[Urban] Must be fucked to death (Complete) - 22-24

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

Chapter Seven: Self-Deliverment

The restaurant was bustling and noisy. The big bad guy and I haphazardly ate some grilled sausages and boxed lunches.

He tried to relax me by telling dirty jokes, but I was distracted, my eyes darting out the glass, scanning the service area courtyard.

That terrifying truck still hadn't come in.

I kept my head down, eating my boxed lunch.

Just as I took a bite, I suddenly heard the big bad guy whisper "fuck." I quickly looked up and saw a police car drive into the service area, stopping right next to our car.

A fat policeman in uniform got out, circled the "big water ladle," and mumbled something on his walkie-talkie.

I immediately tensed up and asked the big bad guy, "What do we do?"

He calmly continued eating his boxed lunch and said, "Don't panic. Don't move."

My eyes widened, and my heart pounded. Gao Mingjun, when he sang "That Feeling of Heartbeats," probably never imagined a heartbeat could be so suffocating.

He silently got up and left me, walking towards the two girls. He took out a wad of cash, pointed to the fat policeman outside, and whispered something to them.

The two girls took the money, counted it, and smiled indifferently before pushing open the door and leaving.

The big bad guy returned to my side, gave me an evil smile, and pulled me towards the air conditioner unit.

It was crowded there. Many people were gathered under the vent to cool off. We stood in the crowd, our eyes fixed on the policeman in the courtyard.

In the courtyard, the two girls walked straight towards the fat policeman. One touched his buttocks, the other patted his shoulder, smiling at him seductively.

The fat policeman was taken aback. The two girls whispered something in his ear and then turned back to point to the glass restaurant where we were.

Every cell in my body stood on end. Would they betray us?

The fat policeman, full of suspicion, slung his walkie-talkie over his shoulder strap and walked towards the restaurant with the two girls.

He swayed casually, his physique robust and strong, much like Bellick from Prison Break—a veritable armed bully! My heart pounded!

He strode through the glass door like a pirate, professionally surveying the hall with an air of absolute authority.

The two girls pushed him through a narrow door. The door closed. I saw a small sign on the door that read, "Storage Room. No Entry for Unauthorized Personnel." We both breathed a sigh of relief. This was a golden opportunity. The big bad guy suddenly grabbed my hand and decisively whispered, "Quick! Follow me!"

I followed him, crouching low, running towards the "big water ladle" (a car), and jumped into the car. He deftly turned the key. The car pulled out of the service area and sped up.

The sun was blazing, and I could hardly breathe. The car was like a sauna, at least 65 degrees Celsius.

I said, "Either turn on the air conditioning, or we'll open the convertible top."

"Air conditioning wastes gas,"

he said, pressing the button. The soft top retracted automatically, folding into the soft top compartment behind the back seats.

With the top off, the wind immediately blew against my body and face. Much more comfortable.

I asked, "What do you think the police found?"

"Who knows? Who cares!"

"Is this a stolen car?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? What clean car would be parked there like that?"

"So what do we do?"

"Easy. We have a plan."

"What plan?"

He turned on the hazard lights, parked the car on the side of the road, took a plastic bag from under his feet, randomly picked out one of the dozen or so license plates inside, grabbed a screwdriver, opened the door, and got out.

He was back in no time, continuing to drive.

I asked, "Does changing license plates work?"

"No."

"Then why did you change them?"

"Survival instinct."

"What works?"

"Changing cars."

"How?"

"By stealing one."

"So you're still part of a car theft gang."

"Oh, no."

"What other tricks do you have?"

"Use a knife."

"Please, stop causing trouble, okay?"

"Okay. Have you ever considered going abroad?"

"Going abroad? Where?"

"Who cares! Go anywhere. Money talks."

"No, I don't have any money. I didn't have much after my divorce."

"I do. Damn, what's money? Money's a bastard. What's the point of keeping it if you don't spend it?"

I asked, "Which country do you like?"

"Canada."

"What do you like about Canada?"

"It's big, not crowded, quiet. Snow, two feet deep, Christmas, ice skating, how about it? Come with me there?"

"Okay, but what will I do there?"

"You don't have to do anything, just lie on the edge of the private swimming pool with your ass sticking out."

"Go away! You're already acting like a thug after just a few words. What do you even do? Launder money?"

"Let me tell you, remember this, I am..."

He suddenly stopped, looking ahead. I looked ahead too and saw a large truck parked on the shoulder of the road. I checked the license plate. Yes, it was it.

The big bad guy's face was ashen as he drove towards it, stopping with a screech behind it.

I asked, "What are you doing?"

He said, "Solving a problem."

My heart pounded so hard it hurt my eyes.

He grabbed the cast iron steering wheel lock, opened the door, and walked towards the truck.

I nervously whispered a warning, "Be careful."

He ignored me and went straight to the driver's cab.

I looked back. Just then, a police car drove by. I quickly knelt on the seat, straightened up, and waved for help.

But the police car didn't even slow down, just sped past. [Later I heard that the police only care about accidents~] Watching the big bad guy walk forward step by step, I was almost collapsing in the car. What if he kills someone again?

What if something happens to him?

The truck was very long, with a black container on its back. The big bad guy had only gone about a third of the way when it suddenly started moving and sped away.

The big bad guy yelled "Fuck!" his teeth itching with hatred, like someone trying to swat a vile mosquito but missing.

He ran back, got in his car, and gave chase, muttering to himself as he accelerated, "I don't believe I can't kill this bastard!"

I saw the fury of a Tibetan mastiff in his eyes.

My long hair was whipped around in the howling hot wind, becoming a tangled mess on my face, head, and back of my head.

This time, we were chasing after it from behind. It kept accelerating at full throttle, seemingly determined not to let us see what the driver looked like.

The truck's exhaust pipe spewed out thick black smoke. We followed behind, without a roof, suffering greatly, helplessly inhaling the truck's foul diesel fumes.

"Hold on tight. I'm going to overtake it."

He accelerated sharply, trying to overtake on the left. The truck suddenly swerved to the left. We were out of lanes and had

to slam on the brakes. He accelerated again, trying to overtake on the right. The truck suddenly swerved to the right. We were out of lanes again and slammed on the brakes .

He swerved left and right, trying to overtake the truck, but the truck, seeing our intentions, kept accelerating and swaying from side to side, making it impossible for us to pass.

At this point, the truck's malicious intent was obvious. My heart was pounding.

Other vehicles on the road, seeing our two cars weaving and relentlessly chasing each other, quickly moved aside to give way, afraid of being hit.

There was an Audi A8, and the driver even gave us a thumbs-up, probably thinking Bruce

Willis was filming a new movie.

The villain was enraged: "I wonder how many heads he has!"

He sped off like lightning.

I glanced at the dashboard; the speedometer was already 220 kilometers per hour. Some fighter jets only take off at 215 kilometers per hour. He was treating the highway like an airplane runway.

My internal organs were a little uncomfortable. I've driven faster than this before, but I've never changed lanes, braked, or accelerated so aggressively.

I said, "Honey, slow down, slow down!"

"Why?"

He was on the verge of exploding.

"At this speed, what if he brakes suddenly? We'll be crawling under him!"

"No way."

I didn't know what he meant by "no way." Did he mean the truck wouldn't brake suddenly? Or that we wouldn't crawl under him?

I asked, "Why is this truck targeting us?"

"Why is it running away from me and not letting me pass?"

Actually, I wanted to know, just like him, what was the relationship between that truck and my husband? Who was driving? Who else was in the truck? What was in the truck? What were they trying to do?

Suddenly, I heard a sharp screech of brakes, and at the same time, a cloud of black smoke appeared before my eyes. Two rows of black tire tracks appeared on the ground.

My worst fear had come true: the truck in front of us had braked suddenly.

Our truck was heading straight for the back of that truck. The back of the truck suddenly looked bigger and bigger in my eyes.

The big bad guy quickly swerved to the left, and our convertible hugged the median strip as we overtook the truck. Sparks flew as the steel panel of our left door scraped against the metal median.

We both ignored that and turned to the right to look at the truck.

All the windows in the truck's cab were tinted with reflective film, even the windshield. What a strange car.

The big bad guy cut the convertible in front of the truck. The truck was slanted across the highway, blocking all lanes.

The cars behind us cautiously pulled over, tailgates tucked, waiting to see what would happen.

We were both still shaken and panting. He grabbed the steering wheel lock and turned to open the door.

I knew he was ruthless, so I quickly grabbed his arm and stared at him.

He turned and glared at me.

I said, "Don't go. Please."

He struggled.

I said, "You're risking someone's life!"

He hesitated for a moment, then suddenly exerted force, shook me off, opened the door, and jumped out. He was incredibly strong. I couldn't hold him back at all.

I looked back from inside the car.

I saw him rush to the truck's cab and angrily pound on the door. I smelled the strong, pungent stench of the slaughterhouse again.

The door opened. The scoundrel yelled at the driver inside, "Looking for a beating? Do you drive like that? Get out of here..."

The driver didn't get out. The scoundrel cursed for a while, then slammed the truck door shut, walked back, got in, accelerated, and drove off.

I asked, "What happened?" "

He said it was a misunderstanding, that he was going to Shijiazhuang to pick up meat."

"Pick up meat? Then why did he put so many reflective films on it?" "

He's crazy."

"How many people were on the truck?"

"I only saw one. By the way, how many of those trucks does the meat processing plant have?"

That's right, there are tons of those trucks at the meat processing plant; not every one is suspicious.

Hearing "meat processing plant" immediately reminded me of my husband; it was as if the meat processing plant = my husband. Had I fallen into a logical trap?

I relaxed my nearly broken nerves a little, and my heart, which had been hanging in suspense for so long, finally began to slowly calm down.

The convertible was moving at a steady cruising speed. The cars behind it hadn't caught up yet.

I asked, "Do you have any enemies?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Then how do you deal with them?"

"Fight. What else can you do?"

"Can fighting solve problems?"

"Yes." "

But violence only leads to escalation, and hatred only breeds new hatred."

"That's right, but violence is the simplest and most direct way to resolve conflicts."

"So, where does the fighting end?"

"Until someone's head rolls, and the rest of my enemies can't mess with me, then the feud is over. If they're not satisfied, let's keep fighting."

"Huh? Have you ever killed anyone before?"

"No."

"Where are we going?"

"Who cares? Just keep going straight, until it gets dark."

"Where is 'keeping straight'?"

"Shijiazhuang, Handan, Zhengzhou."

"I have a friend in Shijiazhuang, absolutely reliable."

"Ha, these days, where's reliable? Absolutely reliable? Damn! That's even more suspicious."

"Don't judge people by their appearance. She's my junior high classmate."

"What does her husband do?"

"She just got divorced."

As the car entered Shijiazhuang, the sky darkened again, and the temperature suddenly dropped sharply.

What's that on the windshield? It's snow! He closed the roof and turned on the heater. He

was sweating buckets just now, but now he's shivering.

"What kind of weather is this?"

"Damn! This is insane!"

I used his phone to contact Wan Rongrong [I didn't dare turn on my phone].

We arrived at Rongrong's place. It was a detached villa, three stories high, with many rooms. It

was dark outside, like a ghost was causing trouble.

After exchanging pleasantries, we sat down and chatted over tea.

He asked, "Sister Rong, where's your refrigerator?"

I said, "Sorry, we're starving."

Rongrong led us to the dining room and brought out some food.

We wolfed it down.

After he finished eating, he went to take a shower.

Rongrong looked at the big bad guy's back, rolled her eyes, and said to me, "What's going on between you two? Tell the truth."

I said, "This is my brother."

"Be honest. You're lying to me?"

"We just met. Don't tell anyone."

"Am I that kind of person?"

I finished eating, wiped my mouth, and looked up at her. She was still as beautiful as she had been back then.

When we were in school, the boys all called her "Little Waist," but I never knew if it meant "Little Waist" or "Little Fairy." "Do you still dance?"

"Yes."

"I remember that spring when we went to the Old Summer Palace, you heard rock music playing from a loudspeaker on a telephone pole, and you grabbed me and started swaying and dancing under the pole. Lots of boys were standing there watching, not leaving."

"Really? I forgot."

Her face had soft features, big eyes, full lips with a clear lip line, and her cheekbones looked like they were rouged. In this strange lighting, she exuded a cumin-scented beauty.

"You've lost weight."

"Yes. You haven't changed much."

"I've aged!"

"Hey, aren't you scared living alone in such a big house?"

She said, "I've only just gotten some peace and quiet. People keep coming over, always coming over."

"Who are they?"

"You'll see them soon."

"What about at night?"

"At night? Who says divorced people have to sleep alone?"

Just then, the big bad guy finished showering, came out shirtless, and said, "This place is really weird. It's scorching hot in July, and snowing in the dog days."

Rongrong and I turned around to look at him, at his strong pectoral muscles and the tattoos on his arms. He was covered in water droplets, exuding a heroic aura.

I said, "Can you put your shirt on?"

He said, "Why?"

"It's uncivilized."

"My clothes are sour. Civilized people wear clean clothes. Rongrong, do you have a larger size? Sorry, I'm in a hurry to go out, hehe, I didn't bring a change."

Rongrong got up and went to the next room to look.

He walked over to me and stood next to me. I touched his pectoral muscles with my fingertips and asked, "Tired?"

He said, "Yeah, not bad."

I said, "Take a nap."

Rongrong came back with a few clothes in her hands and handed them to us.

The big bad guy said, "Excuse me, Rongrong, you guys keep chatting, can I find a place to relax for a bit?"—"relax" roughly means to curl up in a soft corner like a sofa or carpet and relax. Rongrong said, "Of course. Go upstairs and pick any room."

The big bad guy went upstairs.

Rongrong said, "Your brother is so handsome."

"What are you going to do? Wipe your drool first."

"Friend's brother, why not ride him? It's free if you don't ride him, hehe."

"Stay away from him."

"Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Rongrong stuck out her tongue and mimicked a female dog's urgent panting in heat.

Rongrong said, "Aren't you going to take a shower?"

"I'll take a shower then."

I was sweating profusely today, the cold sweat and hot sweat on my body, plus the urine, semen, and menstrual blood down there, it was really too uncomfortable.

After showering and changing my sanitary napkin, I opened her small cabinet and saw over sixty boxes of condoms, all kinds.

I went back to the living room and continued chatting with Rongrong.

She fiddled with her phone while we talked, her fingers flying across the keys with practiced ease. I knew she was texting, but I didn't know who.

Without looking up, she said, "When you're with men, just have fun, don't take it too seriously, or you'll get hurt. Remember that. I don't usually tell this to just anyone."

I asked, "What do you mean 'don't take it too seriously'?"

"It means, you can play around however you want, just don't get emotionally involved."

She meant to focus on the pleasure, not the emotional entanglement. But how can you find solace without emotional connection?

I changed the subject, saying, "These years really fly by."

"Yes. Time really flies!"

"Sometimes I can't believe I'm thirty-seven. Thinking back to our school days, it feels like just yesterday."

"That's right, in the blink of an eye we're all old hags."

I frowned slightly, thinking to myself: Who's the old hag? You're the old hag.

I said, "Remember when you were imitating our chemistry teacher's wobbly walk on the podium?"

"Of course I remember, but when he came, he stood behind me and looked at me, and none of you bad guys told me."

In a daze, I heard, "Drop, drop, drop the handkerchief, gently place it behind the child, don't tell her, hurry, hurry, catch her, hurry, hurry, catch her!"

I looked at her closely and found that she had a few strands of white hair at her temples.

She asked, "How many years has it been since we last met?"

I said, "You disappeared after you got married."

"Don't even mention it, I must have been blind. I'm just struggling like a donkey every day."

"Even a donkey can be wild sometimes, daring to roll around in the sun, would you dare?"

"Heh, no."

"You know, when a person dies, they can't take anything with them. What's the point of all that striving, getting promotions, accumulating degrees, saving money, buying land deeds, and all that struggling?"

"Men are after women, women are after enjoyment."

My best friend from back then, we'd walk home after school, talking about boys, asking about homework, endless things to say.

More than twenty years later, we finally met, but it was hard to find common ground. Why?

Different experiences, different life trajectories create entirely new ruts in people's brains. Old wheels, of course, won't fit.

She said, "How many did you get?"

I asked, "How many what?"

"Men."

"Just two. What about you?"

"A little over two hundred."

"Huh? How many exactly?"

"You're funny. Who has time to count that?"

"How did you 'get' them?"

"When a woman truly lets go, it's like a dam breaking, I'm telling you, no one can stop it."

"You'll get sick."

"I'm fine. I seem to be naturally immune. I often have ten men serving me at the same time. Lying in a pile of men, the enjoyment, the satisfaction, hey, let me tell you~" Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Rongrong got up to open it.

Her friends arrived one after another. Some brought drinks, some brought maids.

I went upstairs to see the big bad guy. He was sleeping soundly, his sleeping posture was so cute, innocent and naive.

Looking at him sleeping, I never imagined he could be so ruthless when he woke up.

I gently touched his strong hands and face. He didn't react.

At this moment, I heard loud music coming from the first floor, with a strong rhythm, mixed with the conversation and noise of men and women.

I stopped halfway down the stairs.

In the first-floor living room, there were already more than a dozen men and women, mostly in their thirties and forties, and more were arriving.

A woman dressed as a doll walked in, removed her pacifier, and said to everyone, "My name is Wei Shufen, female, 26 years old, unmarried. It is a great honor to host you all today. The mayor introduced you, so your character is impeccable."

Everyone quieted down and stared at her. The voice sounded familiar, and upon closer inspection, I realized the large doll was played by Wan Rongrong.

Wan Rongrong looked at the people in the room, her expression shifting, neither humble nor arrogant, her gaze calm yet complex. A closer look at her lips suggested a smile, but it was impossible to tell if it was mockery or a kind smile.

She pulled up her skirt, removed the diaper from between her legs, revealing her shaved vulva. She tossed the diaper into the crowd. Someone grabbed it, holding it in their hands and smelling it.

She picked up a long, purple eggplant and openly inserted it into her genitals. Such a thick and long eggplant, and it actually went in!

Had she really cultivated herself to this level? I was impressed, noticing several bare ears of corn lying under the coffee table.

At this moment, she began to dance to the music.

She slowly swayed her waist, raising her hands and gracefully swinging them in the air. Her body was supple and coordinated, her curves fully revealed, moving with ease.

But she seemed preoccupied, her gaze hazy and ambiguous. As her eyes swept across mine, I saw her subtly wink her right eye.

Someone whistled. Wan Rongrong unhooked her bra and tossed it to a guest, causing a scramble.

Rongrong, topless, continued to sway to the music. The guests on the surrounding sofas were all intently watching her.

As Rongrong danced, she slowly lifted her skirt, revealing her shapely legs.

With each hip movement, she continued to lift her skirt, revealing more, until everyone could see the tip of her long, thin breast.

Rongrong began to touch herself, groaning as she twisted her body, as if something was wrong.

A man stood up, walked over to her, and pulled the long breast out, placing it on the coffee table.

The purple breast lay on the coffee table, soaking wet, wrapped in freshly squeezed white tape, gleaming with a sticky, obscene light.

Rongrong's face still wore an enigmatic smile. An eerie atmosphere filled the room.

The music was mixed with undisguised moans from men and women, as well as foreign language conversations. Apparently, someone was playing porn.

The man sat on a sturdy wooden chair. Rongrong sat naked on his lap. Both were drenched in sweat, fiercely and passionately fucking each other.

Rongrong moaned, "Fuck! Fuck me..."

The man's eyes were half-closed, his gaze vacant, like someone drunk, like someone before passing out, like someone under anesthesia, like someone on drugs.

He was too intoxicated. Rongrong took out a large revolver, put the black barrel into her mouth, and simultaneously stuck out her tongue, greedily licking it, her tongue skills amazing, her movements seductive.

The man watched as he fucked her even more fiercely.

Rongrong placed her beautiful fingers on the trigger, deeply inserting the long barrel into her throat, in and out, and then suddenly pulled the trigger.

The music stopped abruptly, leaving only the panting in the room.

No bullet was fired. Rongrong moaned, pretending to be shot, and with contractions and spasms, she pushed the barrel all the way to the back of her throat. Clear saliva flowed from the corner of her mouth, running down her chin.

The man howled in despair, his body convulsing, almost collapsing, reverting to his beastly state. He seemed to have ejaculated.

The naked Rongrong calmly rose, sticky fluid dripping from between her legs.

She walked naked towards another man. Her breasts bounced shamelessly up and down.

I noticed a layer of sweat on her forehead, glistening, clearly visible in the afternoon light.

I sat down on the stairs, leaning against the railing and watching.

The man took out a long bundle of white cotton rope, about the thickness of a pencil. Rongrong slowly knelt down, even placing her hands behind her back.

The man skillfully used the rope to strangle her neck, then tied her hands behind her back, then coiled the rope around her breasts, tying a knot at her chest, binding it three times around her stomach, then twisting it between her pink labia, then coming back up from behind, strangling her neck again, tying a knot, and securing it tightly.

The man began kissing her red lips, his left hand gently twisting her already erect nipples, while his right hand, holding the rope that ran across her vulva, slowly pulled it.

The rope rubbed against her soft labia, the soft, wet fluids soaking the rope. Her face flushed red, she let out excited moans, her delicate toes flexing and extending...

Her breasts, tightly bound by the rope, protruded, her nipples red and swollen, erect. The man placed her on the coffee table, shoved his penis into her mouth, and wantonly played with her breasts.

The man thrust faster and faster, practically using her mouth as a vagina. Their panting and the panting of the audience could be heard in the room.

The man was finally about to climax; he suddenly pulled out his penis, a large amount of thick semen spraying onto her beautiful face.

After ejaculating, the man collapsed onto the carpet beside the coffee table.

A maid walked over, cupped Rongrong's face, and intently licked the honey-like fluid from her cheeks. Then, naturally, the two kissed, tender and lingering.

Several men nearby reached out; some held Rongrong down, some undressed the maid, and some untied Rongrong.

Rongrong rolled over and pressed herself against the maid. Her two large, white breasts drooped, her pale pink nipples erect and hard.

The two women now rolled onto the carpet, embracing each other, both naked, touching each other. Both looked beautiful.

For the first time, I realized this aspect of female beauty, for the first time, I appreciated a woman from this angle.

Looking closely at their eyes, their gazes were complex, filled with lust. Their fingers and lips gleamed faintly.

They were like two flower snakes, intertwined in the same world.

They were two children in a primeval forest, lost and holding hands; they were little white rabbits facing a pack of wolves together, shivering and embracing; they were fawns surviving a fierce battle, licking each other's wounds; they were a pair of lovers from a past life, walking towards the summit in the thick fog of night.

I heard a faint crackling sound. That was the sound of dry wood burning fiercely in my heart.

I felt a lot of sticky fluid secreting from below.

Tension and excitement made my sternum tremble slightly and my hands icy cold.

A big boy came over, pushed the maid aside, and vigorously kneaded Rongrong's breasts. Her breasts were soft and fluffy, like two balls of well-kneaded dumpling dough.

The big boy touched her vagina and asked, "Are you in heat today?"

Rongrong nodded and said, "Yes, I really want someone to penetrate me."

Rongrong lay on the coffee table, sticking out her white buttocks to everyone, swaying from side to side. The big boy spread her buttocks apart, smelling and licking them.

Rongrong said, "What are you waiting for? Why aren't you fucking me?"

The big boy forcefully spread her buttocks, pressed her waist from behind, pulled out his big gun, and thrust it into her wet, sticky hole, beginning to pump.

Rongrong's moans grew louder. She was intoxicated by the pure carnal pleasure, intoxicated by the friction of the penis against her vagina.

The big boy covered her mouth with one hand, his buttocks thrusting vigorously, pumping hard.

At this moment, Rongrong's face was flushed with excitement.

An older man walked over and said to the big boy, "Harder, son, this slut likes to be raped deep down."

The big boy said, "That's right, look how excited she is. Feel how wet she is down there~" The older man reached out and touched Rongrong's genitals.

The big boy slapped Rongrong's buttocks while fucking her, saying, "You cunt, I'm going to fuck your asshole!"

Rongrong said, "Mmm~ Okay!"

Some touched her breasts, some her face. Some touched her back, some her anus.

Suddenly, the young man howled and ejaculated.

Watching this scene, a strong pleasure surged from my lower abdomen; I knew my underwear was already soaked…

Waves of pleasure crashed against the back of my head. I was secreting, secreting…

Rongrong waited until he had almost finished ejaculating, then turned around and softly asked him, “Why didn’t you put it in my anus?”

The young man, panting, said dejectedly, “It was too exciting, I didn’t have time…”

Everyone laughed.

Rongrong said, “It’s okay. The young man did well. Go take a break.”

The older man said, “What’s wrong with ejaculating? You’ll be a hero again in ten minutes.”

The door opened. A man walked in, around thirty years old, dark-skinned, shrewd and capable, with a strong physique and fierce eyes. He noticed me as soon as he came in, his eyes darting back and forth over me.

Rongrong saw him and beckoned me over. I went down the stairs.

The man, dressed in a leather jacket and floral shorts, looked completely out of place. He said, "It snowed the day Dou E died, didn't it?"

Rongrong said, "Of course. Who knows, maybe some other undeserving person is going to die?"

I tensed up, felt even colder, and instinctively shivered.

The man said, "Hmph, let them die. Let more die."

Rongrong said, "Come on, let's get acquainted. This is Lao San; this is my old classmate Hongxing, from Beijing, she came specifically to see me."

Lao San shook off the snowflakes and extended his hand to me. I shook his hand purely out of politeness. His hand was large, but icy cold.

Rongrong said, "Lao San is a very good friend of mine, we've known each other for many years."

I said, "Nice to meet you, nice to meet you."

Lao San's face and movements were very relaxed; it seemed he really didn't consider himself an outsider. He brazenly sized me up. Was I suspicious?

Rongrong continued to introduce me: "A very busy man! From the Municipal Public Security Bureau's Criminal Investigation Brigade."

Clang! My facial muscles stiffened, and my heart turned ice-cold! [The Magic Rabbit's "Cooling Down" post in the Water Zone ~ I couldn't find the specific post ~] I said nervously, "Oh, you must be very busy, right? Many cases?"

I tried to sound calm and asked, "What does Third Brother mainly handle?"

"I'm in the Major Crimes Unit,"

Rongrong explained. "He handles cases involving two or more deaths."

Third Brother added, "Yes, crime scenes, organizing case consolidation, and so on. He also handles cross-province crimes."

I trembled, immediately recalling the two robbers who died at the beach.

I wanted to ask about the legal interpretation of excessive self-defense, but worried that I might be hiding something, so I didn't say anything.

Over there, the men and women's wild activities reached a fever pitch, the noise and moans were deafening.

Rongrong pulled Third Brother to sit on the large sofa, pointed to the teacups on the coffee table and said, "Come on, have some black tea."

Third Brother reached out towards the coffee table, but instead of taking the teacup, he picked up a long eggplant next to it, put it under his nose and smelled it, as if he were about to solve a case.

Rongrong asked in a low voice, "Is it good?"

The third brother nodded and said, "It's good. I'll make you a cold eggplant salad in a bit."

He acted like the master of the house. I could tell that Rongrong and this third brother had a close relationship.

The third brother squinted at me, seemingly nonchalant, and said, "You look familiar."

My heart skipped a beat. Rongrong laughed and said, "How could that be? She just came from Beijing, she's only been here for less than two hours."

The third brother asked, "Did you come alone?"

He seemed to be making a casual remark, but those words were actually quite sharp.

I panicked a little, not knowing what to say, yet I couldn't not answer, so I could only mumble something while searching for words: "Um... ah, I..." Rongrong said, "She came with her relative..." I quickly glared at her.

Seeing me glare at her, she didn't understand what I meant and continued, "Her cousin, hehe, cousin, right?"

The third brother's eyes shone brightly, and he stared at me confidently, saying, "Yes, that's right. Where's your cousin?"

What "that's right"? Why was he staring at me the moment he came in? Had the wanted poster already been printed and posted online?

At this point, I completely panicked. I really regretted coming to see this old classmate. But regret was useless. It was all too late.

Rongrong said, "Her cousin is sleeping. He's exhausted. Hey, didn't you see? These two came in like hungry wolves, ransacked my fridge!" The third brother got up and asked Rongrong, "Which room is her cousin sleeping in?"

Rongrong wondered, "Why are you so interested in her cousin?"

The third brother, businesslike and serious, said, "Hurry up. Which room?"

Rongrong said, "The bedroom upstairs. What's wrong?"

The third brother had already started walking up the stairs. Rongrong and I followed behind.

My heart raced, pounding wildly. I knew it was all over; this was it.

As the third brother went upstairs, he habitually reached into his pocket, muttering to himself, "Damn! My walkie-talkie is in the car."

[A "walkie-talkie" refers to a walkie-talkie, either handheld or in a vehicle.] He told Rongrong to open the door while he pulled out his phone and dialed.

As the third brother went upstairs, he habitually reached into his pocket, muttering to himself, "Damn! My walkie-talkie is in the car."

(The "platform" walkie-talkie comes in various types, including "handheld" and "vehicle-mounted."

While telling Rongrong to open the door, he pulled out his phone and started dialing.

Who was he calling? A colleague? Requesting backup from the station?

No matter who he called, if this call went through, we were doomed. We had to think of something! But I dared not rashly attack the police.

The third brother was only two steps away from the second floor. My heart was already pounding.

I took a gamble, tripped, and stumbled towards the third brother diagonally in front of me, hitting him in the waist before falling down the stairs. Rongrong and I screamed simultaneously.

The third brother, caught off guard, was slammed against the railing, his hand hitting the handrail. His phone was knocked from his hand, flying directly from above the railing to the first floor, shattering into pieces, the back cover and battery scattered everywhere.

The men and women on the first floor were already on drugs: "floating," their eyes vacant, talking nonsense, laughing stupidly as they watched the phone fly down beside them.

I ...) He scrambled to his feet, saying, "The stairs are too slippery! If I were pregnant, I'd have bleed right here."

Seeing the irreversible damage on his phone, the third brother didn't stop, turning and rushing back upstairs, asking Rongrong as he went, "Which room? Which room?"

Rongrong led him to the door of the room where the big bad guy slept, stopping there. My ears and eardrums were filled with the sound of my own heartbeat, thump! thump!

The third brother kicked the door open, simultaneously bursting in with a burst of energy, his momentum like a rainbow, a force that could shake mountains and rivers, a tiger that could swallow a thousand miles. My legs went weak, and I forced my eyes, on the verge of collapse, to look inside.

No one was there! The window was wide open, the bed sheet twisted into a single long strand, one end tied to the radiator pipe under the window, the other end hanging out the window.

The third brother rushed over and leaned out the window, sticking his head out to look.

I leaned out the window too. On the ground floor were scattered black cloth shoes, plastic bags, instant noodles, a watch, and the clean shirt Rongrong had just given him.

The third brother didn't say a word: he leaped onto the windowsill in a flash, climbed down the bedsheet "rope," rolled on the ground, got up, and dashed away. His movements were fluid and precise, like a well-trained police dog, charging forward without hesitation, oblivious to any maneuvering.

Rongrong asked me, "Who exactly is this brother of yours?

I'm so anxious, I don't have time to deal with her! I have to run!"

Just as I turned to rush out of the room, seven or eight of Rongrong's cronies suddenly rushed in, reaching out their hands to touch me. Each of them had a thick black cloth tied over their eyes. [Thick black?

In the blink of an eye, before I could react, I was pushed onto the bed, and my head was tightly covered by a woman's underwear.

I immediately couldn't see anything, only feeling many hands groping my body. I tried to remove the underwear from my head, but my hands were held down.

At this moment, I heard Rongrong scream and laugh hysterically beside me.

I heard someone say with a grin, "Girls, don't be afraid~" Someone stammered, "Now, now, now, we're having a wedding night prank!"

A voice shouted, "Mwahahaha!" Why

does that sound so much like the moderator of the "Spring Water Flows Downward" forum?

I struggled desperately, thinking: What should I do? The third brother will be back soon. Can I still escape?

In the chaos, the women's underwear covering my head was suddenly ripped off. I saw the big bad guy standing in front of me, shirtless and barefoot, panting heavily, looking like he had just run upstairs.

He raised his index finger, signaling me to be quiet.

Rongrong laughed loudly. I turned around and saw the masked Rongrong being pinned to the bed by a group of masked men, her shoes removed, her feet being tickled, and she was flailing her arms and legs.

The big bad guy pulled me out, turned the handle, locked the door twice, inserted a key, and then kicked the key from the side, breaking it in two, the front half embedded in the keyhole.

He pulled me and ran downstairs.

The first floor was still the main battlefield, everyone was... Deeper and deeper into the numbing effects of powder and pornography

, six or seven people were piled on top of each other on the carpet next to the TV and coffee table, sweating profusely, their postures strange and strenuous, like yoga poses.

A circle of CEOs from various industries sat on the sofa nearby, the upright gentlemen of group meetings, now completely naked, their sanctimonious facade gone.

The ultra-thin LCD TV was still playing [a/something]. The film was filled with undisguised groans and moans, layered upon each other, loud and bold.

Someone had turned the TV volume up to the maximum, the moans and groans, along with the sounds of sex, deafeningly loud, a rebellion against brainwashing.

Another sound system nearby was blasting Beethoven's "The Defenders of Sarajevo," also at a deafening volume, making the air tremble, as if the earth were on fire. A tribute to "Walter Defends Sarajevo"!

Under the cover of this trembling and burning, we held hands and headed straight for the back door, trying to be as calm and discreet as possible. Thankfully, no one noticed us.

We were about to leave when someone chased after us, grabbed my elbow, and asked, "Hey, beautiful! Where are you going?"

I was startled, my whole body stiffened, and I turned around to see a strange man, pale-faced, swaying unsteadily, already quite aroused, a plump, white-haired pig standing upright.

My mind went blank, and I blurted out, "We...we...we're going to pee."

The man hugged me and said, "Why is your pee leaking outside? Just pee inside. Come on, pee in my mouth." He

obediently lay down at my feet, blushing and opening his mouth to wait. I noticed his penis was very erect.

The big bad guy said, "We want to get some goods."

"Goods? We have plenty."

"Your goods are all weak. Try mine later."

He pushed open the door and pulled me away.

The man sprang up like a spring, grabbing the big bad guy's right wrist with a "snap," saying, "Wait!" The big bad guy twisted his hand, shook him off, and then punched the man in the nose with a backhand, faster than a spring.

The man froze, blood gushing from his nose, instantly covering his plump chest. He said, puzzled, "How come I've never seen you before?" "

As he spoke, 'Spring' took four more punches, so fast I couldn't even see the fists." "

Spring" collapsed, eyes closed.

We slipped out the back door and locked it.

Outside, the snow had stopped, but the sky was still dark.

We crossed the back garden, opened the Byzantine-style cast-iron lattice gate, and rushed to a car, pulling open the door.

We scrambled inside. He connected the cables, revved the engine, turned the wheels, and off we went!

The car, carrying two deeply sinful men, screeched as it drove out of the villa area.

I looked back at the car. No one was following.

He was driving, shirtless and barefoot.

I asked breathlessly, "Our car..."

He panted, "Don't worry about it."

"Why? It's a nice car..."

"From now on, no car will be driven twice, and no backtracking."

"Is the man dead?"

"No. Just in shock. What did your old classmate ask Lei to do?"

"How would I know? How did you know the police were coming?" "

I woke up as soon as you left, looked out the window, and saw a police car parked outside. I knew something was wrong. Strike first, or suffer the consequences."

"Was covering you with a cloth your idea?"

"Yes. Otherwise, how could I get you out? Luckily, I staged an escape scene. I sensed something was off about her the moment I walked in."

"You don't trust her?"

"I don't trust anyone. In this world, only the honest are fools."

In front of a small shop, the big bad guy parked his car, gave me his wallet, and told me to go in and buy him an XXXL shirt and a pair of size 44 sneakers. As I came out with the things, a black Ram van sped up and screeched to a halt beside me.

Just as I was about to lash out, I saw the driver waving at me. Looking closer, I saw him shirtless and wearing sunglasses. It was him.

I got in the car: "You changed cars so quickly?"

"Yes." He

sped out of the neighborhood.

His large bag lay behind the seat, containing my vibrator, his dozen or so license plates, and a DV camera. He

couldn't drive without the headlights on. It was only afternoon, after all.

In the city, he focused on driving, a little more restrained, not as aggressive as on the highway.

I looked at the dark clouds and panicked crowds outside the windshield. He turned on the radio, quickly scanned all the channels, and said, "Hmm, no wanted posters yet."

"When will the wanted posters be on the radio?" "

It depends on their efficiency. At the fastest, no more than two hours."

I felt a chill.

He casually glanced at a channel. I heard a familiar voice.

I said, "Listen to this."

He didn't change the channel.

It was Dire Straits's "Private Investigation," my favorite song. The melody was emotionally charged, soothing, serene, and detached, with a touch of melancholy.

Especially the part after three minutes and fifty seconds, steady yet powerful, thrilling, very masculine.

I loved it from the first listen, and I've listened to it for a full twenty years, each time gripped by seven minutes of heart-wrenching emotion.

Actually, the music video is even better; the protagonist is constantly running for his life, hunted by evil forces, his fate hanging by a thread.

Now, listening closely, isn't that panting sound stuck in the left channel just perfect for me right now?

In the twenty-five years since this song was released, how many people on the run have truly appreciated it?

The next song is called "Black Smell of Fish," with powerful timpani and drums, and a deeply sorrowful bass, making you feel heroic and determined to charge into the dark clouds.

The second song was cut short, with eight more exciting bars left to play, and then the commercials started bombarding us. I turned off the radio.

We crossed the rain clouds to the other side of the city, Mark Knopfler's hoarse voice still echoing in my ears.

A wheat field, empty and deserted. He stopped the car, reclined the seat, and said he was going to sleep for a while. He immediately passed out.

I looked around, still shaken, like a panicked rabbit besieged by invisible hunters.

All around were dark, bluish-black fields, and beyond that, a dense cluster of buildings and chimneys. In the sky, the Black Wind Monster seemed poised to clash with the Bull Demon King. The gloom was like lead. The sky had been splashed with ten million tons of ink; the black clouds rolled

and rolled, layer upon layer of dark color, demons and monsters swirling within, the ink shifting and unpredictable, lightning flashing within. Suddenly, a thin, bright slit was torn open in the black clouds, revealing a sliver of sunlight. It quickly closed again, like a dead sheep's eye, vanishing in an instant. Like a

dying man sitting bolt upright, the last flicker of life was chilling.

I turned to look at the big bad guy. He was shirtless, still fast asleep, his sleeping posture sweet, like an innocent boy. It was hard to imagine that he was so ruthless when awake.

This guy was highly skilled in sex, sensitive at heart, and full of vulgar language, bringing me continuous orgasms.

But his actions were too unpredictable.

Was the price of orgasm really that high?

The unbearable pleasure of my life…

I took out the DV camera, turned it on, pressed standby, and started filming. I first aimed the lens at his face.

Focus-in, filming close-ups of his eyelashes, close-ups of his lips, recalling his words: “No turning back…”

Was I really already beyond turning back?

My lower body was wet. I knew my menstrual flow had started to increase.

I placed the DV camera on the center console, pulled my skirt and underwear halfway down, the sanitary napkin I changed at Rongrong's house was heavy, only 6% of it was white.

I tore off some tissues and gently wiped myself down there.

Just a couple of wipes, and the devil woke up, instantly stripping off my skirt and underwear, spreading my thighs, grabbing my hand to my vulva, saying, “Give me a handjob.”

The world outside the car window flashed white for a moment, then went black again.

A loud “crack” exploded on the roof of the car. I clearly felt the car shake.

"This weather...is it unlucky?"

"Fuck yourself! Hurry up!"

"I...I can't let go~" "What's wrong now?"

I looked at the cold, unfeeling camera on the center console. It was a dead goat's eye, wide open, staring at me without blinking.

"It's kind of embarrassing in front of the camera, I always feel like a stranger is watching me..."

"That's what's exciting. Hurry up!"

He picked up the DV camera, shirtless, and filmed my lewd behavior.

I blushed, spread my legs, and exposed my vulva to him and the DV camera, gently stroking my clitoris with my fingers.

My vulva was quickly moistened with menstrual blood again.

I said, "Can I wipe it off?"

He said, "No. Just do it like this."

My fingers, dipped in menstrual blood and my own secretions, rubbed myself with a squelching sound.

He filmed very intently, and I could tell he was getting excited. His crotch was bulging high.

I looked at his crotch, and my fingertips felt myself secreting more fluid.

Half blood, half vaginal discharge?

He placed the DV camera on the seat next to him, and judging from his careful movements, I knew he hadn't turned it off.

He pulled down his pants, lifted my thighs, pressed them firmly against the back of my knees, and then thrust in.

I felt him enter.

His hot, thick penis went in effortlessly. I was incredibly horny.

As soon as he entered, he started gurgling and squelching.

He said, "Slut, moan for me!"

I said, "Oh~ fuck me~~" "And what else?"

"Oh...you fuck me so well!"

"Where's your vibrator?"

I took out the vibrator and looked at him.

He said, "Put it in your ass yourself."

I dipped the vibrator in my menstrual blood and inserted it into my anus.

He turned the remote and turned it on. A string of little bastards wriggled and vibrated in my rectum.

The big bastard ravaged my vagina. gurgling, slapping.

I cried out happily, "You pervert! Where did you poke me?"

He panted as he did push-ups, "Who cares where!"

*gurgle gurgle, slap slap*. I didn't remember being this wet down there before; he must have aroused more menstrual blood.

Live for today, for tomorrow we may die.

Life is short. Even if there's no tomorrow, at least I can seize today! I let go and let him fuck me hard.

He stared, like a wolf at the world outside the car window, his pelvis thrusting wildly.

I opened my lips, letting out a moan, whimpering, "Oh, fuck me... fuck me to death~" Hearing this, his hot, thick cock rubbed my genitals even more fiercely. It tickled. It felt good.

He said, "You slut."

I said, "Yeah."

"Who am I fucking?"

"Your slutty bitch." "

Is your cunt slutty?"

"Slutty."

"Does it smell?"

"Slutty, and there's blood."

He thrust even more wildly. Suddenly, I felt he had become a pervert [a pervert in form], turning into a single-cylinder piston motor operating at full power.

The car was swaying from being fucked. The squelching and slapping sounds of fucking echoed in the car. A metallic, bloody smell permeated the air

. Men, upon hearing certain words from women, would sweat and bleed without hesitation. What foolish animals.

Women, for the sake of getting friction from a particular man, would risk everything, even their lives, to have affairs. Playing with fire is like a moth drawn to a flame.

Suddenly, a urge to urinate struck, like a Stinger missile hitting me. I widened my eyes, grabbed his neck, and said urgently, "No! I need to pee!"

06-01
Chapter Eight Why isn't he moving?

He completely understood the subtext of my words. After hearing it, he not only increased the speed of his thrusts but also pressed hard on my lower abdomen.

A gush of hot urine gushed out.

I came.

The contractions of orgasm made me lose control of my bladder, and the screams during the orgasm made me deaf.

I was temporarily unconscious, completely collapsed.

Gasping for breath, I closed my eyes and thought: death is nothing more than this.

The tree wants to be still, but the wind won't stop. I was already paralyzed, and he showed no sign of stopping.

I closed my eyes, like a limp corpse, letting him do whatever he wanted.

He flipped me over, pulled the vibrating egg out of my anus, and fucked me while my buttocks were clamped together, his thumb easily penetrating my slippery anus.

At this moment, my lower body was a swamp, a mess of obscene discharge [the secretions of a female beast aroused by fucking?], urine, and menstrual blood. The spot

where our four buttocks met was blood red.

My breasts, stomach, face, and my whole body were a pool of flesh, swaying back and forth as he fucked me.

He took the vibrator, held it under my nose, and said, "Smell it."

I obediently inhaled the scent of my own body from the string of stainless steel beads covered in sticky fluid. A warm, fishy stench, a rich, fragrant aroma.

He shoved the vibrator into my mouth. My tongue

tried to push it out, but he forced it in. My tongue couldn't resist his thighs, and I finally yielded, my cheeks bulging with the six stainless steel beads in my mouth.

He thrust it in hard again, pressing down on the base of my tongue, which had already begun its gag reflex.

"Ugh!"

My stomach churned. My esophagus spasmed. I opened my mouth and vomited, first the vibrator spraying out, then the half-digested food from my stomach, onto the seat.

Stomach acid, gastric juices, and bile surged out in waves. Another layer of sweat covered my body.

After vomiting, I felt incredibly relaxed. Vomiting detoxifies and changes the electrolyte balance in the body.

Suddenly, nothing mattered anymore.

The hungry wolf, holding my thighs above him, gripped my breasts tightly and intensified his thrusting.

He howled at the world outside the car window, as if declaring with majesty: "I am the king of the world!" ~A tribute to the handsome man on the bow of the Titanic. He inserted his fingers into my mouth, stirring my tongue as he fucked me.

I sucked on his fingers, like sucking on a penis.

He began to howl hoarsely as he thrust harder.

I knew the hungry wolf was almost there.

His movements had reached their peak, more than four times per second.

My moans from being fucked were already intermittent, unable to form sentences.

Suddenly, the hungry wolf howled mournfully, its mouth right in my ear, the sound waves making my ears tingle.

His thrusting slowed down noticeably, convulsing, contracting, whimpering, crying, ejaculating, panting as he knelt at my vaginal opening, as if apologizing.

He still carried one of my legs, his face pressed against it, saliva dripping onto my leg, glistening.

We were both soaked, drenched in sweat. Isn't this the kind of release you get from paying to play ball at the gym?

It's better to die in a passionate outburst than to live a life of mediocrity.

The DV camera had been shaken so badly by our actions that it rolled off the seat and onto the car floor, flipping several times before coming to rest there, the red light still on, and that dead goat-eyed guy was still staring at me.

It kept filming me.

I looked down at the big bad guy .

He was panting heavily, his penis withdrawn but not completely soft.

His lower abdomen, pubic hair, penis, testicles, and inner thighs were all covered in a bloody red.

I said, "Please! I just took a shower. Is it hard for me to be clean?"

He gasped, "Why bother being so clean? You bourgeois."

After the dust settled, he wiped my face and mouth, and I wiped the seat cushion and my hands.

He played with the vibrator and said, "I'll buy two more tomorrow."

I said, "I'll buy you eight."

"Not for me. For you."

"Just keep going."

He put on the clothes and shoes I bought for him in the car.

I put on my dress, turned off the DV camera, opened the car door, and got out to breathe in the outside air.

It was still muggy outside, but cooler than inside the car. The sky was even more gloomy, and the air was stale and polluted.

The rain was intermittent, sometimes heavy, sometimes light, drizzling and carrying a fishy smell, accompanied by a mournful, bitter wind.

In the distance, the city was dark, the sky was dark, the earth was dark—a scene of utter desolation. A gust of wind

swept away 20,000 leaves.

Another gust of wind swept away another 20,000 leaves. One leaf heralds

autumn. What about 40,000 leaves?

He got out of the car too, put his arm around me from behind, and we looked at the scenery together.

Being cheek to cheek with my beloved, whispering sweet nothings, used to be the most romantic thing I could imagine.

But I never expected it to happen in this kind of environment, in this unique state of mind.

I asked, "Tired?"

He said, "Tired, but it felt great."

"Tired but great?"

"Yeah, every time I ejaculate, I feel like I'm dead and then alive again, like I've been given a second chance at life, of course it feels great."

"You keep getting a second chance, huh?"

"That's right! Were you uncomfortable just now?"

"Yeah. It's over now. Just that one moment. I feel pretty relaxed afterwards."

"Yes, it's over, like overcoming my running limits, like breaking the sound barrier, incredibly free."

He touched my breasts. I touched his hand.

I asked, "Will this rain stop?"

"Who knows? Who cares!"

"Do you like rainy days?"

"Never thought about it. I like scorching sun, howling winds, heavy snow."

"You like all things intense?"

"Hmm, maybe. Who knows?"

My pupils trembled slightly as I stared into his eyes and asked, "Tell me, why do I have to take this path?"

"Which path?"

"Following you."

"Sister, tell me, is there really a big difference between taking this path and taking that path?"

"I don't know. I've never felt so lost."

"Everyone has to make choices. This way or that way. You've only had a few decades."

"I know, no matter which path you take, there are always gains and losses."

"Do you want to go home now? I'll buy you a train ticket. A D-series back to Beijing, seventy-five yuan."

"No, I don't want to."

"What you gain is as much as what you lose."

"No, no, what you lose is always more."

We both looked into the distance, no longer speaking.

I understand I shouldn't be so preoccupied with gains and losses. But who can truly be free from them?

Me and that big bad guy, who's fucking whom? Is it really just him fucking me?

Me and my husband, in the end, who's playing whom? Maybe we're playing each other.

Who wins in the end? Who will have the last laugh? Maybe we'll both be badly hurt, both bitten and bleeding, with no real winner.

The world I live in is an animal world. Humans are more ruthless than animals. This is the human world as I see it.

My husband is more terrifying than a jackal or a tiger. He looks gentle and refined, but his heart is cruel enough to send chills down your spine.

Fortunately, even the worst villain can subdue a tiger.

I couldn't help but grab his arm. His muscles were hard and strong. Holding that arm, I felt safe.

Fine raindrops fell on my hair and shoulders. My clothes were thin, and when they got wet, the wind blew, and I suddenly remembered my husband's sinister eyes. Was

he really waiting for me obediently at home right now? Could he really do nothing now that his wife had left the city? What measures would he take to find me? Would he even find me?

A chill ran down my spine.

He asked considerately, "Are you cold? Get in the car."

I said, "No, it's nice to have some cool air."

He lit a cigarette and smoked it in the wind and rain.

"Why are happy times so short?"

"What's concentrated is the essence, what's short is precious. In a person's life, do you even think you can add up to ten days of truly blissful, heart-pounding moments?"

"When can you finally relax?"

"Like a silkworm spinning silk until death, a person only finds peace when they breathe their last. A8 said, living is all trouble."

"Who's A8?"

"A friend of mine. He also said that life is a festival, and you should live each day like it's a holiday."

"When can you take me to meet him?"

"What do you want?"

"I want to live well."

"You dare! Can't I satisfy you on my own?"

"Aren't all the bad stories you tell me like that? You've corrupted me."

"I'll kill you!"

He dragged me to the car, closed the door, and started the car amidst laughter.

We were on the road again.

Leaving Shijiazhuang, we continued south.

This time he took a small road next to the highway, narrow and crowded, making it difficult to drive.

I asked, "Why not take the highway?"

He said, "If someone gets killed, you have to take the side of the road to survive."

"Oh, a wanted poster?"

"Better safe than sorry."

As we drove, we saw a large truck parked on the side of the road.

He slowly stopped in front of the truck, looked around, and said, "Watch my hand gesture. A 'V' sign. Take your things and come find me."

I nodded.

He opened the door, got out, crouched down, and sneaked onto the truck like a thief.

I watched him nervously, staring at his hand.

I saw the "V". I grabbed my things, got out of the car, and ran to him, getting into the truck through the passenger door.

The truck door was really high!

He was bending over to connect the cables. With a roar, the engine started.

He floored it and drove off.

I asked, "Why did that van suddenly stop driving again?"

He said, "This van is good."

"How so?"

"The building is high, the view is good. A good view makes you feel good. Besides..."

"What?"

"The front and rear license plates are all covered in mud. Isn't that great?"

"Where's the driver?"

"Drunk. Didn't you see? Lying on the slope next to me, snoring."

It was a dump truck. The building reeked of cheap tobacco.

The seats were filthy, and three empty bottles were rolling around at my feet.

The rain hadn't stopped. The wipers kept swishing, making me dizzy.

We drove through farmland, through towns, then through farmland again, then through towns again.

Finally, it was completely dark. We drove into the courtyard of a hotel and stopped.

The courtyard was very large, but no other cars were parked there.

The bungalows were unremarkable, like all the tiled houses on the outskirts of small towns on the northern plains, gray and unremarkable.

A light bulb in the center of the entrance illuminated the plaque. The plaque boldly proclaimed "XX Grand Hotel" without a hint of shame.

Faded couplets adorned the pillars flanking the main entrance.

A woman greeted us from the entrance, smiling as she approached, saying, "You're here? Parking's free, free parking!"

The scoundrel said, "Let me check first, see if it's clean."

The woman replied, "No problem. Come in, come in. Have you eaten?"

The scoundrel didn't answer, but walked through the lobby, headed straight for the back door, and slipped into the backyard, as if he'd been there countless times.

A moment later, he returned, peering out the door. There weren't many cars on the path outside. He

checked the rooms; they seemed fairly clean.

He asked me, "Is this place alright?"

I said yes.

He then asked the woman, "Who's the manager here?"

The woman said, "I am." Heh, it's so peaceful here.

"Are you the landlady?"

"Yes."

"How many guests have stayed?"

"Just the two of you patronizing the business."

"Hmm? We're not a rip-off, are we? Haha."

"Look at what this young man is saying. Business is slow these days, it's tough."

"How much is it?"

"A double room, thirty-five a night."

"So expensive? No wonder nobody comes."

"Our place is clean."

The big bad guy pulled me towards the door.

I didn't know if he was just bluffing or if he really wanted to leave, so I just followed.

The landlady got anxious and grabbed him, saying, "Hey, don't go. Just tell me what you need."

Huh?

She suddenly blurted out the second half of the sentence, and even used the formal "you." The big bad guy stopped, turned around, and looked her up and down, his gaze brazen and rude.

The landlady looked at me. In the dim light, I could see that her face was slightly flushed, and her eyes were moist and sparkling.

She was wearing a floral cotton dress, her hair was up, and she looked to be in her fifties.

The big bad guy said to me, "You're quite attractive, aren't you?"

I was stunned; I never expected him to be attracted to a woman of such an age.

I was a little jealous, but I was exhausted, my back ached, my legs were weak, and my eyelids were drooping. I wanted to just collapse on the table and fall asleep.

The landlady made us a pot of hot noodle soup and heated up some steamed buns. We ate them with gusto, like disaster victims.

The landlady sat beside us, smiling as she watched us eat, chatting casually: "Is hauling construction waste hard work these days?"

The big bad guy casually replied, "Yeah, right! Only fifty yuan a truckload, damn it." [Speaking off like that? Thumbs up!] "Are you tired, girl? Go wash up first. Come on, there's hot water in the back..."

She led me to the west room, filled a tub with hot water for me, and then left.

I washed up, soaked my feet, and, feeling utterly exhausted, staggered into the sleeping room, collapsed onto the bed, and lost consciousness. When I woke up, I heard the sound of people cracking melon seeds and hushed laughter.

Under the dim light of an eight-watt bulb, the big bad guy and the landlady were chatting beside me.

I vaguely heard, "Where's my older brother?"

"Don't mention it, he died young..."

I fell asleep again.

A moment later, I heard, "Ouch, ouch~" "Hmm...hmm!"

I opened my eyes. In the morning light, the big bad guy was fucking the landlady.

The sky was turning pale outside the window. These two had been talking and fucking all night? They were really something.

He was imposing, thrusting in from behind, his skills amazing.

The landlady was lying next to me, knees on the bed, her dress lifted up to her chest, revealing her big white buttocks.

I smelled the hormones emanating from the old woman's sweat. Hmm, strong enough, looks like she'd been widowed for a long time.

Her face was very red, her eyes were closed, and her hair, which had been tied up, was disheveled [disheveled, cough cough].

The big bad guy saw that I was awake and looked at me indifferently.

I got up, went behind him, and reached my hand to his buttocks, gently touching his testicles.

His testicles jiggled, wet.

I kissed his face. He kissed my lips.

I touched his back. I was covered in sweat.

Looking at this lewd scene of three people on one bed, listening to the wet, squelching sounds, I felt aroused again.

I took off my underwear, naked, and knelt beside them. The big bad guy reached out and touched my genitals.

My labia were being ravaged to the point of unbearable agony.

Suddenly, he flipped the landlady over, making her lie face up with her legs spread.

While he was having sex with her in a missionary position, he said to me, "Sit on her face."

I hesitated, then, naked, I straddled the landlady's face.

The big bad guy said, "You slut! Suck my wife!"

My genitals began to move. My bloodied vulva felt an excruciating itch.

This was the first time a woman had licked my genitals. It felt strange.

At first, I felt a little reluctant, but the big bad guy told me, "It's okay. She likes it. Really."

I didn't quite understand how a woman could like licking another woman. But being licked was quite pleasurable.

A woman's lips and tongue are different from a man's. It's not just the difference in softness and suppleness, but more importantly, the difference in mindset.

Women are more attentive and considerate, their licking and sucking are more precise and more stimulating.

I watched the big bad guy across from me enjoying himself with the old woman beneath him. He seemed quite content.

Soon, the sky outside the window was bright. My mind gradually cleared.

Since she likes it this way, I'll sacrifice myself and do her a favor.

I began to focus on enjoying the landlady's tongue, and unintentionally, my buttocks lowered a little.

Her tongue probed and drilled deeper and deeper into my vagina. It felt so good. My buttocks sank even lower.

The big bad guy leaned over me, grabbing my breasts and kissing me.

I hugged his head, rubbing my buttocks back and forth with more force, my vulva rubbing against the landlady's mouth and nose.

I could hear the smacking and sucking sounds and the sow-like grunting coming from below, along with the big bad guy's squelching sounds as he fucked me.

Suddenly, the big bad guy said, "Damn, this old cunt is squeezing me! She's having an orgasm!"

He fucked me wildly dozens of times, roared, and ejaculated.

Seeing my man staring at me while ejaculating into another woman's hot cunt, I tightened down there and orgasmed too. My thighs clamped tightly around the landlady's head, and I rubbed my buttocks against her face, rubbing and rubbing.

Maybe subconsciously I wanted revenge? Who knows?

The big bad guy said, "Hey, she even peed! She really peed a lot! Did you enjoy it, lady?"

I watched him pull out his wet, big cock, and suddenly a surge of desire welled up inside me.

I leaned over and lovingly stroked that big tendon that had given me countless intense pleasures, opened my mouth and took it in, ignoring the old woman's juices that were on it.

I remember thinking to myself at that moment: Fall into depravity. Fall to the lowest level, and you won't be afraid of anything anymore; that's the state of true freedom.

I really fell into depravity. I fell into depravity to the point of losing my sense of smell and my self-respect.

Swallowing my own saliva and the old woman's juices, feeling my large penis gradually soften in my mouth, coupled with the exhaustion from the previous orgasm [I had been kneeling for twenty minutes], I was drowsy.

Suddenly, I heard the big bad guy whisper, "Why isn't she moving?"

I woke up with a start and quickly turned around to look. Sure enough! The landlady wasn't moving!

Her mouth was wide open, her eyes were open, and my menstrual blood was everywhere on her mouth, face, eyelashes, chin, and neck.

I put my finger under her nostril. Ten seconds passed. Twenty seconds passed. Thirty seconds passed.

I couldn't detect any breathing.

This time, I completely panicked.

Chapter Nine hello's "h"

Suddenly, I heard the big bad guy whisper, "Why isn't she moving?"

I woke up with a start and quickly turned around to look. Sure enough! The landlady wasn't moving!

Her mouth was wide open, her eyes were open, and my menstrual blood was everywhere on her mouth, face, eyelashes, chin, and neck.

I put my finger under her nostril. Ten seconds passed. Twenty seconds passed. Thirty seconds passed.

No breathing detected.

This time I completely panicked.

I asked, "Did I crush her to death?"

He quickly checked her pulse, and after a while said, "No. She was fucked to the point of ecstasy, her pulse is weak and feeble, her vital energy is greatly depleted."

"What?"

"She just felt extremely comfortable and fainted."

I was skeptical and asked, "Then what should we do?"

"Pinch her philtrum. Hold her head. Hold it tight."

I did as he said. He pinched the landlady's philtrum.

The old woman's head felt heavy in my arms.

I said, "You just said she urinated?"

He said while pinching, "Yes, why?"

"I heard that only people who hang themselves urinate, and also those who die in car accidents. If you see someone urinating, then there's no hope."

"Shut up! Hold her tight!"

He didn't dare listen anymore. I didn't dare say anything more either.

I held the old woman's head tightly.

He pinched her philtrum hard.

No matter how he pinched, she didn't breathe, and her hands and feet gradually became cold, her face began to turn pale, and her lips turned gray. I took her pulse. His pulse was weak and thready.

"What do we do now?"

"Get out of here! Hurry!"

We realized we were still naked. We frantically dressed, our hearts pounding.

The big bad guy looked out the window into the yard as he dressed.

The yard was empty except for our truck.

He used the hotel's landline to call for an ambulance, then pulled me out of the hotel, got into the truck, and drove out of the yard, continuing our escape.

He turned on the radio as he drove. But the radio in this beat-up truck was broken; no matter how he fiddled with it, there was no signal.

The truck drove along the small road. What was the next stop?

If we kept going like this, where would we even stop?

It started raining again outside. The dirty rain poured down relentlessly, making me feel suffocated.

He turned on the

windshield wipers. They screeched and squeaked against the windshield.

We both stared at the hazy, watery world outside, neither of us speaking.

I stared at the raindrops rolling on the glass.

The droplets were filthy, mixed with yellow mud.

The wipers seemed never to clean the windshield properly.

What could wash away the evil?

The sky was gloomy. The truck swayed and rattled through the mud.

The raindrops on the windshield lessened. The rain finally stopped. He turned off the annoying, dizzying wipers.

Sunlight streamed into the cab, as brutal as daggers.

The temperature inside jumped up instantly.

I smelled the pungent, fishy odor rising from below me, hot, acrid, and filthy.

The tall buildings outside the window gradually increased in number.

We entered another city.

Concrete buildings, glass curtain walls. Cities all looked so familiar, almost identical.

The closer you got to the city center, the denser the concrete jungle became, the more pronounced the heat island effect, with millions of air conditioners running at full speed, creating a vicious cycle.

My stomach rumbled.

I said, "I'm pretty hungry."

He said, "Yeah, I'm hungry too."

I said, "The last meal I had was noodles and steamed buns at Auntie's."

"Damn! Life is unpredictable."

In the outskirts of the city, we abandoned the car and walked for a mile before entering a restaurant.

We ordered Er Mao roast chicken, crispy fish, braised rabbit, sesame flatbread, hand-pulled noodles, and a basket of fried dumplings.

We ate until we were stuffed.

After we finished eating, he paid the bill, got up and went out, telling me to wait a minute before leaving.

I felt like I was sitting on pins and needles. After an agonizing minute, a black car pulled up and screeched to a halt.

I recognized the driving style. Looking closer, it was indeed him.

I got out and got in the car.

The car was incredibly cramped inside [and ugly on the outside, like a bunch of lazybones, I won't even mention the manufacturer~]. He was rummaging through his bag while driving.

I handed it to him: "Just drive properly. Tell me, what are you looking for?"

"Looking for a brand."

"What brand?"

"Power supply repair."

I found it and handed it to him. He took it and tossed it under the windshield.

At eleven o'clock, we turned into an inconspicuous courtyard behind the post office at the train station.

Outside, the traffic was heavy. The courtyard was incredibly crowded; we finally found a parking space.

Once inside the hotel room, he hugged me and said, "Okay, cheer up, don't worry about that old lady anymore, okay?"

I said, "The ambulance should have gone by now, right?"

"Yeah. I hope she's alright."

He placed the DV camera on the windowsill and turned it on, pointing it at me.

He unbuttoned my skirt and took it off.

I was only wearing my underwear, with a sanitary napkin inside, soaked in menstrual blood, heavy and warm.

He said, "Is the flow lighter?"

"No. It's still heavy."

"Take it off."

"What are you doing?"

"Let me see."

I took off my underwear, removed my sanitary napkin, and showed it to him.

He snatched it, put it under his nose, and smelled it like a male dog.

I was sitting on the hotel bed with my top on and my lower body naked, feeling incredibly ridiculous.

I looked at his lips and knew he was full of bad ideas. I was so excited I almost fainted. I wanted to reach out and touch his lips.

The scent emanating from his body was an aphrodisiac, a catalyst, burning me with excitement.

Lava surged in my veins, overpowering my reason.

We stared at each other silently. His eyes captivated me. Did I have the courage to fight for my happiness?

My face was flushed, my eyes filled with affection, looking at him with provocation, shyness, and expectation.

This was a pre-battle photo.

Staring at him was a pleasure, a very happy feeling. He was my man now. He was good to me, respected me, and took me on a desperate journey.

At the same time, he was also in pain. Looking at him, I felt both joy and pain, both feelings sharp and intense—could this good man ultimately be mine?

By some twist of fate, we were now entangled like grasshoppers.

I couldn't hear or see anything; all I could see was him.

I boldly gazed at his face, focusing intently on his eyes.

He attracted me. I looked at him again and again, trying to etch his features and texture into my brain's hard drive.

So that if something happened to him, I could remember what he looked like.

I stared straight into his eyes, like a mature female animal in heat. Suddenly, I wanted to pin him down and rape him [maybe lick him until he ejaculated]. He touched my bare legs; his rough hands were warm. That warmth gave me confidence.

I felt he could read the desire in my eyes and the emotions in my heart. It was the calm before the storm, the quiet eruption of a nuclear reactor.

It's said that some explosions and eruptions are silent, like a slow-motion, muted volcanic eruption.

He asked tenderly, "Sister, does your foot still hurt?"

"A little better."

He unwrapped the bandage on my foot and carefully examined the sole in the sunlight.

The wound on the sole had closed.

My toenails were crystal clear, translucent, and pale pink, reflecting the sunlight like clean seashells. My

feet, toes, and even my toenails were quite beautiful.

He touched my toes tenderly and said, "What beautiful feet. What a pity."

"What a pity they fell into the hands of a big bad guy?"

"No. It's a pity they were cut."

He squatted down by the bed and gently kissed the soles and toes of my feet, then put each toe in his mouth and sucked on them.

My whole body tensed up. I had never received this kind of treatment in my life, and I wasn't used to it.

He sensed my tension, looked up at me, and said, "Relax, sis, relax~" I said, "It smells..."

He said, "That's exactly what I want. Many so-called foot fetishists insist on washing their feet clean before playing with them, but that's just fake foot fetishism."

"What's a real foot fetish like?"

"A true foot fetishist dares to face the strong scent of feet, dares to confront the dripping menstrual blood."

After he finished speaking, he continued to smell my soles and toes with ecstasy. He sucked on my toes, making a squeaking sound, like sucking on seafood.

He stopped, staring at my wet feet in front of his nose, and muttered to himself, "Slightly smelly feet are more fun to play with."

As he spoke, he gently tickled the soles of my feet with his fingers. My soles are extremely sensitive, and a layer of sweat appeared with each tick.

My feet struggled in his large hands, like live fish coming ashore. My toes wriggled in his mouth, like unyielding warriors.

He got aroused, stripped naked, and lay on top of me.

I smelled the strong, rich, fragrant, real, and decadent scent of our sweat.

He grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the pillow above my head, his large penis as violent and ruthless as a tiger.

I turned to look at the DV camera on the windowsill, still a little shy and reserved.

He stuck the blood-stained sanitary napkin I had just taken off to his mouth, using it as a mask, deeply inhaling my scent.

He fucked me like that, wearing that strange mask.

I lay in a strange hotel room on a strange bed, being brutally fucked by him under the dazzling sunlight, watching his bizarre appearance with his "mask," and in a daze, SARS seemed to reappear.

My fleshy buttocks writhed on the white sheets, leaving behind clusters of crimson peony petals.

I kissed his face, crying, yet feeling bliss.

A strong premonition grew clearer and clearer in my heart: my time was running out.

Afterwards, we both collapsed, drowsy and unconscious, carefree and unrefined, like two dogs that had fallen to the lowest rung of society.

It was already evening when we woke up. We lazily hugged each other.

I said, "I need to pee."

He said, "Me too."

"Then you go first?"

"No. You pee first."

"Don't be shy. You go first."

"No. You go first." "

You go first. "

"I don't want to get up." "

I don't want to get up either."

"Then stay a little longer?"

"Okay."

He touched my breasts and asked, "Do you remember the first time we talked on the phone?"

I said, "Of course I remember."

He said, "That was the first time I heard your voice."

"That was also the first time I heard your voice. What did you feel at the time?"

"At the time... I felt like something inside me stirred. It can't be explained. This thing can never be explained. That feeling can't be explained, once you try to explain it, it gets distorted, the more you describe it, the more distorted it becomes."

I said, "I know, because I felt that way too, really."

"That was an electric current."

"No, it was light."

"No, lightning. Bang, it hit me."

I laughed and said, "What you're talking about is possession, haha."

He said seriously, "Love is possession. What do you think?"

"No, love isn't possession."

“It’s possession,”

I said. “No, it’s not. The best feelings in the world, why are you making them sound so trivial…”

He said, “Sooner or later you’ll believe it. Without possession, you can’t experience love. Love is bewitching. Love is possession.”

“Bewitched? So you’re saying I’m possessed? Heh~” He still said very seriously, “Yes.”

Suddenly, I felt a little annoyed. I don’t like people talking to me like that. I don’t like people treating me condescendingly.

I blurted out, “Why should I believe you? Why are you so confident?”

He said, “Because you’re already possessed.”

Hearing this, my spine went numb, and I felt a chill.

I asked, “Are you hungry?”

He said, “Ugh. I’m utterly wicked.”

“You pervert. I’m asking if you’re hungry.”

“I’m actually a little hungry. How about you?”

“Yeah, I’m hungry too.”

I got out of bed naked and walked towards the bathroom. He shouted, “I can’t take it anymore!” and nimbly jumped up and darted into the bathroom ahead of me.

I pushed him away, quickly sat on the toilet, relaxed my urethral muscles, and prepared to urinate.

He hopped back and forth, bent over, clutching his stomach with both hands, his face contorted in pain, looking pitiful.

I said, "I really can't take it anymore."

As I spoke, a gush of hot urine gushed out.

He kicked my left knee away with his right foot, aiming his penis at my breasts.

Suddenly, I felt a surge of pity and said, "Come on. Let's do it together."

Before I finished speaking, I felt a heat on my chest. His urine had already shot onto my chest.

He fiddled with the "rubber tube" in his hand, changing its direction haphazardly.

He said, "Open your mouth," and I opened my mouth. Hot urine shot into my mouth.

His stream of urine was very powerful, with a fishy, pungent smell.

He stopped urinating and looked at me. I urinated while swallowing his urine in my mouth.

After swallowing, I opened my mouth wide to him, indicating that it was empty. He started again.

His urine hit my face, breasts, stomach, groin, and even sprayed onto my clitoris.

My hands roamed over my body following his urine stream, giving me a urine shower.

I felt incredibly relaxed afterward.

My bladder felt loose and comfortable.

My nervous system was no longer tense, even more relaxed.

After our shared shower, before I was even dry, he pulled me back to the window, made me lift one leg in front of the DV camera, and inserted my vibrator into my vagina. Once

we were fully dressed, he slung his DV bag over his shoulder, and we walked out of the train station hotel, hand in hand, across the street into the bustling pedestrian street.

The pedestrian street was crowded, with all sorts of people jostling shoulder to shoulder.

I said, "What are we doing? It's so crowded here. It smells sweaty."

"It's safer when there are many people."

"Why?"

"In places like this, there are no cameras, and it's easy to create chaos and escape in the confusion."

I asked, "How do I create chaos?"

He said, "Like stripping you naked."

I said, "Ugh! Keep it down!"

He twisted my bra [vibrator remote control]. The vibrator immediately began vibrating inside my vagina.

My vaginal muscles tingled, and I slowed my pace.

He leaned down and smiled in my ear, saying, "Sis, you were so horny in bed this afternoon, you were so wet!" I said, "Go away! Don't talk about the night during the day."

He said, "Hmm? Is the afternoon considered daytime? I did it to you this afternoon."

"Don't talk about the day during the night."

"So, sis, you're a ghost during the day and a human at night?"

"I'm not human during the day, and I'm even less human at night."

He laughed and asked, "Tired enough, sis? What do you want to eat tonight?"

I said, "Hmm, anything."

He stopped in front of a barbecue stall and asked me, "Want some grilled squid?"

I said, "Sure."

He ordered four skewers. We stood on the side of the pedestrian street, at the very bottom of society, grinning as we ate, our mouths dripping with oil.

He said, "Sis, do you know what?"

"Tell me."

"There are some really big squid in the sea."

"Hmm, how big?"

"Nine meters."

"Huh?"

"Do you know how they eat their prey after they catch it?"

"Hmm?"

"First, they hold it tightly with all ten tentacles."

"I knew you'd say something bad." "

Then they spray out a hallucinogenic venom to paralyze the prey, and then slowly suck it with their mouths."

"Isn't that just like you? Hey, don't squid have eight legs?"

"Squid are decapods, octopuses are octopods. Remember that, don't embarrass me in the martial arts world."

I said, "I'm so pretty, and you think I'm embarrassing you? Are you rebelling?"

He twisted my bodice again. The vibrator inside my vagina vibrated even more intensely.

I quickly said, "Okay, okay, you're not rebelling, it's me who's rebelling, okay?"

He continued to cruelly twist the bodice. The vibration frequency of the vibrator was approaching my limit.

My pelvic muscles and nerve bundles began to tremble.

Even my toes were shaking.

I said, "Turn it down a bit! I can't take it anymore~" He said, "Who's embarrassing?"

I said, "I'm embarrassing."

"Why are you embarrassing?"

"Because I can't tell the difference between squid and octopus."

"Wrong."

The sunset was a deep red in the distance, but it couldn't outshine my face. I whispered, "Because I'm too sexy, because I'm too sexy..."

He finally stopped.

After we finished the grilled squid, he asked, "Are you still hungry?"

"Yes. I feel even hungrier."

He said, "Come on, let's go get something fresh, I'll treat my sister."

"Can you stop torturing me?"

"Where should I stop torturing you?"

"Down there..."

"Down there? The soles of your feet?"

I whispered in his ear, "You can do whatever you want to me back in the room, just don't do it now, okay?"

"Why can't I do it now?"

"There are too many people~" "I always go to the most crowded places. Come on, let's go to that restaurant!"

I looked in the direction he pointed and saw a Greek kebab restaurant, bustling with people.

The main battleground was set up at the entrance, with fifty or sixty people, blue smoke billowing above their heads.

My heart pounded as I followed him. Thirty meters from the door, I could smell the enticing aroma of various spices and hear the sizzling of barbecue.

He said, "Don't mind the noise. When you eat, you have to find a place with lots of locals."

My wet, bloodied vagina, with a string of six vibrating eggs inside, flushed as I looked at him.

He kissed me and said, "Don't worry, I promise I won't do anything to you again until you finish eating."

We sat down, and the waiter quickly brought over a barbecue grill.

We ordered Gasparcho gazpacho, prosciutto, pickled olives, Andalusian garlic, a bottle of Fino sherry, two large bottles of Mythos beer, Pistaria, Souvlaki, eight skewers of grilled beef, two chicken and pork gyros (with fries and side dishes), and a Greek salad.

The food and drinks arrived, and I ate heartily, while he squinted, watching the sunset behind the building across the street.

I said, "What's there to see? It's awful."

He said, "Scenery isn't scenery just because it's mediocre."

I said, "You watch. I'll eat first."

In this place where nobody knew me, I wolfed down my food without a care.

He lit a cigarette, drank an ice-cold beer, and watched me eat.

He said, "Greek food is the gentlest on the stomach, I like it."

I said, "Yeah, it's delicious, I like it too."

He said, "Every time I eat it, my stomach is really firm the next day. I like it dry and firm."

I said, "What are you saying? You're saying this at the dinner table, are you going to let me eat?"

He laughed and said, "What's the big deal? It's a basic life activity."

I said, "You're hopeless."

He said, "Yes, I know I'm hopeless. That time I asked that master to look at me, and he said I'd die a violent death."

I asked, "What does violent death mean?"

"Maybe it's a sudden death? I don't know."

"Didn't the master calculate how many years you'd live?"

“They don’t care about life or death. Who cares? Living one day at a time is a bonus. Life and death are predetermined, and fate is hard to change.”

I asked as I ate, “Why is it like this?”

He countered, “Why?”

I said, “It doesn’t make sense for a decent woman like me to run away with you and eat Greek food in this unknown city.”

He said, “Yes, it certainly doesn’t make sense. But that’s exactly what happened. Some things, if you try to understand why using worldly logic, you’ll never get around to it, you’ll never understand.”

My mind was a mess. My thoughts were like bullets fired in quick succession in the night sky over the Israeli-Palestinian border, whooshing and whistling, making it hard to make sense of anything.

A kettle of boiling water was constantly bubbling and boiling on the fire. The boiling water inside was rapidly churning, on the verge of boiling dry, with no other way out.

He stubbed out his cigarette before starting to eat.

This guy had good teeth; one bite was equivalent to three of mine. He finished quickly, wiped his mouth, and I had only eaten half of mine.

When I finally finished eating, I let out a long sigh and said, "What we ate, added together, must have weighed twenty pounds, right?"

He said, "No, thirty pounds. If we team up when we get back today, we'll definitely clog the drains at that hotel."

I laughed.

The warm breeze made me drowsy.

It was past eight o'clock in the evening, the sky was deep blue, not dark yet, and the colorful string lights outside the shop were already lit.

More and more diners gathered. He kept vigilantly watching his surroundings.

He asked, "Sister, are you finished eating?"

I said, "Yes, I'm done. What's up?"

He pinched my corsage, smiled wickedly, and twisted my nipple violently.

My vagina immediately felt a surge of vibration, making me feel like I was flying.

Leaving the Greek restaurant, the big bad guy took me to a coffee shop next door.

The coffee shop was small, crowded with customers, and incredibly noisy. White embroidered curtains hung on the large glass windows. The candlelight flickered, and ghostly figures seemed to float by.

We sat down and ordered a premium schokolade with milk, an iced black coffee, a ferrero, and a plate of cashews.

The coffee arrived, its rich aroma of cream and chocolate mingling with the unique scent of freshly ground coffee beans—a truly enticing fragrance.

I asked, "Coming to a coffee shop for coffee, is this what you call coffee culture?"

He said, "Fuck! What culture? I hate culture. What is culture? It's so pretentious. Eating is fine, but why make it into food culture? Public transport services make it into public transport culture, and what I find most intolerable is when people have sex and try to act all high and mighty about sex culture, like they're so mysterious and cultured. How many cultured people are actually good? Fuck! I'm embarrassed to even mention the despicable things cultured people do."

I said, "You don't need to be so extreme. Culture, after all, has its place. Those who labor with their minds..."

He interrupted me, saying, "Eat when you should eat, drink when you should drink, play when you should play. That's how you don't waste yourself, how you don't waste the life your parents gave you."

I said, "But life is fleeting, life is like water in sand, it's always flowing away. Only culture can remain."

He said, "A thousand words, a thousand arguments, are all empty. Only eating well, drinking well, and playing well are real. Come on, drink up!"

I asked, "Why?"

He put down his coffee cup, took my hand, and said, "We're destined to be together. Do you believe in fate? I don't believe in fate, but I do."

I said, "Fate can be long or short. Not all fates have a perfect ending. Lovers just can't be together." So everyone comforts themselves by saying, "True love will prevail."

He said, "That's right, but sometimes hard work can change your destiny. Time flies, and we get older. Soon you'll be thinking: 'Wow, time flies! I was thirty-seven when I met that scoundrel, and thirty-seven years have passed in the blink of an eye. I've gotten dentures, celebrated my seventy-fourth birthday, and before going to bed, I look in the mirror and say, 'Oh my god, it's almost time for a big review. Let's see what I've had in my life: a marriage in name only, a jerk husband, knowing a scoundrel, crying, laughing, getting drunk, eating Greek food, drinking coffee—everything is so clear, like it was yesterday. Now look at these wrinkled hands, this wrinkled face…'

How terrifying!" I followed his description, thinking about the wrinkled face in the mirror, the cloudy eyes where the black and white of the pupils were indistinguishable, the loose, old skin all over my body, and the wrinkled old feet.

A chill ran down my spine.

Having already experienced so much disappointment and endured so many unhappy days, am I destined to suffer for the rest of my life?

Why not indulge myself?

He flicked my clitoris. The vibrations in my vagina immediately intensified.

I shifted restlessly in my seat.

He asked knowingly, "What's wrong, sis? Got diarrhea?"

It's been over three hours since we left the hotel, and my vagina has been plugged with a vibrating egg. He tormented me by constantly adjusting the remote.

My vagina has been on the verge of orgasm for a long time, ready to explode at the slightest touch.

He whispered, "Your cunt must be all red and swollen by now, right?"

I said, "Being with you is pretty exciting."

He said, "The excitement is yet to come."

I said, "I'll forget you sooner or later."

He asked, "Why?"

I said, "I keep hearing a voice in my head reminding me: there's no future between us. It's impossible for us."

He said, "Nothing is impossible. How passionate were we when we fucked?"

I said, "Yes, it was passionate with you. You're a sincere and frank bad boy, you gave me so much joy. If I hadn't met you, I'd be a walking corpse. But passion is fragile, it can die out in an instant."

He asked, "Can you endure a life without passion?"

"No. I'm caught in the middle, torn between two choices, I'm suffering."

"More suffering than this black coffee?"

"Suffering."

I sipped my coffee in silence.

His big eyes scanned every corner of the coffee shop.

When we came out of the coffee shop, it was already dark outside. We walked on the streets at night.

A huge crowd of our kind crammed onto the road.

He said, "What do you think they're all doing?"

I said, "Eating and drinking filthy food."

He said, "And what do you think the rest of the people in the building are doing?"

I said, "Are they all out looking for thrills with their butts naked?"

He laughed.

We walked past an empty public phone booth, and just then, the phone rang. Ring ring ring~ Ring ring ring~ Was some lonely person calling the person who had just called? Or had they dialed the wrong number?

I thought of my mother. It's been so long since I've called her; it's really inexcusable. I took out my phone and turned it on.

No text messages. No text messages are fine. Peace and quiet.

I called my mother's house. Busy. I'll call later.

I walked hand in hand with the big bad guy, breathing in the free air with blissful relish.

He gently took my hand.

He said, "It's so nice to hold your hand. Your hands are so soft, it feels so good to touch them."

I said, "Walking with you on the street is wonderful. But it's really impossible for us."

He asked, "Why? Just because I'm a few years younger than you?"

I said, "No, it's not. Age isn't a problem. I know you don't mind that I'm older than you, and I don't particularly mind that you're younger than me."

He said, "Then what is it? What's standing between us?"

I said, "I don't know. 90% of women..." "Time is always a blur,"

he said calmly. "The world is cold and indifferent; only you know the true nature of things. In my opinion, the warmest thing in the world is watching the person you love most, soaking their feet, chatting with them, and growing old with them; the most beautiful thing in the world is the courage to give for someone. And the most regrettable thing is missing out on your destined lover."

I said, "That's true, but how can I be sure you're the one destined for me in this life? I'm just afraid that..."

He sighed and said, "Alas, what a tragedy. In this state of uncertainty, we squander our youth."

We walked past the second empty shared phone booth, and coincidentally, the phone rang. Ring ring ring~ Ring ring ring~ Another desperate city dweller?

I dialed my mother's number again. Still busy.

I continued chatting with the big bad guy: "So, in your opinion, what isn't a tragedy?"

"When you're old and frail, looking back without regrets, that's not a tragedy. What's most important in these few decades of life? Simplicity and happiness, treating yourself well, not letting yourself down—that's what makes this life worthwhile."

I said, "If only life were as simple as you say."

He said, "It is simple. You always overcomplicate things. I just want to be good to you, even better to you, support you, and take care of you. Let's run away together, go to Canada, and live in anonymity, isn't that great? Money's easy to handle; my money isn't exactly clean anyway, so we can just launder

it." I stared at him quietly, unsure how to respond.

Yes, I always tend to complicate simple things. This guy is good at simplifying complex things.

What do I really want in this life?

He stopped, and I stopped too. He looked at me. I looked at him.

Above, the sky was filled with glittering stars.

In this universe, under this starry sky, on the surface of the earth, two tiny insects gazed at each other for a long time, believing this moment could last forever.

He said softly, "How I wish—"

I asked, "Hmm? Wishing what?"

He looked into my eyes and said, "I wish that you and I could always walk under such starlight, walking and walking."

For a full three seconds, I stood there, not knowing what to say.

He said, "Through all the ups and downs, I'll be there for you, supporting you, crossing them together, cherishing each other, okay?"

I nodded, somewhat dazed. I must admit, my heart was suddenly stirred.

The greatest sorrow is a dead heart. A single stirring of the heart can affect everything.

My thoughts were so complex, so chaotic. All passion is an illusion, a falsehood, unreliable.

The sea of humanity is vast, like the universe. People come and go, like meteorites in space.

A few happen to collide, sparking a flame. A few happen to travel together for a while, but don't expect anyone to stay with anyone forever.

The real crocodile lies hidden beneath the surface. When it suddenly bursts naked from the water, that's when it's truly dazzling.

We passed the third empty public phone booth, and coincidentally, the phone rang. Ring ring ring~ Ring ring ring~ I didn't think much of it, but he suddenly became alert, putting his arm around me and looking around, then behind us.

In the swaying shadows of the trees along the street, beside the watermelon stalls, hundreds of ordinary people wandered about, some carrying children, some fanning themselves with palm-leaf fans—all seemingly law-abiding citizens. Which one could be considered suspicious?

He asked, "Sister, do you like going to bars?"

I said, "Never."

"Never?"

"Yeah, never."

"Tsk tsk, sigh! Come on, I'll take you to a bar."

He chose a bustling one. The bar was called "Hello," simple and straightforward.

Bright red "Hello" neon lights hissed overhead, like eighty venomous snakes spitting their tongues at passersby, playing a game of collective unconsciousness.

Two burly security guards stood at the entrance. He bought a ticket and pulled me inside.

The entrance was pitch black. The music was deafening.

The main hall inside was also dark; it was impossible to see how many people were seated.

Two spotlights drew people's attention to the central stage.

The wooden stage was about a meter high, covered with a dark red carpet.

A handsome, naked young white man was dancing on stage, a black and white patterned towel draped back and forth between his legs.

He then threw away the towel, raised his left arm and bent it back down as far as possible, while his right arm, behind his buttocks, reached forward between his legs, gently caressing his swollen testicles.

Those testicles were truly magnificent. His penis was erect, facing us in the audience.

It was at least twenty centimeters long, red, hot, and thick, nodding up and down. My heart pounded again.

My eyes were glued to the young man's large, swaying, reddish-brown testicles.

The big bad guy noticed my fascination, smiled slightly, and pulled me to the front of the stage. There were even more people there, packed tightly together.

The young man swayed to the music, knelt before me, leaned back, his right hand still out between his legs, his fingers deftly playing with his large testicles and his penis.

At this moment, the distance between us was only about ten centimeters. Amidst the blaring music, I could hear his rapid breathing.

He was like a stag, openly flaunting his genitals to a doe.

His penis was smeared with lubricant, and he had plenty of massage oil in his hands, constantly caressing his long spear.

His spear gleamed, its muscles pathologically developed, veins bulging, like a bodybuilder in a final competition.

A drop of viscous fluid, glistening and tempting, dangled from the muzzle, tantalizingly tantalizing.

Watching such a large, thick, erect, throbbing penis of a stranger so closely, my blood rushed.

My face burned, my uterus began its own reaction, twitching and contracting slightly, imagining what it would feel like to have such a large penis inside me.

The young man's lustful gaze sent shivers down my spine. I felt quite embarrassed by my strong physical reaction.

He kept staring intently at me. Perhaps I was too beautiful, too alluring, that he was attracted to me too?

His provocative gaze seemed to be stripping me naked, staring directly into my burgeoning desire.

The vibration of the vibrating egg inside my vagina suddenly intensified. I knew it was that scoundrel teasing me again.

I couldn't help but wiggle my hips, panting heavily. Just then, I felt a hand slip under my skirt, kneading my panties.

I stared intently at the stage, naturally assuming the hand touching me under my skirt belonged to the scoundrel, and didn't resist.

A moment later, the host came on stage to introduce the actresses coming up next, their stage names, measurements, etc.

A naked woman crawled out from behind the curtain, strangely, her movements seemed quite labored.

At first, I didn't understand why.

Only when she writhed and crawled in front of me did I see clearly that she had a long, thick, lit, multicolored candle inserted into her anus, and as she wiggled her hips, hot candle wax dripped onto her legs.

Upon closer inspection, I saw something else inserted into her vagina. And each nipple was bound with almost invisible, thin fishing line.

The fishing line dug deep into her nipples, a sight that evoked pity.

A perfume bottle dangled from each line, swaying with her movements.

Her nipples were swollen and bruised from the line.

She knelt at the edge of the stage, turning her round, pert, clean, white buttocks towards the audience, while simultaneously reaching between her thighs to rub her wet vulva.

Streams of vaginal fluid flowed from her vagina, staining her fingers. Her fingers, glistening with the fluid, were alluring.

Male audience members in the front approached, lighting cigarettes by the candlelight, then patting her buttocks and touching her wet vulva.

The host announced on stage, "The next program is 'Sea Turtle Laying Eggs.'"

Then, something slowly emerged from the woman's vagina, a small head popping out, followed by a gurgling sound, revealing a round, glistening belly covered in her vaginal fluid. It was a small gourd.

Then, her labia moved, like an old woman eating a persimmon, a soft gurgling sound, and her round, gourd-like belly was sucked back in. It came out, then went back in.

A round of applause erupted from the audience.

She knelt on the stage, her mouth wide open, licking and sucking the young man's large penis. The young man tried to ejaculate several times but couldn't hold back, seemingly nearing his limit, gritting his teeth; it was impossible to tell if he was enjoying it or suffering.

My lower body was burning and itchy, I felt my uterus begin to spasm, and scalding wetness was gushing from my vagina. I felt my underwear was already wet.

The young man pulled the candle out of the woman's anus and inserted his hard penis into her asshole.

Her beautiful face was right in front of me. Her large breasts, which had been swaying from being fucked, were now transformed into sexy flesh.

I felt pure physical excitement, a decadent pleasure, so excited that my toes were cold, and my legs and soles were covered in sweat.

I turned to talk to the big bad guy, only to find he wasn't there. I was surrounded by strange men.

I panicked. Whose hand was that just now?

I quickly tiptoed, turning my head to look for him.

A hand touched my shoulder. I turned around, and there he was.

What kind of day is this? Playing hide-and-seek?

I was furious, jumping up and down, yelling at him, but the music drowned out my voice; I couldn't even hear myself shouting.

He smiled and pulled me away from the stage, finding an empty table to sit at.

I was still furious and yelled at him, "What are you doing? You're driving me crazy!"

He smiled slightly and touched my knee to calm me down.

I said, "Turn it off first!"

He used the remote to turn off the vibrator in my vagina and said, "Okay, okay, don't be angry. I've contacted someone for you."

"Contacted someone for what?"

"That white guy."

"Why?"

"Didn't you say you wanted to find A8, that you 'want to live a good life'?" "

I was just saying. Just kidding, you know?"

"I know, I know. It's just for fun with him. Just once, no lingering. Do you think I'd let that happen? I went through a complicated internal struggle before contacting him for you. I think you're quite attracted to him."

My shameful secret was exposed, how embarrassing.

I said, "Pah! You think you're attracted to him!"

He whispered in my ear, "Tell me the truth! Do you feel anything?"

"No! Just no!"

He reached under my skirt and slipped his fingers inside my underwear.

He grinned smugly and said, "Sis, you're wet! And you said you didn't feel anything..."

I was furious and yelled, "That's blood!"

Luckily, the surroundings were messy, and no one was looking at me.

He pulled his finger out, stared at the sticky fluid on it, then looked into my eyes, his expression conspicuously evil. I lowered my voice and said, "It is blood!"

He didn't answer, but stuck out his tongue and licked the secretions he had dug out of my finger.

Was it blood or blood mixed with discharge? Was

the ratio of blood to discharge 1:6 or 6:1? The light was too dim to see clearly.

I said irritably, "Get the vibrator out of here right now!"

He said unhurriedly, "Okay. Sit on my lap. I'll do it for you."

I was worried that my weight would hurt him, so I stood on tiptoe and sat on his lap.

He suddenly and brazenly lifted my skirt, pulled my underwear down to my knees, and then slowly touched my wet vulva.

In the darkness, I stared into his eyes and asked, "What are you doing, you pervert?"

He said, "Rubbing my pussy. It's so soft, it's kind of painful."

I said, "A vibrator!"

He said, "Oh, right!"

He grabbed the string of the vibrator inside my pussy, just about to pull it out, when suddenly my phone rang.

I didn't even look at the screen, assuming it was my mother calling. I pressed the answer button and shouted, "Mom?"

The music was too loud. I couldn't hear what was being said on the phone at all.

I shook off the big bad guy and squeezed outside the bar, finally finding some peace and quiet.

I shouted into the phone, "Mom?"

To my utter surprise, I heard my husband's usual calm voice: "Baby, don't you miss me?"

My heart pounded, and I stammered, "Ah... I... I... I miss you."

"Where are you?"

"I'm... I... I'm in Huairou."

"Oh. Look up at that big 'hello' sign."

I looked up at the neon sign above the bar, and watched as the huge "h" went out with a "poof."

The first letter of "hello" went black, leaving only the bright "ello" in the night sky. My husband was still calmly saying on the phone, "How about it? Hongxing'er? Now look, what does 'ello' look like?"

My heart was pounding, and I couldn't say a word.

My husband prompted me on the phone, "Doesn't it look like a big penis, with a swollen egg on each side?"

I was horrified; the stench of a slaughterhouse filled my nostrils.

I shuddered, threw the phone on the ground, stomped on it, turned and rushed into the bar, grabbed the big bad guy's arm, shook him, and opened my mouth wide.

I was in a panic! It was an emergency!

Seeing my panic, he stroked my hair and said, "Baby, what's wrong? Tell me slowly."

My mouth was wide open, my lips trembled, and my tongue was stiff; I couldn't say

a word. People are completely speechless in extreme fear. Those who have experienced sleep paralysis, seen a living corpse, witnessed a ghost turning over, a ghost farting, or being trapped in a ghostly maze should understand. For those who

haven't experienced these things, it's pointless to explain.

He smiled and stroked my cheek, saying, "Sis, you look so cute!"

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I strained to shout in his ear, "Go! Get out of here! Quickly!" He pulled me up and ran deeper into the bar. I kept looking back at the main entrance as I ran.

The bar's main entrance was pushed open. I saw my husband and several other men rush in, including what looked like a perverted man and his son. They were surveying the area, looking very authoritative. My legs went weak. We ran to the back of the bar, next to a glass-doored drinks cabinet full of cola, beer, and the like. He grabbed a bottle and violently threw it against the ceiling. As the bottle shattered, he pulled the switch. The entire bar went dark. The music stopped. The crowd screamed and surged toward the main entrance. The big bad guy grabbed my hand, pulled me out the back door, and we ran for our lives. The night fog was thick. I was running for my life, constantly looking back, my heart pounding. Thankfully, no one was chasing us. Panting, I hailed a taxi and headed straight for the train station. He told the ticket seller, "Two soft sleeper tickets. Anywhere is fine, which train departs immediately?" We went into the small compartment, locked the door, and I finally felt a sense of relief. The train started moving quickly. Outside the window was the boundless night. Clang, clang, clang—a monotonous sound. My breathing gradually calmed down. He asked me, "How did your husband know you were at that bar?" I said, "I'm wondering too." Sweat soaked my clothes. The faint, pungent scent of my own body sent a shiver down my spine. I took off my shoes and curled up barefoot on the berth. I asked him, "Want a sister?" He said, "Yes." "Want to sleep with a sister?" "Yes." I already knew the answer. But I still asked. Women just want to hear men say that over and over again. I liked hearing him say it. I immersed myself in a false sense of security. I savored every word he spoke. I chewed on it, enjoying it. I slowly unbuttoned my shirt. He looked at me, then took out a DV camera, placed it on the small table, turned it on, and pointed the lens at me. I could clearly smell the scent of desire. He took out a small string of bells and put them on my ankles. So, every time my legs moved, the bells jingled. I don't know why, but the sound aroused me. Did it remind me of wanton Indian and Pakistani dancers or puppies? I couldn't tell.

In the enclosed private room, my heart pounded wildly, his rapid breathing made me tremble.

I was already naked. He held me tightly, as if afraid I would fly away if he let go. My heart raced, my mind went completely blank, and I could already smell the stench of death.

His lips moved down my ear and neck, finally capturing my chin. I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and dared not breathe.

As soon as his advances eased, I began to kiss him. His lips were soft, relaxed, three-dimensional, and elastic.

Sweat mingled, and our breaths intertwined.

His tongue slipped in, brushing against my lips a few times before disappearing, arousing a burning sensation throughout my body; I wanted to devour him whole. His lips became wet, tender, smooth, and soft.

He gently bit my tongue, and I was "captured" again by his hands, which held me tightly as he whispered, "We'll both be alright."

In that instant, time stopped. The world froze.

From that moment, I clearly realized that an invisible ghost had been following us like the air, always there. I was terrified, yet simultaneously, I was intensely aroused.

He started masturbating me. His hand moved rapidly as he masturbated me.

My face burned. I heard him whisper in my ear, "Come on, you slut, let it all out! Let me see your most slutty side!"

I began to fantasize about being gang-raped repeatedly by several lustful pirates in various positions. I touched my nipples, imagining them being roughly squeezed and kneaded. I noticed my nipples were swollen and red.

I imagined my vagina and anus constantly leaking the pirates' thick semen. I became a heroine, stripped naked and tied to a stake, mercilessly ravaged by a group of lustful sailors.

I fantasized about them licking my vagina, fucking my mouth, fucking every orifice on my body, my entire body covered in their semen that they had held back for half a year, smearing it all over my body, saying it would beautify me.

I reached down to help him masturbate me. I closed my eyes, listening to the big bad guy's panting, lost in the DV camera, letting the fire of lust burn within me.

I knew my thoughts were obscene, but I just had this urge, my nipples hardened, as if I were a wicked woman caught in the act.

I whispered, "I'm a bad woman. Tie me up."

He took the white sheet from the sleeper berth and tightly bound my hands behind my back. I was uncomfortable being tied up, but I felt incredibly safe.

The DV camera remained calmly aimed at me, like a gun barrel, like an old man, like the hungry eyes of an audience.

Suddenly, the compartment door was pounded on. I jumped. He tensed up too, going into battle mode, shoving me onto the bed, pulling out a knife and hiding it behind his back, asking the door, "Who is it?"

A male voice came from outside: "Ticket check."

He hesitated for a moment, then flung open the door and took out the ticket. I was bound and lying face down on the bed, not knowing if the train conductor had seen me like this.

After checking the ticket, he slammed the door shut and locked it again. He began to violently undress.

After he stripped naked, he grabbed me and, while touching my breasts and buttocks in front of the camera, whispered in my ear, "Guess what the train conductors like?"

I whispered, "I don't know."

He said, "You know, tell me!"

I whispered, "They like to fuck women."

He said, "No. They like to do all sorts of examinations on women, pinching, teasing, and ravaging them, inserting a speculum into a woman's vagina, and playing with her breasts."

I began to imagine them inserting a speculum into my vagina, playing with my nipples, clitoris, and anus, closely and attentively observing the trembling and throbbing of my cervix during orgasm. While he masturbated me, he whispered, "They like to insert a glass tube into women to collect their vaginal fluids."

Facing the camera, my hands were tied behind my back, my body naked, my legs straight, letting his hands wantonly humiliate my vagina and lick my clitoris.

I blushed like a martyr. I have a home but don't go home, I have a husband, I'm not divorced but I'm out having affairs with my lover, my mind is full of lewd thoughts, my

vagina is constantly engorged and secreting fluid. I am a bitch. The bitch felt his fingers pressing against the wettest and softest entrance of my body. The bitch sighed.

His fingers slid silently across the bitch's vaginal opening.

The bitch was extremely nervous, wondering if the door would be banged on again? Would the train conductor use the special key to directly open the door to our compartment?

The more worried I was, the more excited I became. I slowly discovered that this was an extremely pleasurable thing. His slightly cool hand touched my burning opening.

The bitch smelled the faint fragrance emanating from her own body, feeling wet inside and out, with the spring deep inside her constantly seeping out.

The bitch swayed her hips, very slutty and wanton. Several of his fingers went in. Maybe three, maybe four.

And the speed at which he masturbated me suddenly increased.

The bitch's whole body became hot. The bitch wanted to remember this unforgettable pleasure as much as possible, because she didn't know how much longer she would live. He said viciously, "Slut, talk to the camera!"

My face flushed, I said to the DV camera, "I'm a slut, I want men to fuck me, I want lots of men to fuck me~" He seemed to need confirmation over and over again; he, like me, needed to know that this wasn't fake, that it was real.

The train was still clanging and clanging. He suddenly pulled open the curtain and continued to masturbate me. People in the fields would see a naked female martyr on the train.

He was raping my cunt with his hand. Facing the DV camera, I contracted; I realized I had released some more lubrication.

He touched my genitals and said, "Slut, you're wet down there."

Like an athlete after a sprint, every muscle in my body relaxed, every nerve loosened, even my teeth loosened.

A layer of sweat immediately seeped out from my skin, covering me again. I felt hot! Extremely hot!

My genitals started to itch and ache again. It was that kind of unbearable, tingling itch, the kind of tingling itch you can't ignore, the kind of tingling itch that drives you crazy if you don't scratch and rub it.

But my hands were tied, so I couldn't touch myself. I twisted my buttocks in distress, shamelessly rubbing my wet pussy against the edge of the table.

He slapped my buttocks, calling me a "slut" as he did so. Hearing this, I became even more excited. I looked at him seductively and whispered, "I want more."

He reached down and gently rubbed and rubbed. But the more he rubbed, the itchier I became, the more swollen I felt. It was painfully swollen inside.

I said, "I want a cock."

His hard cock went into my mouth, into my wet hole. I was already full of fluid inside, so after he moved four times, his cock suddenly went outside.

He gripped the flesh on both sides of my buttocks tightly, and his cock started moving vigorously, back and forth, left and right, in and out.

I felt so good, my whole body was numb, a blissful numbness. I don't know if you've ever tried it, doing it in front of a DV camera, it's especially exciting.

My vagina was constantly leaking fluid. His hard penis pressed against my G-spot.

My pelvic muscles, blood vessels, and tissues suddenly contracted, forcing out a gush of fluid. The feeling was like an explosion, like a flash flood, like uncontrollable bedwetting.

At that moment, I knew nothing, only that my thighs were trembling violently.

The peak experience always makes me feel high. It was an extreme stimulation. After the storm, I couldn't get enough of the afterglow, still feeling incredibly aroused.

He withdrew his penis and masturbated me again. He used his hand to moisten my vagina with my vaginal fluid [fluid? I don't know, it was all secreted during my peak], wildly masturbating my vagina that had just climaxed.

His hands were so strong. He lifted my entire pelvis.

In the unprecedentedly intense release, I went crazy, fainted, sweated, and even let out a fart—purely an uncontrollable bodily reflex.

I was so embarrassed. Thankfully, he didn't stop masturbating me.

He pushed me down onto the bed and started licking my breasts. He licked greedily, his hot lips sucking on my breasts. His wet tongue teased my nipples.

His hands slowly caressed my entire body. I felt his fingers stroking my skin. I started to feel hot, I felt his breath.

His legs gently rubbed against mine. His feet gently caressed mine. It felt so good! I was so excited. I was willing to accept his touch.

He held my breasts and kissed my neck, ears, and cheeks. The teasing made me breathless.

Soon, I was even wetter down there. I felt my juices flowing uncontrollably.

He started loving my legs and massaging my feet.

As he massaged me, he said, "The feet are a neglected part of the body. They're actually very tired, bearing your weight and carrying you around. Only when your feet relax can you relax."

He used his warm palms to massage my heels, soles, and toes firmly. Compared to him, those who rush straight to the point are pitiful; they can only discover and appreciate so little beauty.

I felt like a naked fish, white, soft, and exuding a faint fragrance. He lay on my right side, reaching out his left arm to embrace my shoulder.

I leaned closer, pressing against his chest. My lips touched his shoulder, and I kissed his armpit. He held me tightly with his right hand, then loosened his grip after a while, beginning to stroke my back.

He lifted his right leg, bent it, and placed it on my lap, then moved it up again, hooking it around my buttocks.

He stroked and combed my hair. His fingers gently combed along the direction of my hair from front to back.

My scalp felt very comfortable and pleasant. Slowly, slowly, my entire body and mind relaxed.

He held me tightly, bound and gagged, looking at me, kissing me, embracing me. He held me with all his might, as if afraid of losing me.

He said gently, "Sleep for a while."

But my blood was boiling. I whispered, "Untie me, sister."

He untied the sheets binding me. My hands were free.

I bent over and hugged his warm thighs. Before me was his big, hard penis. I gently touched him, looked at him, slightly opened my mouth, kissed him, and licked him with the tip of my tongue.

I took him into my mouth. I wanted to swallow everything about him. I swallowed him little by little. I closed my lips, locking him in my mouth, my tongue entwining with his.

I smelled the faint, fishy scent of his penis. I felt the warmth of his penis and the smooth skin. This mighty lion, yet his penis was so tender.

He groaned softly. I gently stroked his large testicles. His testicles were very sensitive.

He lay on top of me, smelling and touching me, and I opened my legs for him. He smelled me fiercely.

He even rolled me over, making me lie on my side, and then he made me curl my thighs and started licking my anus.

He was full of love, excitedly licking my anus with the tip of his tongue, back and forth, back and forth. This guy really had no inhibitions.

His savage, unreasonable, and rough manner, mixed with the gentle touch of his fingers and wet tongue, left me completely bewildered.

My heart trembled, and I shuddered slightly. Should I completely give in to him? Or should I try to quiet him down? Oh well!

At this point, there weren't so many "shoulds" or "shouldn'ts," so many "rights" and "wrongs." I only knew that the excitement and stimulation made it impossible for me to calm down.

My whole body tensed up; I breathed heavily, like I was climbing a mountain. He licked my anus with the tip of his tongue. He used his thumbs to forcefully spread my buttocks, trying to lick deeper.

He raised my legs higher to better stimulate my anus. He continued to thrust and lick me.

He was licking my genitals. He was licking my rectum.

It seemed he wanted to crawl inside. He parted my buttocks, and I felt his wet, hot tongue. He licked the tender flesh inside my anus.

He licked me aloud, licking wantonly. My heart was pounding. I just wanted release! That feeling of complete release, of unbridled pleasure, how many years had I silently longed for it! Did I know how hard it had been for me?

He licked repeatedly with his tongue, he licked and licked and licked and licked, greedily.

He even attacked my vulva. The feeling of my tender flesh and sweet juices on his tongue was wonderful.

All my defenses completely collapsed, my mind was racing, my muscles were numb. It was a silent collapse. I think I like that sweet collapse.

That feeling of being melted is so good. Melting sweetly. Melting sweetly. Melting uncontrollably.

The pleasure of deliberately losing control.

It's the pleasure of flying. It's the pleasure of weightlessness. The pleasure of dizziness. The pleasure of floating. The utter pleasure of abandon—his hands began to gently caress and tease my clitoris, lightly patting it intermittently, tap-tap, tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap.

In close-up, one might mistake him for sending a telegram.

His fingers inserted into my vagina, moving back and forth. At the same time, he sucked my clitoris into his mouth, licking and eating it, sucking its juices.

The clitoris, stimulated by his tongue, came alive, beginning to move, twist, and tremble.

Sometimes it quivered like jelly, sometimes it was wet and hard like a pearl. He sucked with his lips, sucked hard, and swept the tip of his tongue across my clitoral glans.

My clitoris was like a female prisoner tied to a tiger bench, nowhere to hide, only able to be ravaged. The female

prisoner let out a painful groan, seemingly unable to bear this torture. My abdomen spasmed, and a strong urge to urinate suddenly struck.

His lips and tongue sucked on my clitoris, making a sound. He sucked frantically, completely immersed in the blissful sensation. His

fiery lips kissed my lower mouth; his large, warm hands caressed my breasts, stimulating me to the point of frenzy, causing me to writhe and twist on the bed.

He buried his head between my legs, parting my flesh with his hands, his tongue swirling like a snake, gently licking my clitoris, my urethra, and my vulva.

Deep within me, in my uterus, fallopian tubes, bladder, and ovaries, I felt hot magma churning.

I had seen a precious documentary about red magma. That magma was scorching hot, constantly churning.

His fingers slowly inserted into my opening, thrusting in and out, stirring directly at my magma.

I slightly wiggled my hips, responding to his hands. The base of his palm struck my clitoris.

His middle finger massaged the swollen, raised area on the front wall of my vagina, its surface slightly rough and without wrinkles. That was my G-spot.

I felt like I was flying. He gave me a feeling that was etched into my very bones. That pleasure was engraved in my very being, truly.

I was completely captivated by him. I felt intoxicated, as if I had drunk too much red wine.

Boundless lust surged within me. My heart pounded with extraordinary force. He kissed my burning cheeks and ears, his large penis grinding against my slippery opening, making me itch with desire.

His stiff, thick member was aimed at my wet, fleshy opening, the round glans teasing and rubbing against my moist, tender labia.

I couldn't resist the teasing; I longed for him to penetrate me, to thrust freely. This desire was incredibly strong.

I said, "Come in."

He leaned forward, arching his back, as if about to dive. In that instant, I felt a daze, an indescribable sensation.

He thrust forward like a lion. He slid into a warm, soft pool of water.

He entered! He entered my body! Entered my burning, yearning flesh! He entered so naturally, so smoothly; I completely embraced him.

The prelude was melodious and beautiful; I had already climaxed, my lower body was soaking wet, slippery.

Everything was so smooth, so natural, so natural. This penetration felt so good, not painful at all.

I was filled, incredibly full. I finally experienced that earth-shattering, powerful vibration, penetrating the entire world, filling and saturating my long-empty body.

We both breathed heavily, writhing together. He thrust slowly, clearly savoring every millimeter of friction, carefully experiencing the ultimate feeling of love.

He couldn't help but let out comfortable, joyful moans. Sometimes he closed his eyes, experiencing the sensation of entering a warm, molten cave.

I watched him, moaning shamelessly. The fluid secreted from my body flowed freely.

He fucked me faster. Faster. Faster and faster. He unleashed his power. He started to increase his force!

What followed was an indescribable sensory stimulation. A raging torrent swept over my entire body, ravaging everything within me.

His huge cock plunged into my wet, slippery hole. He thrust wildly. My hole was being wildly thrust into.

My clitoris swelled, the opening overflowed, full of sticky fluid, incredibly slippery.

His massive cannon repeatedly pierced and withdrew from my fiery hole, piercing and withdrawing, piercing and withdrawing, piercing and withdrawing.

I kept secreting my woman's fluid. I was melting, dissolving, molting. It was a life-or-death struggle, a breathtaking and thrilling lovemaking experience that brought me utter pleasure.

His bold and frightening words sent shivers down my spine, stirring my nerves, igniting my womb, and awakening the desires I had suppressed for years.

He made me happy and excited. His iron rod, his caresses, his teasing, his words, his tongue, his hands, his penis, his rhythm, his strength—everything about him wildly burned my heart and tore at my womb. He showed me what it meant to be a woman.

He was like the piston of an internal combustion engine, relentlessly and intensely thrusting inside me, his hot iron rod still fiercely pressing against my contracting, burning flesh.

He pinched my clitoris, rubbed my nipples, his large penis pressing against me, pushing me, gliding on the crest of a wave!

My vagina was soaking wet. I shamelessly secreted wanton fluids. I had never lost so much fluid continuously before.

I cried out in pleasure. My heart was pounding. I was so excited. I trembled, moaned, and screamed, releasing the tension that had been building up inside me for so long.

I had never been so aroused. My face flushed, completely red. He fucked me fast and slow.

Our genitals made a "slap, slap" sound as they collided. Together with our heavy breathing, it created the most beautiful music in the world.

On the bed, two naked bodies were entangled and thrusting wildly, moaning and contracting at the same time, their bodies burning hot.

He kissed me, licked me, penetrated me, ravaged me, and savagely played with me. He aroused me, made me indulge, and drove me mad.

My waist was held tightly by him. His penis stubbornly plowed the deepest part of my body. He thrust into me fiercely, plowing me tenaciously.

With each thrust, juices splattered. Like waves crashing against the shore, churning up thousands of piles of snow.

I was lost, lost in the whirlpool, immersed in the pleasure of approaching orgasm, my ears filled with the sound of the tide, the sound of the waves, and my own moans.

I finally found the one I loved, and in his presence, I poured out my emotions. In that moment, I was the happiest, most blissful woman in the world.

In front of the DV camera, I closed my eyes, completely immersed in the chaotic pleasure of lust, casting aside all shame, guilt, and pressure.

I couldn't care less about anything else. In the private room, we made love passionately. It was an unprecedented sensory stimulation.

An intense stimulation, an explosion of excitement, arousing endless lust. Body, spirit, desire, his, mine—all intertwined, vibrating together: we became one, indistinguishable from one another.

The only existence was pleasure, a rush towards liberation, freedom.

He braced his fists on either side of my shoulders, looking at me from above, his lower body thrusting rapidly. He was penetrating my wet, aroused vagina.

My hair was disheveled. I trembled all over. My mouth involuntarily opened wide. Perhaps I was screaming wildly, but I can't remember what I was screaming. Because during that wonderful time, I felt dizzy. Of course I didn't faint, but too many flames surged into my mind, just like the hole below. My thoughts were in turmoil; I couldn't think, I couldn't remember. I could only do one thing: accept him, enjoy the moment.

I tightly and passionately enveloped him. I let him thrust in and move. He moved so well, so persistently, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, pressing against my cervix, rubbing my G-spot, while his other hand pinched my clitoris. I was going crazy. A blissful madness.

He held my waist, thrusting his body wantonly, rhythmically pounding into my flesh. His cannon repeatedly rammed deep into my vagina, my pelvic cavity becoming more and more sore and swollen, my whole body letting him fiercely thrust, savagely penetrate, gently pestle, and continuously love me. I was so happy! I began to feel a little out of my mind.

As he fucked me, he looked at me excitedly and touched my face. He adjusted his position, gripped my shoulders tightly, pursed his lips, and began a new round of thrusting.

He was so strong and powerful. He thrust into me firmly and resolutely. I cried out in a daze, my voice almost a sob.

His image blurred before my eyes because he thrust so fast, making me sway wildly.

His large hands gripped me tightly, holding me, squeezing my arms, while his thumbs rapidly teased my nipples. My heart was aching and itching unbearably.

A climax, like a volcanic eruption, suddenly arrived. It was an incomparably intense tidal wave. In an instant, everything shattered, everything exploded, after so many years of suppression! My mouth was wide open, but I couldn't make a sound,

and I couldn't hear anything. My mind was blank, and a tingling, burning sensation ran through the back of my head. [ The following is a separate, unrelated statement:]

The lewd mother must be fucked to death . [The following is a separate,

unrelated statement:] A statement

full of absurd words, tears of bitterness. The Bridge of Helplessness is short, the mournful song is broken. [The following is a separate, unrelated statement:]

a8 statement, everything in this text is fictional.

Form is emptiness. Emptiness is everything. In the end, everything is emptiness. Stop messing around. No matter how much effort you put in, it's useless. Really.

Chapter One:

Above my head, a night bird cried out strangely, tearing through the night sky. My scalp tightened, a tingling sensation running down my spine.

This was night. This was the hospital's backyard.

I stepped on the dry fallen leaves, quietly walking towards the row of bungalows. Yes, this was it, because I saw the small lightbox at the door was lit, with three words on it: Morgue.

My son and I had agreed that at three o'clock tonight, I would go into this eerie bungalow alone; someone wanted to see me.

Who? I didn't know.

A large iron chain lay on the ground at the door, like a black snake with its tendons pulled out, and next to it was a large black lock.

Looking left and right, no one was there. I stepped over the large black snake, pushed open the iron gate, and quietly went inside, closing the gate behind me.

This morgue had no windows. I heard the leaves rustling loudly outside. I knew the wind had picked up.

As agreed, I took off all my clothes, stripping completely naked, even removing my cloth shoes and white cotton socks. The cement floor was very cold. A chill shot up from the soles of my feet.

My body shivered twice. It was three in the morning, a bit cold for this time of year. Standing naked in the dark morgue was especially chilly.

I groped my way through the darkness, placing my clothes, shoes, and socks on the floor, anxiously scanning my surroundings. But I couldn't see anything.

I whispered tremblingly, "Son?" "Mom's here."

Deathly silence.

No response. My pupils gradually adjusted to the darkness of the morgue.

The room was about sixty square meters, with many beds, each covered with a large white sheet, and beneath each sheet was a human-shaped object.

The dead do have souls. The process of dying is much longer than many people think. That is to say, the "corpses" in this room may not even be completely dead.

Thinking of this, my heart suddenly raced. My heart was pounding so hard that my temples throbbed and I could hear my own pounding pulse.

Where was the surprise? I tiptoed over and lifted the white sheet on the first bed.

Under the sheet, the person lying was motionless. I bent down, approached the body, and tried to make out what looked like an old woman.

I smelled the pungent odor of various disinfectants and preservatives. The old woman was motionless. I mustered my courage and gently touched her face; it was soft and cold.

It seemed that my surprise tonight was not her.

I moved on to the next bed and lifted the white sheets one by one. Under the sheets were, in order, the bodies of an old man, an old man, an old man, an old woman, and an old man.

I walked to the last bed. Could this be my surprise lying underneath?

I gently pinched the corner of the white sheet and whispered, "Is it you?"

There was no response. Still deathly silence.

My voice trembled as I whispered, "I really dislike this game. Get up."

The person under the white sheet remained motionless.

I looked back at the room and found myself standing alone, naked, amidst a room full of corpses.

I slowly lifted the white sheet and curiously peered underneath. Lying under the sheet was a woman, thin and emaciated, motionless.

Looking closer, the area above the neck was empty; that is, her head was missing. Was she a car accident victim? Or a crime of passion?

Sooner or later, my corpse would end up in the morgue. I need to seize the moment and fully savor the thrill of my heartbeat. I need to live well and do meaningful things.

My neck throbbed with the rhythm of my pulse. My hands moved with the rhythm of my pulse. I have a natural affinity for the feeling of a pounding heart

. I love the dizzying sensation of my heart pounding the moment I catch or am caught in a game of hide-and-seek.

A chilling sensation seeped into my bones, like the secretion of poison. The poison seeped into my genitals.

Without touching, I knew unmistakably that I was wet. I know my own body too well. I'm a bit strange; when I feel terrified, I always strangely become aroused.

When I was sixteen, I was curled up on my upper bunk in my school dormitory, reading a horror novel. Without any masturbation, my vagina began to involuntarily contract rhythmically, each spasm 0.8 seconds apart, lasting more than ten times. I lost consciousness, my mind went blank—a standard female orgasm.

Now, standing naked and barefoot beside the morgue, I greedily savored the feeling of my heart pounding until I was dizzy. Goosebumps covered my breasts and arms; my heart pounded, and my vagina was wet.

Suddenly, I heard a sound.

Turning my head, I saw the headless corpse sitting up from the morgue, followed by the other corpses, all rushing towards me, taking turns violently fucking me.

The corpses who hadn't yet had their turn reached out and groped my naked body. I felt a strange pleasure from the humiliation, but then I suddenly realized that one of the corpses was my son. He was grinning maliciously, blindfolding me with a red scarf, fucking me while desperately choking me, and licking my face with his long tongue. Countless hands roamed over my naked body. I'm a particularly masochistic woman, and I quickly reached orgasm while being suffocated.

Before I could recover from the exhaustion of my orgasm, I heard a man outside asking: Who's in there? Why aren't the lights on?

All the corpses immediately scurried back to their beds like naughty students suddenly hearing their teacher cough, obediently remaining motionless.

I groped my way to the door. Thump, thump, my slightly sweaty bare feet landed on the hard cement floor, making a wet, sticky sound.

I groped my way back to the door, picked up my clothes and shoes, and was about to put on my underwear when the door was rudely kicked open. A gust of cold wind rushed in, instantly chilling my wet vagina.

I quickly crouched down and crawled under the nearest bed. A man pushed a stretcher in. The fluorescent light in the room came on, blinding me.

The man muttered to himself, "Damn! The door's not even locked." What's going on?

He pushed the stretcher to the bed where I was hiding, hoisted the body from the bed onto the stretcher, pushed it to the door, snapped off the light, went outside, slammed the door shut, picked up the chain and a large padlock from the floor, and started to lock it with a clanging sound.

If he really locked it, how would I get out?

I panicked, rushed over naked, smashed the door open a crack, stuck out my bare arm, and whispered to the man outside, "Don't lock it yet!"

The man stared at me in terror, didn't make a sound, and collapsed to the floor, trembling as if he'd seen a ghost.

Afraid he'd call for help, I said to him, "Come in first!"

The man slammed his head on the ground and died.

I frantically pulled on my bra, my hands trembling behind my back, unable to fasten the hooks at all; the more panicked I became, the less I could manage.

Gasping for breath, I rushed out of the morgue, naked and barefoot, without even putting on clothes, shoes, or socks.

Just as I stepped out of the iron gate, I suddenly saw many uniformed men standing outside, all staring at me. I quickly retreated, closing the iron gate tightly, only to find it had been replaced with iron bars.

Through the gaps, I could see the uniformed men approaching me step by step.

My legs went weak, and I screamed, "I'll confess everything! I'll confess everything!"

When I awoke, I was panting, my vagina soaked, and my heart pounding.

Fortune and misfortune are always intertwined. I have nothing to complain about. Having enjoyed so much and caused so much harm, this is all retribution.

To explain my story, I'd probably have to start from the beginning.

Chapter Two:

Marriage is self-torture, raising children is torture upon torture. Incest is forbidden, mother-son incest is courting death. In every era, there are people who risk their lives to do forbidden things.

I'm a bit overweight and have a heart condition. My son says I'm lazy and greedy. I'm an ordinary teacher, with a low salary, and it's tiring and stressful. By day, I'm a role model for students; by night, I do something I can't tell anyone, because I enjoy playing thrilling games.

My son showed exceptional talent from a very young age. He's very intelligent. I once hoped he would become an inventor. In fact, he did tinker with many inventions and sold one of them to the patent office, earning his first fortune.

However, from a very young age, he displayed an extraordinary talent for matters of the heart. For example, when he was four years old, one night he was awakened by the meowing of stray cats outside and asked me, "Mom, why are the cats meowing so loudly?"

I was a little embarrassed and replied, "Because... they're hungry."

He said, "No, they're not hungry."

I said, "Then maybe they're thirsty."

He said, "No, they're not thirsty either."

I said, "They're lost and can't find their way home."

He said, "Mom, don't fool me. They're meowing because they want to mate."

I stared at my son, speechless.

He asked, "Right? Mom?"

I said, "Ah... yes, they want to mate."

After a minute of silence, I thought he had fallen asleep, when suddenly I heard him ask me, "Mom, how do cats mate?"

I thought for a moment and said, "Hmm, good question. For cats to mate, first, there has to be a male cat interested in a female cat, and the female cat also agrees to let the male cat..."

He interrupted, "Go on her?"

I said, "Hmm... yes."

He asked, "What if two male cats want to mate with the same female cat?"

I said, "Oh, then it depends on which male cat is kinder and more affectionate."

He suddenly had a thought and asked, "What if two female cats both like the same male cat?"

I pondered, searching for the right words: "In your situation, I'm afraid…"

He bombarded me with questions: "What if one female cat likes another, or one male cat likes another?"

I said, "Honey, you ask too many questions."

He said, "Our teacher said, never think a child asks too many questions."

I said, "Hmm, that makes sense." "Is my son good?"

He said, "Yes."

I said, "Good boy, it's three in the morning, go back to sleep, okay?"

He said, "Okay."

I said, "Oh, what a good boy."

There was a minute of silence, and this time I thought he was really asleep, when suddenly I heard him speak again: "Mom, can a male cat still ejaculate after being spayed? Can a female cat still orgasm after being spayed? Do female cats have periods?"

I have an exceptionally strong bond with my son. Before him, I had four miscarriages. All four children, I lost. I was thirty-three when I gave birth to him.

My feelings for him are incredibly deep. I've never felt such intense emotions for anyone else. Just as

he was a month old, his father's workplace notified him of a three-year business trip to Europe, with no family members allowed. I won't mention his workplace here.

I cried. I cried. I cried. In the end, his father was stationed in Fujian for six years, only allowed to come home for a week each Spring Festival. He really was gone for three years.

What could he do? To make a living. I won't go into the trivial matters between my in-laws and me during this time. Anyone who has raised a child can understand the utter exhaustion.

I admit, I wavered, hesitated, and broke down, but I persevered.

When my son was three, his father came back. Before I could adjust, he was sent to another post. Well, that's humane enough. I was practically fainting.

I've never gone out to see another man. I'm a very conservative woman, believing that women should be dutiful and mothers should be good.

Thankfully, my son is mature beyond his years, understanding my struggles and showing me consideration and care—a blessing in disguise. But he seems a little too mature.

When he was five, I had a bad period and threw my used sanitary napkin in the bathroom trash can. He saw it by chance, came over, and seeing me washing clothes, he very manly pushed me aside, saying, "Mom, you rest, I'll wash it."

I said, "Are you kidding? How can you wash it?"

He said, "Even a skinny camel is bigger than a horse; I'm not bleeding. Women need to rest when they have their periods. "

I said, "Oh, I'm fine."

He said, "Go drink some brown sugar ginger water; it's on the coffee table. Be good to yourself."

He actually started washing clothes. I sat on the sofa, drinking the brown sugar ginger water he had made for me, my heart melting, my whole body going weak to the toes.

Women whose husbands are away suffer; no one understands, no one makes brown sugar ginger water for them. Now, I realize, my son has grown up.

Listening to him doing housework, I felt a strange unease. Those familiar sounds were usually mine, and now my son was doing it.

For the first time, I felt a sense of security, a sense of purpose. To be honest, I didn't even feel this way when I married his father.

My son and I have always relied on each other, sharing a deep bond. Once, he was sick and bedridden. I tried everything to cook him delicious food and give him medicine. Later, I heard that massaging acupoints on the soles of his feet was effective, so I knelt by his bedside and massaged his feet for an hour, until I couldn't even stand up, but I did it willingly.

I feel like I started to torture myself from the moment I became pregnant with him; the life of giving birth and raising a child is a life of slavery.

He's good to me too, washing my clothes and even my socks. It warms my heart. In my eyes, my son is more like a husband or lover.

Every year when his father comes home for a few days, I feel increasingly uncomfortable, and we always end up arguing. I've been raising my son alone for so many years, and I've gotten used to it. Suddenly having another person is just unbearable. Every year during those few days, my son gets annoyed too, but he endures it, never saying a word or showing it.

My son even saved my life once. Two years ago, his father came back to visit and ended up doing something bad to me. After he left, I kept bleeding down there. I felt weak all over.

My son said to me, "Mom, why do you look so pale? Your lips are all white." I said I was fine. He said, "No! If you don't go to the hospital soon, you'll die!"

He dragged me to the hospital. When we got there, the doctor complained, "Why did you come so late? Two hours later, it would have been too late." I was diagnosed with a massive ectopic pregnancy hemorrhage. Thankfully, I was saved from the brink of death. For that one incident, I will be grateful to my son for the rest of my life.

After that incident, I realized he had started to truly hate his father. I tried to persuade him, "Don't be like that, Mom is fine now, I've recovered. He's still your father.

" He just kept his head down and didn't say anything. I don't know what he was thinking.

He's already much taller than me, and taller than his father too. Kids these days are well-nourished; their height is truly astounding. Once, I took my son to a store to buy him clothes, and I overheard two female customers from the south talking in Cantonese about how handsome he was. After that, every time we went shopping together, I noticed girls turning around to look at him.

I realized my son had grown into a beautiful young man. In my eyes, everyone was flirting with him. Being with him made me increasingly uncomfortable.

Even if I used makeup and foundation like plaster, I couldn't hide the signs of aging, and besides, I don't like wearing makeup.

I hated him. He made me feel ashamed and guilty.

Yet, I loved him. He was my true man; he understood me, knew my sensitive spots, and could comfort me perfectly. He gave me thousands of orgasms, far more than his father.

Sometimes, he was more tyrannical than a king. Sometimes, he was gentler than a woman. He was a devil. I was a woman possessed by a devil.

From the time he was one and a half years old until today, I have been the sole caregiver for him. When he was two years old, I was playing with him on the bed one day, and I accidentally spread my legs apart and clamped him between them, afraid that he might fall and get hurt.

He continued playing with his toys between my legs, completely oblivious to me. I mustered my courage and moved his toy near the crotch of my underwear.

Suddenly, my heart pounded fiercely. I realized what I was doing was "wrong," but I didn't stop. His little hand accidentally touched the crotch of my underwear, and I felt an unbearable itch, a piercing discomfort. I could only endure it, because I am a dutiful wife and mother.

I was always the one bathing my son. When he was six, I noticed his body was developing rapidly. I don't know what hormone-containing supplements I had given him when he was little, but his development was alarmingly fast. I noticed his shoulders had broadened, and his penis had become thicker. But he didn't seem particularly interested in women. I started to worry about his sexual orientation, so I quickly intensified his sex education. Since his father wasn't home, I decided how to educate him. I walked around the house in just my underwear, watched TV, and cooked. I told him that as long as there was mutual respect, there was nothing wrong with being naked. I told him that the human body is the most beautiful thing, and no part of the body is ugly. I never close or lock the bathroom door when I use the house, and I don't close the shower door either. I talk to him frankly about all sorts of gossip. When I discovered that my son had finally started staring at my chest, I was satisfied.

Chapter Three:

My son has a few oddities: he doesn't like computers, doesn't go online, doesn't use QQ, and doesn't play video games. What he likes most is walking with me on the lawn, listening to Mozart quietly alone at home, and reading thick foreign books. He's not like a child of his generation or age; frankly, he's more like an old man.

For years, I've slept in the same bed as my son. It's been like this since he was a child. Later, I got used to it, and it was convenient to cover him with a blanket at night and take care of him. So, his single bed remained empty.

Then, one morning, I felt someone shaking me in my sleep. I opened my eyes and saw my son kneeling beside my pillow, his underwear pulled down to his knees.

His penis was thick and long, half-erect. My heart started pounding. So many years have passed, but I still remember what he said to me then, as clearly as if it were yesterday.

His tone held a hint of pride, yet also a touch of nervousness, as he said, "Mom, I had a wet dream."

I looked closely at the inside of his underwear and saw a large, sticky patch—it really was semen. I smelled the distinctive odor of semen, faint yet fresh, like chestnut blossoms, with a slightly fishy smell. I felt a little dizzy. I couldn't remember the last time I'd smelled the fishy odor of semen. I felt sorry for myself.

I asked, "Have you ever had one before?"

He said, "No."

I tried to remain calm and said, "It's okay. Take it off and change into a clean pair."

He changed into a clean pair and then took the wet, sticky underwear he'd taken off to the bathroom.

I quickly stopped him, saying, "Put it in the basin, Mom will wash it for you. Lie down and sleep a little longer."

Actually, I wanted to take the opportunity to enjoy the pleasant smell. But

he said, "No, I'll wash it myself.

" I insisted, "Listen to me. A wet dream is like a young man's period; it needs to be taken care of."

He laughed, "Really?"

I said seriously, "Really. Men should never touch cold water after ejaculation."

He became serious and asked, "Why?"

I said, "You don't want to become impotent, do you? Would your mother harm you? Give it to me."

He handed me the pair of underwear. I felt like I had found a treasure, my heart pounding wildly. I turned and ran straight to the bathroom.

Once inside, I felt embarrassed to lock the door.

For years, neither of us had ever closed the bathroom door when we went in. Locking it now seemed like I was trying to hide something, something dishonest. But what I was about to do was something I didn't want him to see, right?

I couldn't care less. Let him see. This was the real me, this was his real mother. I'm not one to pretend.

I stood in front of the mirror, turned on the tap, and stirred the water with my hand to make the sound of washing underwear. With my other hand, I held the pair of underwear, greedily inhaling the scent of my son's semen.

This scent didn't enter my lungs through my nose; instead, it rushed straight to the back of my brain, vibrating powerfully in my olfactory center, making me feel dizzy and intoxicated. Years ago, I was particularly disgusted by the smell of his father's semen, thinking it was the most unpleasant smell in the world. But now, the unique scent of my son's semen intoxicates me.

I'm incredibly nervous, sniffing while simultaneously arousing myself, my ears perked up, terrified my son will come in. The aroma excites me, the stealthy sniffing makes me nervous, my actions make my heart race, my reactions terrify me—the more afraid I am, the more excited I become, and I feel myself rapidly becoming wet.

I'm in grave danger. I'm so thirsty. An excessively thirsty man might become a beast, but an excessively thirsty woman can do things even a beast wouldn't think of. I'm like a withered seed in a parched riverbed, my lips and nostrils burning with scalding heat; I'm like spilled gasoline, leaking gas, utterly dangerous, one spark and everything is over. The terrifying thing is, I can already see that deadly spark igniting the explosives. The fuse hisses, sparks flying, getting shorter and shorter. Explode. I'd rather be destroyed, rather be shattered to pieces, than endure this drought any longer.

A lustful spirit instantly possessed me. I stopped stirring the water and instead used both hands to satisfy myself. I pulled my son's underwear tightly over my head, then hurriedly reached both hands into my underwear. My left hand skillfully parted my pubic hair, found my clitoris, and began to rub it with practiced ease, while my right hand moved down from behind, massaging my soft anus. It had been so long. The feeling was like a forty-something suddenly returning to their alma mater. Over the years, I had raised my child alone and rarely masturbated. But this early morning, I didn't care about anything else. Driven by a surge of heroic pride, I stood by the bathroom sink, brutally ravaging myself.

My right hand moved forward and smoothly entered my vagina. The inside was even wetter and hotter. I mercilessly abused my swollen G-spot. My G-spot has a rough surface and swells when stimulated, now swelling to the size of an egg, something I'd never seen before.

Masturbation made me feel younger than my actual age. My heart was contracting terribly, so much so that I felt dizzy. My vulva was incredibly wet, even my clitoris was slippery, sometimes slipping off my fingertips during my frenzied masturbation. I never like it too wet when masturbating, because I feel that too much secretion forms a thin film, reducing the pleasure of friction. I rubbed my clitoris and vulva with my underwear, basically drying them, and continued to seize the time to smell the underwear, rub my clitoris, and penetrate my vagina, deriving animalistic pleasure.

I bit my lip, trying to suppress my moans, even thinking I wasn't making any sound. But what happened later taught me that before and after orgasm, don't trust your hearing too much. What you hear may only be a third of the actual decibel level.

My son's underwear covered my eyes, I couldn't see anything, which stimulated my fantasies. In my mind, a man walked towards me, naked, and immediately pinned me down, took out a rope and tied me up tightly, slapped my mouth, called me slutty, and while cursing me, he penetrated me with his big penis. I was so excited by his insults that I was practically on the verge of orgasm, just a few more thrusts and I'd be blissfully falling. My fingers quickened their pace inside my vagina, like a professional fucking machine with a motor, operating at full speed. My fingers became his penis. I whispered, "Fuck me! Faster!"

A silent explosion of heat started in my vagina and spread throughout my body. My face burned, my heart pounded, my head spun, and I mumbled unconsciously, my vagina spasming and contracting along with my clitoris. My legs went weak. I slumped onto the tiled floor by the sink, like a muscle-weak patient. I finally fell. The man held me and fell with me. I looked closely, and he was my son. Son it is then. My soul left my body! Reason had temporarily left my body; it hadn't returned to its post yet. I'd enjoy this moment while I could. I panted heavily, like a refugee crossing the border, like a survivor of a catastrophe, my lips limp, I didn't care what anyone else thought!

Suddenly, "click!"

I heard a sound. I was startled, a chill ran down my spine, and I quickly pulled the underwear off my head, barely managed to stand up, and scanned my surroundings.

Everything around me was normal; no one else was there. I turned off the tap, peeked out of the bathroom, and looked around. No one was there. What was that sound?

My heart leaped into my throat again. I clearly heard a "click," what was that? Who was it?

Suddenly, I smelled a peculiar odor, mixed with a strong, fishy stench, more pungent than rotten fish, more foul than feces.

I tiptoed to the bedroom door. The bedroom door was always left open. I saw my son fast asleep on the big bed, completely still. Strange.

Who was that?

Could it be the wind? Sure enough, it was windy outside. I tiptoed to the entryway, my heart tightening. I saw our front door was ajar. Was the wind really that strong?

The bathroom and bedroom doors were always open, but the front door was locked every day; I checked it every night before bed. Had I forgotten yesterday? My memory had been bad lately, but it couldn't be this bad, could it? I quickly closed and locked the front door.

If the sound wasn't from my son or the wind, then the worst possibility remained: it was a stranger.

I was so nervous I could hardly breathe.

A stranger? Who was it? A thief or a desperate criminal? What did they want? Did they see my embarrassing state just now? Did they just leave or just come in?

I continued to tiptoe around the house, checking every corner, my heart pounding even harder than when I was masturbating. What if they just came in and pounced on me? After the climax, I felt completely weak. I checked both sides, every corner, but even without finding a "stranger," I was still apprehensive, my heart pounding wildly.

I went back to the bathroom, turned on the tap again, and quickly washed the slippery semen off my son's underwear. Actually, I really didn't want to wash it off; I really wanted to keep those meaningful underwear of his forever, to possess them forever, to take them out and smell them whenever I wanted, but I didn't dare. I was terrified. I washed with frantic, anxious movements, as if afraid someone wouldn't hear me.

After washing and hanging the underwear, I felt a deep sadness. I understood that a virgin's once-in-a-lifetime treasure had been wasted by myself. I suddenly regretted it. What if I had kept it? Hidden in a secret place…

I returned to the bedroom. My son was still in the same position, fast asleep on the big bed. I got into bed, still panting, like a female dog in heat, unable to calm down.

He opened his eyes and said, "Mom, you sleep a little longer. I'll get up to make breakfast in a bit."

Still shaken, I asked him, "Did you hear anything just now?"

He asked, puzzled, "No." "What's wrong? What did you hear?"

Following the principle of minimizing the problem, I said, "Oh, nothing, you sleep a little longer."

At this point, I almost wished it was him who made the noise. Even if he did, he probably wouldn't be embarrassed to admit it. If he really saw me masturbating, how would he feel? Would he get hard again? Would he ejaculate again? I lay beside my son, who was feigning

sleep, and imagined this scene unfolding before me, growing more and more excited. Under the sheets, my fingers slipped back into my underwear, temporarily forgetting the nightmare. Later, my son told me that he had actually been pretending to sleep that morning. He heard my panting in the bathroom and guessed that I was masturbating to his semen-stained underwear. He was very excited, but the wicked "click" sound terrified him. He also realized that besides him and me, there was someone else, or something not human. Will my son still tell me about his nocturnal emissions? Will I ever have the chance to wash his underwear again?

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[Urban] Must be fucked to death (Complete) - 22-24

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