished.

The big bad guy, oblivious, was still engrossed in eating.

My scalp tingled, my fingers cramped, my tongue stiffened—it felt like I'd seen a ghost. I didn't dare look up, whispering, "I saw him! He...he's right outside."

He straightened up, brazenly looking out the window, his right hand dropping his chopsticks, habitually reaching for the back of his jeans (his movements were more fluid than flowing water), asking, "Where the hell are you?"

I mustered my courage and looked out the window; the figure was gone.

The telephone pole stood there alone, seemingly innocent. The people outside hurried by, each one appearing dignified and respectable.

I said, "Now...it's gone~" He looked at me, his eyes filled with sympathy, pity, heartache, and helplessness.

I explained, "He was standing behind that telephone pole just now, really!"

He said, "Sis, you're too tense. Relax, okay? Listen to me. When people are too tense, they hallucinate. Hallucinations drive them crazy."

I said, "I really saw him!"

He said, "Okay, I believe you, sis. He's right outside. Can you wait until I finish eating? I'll go out and meet him after I finish."

I said, "I'm scared."

He said, "What are you afraid of when I'm here?" I said, "Can

we leave here? Go far away."

He said, "Okay. Let me finish this bite."

I ate that meal with a pounding heart, and I don't remember what dishes I ate or what kind of cuisine they were.

After we finished eating, he paid the bill.

As we got up to walk towards the door, he put his arm around me, and I put my arm around his waist, and then secretly touched the back of his jeans. I felt a long, hard thing, and I didn't know what it was.

I clung to the restaurant's large glass door, scanning my surroundings like a frightened bird, but I didn't spot that professional butcher again.

The big bad guy, completely at ease, got into his car, started the engine, drove to the entrance, and opened the passenger door for me. I jumped in, trembling, and quickly closed and locked the door.

I said, "Hurry, hurry, hurry!" He calmly replied, "Sister, you're really cute."

I said, "Let's go, let's go, hurry!"

He floored the accelerator. The car sped off.

On the Fourth Ring Road, we were going 80 km/h. Everything outside the beam of the headlights was pitch black.

I kept looking back, constantly feeling like a car was following us. Fear, like a vast night sky, enveloped me completely.

At Sifang Bridge, we switched to the Beijing-Shenyang Expressway. The speed increased to 150 km/h, my heart rate was 160, and I kept glancing back at the rear window.

He said calmly, "Okay, sis, don't worry. Even if he's following you, does he have our driving skills?"

That scoundrel's driving skills truly amazed me. Overtaking and weaving through traffic was one thing, but he also frequently showed off his skills. After driving ten kilometers, he'd suddenly make a U-turn on the highway, shift into reverse, and the car would speed backwards. He'd do this for a kilometer, then repeat the trick, turning the car right-side up and continuing. His movements were effortless and smooth; the car was like a dolphin show in his hands.

He said, "Reporting to the leader, there are no suspicious vehicles behind us. Please give instructions."

I said, "Okay, okay, I'm a little dizzy. Just drive straight ahead."

He said, "Being straight is so boring. It's not exciting."

I asked, "You rascal, where are we going?"

He said, "Go to sleep. You'll find out soon enough."

I listened to him, closed my eyes a few times, and quickly opened them again. How could I possibly sleep? Even if I was dead tired, how could I possibly fall asleep?

“I’ll say something.”

“Oh.”

“You big pervert?”

“Hey, go ahead.”

“What’s that other thing in your lower back?”

“A thing.”

“A thing? What’s it for?”

“Heh, you’d better not know the answer.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask what a girl shouldn’t know.”

For the first time in twenty years, I heard someone call me “girl” again. I felt like I was in a dream.

Twenty years have passed since I said goodbye to the blossoming years of being called “girl.” Today, at the ripe old age of 37, I heard it again, and I felt a bit disoriented, as if time and space had crossed paths.

I married a husband who was very indifferent, and I couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.

I found a lover who was younger than me; but mentally older than me, considerate and caring towards me in every way, and even “protecting” me. Fate is cruel.

On the dark highway, we sped smoothly, skidding the pavement.

There weren’t many cars in front or behind us.

I asked, “Are you sleepy?”

He said, “A little.”

I turned on the car CD player and immediately heard a high-decibel, high-definition voice: ...What else can I say? /No matter what I say, it's wrong / You told me /Leaving will bring relief /Try to live on your own /Find yourself /Don't waste your time on love anymore... I hummed

along as I listened.

The song ended. I asked myself: Will leaving really bring relief?

I turned off the CD player. The car became quiet.

He drove skillfully, and after a brief respite, he had another mischievous idea: "Lift your butt."

I lifted my butt, and he reached out and moved the passenger seat I was sitting in back a foot.

I had more space, and this time I could stretch my legs out completely.

He said, "Take off your skirt."

I asked, "Why?"

He said, "Just take it off."

I obediently lifted my butt and took off my skirt, feeling strange. What if someone saw me in the rest area? How embarrassing would that be? Even darkness can't hide the eyes of a pervert.

He pointed to the center console and said, "Put your legs up."

I did as he said, sitting down on the seat with my bare legs propped up on the center console and my bare feet pressed against the windshield, looking quite brazen.

The car was air-conditioned. The coolness and stimulation gave me goosebumps.

He touched my legs with his right hand, found the goosebumps, and then turned off the air conditioning.

I asked again, "What are you doing?"

He took out the box of vibrators and said, "Put them in."

I took them, knowing the answer already, and asked, "Where?"

He said, "In your vagina."

I said, "Oh... isn't that inappropriate..."

He said, "Hurry up."

I usually dislike being ordered around, but with him, I actually like hearing imperative sentences. Hearing them makes me wet very quickly. Isn't that strange?

I spread my legs and took out the six vibrators strung together from the aluminum box, inserting them one by one into my hot vagina. The air conditioning made the stainless steel vibrators ice-cold.

After inserting five, the big bad guy started vigorously twisting my nipple [vibrator remote control].

The last one was still in my hand, and before I could even insert it, it trembled wildly along with its partner inside my vagina, each one vibrating at a different frequency. It

was so stimulating. I shifted my hips and waist restlessly, looking at the boundless night outside the window, shamelessly moaning.

He turned on the CD again. The high-decibel, wild music made my blood boil even more, my temples throbbing.

He told me to sit closer to him, then reached over and touched my genitals with his right hand. I spread my legs, lifted my buttocks, and let him touch my vagina wantonly.

His middle finger plunged in hard. I cried out, involuntarily grabbing his hand with both hands, tightly, tightly, tightly.

I saw my own bare feet tense, toes spasming, shy yet beautiful.

A wave of dizziness washed over me!

After the high, I released his hand and lowered my legs. He withdrew his right hand, raised it to his nose, and smelled his finger. That scoundrel.

I whispered, "Was I... too wild just now?"

He said, "Yeah, pretty wild."

The car drove on, continuing its "low-flying" climax on the smooth asphalt highway. After the climax, he turned off the music and whispered a few words about how it felt.

My eyelids quickly drooped. It was almost midnight. How many climaxes had I had that day?

Countless. I only know that my legs felt incredibly heavy.

I dreamt I was running a marathon, in slow motion, so tired, so very tired... I felt the car stop. I woke up with a start, frantically looking around. It was still pitch black outside the window. I noticed the window was rolled down. I smelled the sea breeze, strong and fishy!

He was still in the driver's seat, the car was off.

I asked, "Where are we?"

He said, "Who cares? We can see the sunrise over the sea from here."

I nervously looked behind the car.

He smiled and said, "Don't worry. In all these years, I haven't met a driver who can keep up with me."

He got out of the car, stretched, and lit a cigarette.

I said, "I'll get out too."

He said, "No, your foot isn't okay. I'll only leave you two meters away."

He pointed to the center console: "Raise your foot up, it'll help blood flow back and relieve the pain."

So there was clinical evidence behind his suggestion to raise my foot on the way? I'll believe him for now.

Sixteen years of marriage, I've cut my hand with a kitchen knife, scalded my foot with boiling water, and had colds and fevers, and my husband has never asked about me, never cared.

For sixteen years, he's lived a monotonous life, never even thinking of taking me out of Beijing in the middle of the night to watch the sunrise at the beach.

He expects everything to be done for him, never showing me any consideration. He's a pig. Being with a pig only brings hardship, not joy.

Have I really gotten rid of him now?

The thug finished his cigarette, came over, opened the car door, reclined the seat, and made me lie down. Then, he lovingly and gently touched my feet, softly asking, "Does it hurt?"

I nodded.

He said, "The first night after being injured is the most painful, the hardest to endure. But it's okay, from now on, you'll have a bad guy to keep you company."

My eyes welled up with tears, and I heard the roar of waves crashing against the cliff below. He clasped his hands together, cradling my feet like two large blocks of soft tofu, and kissed them lightly through the bandages, whispering, "Sleep."

I dreamt that I was running frantically inside a strange building, chased by a tiger. I ran desperately, but I couldn't escape the building.

When I woke up, it was already broad daylight. He lay down next to me, smiling, and asked softly, "Who bullied my sister again?"

I said, "Did I yell?"

He said, "Did you have another nightmare?"

I said, "Yeah, I'm exhausted. Aren't you sleepy?"

He said, "I am."

I said, "If you're sleepy, then go to sleep."

He said, "I can't get enough of looking at my adorable sister lying in my car."

He was still smiling.

I asked, "What are you laughing about?"

He said, "It's cloudy today, so we can't see the sunrise."

I sat up and looked outside. The sky was indeed overcast. Our car was parked on a high cliff, with the sea below.

The sea was boundless, hazy and gray. The air was much cooler than in the city. The sea breeze was stronger and smelled fishier, making my face, arms, and legs feel wet, sticky, and uncomfortable.

I said, "It's okay if we can't see the sunrise. The sea view is nice too."

He asked, "Do you like it here?"

"It's my first time here, so I can't say whether I like it or not. Have you

been here before?" "Yeah, a few times."

"With whom?"

"Hehe, I'll tell you later. Sis, does your foot still hurt?"

"Much better."

We went into town, had breakfast, and then he bought me a new pair of sandals. Haha, I have shoes to wear again! It's just that my foot is bandaged, so they're a bit difficult to put on.

Then we drove to a beach. It was a gloomy day, yet the beach was still packed with people, a sea of human flesh, and the air reeked of greasy sweat.

He went swimming. I was covered in wounds and couldn't go in, so I stayed far away from the sand, watching him from the car. Soon, he disappeared from my sight.

What if that beast suddenly appeared? Fear struck again, enveloping me like a sea breeze. My heart screamed: "Come back!" He played for two hours straight before returning. Those two hours felt like two years to me.

Look at my man: covered in water droplets, full of energy. Swimming had released endorphins, enkephalins, and dynorphins from his pituitary gland; he looked younger.

He'd just returned, and now he was leaving again.

I said, "Can't you rest for a bit?"

He took out some money and said, "Oh, I'm just going to buy some water. Just a minute."

He left again. I nervously watched everyone outside the car window. Every face was unfamiliar. Every one could be a threat. I was on pins and needles.

He finally came back, carrying several bottles of mineral water. "Sis, are you hungry? Let's go eat!"

he said. "Are you hungry? You've been gone for so long."

He said, "I really am. I'm going to eat you in a bit~" Hearing this, my lower abdomen tingled and felt a slight heaviness.

Seafood for lunch. A feast!

At the dinner table, looking at the mountain of crab shells, shrimp shells, fish bones, and fish spines, I asked, "Are you running out of time and rushing to spend it all?"

He said, "No. You're the one running out of time."

I said, "Pah! Pah! Your foul mouth."

He said, "I do have a lot of money. Money is like that; once you earn a million, you want two million. The more you earn, the less you want."

I said, "I've always believed that being without desires makes one strong. But lately, I feel like I'm losing something little by little. My heart seems to be wavering. That's the most terrifying thing. Didn't Buddha say, 'When the heart is moved, all things are moved'?"

He said, "The greatest sorrow is a dead heart. Why are you being 'strong'? Is a heart as still as water considered a superior state? That's called resignation, that's called having no ambition."

I said, "I have two sides."

He said, "Everyone has two sides."

I said, "I have a wild side inside me, but I don't want to indulge in it."

He said, "In that case, your only choice is to suppress yourself."

I said, Desire is like a beast, what's the point of not suppressing it?

He said: "But pure pressure is equivalent to burning a pressure cooker with fire, but the pressure cooker is tightly welded to death." Think about the consequences? "

I said: "This is exactly what I am worried about. Desire will burn down the originally beautiful friendship.

He said: "What should come will come sooner or later, and what should be destroyed sooner or later will be destroyed." It must be dredged when it needs to be dredged, and water must be released when it needs to be drained. Do you remember how Dayu controlled floods? "

I said, "Don't take me that far. I'm not divorced yet, but all I can think about is you. I'm in so much pain and discomfort. I'm afraid of getting hurt and disturbing my peaceful life.

He said: "True love will inevitably produce desire and want to meet." Always. This is so normal. Don't be afraid. It is an active volcano and will erupt sooner or later, so there is no point in being afraid. "

I said: "Sometimes I really hate that I met you. I would rather live a down-to-earth life. Sometimes, I am unwilling to give in.

"Typical bitch," he said. A bitch who deserves to be fucked. "

No one has ever said that to me. My face turned red. But I was not angry. Because what he said was reasonable, and because I was realizing more and more that I was really the kind of woman he said.

I asked, "What do you think is the most important thing in life?"

He said, "Eating, drinking, defecating, sleeping, and fucking."

He was a complete animal, utterly vulgar.

He asked, "What about you?"

I said, "I think being a good person is more important, but it's so hard to be a good person these days."

He said, "Our values are different, but I still hope you don't miss out on more of the happiness that should be yours."

I said, "I understand."

He asked softly, "Do you really understand what I mean?"

Suddenly, he stumped me. Yes, can people truly communicate?

Language is so fleeting, so unreliable; is true, thorough communication even possible?

After lunch, he said, "Come on, let's find a room to rest our legs."

He drove me through the narrow, winding streets, as skillfully as an eel.

I said, "There are people everywhere. Where's an empty room?"

He said, "Oh, don't worry about it, okay?"

The car twisted and turned, finally turning into a large courtyard. Surprisingly, it was empty, as quiet as a paradise.

I looked back at the gate. After our car entered, the retractable iron gate automatically locked. I felt a little relieved.

After getting out of the car, he helped me into the small building.

A handsome guy came out to greet us warmly: "Brother K's here? Oh, what happened to my sister-in-law?"

"Get a room, stop talking nonsense!"

The room was rather basic, but in this peak tourist season, having a place to rest was already a luxury.

The handsome guy had barely finished greeting us when the big bad guy rushed into the bathroom. My legs aren't very strong, and I was slow, so he got there first.

"Don't try to take it from me! I'm carrying eight pounds."

"Disgusting."

I clutched a roll of toilet paper and went out to the service desk at the stairs, asking the clean-cut young man standing behind me, "Excuse me, is there a bathroom in the hallway?"

The clean-cut young man looked up at me and said, "Well, there is one..."

He pointed to the second door on the west side.

I immediately turned and headed straight for that door, hearing him say behind me, "That's the one we use~" My vision was already blurry; I went over and tried to pull the door. It wouldn't budge. Then I saw a metal lock hanging on the door with four characters written on it: "No Entry for Unauthorized Personnel." I was filled with despair and utter indignation, clutching my stomach, my back aching so badly I could barely stand.

I cried out, "No... I can't take it anymore!"

The clean-cut young man got up and walked over, pulling out a large bunch of keys as he went. He picked one out with a clatter and unlocked the bathroom door.

I yanked it in, slammed the door shut, and tried to bolt it from the inside, but couldn't find the latch. What was wrong with me?

I couldn't think about anything else. My lower body was already on the verge of climax, my urethral and anal sphincter muscles simultaneously feeling unbearable pressure.

I quickly scanned the room; there was only a white ceramic toilet. That's enough.

I quickly pulled off my skirt and underwear, and before I was even fully seated on the toilet, a strange snake had already poked its head out.

I grabbed the doorknob from the inside, craned my neck, and sighed heavily, helping the snake slither out.

The warm, large snake crawled out. Its bumpy, thick body rubbed hard against my tender anus.

I groaned softly. The release after holding it in for so long felt so good.

Finally, the snake completely emerged from my back hole. Hot urine gushed out, a satisfying, cathartic release.

After confirming I was done, I wiped with toilet paper, pulled up my underwear and skirt, stood up, and looked back at the toilet. Oh my god, this was the most horrific experience of my life.

The thick, spiky snake wasn't broken; it was coiled at the bottom of the toilet bowl, the part above the water alone over sixty centimeters long, the rest hidden.

I turned back and pressed the flush button. Nothing.

I pressed it again. Still nothing. I pressed it again. I pressed it again.

I was stunned. What should I do?

I moved out of the bathroom, and the clean-cut young man looked up at me from behind the counter.

I went over and said, "What's going on here?" He took out his MP3 player and said, "The toilet tank is broken, so it's locked."

The toilet tank was broken, and I'd made things worse by flushing it. How embarrassing! My face turned bright red.

He or some other repairman would inevitably go into that bathroom and see the huge, unflushed snake I'd left there. What would they think of me?

I moved back into the room; the big rascal had already finished and was taking a shower. He asked me, "Sis, where did you take care of that?"

I said, "Don't even mention it. Come out quickly. I need to wash."

"The bandage on your foot..."

I sat on the bed and carefully unwrapped the bandage from my foot. The wound on the sole of my foot was still gaping.

A Band-Aid ad said that there are no wounds that can't heal.

Really? Can all wounds really heal?

He quickly finished washing and came out of the bathroom naked, sitting down next to me.

I said, "Don't you know ladies first?"

I stood up and walked towards the bathroom.

He grabbed me and said, "No. You can't wash now."

"I'm in pain."

"Bear with it."

"I insist on washing."

"Are you looking for a festering sore! Your foot will rot and need to be amputated with a hacksaw, chop chop."

"Ugh. What should I do? I sweated a lot, and I just pooped~" "I'll lick it clean for you."

"A leopard can't change its spots."

"That's right. This dog is serious."

Of course, I didn't let him lick it after that.

He rewrapped the bandage on my foot, then drew the curtains, stripped me naked, and made me sit on the bed.

There was a clanging sound in the yard. My heart suddenly raced, and I quickly drew back a corner of the curtains. A fat cat silently walked by. The yard was just as it had been before; apart from our car, there were no other vehicles, and nothing seemed amiss.

He brought me a basin of hot water and used a towel soaked in the hot water to gently wash my body, repeatedly scrubbing my private parts. His gentle washing soothed my overly tense heart.

In a daze, I felt like a princess again. No, this isn't real; this must be a dream. This is unreal…too good to be real…

After washing, my whole body felt refreshed, clean, and smooth. I slid naked onto the bed and covered myself with a clean sheet.

He pulled back the sheet and said, "Close your eyes."

He lay on top of me and gently kissed me. I felt safe and secure in the kiss.

We embraced. He kissed my neck, my earlobes, and gently took my earlobe into his mouth, licking its folds.

He put my fingers in his mouth and sucked on them. My fingers felt his warm, passionate touch.

His hands slowly roamed under my breasts. That was a part I rarely touched, the base of my breasts supported by the bra cups.

I rarely paid attention to that area, rarely touched it, and I never imagined it could be so sensitive, so intensely responsive.

He gently massaged my entire breast, so gently, so very gently, as if walking on thin ice, knowing full well the nerve endings inside, unlike kneading dough with force.

He pinched my nipples with his index finger and thumb, gently ravaging my nerve fibers. He kissed my breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking it.

Waves of pleasure surged through my uterus. I trembled with panic, my vision blurred. His hot tongue, his wicked hands…

a pair of adulterers, naked and entangled together.

I smelled the scent of lust emanating from us, a scent that tugged at my heartstrings. I knew

this indulgence was wrong, but I sank deeper and deeper, unable to extricate myself, having already made myself homeless.

A woman living a life of widowhood, aroused by lust on the beach. The flames of lust soared more than three meters high, something I myself could hardly believe.

My face was flushed, like a helpless, fat sheep being roasted, baked and steamed by the flames.

His lips had suction cups, clinging to me wherever they landed. His large, slightly rough hands gently but firmly caressed my back.

His heat traveled through his palms to my slightly cool lower back, penetrating my skin, entering my blood vessels, and clearing my meridians. So comfortable.

My slightly cool lower back began to warm up, the heat slowly spreading through my abdomen, so pleasant.

His large hands moved up, focusing intently and carefully massaging my shoulders and neck. He remembered that my cervical spine wasn't very good.

Now, he began to slowly move down my spine, stimulating all the nerve endings nearby.

A powerful energy was flowing within him, flowing from his hands and into my body.

My stomach felt warm, my entire digestive tract and endocrine system receiving patient care. It seemed he was very familiar with human anatomy.

On the sheets, like gentle waves, lay two vibrant naked bodies, intertwined…

These two naked bodies were beautiful, joyful, comforting and understanding each other. I experienced a pleasure and comfort I had never felt before.

With him, I felt relaxed, even unrestrained and wanton. I slightly parted my lips, letting out soft moans that drifted through the quiet room. With him

, I could revert to my true self, my authentic self, my honest self, my Stone Age self—animal is tic myself. My lips became incredibly sensitive. He licked the inside of my lips, and I could feel it down there. I touched his hand, gazing at the pale blue veins on the back of his hand.

His warm mouth sucked on my clitoris, his burning tongue licking and tantalizing my nerves…

My heart pounded. Passion made my whole body tremble.

From the way he looked at me, I knew that a strange light was flashing in my eyes, and desire was radiating from my face.

My youth had returned. My eyes, my passion, my pride, all burned wildly and unrestrainedly at this moment. In

the blink of an eye, it was four o'clock in the afternoon. The sun was starting to shine outside.

Sunlight streamed through the light brown curtains into the room, illuminating the sweat-drenched naked bodies of the two lovers.

Time always flew by when I was with him.

After a few rounds of fun and several climaxes, my stomach started rumbling. I checked the time; it was already seven in the evening.

He made a phone call and ordered food. The food was delivered quickly, along with some drinks.

After we ate, he showered, I dried myself off, and then we went to bed for another round, eager to continue. Suddenly, I realized that this crazy, reckless behavior seemed like it wouldn't end anytime soon.

He said, "It's getting dark outside."

I said, "Yeah, it's ten o'clock; it should be dark by now."

He said, "I'll drag you onto the beach in a bit and fuck you to death."

"You dare! Let's see who kills whom."

"Hey! Haven't you heard? A shot camel is better than a horse."

We chuckled softly in the dark room. All the lights were off. Women need intoxicating passion.

He started licking me again.

I said, "I'm so tired. Let me sleep for a bit."

He whispered, "Sleep later. Satisfy your animalistic instincts first. Sister, let it out! Release all the tension and anxiety inside you!"

His eyes were rough yet tender, radiating intense desire and lust.

I pulled him up, saying, "Fuck me, rape me!"

I wanted to revert to being a wild beast with him, a mammoth, a saber-toothed tiger…

His penis entered my vagina again, and my vaginal muscles involuntarily tightened once more.

My vagina gripped his hard shaft, my legs wrapped around his waist, pressing our lower bodies even closer together.

I moaned and gasped, uttering fragmented phrases: "Oh… God… Your penis feels so good… It feels so good… Mmm… Again… Oh…"

He stared at me, his eyes becoming like a saber-toothed tiger.

The saber-toothed tiger, driven mad, pressed down on my naked body, kissing, biting, kneading, and pinching, wantonly squeezing and playing with my breasts, while his hips thrust wildly, pumping into my vagina like a raging storm.

I couldn't help but moan, "Oh... um... so good... you rascal... faster! Harder! Oh... fuck me, fuck me, play with me... um... ah..."

My moans were like gasoline, splashed onto his flames. The saber-toothed tiger, driven by bestiality, pressed his entire chest against my breasts, tightly holding me as he fucked me. My soft breasts were flattened.

I could feel the saber-toothed tiger starting to bite my shoulders. I twisted and protested violently. The more I protested, the heavier the punishment, and the more I enjoyed it—a fierce and thrilling battle.

His hands moved down, forcefully grabbing my buttocks, lifting me up, his huge penis forcefully and deeply thrusting into the depths of my vagina, reaching my cervix.

The mother beast willingly succumbed to her "primal instincts," willingly ascending to the pinnacle of life's most intense experience.

The fierce battle ended, and all returned to tranquility.

Once her breathing stabilized, she could hear the night's roar four hundred meters away, like monsters making love, endlessly.

In her dream, she found herself in a strangely structured building; the stairs were slanted, very steep, with many sections lacking railings. She ran and ran, someone chasing her.

She ran desperately, but couldn't run fast enough. Later, she ran onto a wide stainless steel conveyor belt and was carried downwards, downwards, the ceiling of the passage getting lower and lower, the space ahead narrowing.

She gasped for breath, woke up, and found his hand touching her body again, touching her mature 37-year-old body.

Heavy breathing echoed again in the gentle moonlight.

The mother beast was still very wet down there. He entered again.

Oh! That long-lost feeling of fullness! The tingling, itchy feeling inside! The itch that made her want to scratch!

Unable to bear it any longer, the mother beast decided to let nature take its course.

She parted her lips, responding naturally: "Oh...ah...harder...thrust into me...oh...thrust...harder...fuck me...oh...I can't take it anymore...harder..."

He thrust in and out, kneading my breasts with his hands, sucking on them alternately, and teasing my erect nipples with his tongue.

The pleasure from above and below surged, and the mother beast gradually descended into a state of frenzy.

She lay there, her body sinking deeper and deeper into a deep, warm, soft, erotic world, a dazzling spectacle of colors, ribbons and stars dancing before her eyes...

Her vision blurred, her body seemed to float, her mind began to wander...

She contracted. She had reached orgasm from the penetration.

Almost overwhelmed by pleasure. The surging pleasure, like real waves, crashed against me, making me dizzy and even choking me, leaving my throat tight and breathless.

I opened my mouth wide, sucking in mouthful after mouthful of spray, crystal clear spray, shattered by the crashing waves.

His iron rod was still fiercely thrusting into my convulsing, burning cunt, stubbornly pushing and pushing.

The torrent within him was probably about to erupt. Would he "die" inside the flesh of the female beast?

He slowed his thrusting, panting heavily to catch his breath. This guy wasn't that selfish, after all.

After adjusting his rhythm, he gradually resumed his high-speed piston-like movements.

On the bed, two naked bodies were frantically entangled, thrusting and groaning, contracting simultaneously, drenched in sweat, their bodies burning hot, unable to hear anything.

Old hunters know that attacking mating beasts is easier, because at that time, the beasts' sight and hearing are not as sharp as usual. Of course, attacking mating beasts is very un-"beastly," like waves crashing against the shore, churning up a thousand piles of snow. The female beast was lost, deeply lost in the vortex, immersed in the pleasure of approaching climax, her ears filled with the sounds of water, waves, and her own moans. The

"strongest sound" of life drowned out everything. The female beast tightly embraced the big thug, moaning hoarsely, "Mmm...oh...oh...ah..."

The female beast's lower body was burning hot.

Female beast: "What are you going to do?"

Male dog: "I'm going to fuck you to death!"

The combined current of organ friction and verbal stimulation violently impacted the female beast's spinal cord, back of the head, and bladder.

Under the impact of the bio-current, in the midst of extreme stimulation and excitement, I felt scalding semen slam into my cervix.

The gushing semen was like a geyser, unstoppable.

A large amount of hot semen, carrying male strength, pure yang temperature, salinity, weak alkalinity, and prostaglandins in semen that specifically induce uterine contractions, slammed hard into my 37-year-old cervix.

My wet uterus, still wet from my orgasm, had no choice but to undergo another set of new, powerful, and frantic contractions.

I no longer tried to suppress the passion in my heart.

I closed my eyes, completely immersed in the chaotic carnal pleasure, casting aside all shame, guilt, and pressure, and cried out in a hoarse voice, "Ah...ah...it feels so good...oh...um...oh..."

He was still unable to stop ejaculating, his mouth wide open, his eyes wide open, staring ahead, letting out a lion-like roar, roaring out extreme pleasure.

My hair was disheveled [disheveled, pay attention, cough cough~], my face was as red as a cloth, I was naked, breathing rapidly, my clitoris was swollen, my nipples were erect, I was panting, groaning loudly like a patient with a high fever, my whole body was drenched in sweat, my hair was soaked with sweat and stuck to my red cheeks, my legs were wide open, and semen was flowing out of my vagina.

After he withdrew, he licked my erect left nipple while twisting and kneading my right nipple, sucking and licking while also stimulating my still swollen clitoris.

Waves of pleasure mixed with pain, like a hissing, burning fuse, sparked and raced haphazardly between my breasts and clitoris, converging and surging into my tender, reddened womb. They thrust wildly inside, like a lion roaring out of control in a cage, its furry head and claws tearing at my sensitive nerves, making me tremble all over.

I lay there with my mouth open, drool dripping onto my face, completely unaware.

I was having orgasm after orgasm; panting, screaming, moaning, like a trembling mollusk.

My vagina throbbed in waves, and with each contraction, a thick, hot stream of semen gushed out.

A strange pleasure tore at my uterus. I reached down and touched myself—how could my vagina be so wet? Unbelievably wet. It was like an oyster had "leaked"...

I realized then that for him, ejaculation wasn't the end of sex. His play was continuous, with orgasms rising and falling, endless and lingering.

His infatuation with me was the kind of infatuation one had searched for for centuries to find a soulmate: passionate, continuous, frenzied, boundless.

A warm current of happiness spread through my entire body.

He asked, "Sister, what's wrong?"

I softly replied, "I'm coming again~" He asked, "How does it feel?"

I said, "You bad boy, you're killing me. You're making me feel so good."

Then I tilted my head and fell into a deep sleep. In my sleep, I heard him still rambling on and on: "Life is short. Live a life without desires. Be bold and go for it. If you don't fight for it, a beautiful life won't come to you on its own."

I forced my eyes open and mumbled, "...Um...you're always so amazing after you're done?"

He said, "Done? I haven't even started yet~" He lay down beside me and hugged me. Kiss rained down on my face and lips.

He held my limp body and stopped talking. He listened to my breathing; he kissed and touched me silently.

I stopped talking too. I peacefully enjoyed and savored this happiness that came twenty years late. He held my hand tightly. I nestled against him.

Sometimes, I fell asleep, but I knew he hadn't let go.

Sometimes, we hugged each other face to face, silently gazing at each other. Sometimes,

we faced the same direction, hugging tightly, even our feet were touching.

He kissed my smooth skin, his soft, wet lips moving little by little over my ears, neck, shoulders, and chest.

Happiness is like a thick night fog, enveloping me. Happiness is like an ocean of fine wine. I am deeply intoxicated. Happiness has gripped my heart. Happiness has captured me.

In his arms, I melt.

Slowly, his hand moves to the outside of my vulva, gently rubbing and rubbing, touching my labia, making me burn with desire, unable to control myself. An indescribable pleasure washes over me, and I secrete, secrete, like a pitiful sea clam, constantly gushing transparent mucus from its depths.

Under his patient, sweet "torture," my primal, intense womanly passion rises again.

I become gentle. I feel my eyes soften even more. My whole body goes limp.

I love his arousal. He can stir every cell in my body. Every cell in my body is screaming, waiting for him to do it.

His penis is aimed at my wet opening. Slowly, slowly, his penis enters my private parts.

This time, he still inserts slowly. He is so tender, patient, experienced, and steady.

My vagina was already overflowing with lubrication, so he effortlessly slid in again.

He slid, slid, slowly, like a polar bear sliding into a swimming pool.

We both focused intently on experiencing, savoring, and sharing the exhilarating pleasure of each inch of his entry into my body.

The moment he entered, the feeling was so wonderful I almost moaned. My opening enveloped his swollen tip, the protruding ridges scraping against my inner walls as he slid in, like a hot rod penetrating deep inside me.

That feeling of fullness and slipperiness, ring after ring, flowed from my genitals into my body, turning into waves of heat, winding from my lower abdomen to my back, rising up my spine to the back of my head, surging and surging.

He entered again. My man, my lover's genitals, were inside me again.

In an instant, that hot, fleshy rod was fully inside. Mmm! Hmm! Ah! So good! Oh!

When his penis reached the deepest part of my body, the emptiness that had lingered there for years vanished instantly, replaced by a feeling of fullness. I finally cried out.

That long-lost feeling of fullness! The tingling, itchy feeling inside! The itch that wanted to be scratched!

I couldn't bear it any longer and started to scream! I twisted my body, cooperating with him, welcoming his thrusts.

The sounds of thrusting filled the air. So pleasant, so beautiful!

I said, "You big bad guy, don't stop~" He didn't answer, just thrust harder.

I was filled to the brim by his big cock. It even felt like he was inside my abdomen, my chest~ The polar bear rose and fell on me. He looked at me lovingly as he thrust.

I enjoyed the impact again and again. I lay on the ice, floating with the waves.

I remembered a scene from the 1988 French film "The Little Bear," where a bear stood up and shook a tree.

The tree was pitifully shaken, its branches trembling, its golden leaves swirling and falling.

I breathed heavily, opening myself up, letting the bear stimulate every inch of my private parts, letting him ravage every part of my body.

I felt like a furnace of charcoal, the kind that could melt steel bars at 30,000 degrees Celsius.

I also felt like I was the ocean beneath his body, waves crashing, spraying, scalding hot.

Beneath his powerful, rugged body, I heard the sound of ocean waves. A sweet sense of happiness washed over me. I was incredibly excited.

He throbbed inside me. He used his lewd organ, hard and firm, pressing against me. It felt so good, so reassuring.

He looked at me, calmly and unhurriedly thrusting into me. He was giving me his all. I cherished every second I spent with him.

He had said that if possible, every day should be celebrated like a holiday, cherished like a holiday.

I wanted to say: Do me. Do me hard. Feel you. Do me passionately. Do me wildly. Let you indulge yourself on me.

But I found I couldn't say it. I could only utter simple syllables, not any words or sentences. I was so excited! So excited I couldn't speak! I could only scream!

His hands pressed against my lower abdomen, his nimble fingers playing with my nipples.

He pinched, kneaded, teased, and rubbed.

His hands were so naughty. He was purely teasing me! He was trying to give me more pleasure!

He thrust and thrust. His thick cannon pounded against my sensitive hole, each thrust reaching the deepest point. It even made my bladder ache.

I really couldn't take it anymore. I was going to explode. His cannon felt so good against my G-spot.

He thrust deeper and deeper, harder and faster, until it was all connected. While he was thrusting, he rubbed my breasts with his hands, sucked on them alternately, and flicked my erect nipples with his tongue. The pleasure from above and below surged against each other, and I gradually descended into a state of frenzy.

I lay there, my body sinking deeper and deeper into a warm, soft, erotic world, a vibrant tapestry of colors, ribbons and stars dancing before my eyes.

He was inside me, filling me with such pleasure. He was about to lift me up. He was torturing me to death. I couldn't take it anymore.

He was churning me alive. My juices were flowing everywhere. His penis was inside my womb, churning and swirling.

Ah, so good. Sex with him was wonderful.

With every movement, I felt that piercing, ultimate happiness.

The sharp pleasure made me forget shame, rid myself of the tedious embarrassment, and I swayed my hips wildly, moaning again and again, releasing my pleasure, sharing my joy with him.

He cupped my face in his hands, kissing me passionately, his movements quickening with each thrust. It felt so good; words seemed inadequate. He gripped my waist tightly, pushing deeper into my body.

We were closer now.

He pressed himself against my naked body like a madman, kissing, biting, kneading, and pinching, wantonly squeezing and playing with my breasts, while his hips thrust wildly, pounding into my vagina like a raging storm.

A huge ball of heat accumulated inside me, with nowhere to be released—I seemed to see again a large flower in full bloom under a bright sun, so red from the sun, so vibrant, swaying in the powerful hot wind—the flower being scorched, tormented, ravaged, and swallowed by the sun's flames. The sky trembled, as if the earth were burning.

Seeing his eyes turn like a wild beast, I was both excited and happy.

I willingly succumbed to my "primal instincts," reaching the most intense peak of life's experience.

My moans and cries aroused his lust, and he thrust harder and harder.

His ferocity only fueled my moans of "temptation." Hearing this temptation, he intensified his actions, becoming even more vicious. This created a vicious cycle.

Heh.

I love it! I love how he transforms into a ferocious lion at certain times, in certain moments.

I love his strength, power, ferocity, ruggedness, savagery, and power.

I need stimulation, intense stimulation, brutal stimulation. My life before was too bland. I need to replenish what I've been starving for.

He grabbed my breasts, pinching my nipples between his index and middle fingers, rotating them incessantly. He seemed to know I needed stronger pressure, more "brutal," more violent passion, to better ignite the surging desire within me. He kissed me incessantly

, kneading me forcefully, his fingers rubbing back and forth on my nipples. His "cannon" ravaged my vagina, scraping against the folds and surface of my skin.

I could hear the lubricating sounds of each thrust.

The scene was so beautiful. We both began to breathe heavily. We were experiencing the sensation of being fucked with our whole being.

He thrust into me forcefully, each stroke reaching my limit. He went in so deep I started to scream—but he showed no sympathy for my screams and continued to thrust deeply. It wasn't cruel of him. He knew that at this moment, the more pain he inflicted, the more I enjoyed it; he knew I would rather groan and scream loudly.

My screams and moans sounded so loud and alluring. I was happy to be able to scream and moan so freely.

He said, "Call me Uncle!" I said,

"Uncle, stop fucking me! Hurry up and fuck me until I'm completely ecstatic!" He thrust into me even more fiercely, shaking and rocking me. *Slap

!* Without warning, he suddenly slapped my face. I was stunned, staring at him with wide eyes.

*Slap!* Another slap. He said, "You slut! You whore!"

I recovered, continuing to play along, saying, "Yes, that's right, I'm a whore."

He said, "Auntie's being naughty."

I said, "Yes, come on, spank Auntie's ass."

He fucked me while slapping my face and spanking my ass. The spot where I was hit burned with pain, but my heart burned with a burning pleasure.

We were playing a violent erotic game. We were playing different roles. Only by falling to the lowest depths could we experience the most glorious pleasure.

He kept playing with my breasts, never getting enough.

My nipples were hard with excitement, and I moaned loudly with excitement, the feeling was so intense.

My private parts were being pounded again and again, each pounding making me feel like

I was going to lose control of my bladder. The repeated pounding and rubbing didn't relieve the itch, but rather added fuel to the fire, every inch of my skin was being cared for, and I screamed again and again.

He started attacking relentlessly, thrusting with all his might. My face grew redder and redder. My heart was beating faster and faster.

He was thrusting into me forcefully, as if trying to pierce me, making me feel numb and itchy deep inside. His big penis kept stimulating my G-spot, the stimulation was so sharp it was outrageous.

He thrust hard, grinding and pounding inside! A fierce attack. A vicious attack!

Inside me, his was like a demolition hammer, relentlessly hammering at me with high frequency. Fierce, tenacious, ruthless, and powerful.

Waves of tingling, numbing pleasure washed over me. My passion surged, uncontrollable, my blood boiling, threatening to explode.

A thrilling image flashed before my eyes: magnificent clouds rising from our bodies. Inside

me, in my head, there was a huge ball, growing bigger and bigger, swelling and swelling, ever larger. I couldn't take it anymore. I knew it was coming! It was coming!

Suddenly, my heart clenched! In a powerful, torrential downpour, my body exploded silently once more. A white nuclear explosion.

My body trembled and convulsed. My entire body, from hands to feet, convulsed with excitement. I couldn't help but sing his favorite music again.

I climaxed again. He brought me to climax again. I uncontrollably released a large amount of vaginal fluid.

I shouted at the crest of the wave, "I peed!!!" Hearing this, his climax followed. Suddenly, he shuddered and ejaculated inside me.

He was spraying, he was shooting. He sprayed so powerfully! So much! I never expected that this time, we would both climax at the same time.

He screamed and roared in agony, like a prisoner finally confessing after unbearable torture. It was clear he had been suppressing his urges for a long time.

His scalding essence flowed continuously into my still-contracting hole.

I was so happy, so free. I seemed to have found courage. My heart was singing, I was flying.

We both shouted and cheered together. Cheers to our respective liberation, cheers to the beginning of a new life.

I breathed heavily, feeling wave after wave of warm vaginal fluid flowing out of my body, like incontinence. Flowing, flowing.

My strongest emotions, my most pleasurable sensations, my most hidden fluids, all erupted again. Erupted!

The waves surged. I floated in wave after wave.

I lay there, unable to move. My legs were so weak. I felt so good, so excited.

He slowly pulled his penis out, and my insides felt empty. I don't like that feeling of emptiness.

He took some toilet paper, tore off a piece, folded it into a small pad, and used it to wipe me down.

I lay there like a baby, enjoying the care of my loved one. My heart felt soft, and I was so happy.

When he finished wiping me, he looked at the small pad, which was full of our semen.

I took it; it was heavy, and I smelled it, the mixed scent of his semen and my own fluids. Hmm, not too bad. Very fresh. Very tempting. It was all the smell of sex hormones.

He lay down beside me, smiling. He held me close, his hands full.

I held the heavy little pad to his nose.

He took a deep, long breath, so long; his lung capacity was amazing.

He just kept tilting his head back, eyes closed, greedily inhaling. Inhaling so beautifully.

I asked him, "Does it smell good?"

He nodded and said, "It smells good."

"Do you like it?"

"I like it."

He lay beside me, lovingly stroking my skin.

I gently soothed his semi-erect penis. It was covered in my fluids and his.

I asked, "Was I too much?"

He said, "Yeah, but I liked it. You have no idea how beautiful you were just now. It wasn't the same kind of beauty as your usual self. I can't explain it, but it was incredibly alluring! There was a TV commercial that asked, 'When is a woman most beautiful?'

I said, 'You're so naughty.'

'How do you feel now?'

'Like a goddess. It's so good to be your woman. I'm so happy.'

I had no strength left. I was so exhausted. My waist and legs were weak, and my heart was weak too. I thought I was about to collapse, from my heart to my body.

In the middle of the night, I woke up groggily. All around was silent.

No music. No whispers.

No crickets chirping. No mundane voices.

No train whistles gliding through the night sky.

He held me. We both lay on our right sides, like a pair of large spoons.

His naked body pressed against me, his left hand gripping my left breast, holding on tightly. In the distance, I could hear the sound of the ocean waves.

Then I remembered we were still in the guesthouse room.

I wondered what time it was? The curtains weren't drawn, and the room was filled with moonlight. I felt his hand gently touching my breast. I turned over and found him watching me in the moonlight.

I said softly, "You're still awake?"

He said, "Mmm."

"Why aren't you asleep?"

"I can't get enough of you."

He raised my hands above my head, crossed my wrists, and then tenderly kissed my smooth arms and my armpits. I was very ticklish there, so I instinctively reacted defensively.

He said, "Relax, relax, imagine you're Wu Qionghua, pretend you're tied to a pillar."

I gradually relaxed, letting him lick my armpits. I discovered that ticklishness is actually a conditioned reflex that can be overcome. As long as you are relaxed enough, as long as you trust the other person enough, and can completely entrust yourself to them, you can safely enjoy the strange pleasure that comes after the tickling. Itching can be the prelude to pleasure.

My lower body started to react again.

Wu Qionghua's gently undulating body was tempting him, and it was tempting me too. His penis was hard.

I turned around, climbed on top of him, and held his testicles. Seeing his engorged genitals, my lower body felt a tingling itch. I opened my lips and took his pink, single-eyed "big mushroom" into my mouth, slowly licking it like licking a torch-shaped ice cream.

I sucked hard, trying to swallow that "big mushroom" deep into my throat. My gagging mechanism kicked in. Tears welled up in my eyes, my uvula spasmed, and at the same time, I scraped his "big mushroom." Suddenly, he shuddered, and a stream of semen gushed out. He shot it directly into my throat.

He growled, spurting out jets of hot, thick semen, which poured deep into my spasming esophagus.

He ejaculated into my mouth. With his semen in my mouth, I looked at him through teary eyes.

Before I could swallow, he cupped my face and kissed me. Our lips and tongues were slick with passionate fluid.

I licked his face. He licked mine.

Strangely, this time I didn't seem sleepy. Sometimes, being too tired makes it hard to fall asleep.

We lay there leisurely, his arms raised and resting on the pillow (he thought the pillows in the room were a bit low). I nestled against his right, my head on his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of seafood and masculinity emanating from him, my bandaged feet rubbing against his bare feet.

He whispered, "It reminds me of the paper lanterns I used to have when I was a child."

"Lanterns?"

This guy's thoughts jumped around, possessing a simplicity that was lacking in the real world. You could never guess what he was going to say next.

He said, “Yes, that’s right. That was thirty years ago, when I was only four years old. It was a festival. In the evening. My dad used a chopstick to carry a red paper lantern and handed it to me. Carrying the lantern, I felt like I was carrying a living thing. I slowly walked in the courtyard of the old house, on the snow, next to a big snowman. The lantern was red. Inside was a short candle, burning itself to light my way, to ward off evil, and at the same time to illuminate the round belly of the big snowman.”

Sometimes this guy’s words were like plain water, requiring careful savoring to appreciate their sweetness. Four years old… a lantern… I listened intently, but couldn’t guess what he was going to say next.

He said, "Whoosh! A cold wind blew, and whoosh! The lantern tilted. And then..."

"The candle went out?"

"No, the candle didn't go out. The fire, fanned by the wind, set my lantern ablaze."

"The whole lantern caught fire?"

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

"I held up the chopstick, the tip of which was the burning lantern. I didn't know what to do... I stood alone in the courtyard at night, all alone on the snow. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. I wanted to throw away the chopstick, but I couldn't bear to part with the lantern. I held the chopstick, feeling the heat of the flames, watching the lantern turn to ashes in an instant. The strongest feeling I had at that moment was helplessness and fear. As soon as I got home, I burst into tears. My dad saw it immediately and said, 'If it doesn't work, throw it away! You idiot, you didn't burn yourself, did you?'"

"How close! You shouldn't have played with fire."

“Playing with fire is exciting, isn’t it? Maybe my dad wanted to tell me that you should throw away what you should throw away, give up what you should give up. There are some things in life that you have to give up, and some things you will lose sooner or later. From the moment we are born, we are forced to accept loss: losing time, losing vitality; losing relatives, losing former teachers, losing old, yellowed memories; the names and faces of elementary school classmates gradually fading, friendships and past events that we can no longer recall. Buying a house, the smell of fire; buying a car, getting scratched; giving trust, enthusiasm, and energy to some friends in vain.”

“We are also losing passion, losing the ability to enjoy impulses.”

“Yes. I like everything natural, unadorned, unconcealed, open and honest, with a clear conscience.”

I smiled and said, “I’ve already experienced that.”

Under the moonlight, he cupped my face, looked into my eyes, and said, “When you’re old and frail, and realize you’ve wasted your life, that’s a lifelong regret. When we’re both seventy, it will really be too late.”

“So we have to ‘seize the time to live’?”

"Yes, really, I'm not kidding. In the blink of an eye, we'll both turn to dust, drifting in the cold space."

I said, "That's terrifying. Hold me tight."

He hugged me tightly, so tightly, so very tightly.

For a long time, neither of us spoke, as if neither dared to break the silence on the surface of the water. In our hearts, we were both imagining the feeling of "turning to dust, drifting in the cold space."

Humans are lonely in life, and lonely after death. These years of living are also lonely. Lonely before marriage, and still lonely after marriage. Deep love leads to loneliness.

Can he understand my heart? Can I understand him? Is it possible for people to understand each other?

The next morning, as soon as I woke up, I felt a sudden heat down below. I quickly got up and ran to the bathroom, and there it was.

I narrowly escaped disaster, oh dear!

After breakfast, he drove me to the beach. When we arrived at the beach, he turned off the engine. We got out of the car and strolled leisurely in the morning breeze.

We'd only taken a dozen steps when two men suddenly jumped out in front of us, both wielding daggers and yelling menacingly, "Give us all your money!"

The big bad guy didn't answer, grabbed a bicycle parked nearby, and swung it down on one of the men's heads.

The bicycle was too heavy, too wide, and not maneuverable. The man dodged it. The bicycle crashed to the ground, shattering into pieces, sparks flying everywhere, badly deformed, with more than ten spokes flying off.

I looked back and saw two more men pounce on us from behind, also gripping knives, like hungry wolves attacking a lion in the African savanna.

I screamed.

He saw this, grabbed me, and ran diagonally. My leg was injured, and I limped, unable to run fast.

Four hungry wolves were hot on our heels.

He pulled that hard thing from his back, and at the same time, suddenly turned back, still without saying a word.

I didn't even see the specifics, only that his pitchfork had already plunged diagonally into the neck of one of the wolves.

Blood gushed out.

The wolf fell without a sound. The remaining three chased even more fiercely. There wasn't time to pull out the fork.

There was a small butcher shop ahead. He shoved me hard. I felt my body fly through the air, then land lightly on the soft sand beside me, unharmed.

Looking back, my lover had already rushed out of the butcher shop, wielding a large axe, pouncing on the hungry wolves chasing after him.

The three wolves behind him saw this and immediately braked, turning and running in three directions.

My lover relentlessly pursued one of them, and just as he was about to catch up, he swung the axe in a wide arc, aiming for the bastard's head.

I was stunned.

At the critical moment, the heavy axe head flew straight out, detaching from the handle. Directly in front of the axe head was a tree, about 100 cm in diameter. The axe head fiercely gnawed into the tree trunk. The treetop swayed.

The lucky bastard didn't see the axe head fly out, nor did he see the tree take the blow for him. He just kept his head down and ran. Several onlookers had already gathered on the street.

My lover, seeing he'd used too much force and missed his target with the axe, angrily threw down the handle, bent down, grabbed an iron rod from under his feet, and chased after him, accelerating even faster.

The iron rod was like a 1.5-meter-long water pipe, with a bend at the far end.

The bastard in front glanced back at him, estimating his chances of survival. There were still more than three meters between them.

Suddenly, my lover leaped into the air like Michael Jordan, wielding his mighty cudgel, and slammed it down on the iron rod the moment he landed. The bastard was struck in the knee and fell flat

on his face. What followed... well, I won't go into details. Anyway, there was a series of crackling and popping sounds. In just two seconds, the ground was covered in tofu pudding and blood tofu.

Judging from his fighting spirit and ferocious skills, he was a hundred times better than my husband.

He threw down the iron rod, pulled me into the car, and slammed on the gas. The car lurched forward with a strange cry.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. How about you?"

"Damn, you're nothing."

"They're really scary."

"Damn, you little brat, I could take on eight of them."

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Where are we going now?"

"Let's get out of here first."

I asked myself: Were these four thugs sent by my husband?

I thought to myself, but didn't dare to ask aloud.

06-01
Chapter Six Brainwashing Education I'll fuck his mother

He threw down the iron bar, pulled me into the car, and slammed on the gas. The car lurched forward.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. How about you?"

"Damn, you're nothing."

"They're really scary."

"Damn, you little brat, I could take on eight of them."

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Where are we going now?"

"Let's get out of here first."

I asked myself: Were these four thugs sent by my husband?

I thought to myself, but didn't dare to ask aloud.

He said, "Actually, we can see the sunrise today."

I absentmindedly replied, "Yes."

The car was flying close to the ground. Even after flying ten kilometers, my heart was still pounding at 130.

His savagery, roughness, and aggression attracted me. I felt safe with him; I wouldn't be violated. The incident at Longfusi Temple had broken my heart.

My lover's protective instincts and fighting skills contrasted sharply with my husband's, but he was also a bit too ruthless.

I said, "You really went all out just now."

He said, "Not at all. If I hadn't had to protect you today, none of those little brats would have gotten away. Those damn bastards."

I said, "But was that self-defense or excessive self-defense?"

He said, "I called it eliminating a menace for the people."

I said, "This isn't the era of Liangshan Marsh anymore. This is a society governed by law."

He said, "So what?"

I said, "Someone saw us, and they even had the license plate number."

He said, "I know."

He freed his right hand and touched my thigh, looking like a shameless thug. His hand sent a shiver down my spine.

Suddenly, he said, "I've got a way."

I asked, "What way?"

He said, "Look ahead."

I looked in the direction he pointed. There was a large garbage dump to my right. Upon closer inspection, I realized it wasn't filled with household waste, but with thousands of scrapped cars. The entire dump was surrounded by barbed wire.

He slowed down, drove into the dump, and stopped in front of a dilapidated building in the center, telling me to wait for him in the car.

He went into the building and whispered to two bearded men. After a while, he came out alone and led me out of the car.

Under the sinister sunlight, I followed him, so nervous that I didn't even care about my aching feet.

He pulled me to a dilapidated convertible and asked, "How's this car?"

I looked at it. The car had all four wheels, license plates, and surprisingly, all the tires were inflated.

I asked, "Can this pile of scrap metal even be driven on the road?"

He smiled and opened the car door for me.

I sneered, "This? It doesn't even have a canopy. It'll be a giant water scoop when it rains!"

He jumped into the driver's seat and expertly turned the key. The large water ladle roared to life, shaking violently.

He lit a cigarette, put on sunglasses, and calmly said, "Either you get in and come with me, or you wait alone for the police to take your statement."

I got into the large water ladle and sat down. The car drove out of the junkyard. My life on the run had officially begun.

He turned on the car radio and blasted the volume up to the maximum. Rock music blared deafeningly.

The sun beat down mercilessly. The car sped along. The acceleration was intense. The trees on either side whizzed past. He drove recklessly, as if there was no tomorrow.

I yelled in his ear, "This big water ladle is really powerful to drive, huh?"

He stared at the windshield and shouted at me, "Don't judge a car by its appearance."

I looked at him. He was wearing sunglasses, smoking a cigarette, and nonchalantly gripping the steering wheel, swaying his head to the music—a complete scoundrel.

As he drove, he pulled a bag from the back and handed it to me, saying, "Open it."

I took the bag, opened it, and saw a small DV camera [brand omitted].

He asked, "Do you know how to use it?"

I fiddled with it and said, "The main functions are pretty much the same."

He said, "Go ahead and record."

I turned it on and started filming the windshield. The LCD viewfinder showed the empty highway ahead and the vast fields on either side.

I slowly turned the DV camera until the lens was directly in front of my face. The car whipped up a gust of wind, which tossed my long hair around.

The hot wind conspired with my hair to rebel; my hair turned against me, slapping my face hard. Now I looked completely disheveled.

I pouted narcissistically at the camera, smoothing my hair. The hair snapped back, even getting into my eyes. I squinted.

He said, "Hey, can we film the driver too?"

I smiled, slowly turning the camera until he appeared in the viewfinder.

He was calm, methodical, incredibly patient, exuding a wild spirit, unwilling to settle for mediocrity, and always had a touch of humor.

Most importantly, there was an element of uncertainty about him that attracted me. Uncertainty is adventure. Adventure is excitement.

My husband, on the other hand, has always been punctual, clockwork-like for sixteen years. His schedule is incredibly stable. Life lacks passion.

I asked, "Hey kid, where are we headed now?"

He said, "South."

I asked, "How far?"

He said, "Who cares."

The car sped along the smooth highway, almost silent.

I felt a slight pressure in my bladder.

I said, "Stop for a second if you see a toilet."

He said, "Oh. Why?"

I said, "Everyone has to go."

He asked, "What are the three urgent needs?"

I said, "Hey, stop messing around. I just need to relieve myself."

He said, "Oh. Big or small?"

I said, "Small."

He said, "Oh, small, huh?"

He didn't seem to be in a hurry at all. The road was smooth and wide, a flat expanse.

He said, "Take off your bra."

I said, "Please."

"Please what?"

"This time it's a convertible."

"What's wrong with a convertible?"

"There are always big trucks around."

"What's wrong with big trucks?"

"Thugs. Are you showing off?"

"Yeah, I want to, is it illegal to show off?"

I turned off the DV, leaned forward, put my hands behind my back, unhooked my bra, and then turned to look at him, waiting for his next command.

“Take it out.”

I pulled my bra out of my sleeve and said, “What? You want to wear it on your head and pretend to be a pilot?”

He pointed to the center console and said, “Take off your shoes, put your feet here, and tie your bra on.”

He overtook a large truck going in the same direction and left it far behind.

“Hurry up, you!”

My heart raced again. They say that climbing stairs can strengthen your heart muscle. Following him made up for the sixteen years of heart muscle strengthening I had missed.

“What’s the big deal? Who cares? Nobody recognizes you.”

I obediently took off my shoes, put my bare feet on the center console, clutching my bra, my heart pounding.

From childhood, when we played hide-and-seek and drop the handkerchief, what were we playing for? It was the heart-pounding feeling of being about to be discovered and caught, the pleasure brought by the accelerated secretion of adrenaline.

When we grow up, we play cheating, we play having affairs. What are we playing for infidelity? Nothing more than an increased heartbeat, a heart rate intensity that cannot be achieved with a spouse.

In broad daylight, sitting in a convertible, I silently bound my ankles tightly with my bra, then placed them behind the windshield and on the center console. Did

I secretly enjoy the rough? Was I a submissive? Did I want strangers to see my provocative side? I don't know. I only know this is the second time in my life I've bound my own ankles.

The first time was thirty-one years ago, one afternoon, after watching "The Red Detachment of Women," lying in bed, recalling Wu Qionghua's arms raised high, bound, and I felt inexplicably excited.

Suddenly, my heart raced, so fast I felt dizzy, the world spinning, because I secretly untied my shoelaces and clutched them in my hands, because I wanted to be like her. Back

then, I didn't know how to bind my own hands, so I could only tie my feet. Huddled under the covers, sneaking around. My ankles were tightly bound, but my heart soared to the heavens, flying high with shame.

I like looking at my feet, touching my feet, I like the bondage scenes in classic revolutionary films. Binding my own feet gave me a humiliating tremor, a complex pleasure combining both.

I knew then that this was "wrong" and shouldn't be told to others. I thought I was the only person in the world with this "problem."

Thirty-one years have passed in the blink of an eye. Now, for the second time, I'm binding my own feet, next to a big bad guy, on a highway in Hebei Province, with a huge bladder full of hot pee.

He said, "Put the vibrator in."

I said, "I'm on my period today."

He said, "Put it in."

His tone was completely like a tyrant. Sometimes women just like having a tyrant by their side, a considerate and caring tyrant, hehe.

I lifted my skirt, pulled my underwear aside, took out the six little vibrators, and inserted them one by one into my vagina.

It was ten o'clock in the summer morning, and my vagina was soft, weak, and wet, half sweat and half menstrual blood. [Reiterate: I'm really not Wang Shuo~] The stainless steel scoundrel didn't have any trouble, and they all went in one by one in a line.

He glanced at my blood-stained fingers, and I shoved my blood-stained fingers into his mouth. He sucked and smacked, his mouth smeared with menstrual blood, but he didn't care.

Once he was clean, he said, "Keep filming."

With six stainless steel vibrators inside me, I obediently picked up the DV camera and filmed my helpless lower limbs, the twisting and turning of my toes, my heart pounding with panic.

He said as he drove, "Give me the remote, will you?"

I handed him my corsage.

He took it with one hand, placing his fingers on my vulva, exuding an air of authority. Before he even started rubbing, I was already wiggling my hips uneasily, half nervous, half desperate to urinate; half expectant, half distressed.

Suddenly, he cruelly twisted my vulva. The six small steel balls danced inside me simultaneously, seemingly innocent, but actually incredibly wicked.

The wicked vibrations of the interconnected steel balls intensified the pressure on my urinary tract. It became increasingly uncomfortable, and I started rubbing my buttocks restlessly in the passenger seat.

He asked, "Sis, what's wrong?"

I said, "I told you, I need to go to the toilet."

He said, "Look at this roadside, where's the toilet?"

I said, "What should I do? I really can't hold it in anymore."

He said, "Are you going to wet your pants?"

I clutched my lower stomach and nodded awkwardly. Sweat poured out, my forehead, soles of my feet, and armpits were all wet.

I said, "I really can't take it anymore."

He said, "Easy. Just relieve yourself by the roadside."

I said, "No. What if a car comes..."

He said, "So what if they see?"

I looked at him in surprise.

He smiled and said, "Being seen by strangers is quite exciting. Want to try?"

The car continued to speed smoothly along the asphalt. I really was almost at my limit.

He said, "Rubbing your clitoris."

I was like a successfully trained electronic doll, obeying commands. I touched my swollen clitoris, the tingling and itching inside made me rub it hard for a while, but I couldn't reach orgasm.

I said, "No... I can't reach it..."

He suddenly twisted the remote control again. The vibration suddenly increased. I felt like I had been hit by a bullet, and several drops of hot urine leaked out.

I was about to completely lose control.

I didn't want to rupture my bladder or lose its elasticity. Anyway, it's far from the authorities, and nobody here knows me. I untied the bra binding my ankles and yelled through gritted teeth, "Stop the car!"

The car finally stopped, pulling over to the shoulder.

My vision was already blurry. I turned off the DV camera and howled, "Balls~" He turned off the vibrator. I pulled out the string of stainless steel beads and threw them on the center console.

The large beads were covered in my secretions and menstrual blood, wet and gleaming brightly in the sunlight.

I opened the car door; all around was silent. Now that the car had actually stopped, I hesitated. I said, "I...I'm in the car...is that okay?"

He said, "In the car? How will you pee? Can you even pee?"

I said, "I...I'll squat on the seat, you know, do you have a plastic bag?"

He calmly said, "No." "

Are you just going to leave me to die?"

"Alright, alright, come on, I'll go with you."

He helped me out of the car and to the back. There really weren't any other cars on the road. He stood on the shoulder of the road, facing the highway, and pulled out a yam and started urinating.

I lifted my skirt, pulled down my underwear, and squatted next to him, but I was still so nervous, so incredibly nervous. He was finished, but I couldn't let a single drop out. I

felt like I was going to burst inside.

He said, "Okay, okay, I know. You're not that badly holding it in. Come on, get in the car, let's keep driving."

I said, "No! I'm about to explode."

He said, "Then just pee. Let it out."

I said painfully, "Is there any other way? I really can't pee."

My stomach hurt so much I was trembling.

He squatted down, put his arm around my shoulder, and said, "Brainwashing education, damn it! It's made me like this! A grown woman about to die from holding her pee. Let it out! Let it out! What's the big deal? I'm here with you."

I was in so much pain, but I was still scared. I felt it was ugly to pee in the street, it was indecent, a respectable woman shouldn't do that. I was afraid of losing face. I was afraid of being embarrassed. I was afraid of this and that…

I was like a desperate, trapped beast, seeing before me a huge, fat, translucent balloon filled with urine. It was heavy, about to burst.

The unbearable shame and excruciating pain in my urinary tract brought me to the brink of collapse. Tears swirled and accumulated in my eyes. I tilted my head back, trying to hold them back.

Suddenly, he pressed hard on my stomach. A warm sensation at the opening of my urethra. First two drops. Then five drops. Then a torrent of red, an uncontrollable dam bursting forth.

He pressed on my lower abdomen, saying, “Come on, you slut, let it all out. Let it out…”

I groaned, trembling, sobbing and whimpering, looking down at the bright red pool of hot urine mixed with menstrual blood between my legs.

I said, “Stop pressing.”

He said, “You still have more.”

He continued to press on my lower abdomen. My bladder felt sore from his pressure. Wave after wave of scalding urine gushed out in anguish.

He said, "I once saw an elephant piss, standing there gushing out thirty pounds. Now that thing can't beat you."

I burst out laughing through my tears. A huge snot bubble, crystal clear and multicolored, popped out of my nostril. My body jerked. My eyes narrowed. With that jerking and narrowing, tears finally spilled from my eyes.

He made an exaggerated facial expression and said beside me, "Anything else? Sister, how much have you been holding back?"

I pissed, cried, and laughed all at the same time. The stream of urine was scattered, swaying wildly in the sunlight.

He said, "Look over there, drinking 'red soup,' hey."

I looked down at the pool of urine. A thirsty little insect crawled over, happily drinking menstrual urine.

The big bad guy's hand went around to my buttocks, his fingers mischievously touching my soft anus. I contracted my detrusor muscles and the entire pelvic floor muscles even more, and more urine was forced out with a "squeak."

The area of the urine "lake" on the ground kept expanding. The little bug that was moving too slowly got drowned and struggled in my urine. It

was a satisfying, overflowing substance, but also pungent.

I saw the warm urine returning to the earth, heard birds flying, and my heart sang shyly.

[Note: While studying abroad, I was fortunate enough to receive guidance from two Italian psychologists specializing in the psychology of shame.] The urine sprayed onto the scalding asphalt. The unique stench of urine rose between my nose and the big bad guy's.

I said embarrassedly, "It's really stinky."

He smelled it with relish and said, "Mmm~ stinky smells good."

I whispered as I urinated, "Mmm...so comfortable!"

He said, "Come on, let it all out!"

A sweet, slurping sound. Under the dazzling sunlight, I squatted by the highway, my white buttocks exposed, urinating openly and freely.

The big bad guy squatted beside me, massaging my stomach with one hand and my anus with the other. I squatted in the sunlight, letting him pet me like a female dog.

My attention had never been so intensely focused on my urinary tract. The release after so long was so pleasurable! Indescribable.

Almost there, almost there, I was almost done. I'd peed about 9/10 when a large container truck came speeding by, roaring past.

It was going so fast that the blast of air jolted me off balance. I don't know what the driver saw, but I heard a piercing horn.

Was it a celebration for me? Or a sound wave of a middle finger?

The flow stopped. After the truck was far away, I continued to release, release.

I had transcended myself, freed myself from the constraints. I loosened the moral shackles, relaxed my nerves, relaxed my urethra, and relaxed my lustful heart.

After we finished, we got back in the car and continued on our way.

He said, "Oh, what a pity."

"What's a pity? Don't leave me hanging."

"I had to film that part where you peed on the highway and put it online, hey..."

I punched him.

The car veered to one side. He quickly straightened it, saying, "Assaulting the driver is a serious crime."

I switched to tickling his sensitive spots. He laughed loudly in the driver's seat, his facial muscles contorted.

He retaliated, poking my armpit. I was more ticklish than him, my mouth wide open, my body shrinking to its smallest point, sweat pouring down my back.

We just kept hitting, tickling, screaming, and laughing like madmen. On the highway, the convertible swayed and swayed, making a grand entrance.

Today we laugh here. Tomorrow we'll be a forest of bones.

After driving fifty kilometers, he slowed down, took the next exit, and slowly drove into a small grove of trees. The grass in the grove was soft and dense.

I looked back. No cars were following. There was no one around, only the chirping of cicadas.

He said, "Aunt Wu, I'm sleepy."

I said, "Let me drive. You rest for a while."

He said, "No, I want to sleep with you."

He stopped the car, took a sip of water, turned his head, and stared intently at me.

I said, "It's a deal, just sleeping, nothing else."

He got out of the car, walked towards me, and said, "If I didn't do anything else, would that be me?"

I said, "No, no. I'm already on my body."

He pulled me off the car and started touching my breasts: "No, it's not okay."

I said, "Really, it's not okay."

He pushed me down onto the grass, reached down, and lifted my skirt: "Why not?"

"Dirty~" "I'm not afraid."

He kissed me while roughly rubbing my bloody vulva.

I refused verbally, but my buttocks kept thrusting towards him.

He rubbed my clitoris and said, "Look how swollen your clitoris is~" I said, "I'm unlucky every month, my lower area is always very sensitive."

"You're shameless~" "Go away~" "You're slutty."

"You're bad~" My body really had no backbone, he rubbed it until it was very wet, making my entire vulva sticky.

The cicadas were flapping their wings desperately in the tree, their wings almost worn to pieces.

"What are you?"

"I'm your little slut."

He dipped a vibrator in my blood and mucus and pushed it into my anus.

I whispered, "Hmm, let's play around with the back. The front is really no good."

He stripped me naked and said, "Never say 'no' to me again!"

He inserted his fingers into my vagina.

I asked, "What are you doing, you bad boy?"

"Masturbating your bloody cunt."

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah. What about you?"

"I like it too."

I heard the squelching sounds coming from my lower body as he fingered me.

I asked, "It's really wet inside, isn't it?"

"Yeah, listen to this sound."

"Today is the first day. Tomorrow will be more."

"Have you ever played with the Bloodstained Splendor?"

"No. I've only had sex a few times over the years."

I looked at his handsome face. Behind him were dense branches. Blue sky peeked through the gaps in the branches.

I thrust my buttocks towards him, welcoming him. He twisted his chest flower [vibrating egg remote control]. The vibrating egg vibrated wildly in my rectum.

"Slut, make a sound!"

I released my lips and let out a small moan.

"Louder! When you're being fucked, you have to act like you're being fucked."

I opened my throat, letting my vocal cords open and close freely, making moans of different timbres.

He got excited and increased the pressure on my hands. I was menstruating, and he was masturbating me, with a string of vibrating stainless steel beads clamped in my anus.

I closed my eyes, lay on the grass, and let him do as he pleased.

He said, "I can feel the vibrating egg in your intestines."

"Really? What does it feel like?"

"Tomorrow, you'll wear leather gloves, buy a string of candied hawthorns, and feel it to find out."

"You're all bullying me~" "Does it feel good to be bullied?"

"You're so bad~" "That's right. I don't know anything else, all I do is be bad."

"You pervert~" "You're calling me by my nickname again."

"You're so perverted. Do whatever you want, you weirdo~" I was like a fleshy catfish that had come ashore, white, being held down on the grass, constantly writhing.

He said, "I'm going to fuck you to death."

"Oh~ fuck me~" The squelching sounds below grew louder and louder, the pleasure grew stronger and stronger.

The profanity irritated both him and myself.

I was a mad horse, driven by lust, charging towards a high cliff. I swore incoherently while slapping my own ass, encouraging myself.

I was an oil field blazing, burning myself and constantly adding fuel to the fire. The fire burned ever brighter, beyond redemption.

"I'm going to fuck you to pieces."

"Yeah! Fuck me!"

"Where will I fuck you?"

"Clit."

"You cunt."

"Yes, your bloody cunt."

"Oh no! Someone's coming!"

The catfish on the grass jolted, its ass raised high, frozen in place, its body trembling slightly, secreting even more viscous fluid.

The catfish's eyes lost their luster, its mouth opened wide, saliva flowing slowly, forming a thin trickle onto the grass.

The shock caused the catfish to lose control, to climax.

Before my climax had subsided, he stripped naked, spread my legs, and exuded a powerful aura.

I warily turned my head to look around and asked him, "Who's here?"

He stared into my eyes as he thrust in, "A bald, big hooligan."

"You lied to me again~" His penis entered very smoothly. My menstrual blood and the previous discharge lubricated my filthy passage.

He thrust into me hard. The hypersensitive vaginal walls during my period were rubbed by him, and my soft, open cervix was violently rammed by him.

I felt the blood-tinged discharge flowing down my buttocks, probably onto the grass.

He suddenly stopped.

I said, "Go ahead and cum, it's okay."

He pulled out his penis. I looked around again, but there was still no movement.

I asked, "What? Tired?"

He pulled the vibrator out of my anus and then pried open my vaginal opening to insert it.

I quickly leaned forward to look down. The vibrator was covered in filth from my intestines.

I said, "Stop! This really won't do."

He looked up at me with displeasure and said, "Not 'doesn't' again?"

I said, "I have a better idea."

"Tell me."

"Lie down."

He obediently lay down, exposing his bare buttocks to me.

I said, "Spread your buttocks."

He spread his buttocks.

"Spread them wider, spread them wider."

He pushed harder, exposing his anus to me even more fully.

I stuck out my tongue and licked his anus, making it wet and slippery, then shoved the vibrating egg, covered in my poop, into his asshole.

He twisted his hips and groaned. I felt his penis become even harder.

After I finished, I opened my legs to him. He shoved his penis into my anus, ravaging my back while fingering my front.

I twisted my breasts. He shuddered violently. I found it amusing, turning the remote on and off repeatedly, almost twisting my breasts off.

He shuddered continuously, fucking me with a bunch of steel balls between his fingers. I was being violated by him, while simultaneously controlling the toy in his rectum.

Now he could also experience the pleasure of vibrating steel balls.

I was confused: who was fucking whom? Could "fucking" mean mutual humiliation? Was it like playing tennis? Was it a back-and-forth attack?

In the heat of the moment, we both rushed forward to intercept short shots. The trajectories became shorter and shorter, the frequency of the rallies increased until they were invisible to the naked eye.

The vibrating egg was shoved into his anus. He was fucking my rectum. He could almost sympathize with me, and I could sympathize with him. How amazing!

Heaven above, grass as our bed, two desperate, stray dogs, male and female, sweating freely.

As he fucked me, he said, "Slut! I'll fuck you shit out!"

I said, "Mmm! Okay... Come on... harder..."

I twisted my flower towards "max." He howled loudly, cried out in despair, and ejaculated hot semen into my intestines.

He closed his eyes before he finished, and didn't open them until he was done. He lay on top of me, lying quietly with his eyes closed.

I panted, savoring, relishing, not drunk, but unwilling to wake up.

Believe it or not, fucking has a "sweet aftertaste" [a8 note: "sweet aftertaste" is a tea tasting term, referring to a slightly bitter tea that leaves a faint sweetness on the tongue after drinking it]. I gently laid the "sleeping beauty" down, hugged him, and savored the sweet aftertaste.

A pair of boxers, fresh from their match, lay panting on the grass.

The summer heat evaporated a fragrant aroma from the lawn. In this scent, I too felt drowsy, my eyes heavy with sleep.

The cicadas' chirping was still deafening, but it seemed to be fading into the distance…

In my hazy state, I felt slippery semen slowly seeping from my anus.

I jolted awake, drenched in sweat. Two stray dogs were asleep on the roadside grass. [Actually, I probably only dozed off for two minutes.] The male boxer lay unconscious on the grass next to the female boxer. The female boxer cautiously craned her neck, scanning her surroundings.

There was no one around, no vehicles. In the distance, on the highway, cars occasionally whizzed by, like airplanes. Then, deathly silence returned.

I knew that the more peaceful the scenery, the more likely it was to harbor danger. But I couldn't see where the danger was lurking, so I was anxious.

Without warning, the sky suddenly darkened. Dark clouds loomed.

The restless rabbit, its little nose twitching, ears perked, eyes wide, looked panicked. It could already smell the approaching thunderstorm. Instinctively, this rain was ominous. I

quickly woke it up, pulled out the vibrator, wiped it clean, and put it away.

It handed me the car keys and staggered to the back seat, where it fell asleep immediately [it didn't even wake up]. That was too wild.

I drove. It slept soundly in the back. I thought to myself: I can't be so indulgent anymore.

There were few cars on the road. With the top down, there was no wind, and the car was unbearably hot. I turned on the air conditioning.

As I drove, I recalled our passionate game, the feeling of his thick penis thrusting against my vagina and anus. That stimulation was intoxicating.

Thinking about it made me impulsive, and while driving, I slipped my right hand under my skirt, my fingers probing into my underwear from the side.

My vagina, which I had just dried before getting in the car, was wet again. The vibrations of the car engine intensified my pleasure.

A microcurrent of pleasure coursed through my body, from my uterus to my clitoris, from my fingertips to my toes. I started sweating again.

I took off my shoes, stepped on the gas, and wanted to completely relax, free from any constraints.

A police car overtook me. The officer driving glanced at me as he passed. He was quite handsome.

The police car sped away.

My mind started racing. I imagined the police car stopping me, a male officer getting out, holding a black baton, dressed in a black uniform, looking very smart and capable.

He said to me, "You were speeding. Get out."

I obediently got out, hands up.

Looking closely at his face, he was very handsome. He was a good-looking young man.

He said to me, "Turn around, legs apart, hands above your head. Routine check."

I did as he said. The officer squatted behind me and began carefully touching my feet, calves, and thighs.

He said, "I need to check you properly."

As he spoke, he groped my buttocks. It felt itchy and strange. I really enjoy the strength of a man's large hands.

It was hot, and I was wearing very thin clothes.

I was only wearing a bright red sundress with thin straps, hanging precariously from my shoulders.

As the policeman's large hands caressed me, I slightly wiggled my hips and let out soft, indistinct moans of pleasure.

I was masturbating while driving.

I was seducing the policeman. He took handcuffs from his waist, pulled my arms behind my back, and cuffed my hands behind my back.

I said, "I was wrong, how are you going to punish me?"

The policeman didn't answer, but bent down and lifted my skirt, pulling the hem up as high as possible until it covered my head. My face was completely covered by my own skirt.

The policeman pulled down my underwear. Now, with my hands cuffed behind my back, my red skirt covering my chest and head, and my lower body naked, I stood on the empty side of the highway.

One unfamiliar car after another roared past. All the drivers could see this bizarre street pornography.

The policeman greedily touched my body, and I responded by slightly wiggling my hips.

The policeman used his left hand to pluck my pubic hair, while his right hand roughly grabbed and groped my buttocks. He forcefully lifted one of my legs, raising it as high as possible until my heel rested on his shoulder.

At this point, my genitals were completely exposed to this handsome man in police uniform.

While touching my vulva, he asked, "What's your name?"

I said from under my skirt, "Call me 'slut,' 'bleeding slut.'"

He said, "Slut, now I'm going to check your asshole. Pull hard, stick your asshole out."

I asked, "Why?"

He said, "Stop talking nonsense, stick it out."

I obediently stuck my anus out as far as I could, like I was about to defecate.

I felt his hand forcefully spread my buttocks, his fingers beginning to touch the tender pink flesh of my exposed anus.

That area was extremely sensitive; stimulated, I jerked back, and his fingers naturally followed, easily penetrating me. He seemed to be an old hand, experienced in anal torture.

He said, "You slut, why is your asshole so slippery? What's in there?"

I wiggled my ass and said, "It's...it's rectal oil."

He said, "Bullshit! It's semen. You just got fucked! And your asshole was fucked, right?"

I nodded and said, "Yeah, that's right."

Using the semen that the big bad guy had just ejaculated inside my intestines, his thick, large finger was already fully inside, ravaging my rectum, making gurgling sounds.

I could hardly suppress my moans. I opened my throat, breathing and moaning softly like a bitch.

He pulled out his penis and rubbed it back and forth at the entrance of my vagina. I made a series of intermittent monosyllable sounds: "Mmm...uh...ah..."

He had aroused enough of my vagina, so he forcefully spread my legs and thrust in with a powerful thud. I screamed in surprise.

The policeman began to fuck my vagina wildly.

I felt an itch starting deep inside my vagina, as if something tiny was scratching me, like tiny water droplets or ants sliding on my eyelids, an unbearable itch.

I am, after all, a mature woman, a healthy woman. Although I was quite unruly in the past, recently, with so much stimulation and inspiration, something within me is rising up like a giant snake. The desire within me is a raging wildfire, a forest fire, roaring and sweeping through my entire body with unstoppable force.

The policeman was still vigorously thrusting into my vagina. I felt a pang of pleasure from the penetration.

Every passing car intensified my heart pounding and my face burning.

The policeman's large penis was thrusting and churning rapidly inside my vagina, faster and faster, and I let out moans from the depths of my heart.

My lower body became even more itchy and aching. There are two kinds of itching. One kind is superficial, which can be relieved by scratching. The other kind is deep, and the more you scratch, the itchier it becomes. My current itching belongs to the latter.

Suddenly, the policeman pulled out his wet, large penis, turned me around, and pressed my upper body against the hood of the police car. My head was covered by my skirt, my hands were tightly handcuffed behind my back, and my buttocks and thighs were bare. The policeman stood behind me, spread my buttocks, pried open my pink anus, and thrust in forcefully. My buttocks writhed violently, my whole body going wild from the fucking.

The policeman was fucking like a madman, the frequency of his thrusts was unprecedented. My buttocks swayed up and down with each wave of convulsions, my whole body trembling violently.

I rubbed my clitoris harder and faster. I knew I was almost there. But I couldn't bear it. I wanted to prolong that wonderful feeling as much as possible.

The policeman pushed me to the ground. The ground was scorching hot. I still couldn't see anything, only felt his strong, powerful fingers begin to rub my clitoris.

My clitoris was so delicate, how could it withstand such ravaging? I tried to scream, but he immediately covered my mouth. I struggled. He persisted. I struggled desperately. He calmly covered my mouth, calmly fucking my rectum and pinching my clitoris.

I couldn't make a sound from above, and menstrual blood was flowing freely from below.

I knew my body shouldn't react, but the body has its own rules and conditioned reflexes. My body betrayed me, and I reacted in ways I shouldn't have.

My genitals became wet, wet and squelching. I knew, I knew, besides releasing more menstrual blood, I was also releasing sticky fluid of excitement.

The policeman's hand touched my excitement. His rough, savage fingers were brutally inserted into my uncooperative, drooling vagina.

I was handcuffed, my head was covered, my anus was being penetrated, my clitoris was being pinched, and my vagina was being violated by fingers, squelching and being fucked hard. I cried out from the bottom of my heart—the policeman fucked me even harder with his fingers. Suddenly, just as I was reaching my climax, he pulled out his fingers, and then I felt him shoving a large, cold, hard thing into my slippery vagina.

I immediately felt it was filled to the brim. That thing was long and thick, and it felt incredibly good inside me.

I understood, it was that black police baton. He started thrusting, my blood and vaginal fluids were drawn out by the baton, flowing down my vulva, down my anus, everywhere.

The head of the baton pressed against a strange spot inside my vagina, somewhere quite deep inside. Waves of tingling sensations washed over me, and my fluids surged uncontrollably.

I was being fucked like that by the baton. The policeman ravaged my breasts, forcing me to suck his hard, large penis. I opened my mouth and swallowed his penis. He groaned, then began to move his pelvis, pulling my face and fucking my hot mouth and throat.

He pressed a button on the baton, and it immediately began to vibrate in my vagina, making my cunt vibrate to the point of ecstasy.

He pounded into me, half-raping me until I was dizzy. I was driving, and I orgasmed. I was high [reaching a "high," what ketamine calls "floating"].

[a8 still firmly believes that the instantaneous feeling of climax is very similar to the "high" state induced by hallucinogens.] At the crest of the wave, my legs were taut, the accelerator was floored, but I didn't realize it. The faster I went, the less I felt fast.

After this violent onslaught, I lay on the ground, enjoying the afterglow of the climax and the warmth before sunset.

The big bad guy suddenly woke up, lying in the back seat and asking me, "What's the speed now?"

I was jolted awake from the frenzy, and when I looked at the speedometer: 238 kilometers per hour. I quickly eased off the accelerator and slowed down.

He asked, "Are you alright?"

I forced myself to breathe steadily and replied, "I'm fine, I'm fine."

He asked, "Trying to push this big water ladle to its limit?"

["Pushing to the limit" means driving the car to its maximum speed, until the speedometer needle exceeds the maximum limit—a8 note] My face flushed red, and I said, "No, no."

He sat up, still sleepy, and said, "Women who drive fast are especially horny in bed."

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and said, "You're so mean, you rascal, saying bad things as soon as you open your eyes."

He looked back at the rear window and said to me, "Hey, why are you sweating so much? Look at your neck and forehead, it's all sweaty..."

Yes, the air conditioning is on in the car, how could I be so hot? He definitely wouldn't have guessed the answer.

Did he really not guess? He was so horny...

He looked back at the rear window again, then took out his phone and started dialing.

It connected. I heard him say on the phone, "I'll check a license plate for you, Beijing X-xxxxx" [specific license plate number omitted]. I looked in the rearview mirror and noticed a large truck closely following our car, with the license plate number Beijing X-xxxxx. He waited a moment, then I heard him say, "What? From the meat processing plant? Fuck!"

My heart skipped a beat!

I looked in the rearview mirror and noticed a large truck closely following our car, with the license plate number he had given.

He waited a moment, then I heard him say, "What? Fuck!"

He hung up the phone, his brow furrowed. I asked, "What's wrong?"

He countered, "Did you tell your husband our route?"

"No. How could that be? I didn't even dare turn on my phone. What happened?"

"That truck behind us belongs to the meat processing plant."

Hearing this, I felt like I'd been hit with an iron rod, my heart pounding! I immediately revved the engine and accelerated desperately, trying to shake off the truck behind us. But it was no use. No matter how I overtook or accelerated, I couldn't shake off that terrifying truck.

I pulled out my phone with one hand. It was off.

I said, "I haven't used my phone at all, nor have I made any calls from public phones. How did my husband know?"

He said, "I was just about to ask you."

I said, "I haven't left you at all. It couldn't be me who told him. I went through so much trouble to escape from home, why would I inform him?"

He looked back and muttered to himself, "Damn! This is unbelievable!"

I knew what he was worried about. Every one of his worries was my worst fear. There wasn't enough time for him to switch drivers. I had no choice but to grit my teeth and keep driving.

He glanced back at the truck and asked, "Can your husband drive?"

I nodded as I drove, my eyes darting nervously in the rearview mirror, my mind racing. That menacing truck behind us kept tailing me.

I nervously muttered to myself, "How did he know? It's so weird. Is he going to drag me home? Or run me over? He said he hates adulterers..."

My eyes darted around, looking at the road ahead and then at the rearview mirror.

Suddenly, dozens of raindrops appeared on the windshield.

I said, "It's starting to rain. We're really going to be sitting in a giant sack of water this time."

He pressed a button. A soft canopy rose from the back seat. It moved automatically, clicking shut as it reached the windshield. This old car is pretty advanced.

It's waterproof. Looking out from inside is like watching a movie, like watching an aquarium; the outside is wet, but it seems to have nothing to do with me.

The rain quickly intensified. The raindrops pounded on the canopy, thumping and pounding, making me increasingly agitated.

Rainwater streamed down the glass, creating eerie light and shadow effects. I turned on the wipers, my eyes darting nervously to the rearview mirror.

The large truck behind us was still relentlessly following.

Dark clouds loomed overhead, and a torrential downpour pounded against the windshield in an instant.

He asked, "What are you thinking?"

"What are you thinking?"

"What are you planning?"

"Nothing much... I just wanted to get away for a while, then go back and talk to him."

"Talk about what?"

"Divorce. I don't want to be a walking corpse like before."

"You've finally come to your senses."

"You've really woken me up. But I didn't expect things to turn out like this..."

The truck seemed to be getting closer and closer. My heart pounded in my chest. The big bad guy turned around, his eyes wide with rage, panting heavily.

In an instant, the rain turned into a downpour. So heavy that you couldn't see anything. All I could see outside was a large cloud of white mist. My heart pounded.

The area outside the windshield was darkening rapidly; visibility was only about twenty meters. I turned on the headlights.

Suddenly, the water level reached more than halfway up the wheels. I could clearly feel the water resistance. The car slowed down immediately. There shouldn't be this much water on the highway! This is weird! That bastard comforted me, saying, "Don't panic, just keep going."

My palms were sweating profusely; gripping the steering wheel felt like squeezing a fish in water—slippery and difficult.

He said, "Don't stall the engine. Stalling it will be a disaster."

Yes, stalling it would be the end of us. My heart pounded, my blood pressure skyrocketed, my temples throbbed, and the high intracranial pressure made my head ache and I felt dizzy.

Suddenly, the rainwater on the windshield turned bright red, like the heavens were pouring blood on me.

I was startled and quickly switched the wipers to the highest setting. But it was no use. I couldn't see anything except red.

A blood-red blur blurred my vision.

My heart was pounding in my chest. Neither that bastard nor I spoke.

I'd heard of acid rain, but never blood rain. Was a bloody storm about to hit?

The red on the windshield faded, and the rainwater returned to its clear state.

With a snap, the rainwater on the windshield was gone. It came and went quickly.

We sped out of the rain zone. The sky cleared. Only the wipers nervously screeched and squeaked, wiping the windshield.

We could see outside. The roads were dry, no water at all.

Looking out the rear window, that terrifying truck was gone. Behind us was a thick, dark fog of water.

"What was that?"

"I don't know. It was fucking creepy."

"Can I stop?"

"Stop."

I pulled over, drenched in sweat. Looking around, the sun was shining brightly. The highway was empty, the fields lying on either side, brutally exposed to the sun. The big bad guy got out and checked the car's exterior.

I asked, "Is there any blood?"

"No."

He came over and switched seats with me.

My legs felt like noodles; getting up was difficult, I couldn't muster any strength.

He turned off the headlights, accelerated, and drove off.

We drove about five kilometers, but still didn't see that truck following us.

He saw a large sign with symbols like knives and forks. He went inside to wash his car and refuel.

There were over thirty large trucks and over thirty cars parked in the service area.

I looked back in the direction I came from, at the entrance to the service area. Everything seemed normal, peaceful.

I went into the main sales area, bought a pack of sanitary napkins, and changed in the restroom. My bleeding increased.

After coming out, I walked through the large glass doors of the restaurant.

Two girls stood beside the glass doors, dressed beautifully, but their eyes, their gaze, their small waists—they clearly weren't respectable people.

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