The scent of autumn

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

In autumn, the vibrant sunset illuminated the maple forest, making the deep red and golden leaves seem to burn. The pure sky instantly became magnificent and dazzling, except for the withered, yellowed slopes in the shadows, which remained dark and quiet.

On this slope, a girl in a black dress had been sitting alone for a long time.

He had been watching her for a long time as well.

Hearing the sound of footsteps crunching on the weeds, the girl slowly turned around, facing the stranger blankly.

He was tall, no more than thirty years old, with a square face and somewhat coarse features. He wore a wrinkled, dirty denim jacket and trousers, with a canvas bag slung across his shoulder. His small eyes concealed a wolf-like, greedy, and cautious gaze.

Of course, he was also watching the girl before him.

She wasn't particularly beautiful, at most considered fairly pretty. A black turtleneck sweater, a black woolen long skirt, and black high-heeled leather boots accentuated her fair skin. Her long, flowing hair cascaded down her back, held in place by a black plastic hair clip. She was slender and tall, but her face looked somewhat haggard.

"What do you want? Can you tell me?" the girl asked softly.

A little over an hour later, he and the girl sat facing each other in a rented room. This was her rented apartment.

The room was small and simple, filled with a kind of rustic cleanliness and coldness. The male celebrity posters on the walls were yellowed and cracked, and the wildflowers in the glass jar on the windowsill had withered.

He felt uneasy, as if facing a dangerous trap.

His hand gripping the dagger was sweating. It was a homemade tool steel dagger, dark blue in color, with a thin, sharp blade. With this dagger, he had arrogantly told the girl everything he wanted, and then mustered the courage to kidnap her to this secluded rented room, ready to begin a new adventure.

He wasn't a good person, but this was the first time he'd been so audacious.

It was already dark. The lights were on in the room, and the curtains were drawn. The girl's eyes were slightly moist.

She was still wearing a black sweater and a long black woolen skirt, but she had taken off her black high-heeled boots and put on brand-new white socks and black velvet square-toed cloth shoes. Her hands were bound behind her back with thick hemp rope, and her feet were also tied together with rope. She sat helplessly on the edge of the bed.

The shoes and socks were new, just like the rope, bought from a roadside shop.

The Northeastern man lit a cigarette, his hands trembling slightly. As if in a dream, he stared blankly at the girl, his breathing labored.

She didn't resist at all, almost motionless, letting herself be bound. Even when the rope hurt, she only swayed in pain and let out a soft groan. In the dim light, her arms were tightly bound, forcing her to arch her back, her high breasts revealing the alluring curves of her womanhood.

He felt a wave of dizziness. For some reason, this man from Northeast China felt like crying.

"Do you really like this?" the girl asked softly. "Now, do whatever you want."

The first thing he did was gag her with a towel. Through the curtains, bright sunlight illuminated the cozy little room. He woke up.

The pillow and blankets exuded a faint, sweet scent of feminine perfume. A soft body nestled in his arms; this novel sensation felt like an illusion, a fantasy, making him want to linger in bed. He saw the girl's delicate face, still streaked with tears.

She lay quietly beside him, naked, her pale face showing exhaustion.

After a night of frenzy and passion, the girl was still bound hand and foot, naked except for white socks and black velvet thongs. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes were dark-rimmed, and her delicate skin was covered with bruises and swellings.

She never dreamed this man could be so perverted and barbaric.

For an entire night, wearing white socks and black velvet thongs, she was tightly bound, forced to endure the abuse in agony, shamefully allowing her clothes to be stripped off and subjected to all sorts of shallow and ravaging.

Everything she had heard and imagined was even more stimulating and terrifying. Yet, in this helpless submission, in this futile struggle with her hands bound behind her back, she felt not only humiliation and pain, but also a torrent of sorrow. She had no regrets about her choice.

He untied her. Tears welled in her eyes. Because she had been bound for so long, the untying was painful. She wanted to cry her heart out. Seeing the deep grooves left by the rope binding her slender arms, the Northeastern man suddenly felt awkward. He gently kissed the hard, hard marks of the bindings. She was somewhat surprised, a flicker of emotion crossing her eyes, but it quickly vanished, her gaze still filled with a faint resentment and sorrow.

"You know, you're a pervert," the girl said softly.

His face darkened.

"I'm willing," he replied roughly, "Shut the fuck up, or I'll kill you, you brat."

The small room fell silent, eerily quiet. After a while, she asked gently, "Do you drink?"

Northeastern men certainly liked to drink. Some liked to talk nonsense after drinking. Some liked to cause trouble after drinking. Some liked to lie down and sleep soundly after drinking. Fried peanuts, braised beef, scrambled eggs, cucumber stir-fried with pork slices, and a bottle of 56-proof Erguotou liquor. She prepared lunch.

He was slightly tipsy after drinking, feeling so comfortable he was almost floating, swaying freely as he watched the girl's calm gaze with a smile, becoming gentle and kind.

He told her that he liked women wearing white socks and black square-toed cloth shoes, preferably with the traditional Chinese blouses worn by women in movies and TV dramas. He liked to bind his beloved women, turning them into lowly slaves and prisoners, and that these women also enjoyed being bound, tortured, and humiliated by him.

She listened quietly to the man's endless outpouring. She also drank a glass of baijiu, a faint blush rising on her pale cheeks, her long eyelashes fluttering, a hint of pity and sorrow flashing across her face, realizing that she herself no longer cared about anything.

After getting up, she changed into her usual pink cotton undershirt and jeans. Following the man's instructions, she wore white socks and black velvet square-toed cloth shoes, and applied a little light makeup. Now, however, her hands were tightly bound behind her back, and her feet were also tied, depriving her of her freedom.

She hadn't worn such simple black square-toed cloth shoes in a long time. She had never been bound before. The strong liquor fueled her imagination; she felt that wearing these rustic black square-toed cloth shoes made her feel like a married woman from her hometown, a woman often referred to as a "big old woman," while the ropes binding her made her feel like a young wife who had been abducted and forced into marriage.

She suddenly felt pathetic. She hadn't felt this clearly in a long time. In the bustling modern city, feelings were always hazy and chaotic; life required strength and ruthlessness. A woman, no matter how badly wounded, couldn't wallow in self-pity, otherwise, she would be eliminated by life. But she no longer cared. The

Northeastern man was a little carried away. He wasn't a lucky man. His family was of modest means; his parents were honest, kind, but disrespected ordinary people. He hadn't found work since graduating junior high, drifting aimlessly through life. This was his first time leaving his hometown to seek opportunities in this bustling metropolis thousands of miles away. Like other men from Northeast China, he enjoyed drinking. Unlike most men, he enjoyed binding women and playing perverse games with them. But he had no money.

At this moment, he was already a little tipsy, facing a beautiful girl bound hand and foot, growing increasingly cheerful and happy, as if he were having a secret rendezvous with her. He boldly picked up the delicate girl.

She nestled against the Northeast man's chest like a docile kitten, murmuring, "You talk so much. Aren't you afraid that if I accuse you of kidnapping, it might just provide clues to solve the case?"

The girl's tone was gentle, yet it shattered the Northeast man's sweet reverie like a bullet.

“I’ve heard that many criminals kill to cover their tracks,” she said with a faint smile. “Will you kill me? If so, strangle me with a rope. Don’t leave me a bloody mess.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared gloomily at the girl whose hands and feet were bound. She continued to smile, though her smile was somewhat forced and bitter. The girl wasn’t hanged and strangled. She was simply stripped naked, leaving only her underwear and socks, her hands bound, and suspended high from the rafters, like a female prisoner being tortured in olden times, relentlessly interrogated by the Northeastern man.

The interrogation raised too many questions. The answer, however, was unbelievable:

the girl said that she came from out of town to work as a hostess in a nightclub, and by chance, during a hospital visit, she discovered she had cancer and had at most six months to live. She decided to give up futile treatment and quietly spend the last moments of her life, but unfortunately, she encountered a man who kidnapped her.

“Your hobby is perverse, and it’s never been satisfied,” she calmly replied. “I’m willing to satisfy you, hoping to give you a moment of pleasure before I die. If you don’t believe me, you can kill me.”

The man from Northeast China, of course, didn’t believe this answer. He snapped the lamp cord, twisted it into a thin whip, and stuffed a towel into the girl’s mouth. The dimly lit room echoed with the crisp cracking sound of the whip striking flesh.

The girl futilely twisted her supple waist, her slender body hanging stiffly in mid-air, her snow-white skin marked with deep red and purple welts, uttering muffled moans. The burning pain pierced her internal organs. She couldn’t help but cry, whether from the pain or the humiliation, it was unclear.

He showed no mercy, whipping her like a cart driver whipping livestock, whether because he genuinely wanted to understand the real reason, or because deep down he enjoyed the thrill of whipping young girls.
Each time he took out the towel, the girl’s answer remained unchanged.

So, the towel was stuffed into her mouth again, and the whipping continued. Through her disheveled hair, the girl saw her pale body convulsing, her feet, clad in white socks and black velvet square-toed shoes, dangling three feet off the ground, her vision gradually blurring. The pain grew clearer and sharper. Her mind became increasingly hazy. Her head slowly drooped, hanging limply to her chest, her muffled moans growing weaker and weaker, flashes of light appearing before her eyes until she was swallowed by the vast darkness.

"Am I going to be beaten to death like this?" she thought in despair and sorrow.

The sun outside was still shining brightly. The girl did not die. She awoke to find herself lying naked in a warm bed, her whip wounds burning all over her body, her hands bound behind her back, and the vicious man sitting beside her. He stroked her hair, muttering something incoherently, tears glistening in his cloudy eyes. The light was dim, and the tall figure of the Northeastern man on the wall swayed slightly, like a demon from a nightmare, desperately guarding the simple hut.

The girl woke up again in the morning. She was untied, and the man had left the hut sometime earlier. A note was left on the bedside table, with a few words scrawled on it: I will come back!

She silently tore the note to shreds. Several days passed before the girl finally left home. She still felt a dull ache all over her body; the bruises and welts from the thin whip made of twisted electrical wire were slow to heal, and as the days passed, faint welts remained on her snow-white body.

More painful than the welts was the sorrow in her heart. For some reason, she didn't resent the perverted and brutal Northeastern man. Because she saw tears in his eyes. In this world, she was not only the first time she had been taken by a man, but also the first time she had seen a man cry for her. Besides, she truly wanted to give someone a little pleasure before she died.

A life cut short in one's twenties is fleeting. She had forgotten many precious things in life, chasing money and vanity in the hustle and bustle of the city with youthful exuberance and numbness, only to realize at the end of her life that she had nothing.

She had even been grateful for being held hostage. At least, it could dispel her loneliness. She seemed to have found the feeling she had longed for, a hazy, indistinct feeling. The world outside was still noisy and bustling, people and cars coming and going on the streets, the air polluted city sky a gray and chaotic gray. In the flower shop on the street corner, the girl stopped, staring blankly at a single, withered red rose in the glass window, and suddenly wanted to burst into tears.

The red rose was already somewhat withered and wilted, glistening with dewdrops on its petals. No one would buy such a flower anymore. Although the beauty of decay is more poignant. The girl looked up at the gray sky, took a few deep breaths, silently turned around, and went into a small, privately owned tailor shop next door.

"Are you having clothes made?" asked the shop owner, a tired middle-aged woman, listlessly.

The girl nodded, a faint blush rising on her pale cheeks. A week later, the girl picked up her custom-made clothes. She hurried into the tailor shop, trying to avoid the owner's gaze, grabbed the plastic bag containing the clothes, and rushed out, looking somewhat guilty. It felt like secretly using a secret lipstick as a child—truly thrilling.

The plastic bag contained several sets of old-fashioned women's cotton dresses with tattered buttons and a rustic style. If it weren't for the brightly colored fabrics, they would only be suitable for frail, elderly rural women. No wonder the tailor shop owner was curious. It seemed somewhat illogical for a young, fashionable city girl to have such clothes custom-made. However, in a modern city, many things seem illogical.

Back in her rented room, the girl drew the curtains, applied makeup in front of the mirror, put on silver earrings and a jade bracelet, styled her long hair into a bun at the back of her head, changed into an outfit she'd taken from a plastic bag, and then put on clean white socks and black velvet square-toed cloth shoes with loops. Then she slowly straightened up.

It was as if time had reversed; a once-pretty young woman appeared in the mirror. Suddenly, the girl's nose tingled with emotion. She closed her eyes, feeling that the brand-new sky-blue floral-patterned blouse was a little too tight, the tightly buttoned buttons and the open pockets making her chest feel constricted, filled with a strange and novel sensation.

"You're crazy," she said to herself silently.

A young girl, afflicted with an incurable disease, developed an absurd desire: to use her body to bring pleasure to any man who yearned for but had never experienced romantic love. Instead, she was kidnapped, raped, and subjected to perverse abuse by a wicked man. Yet, she still dressed herself as his wife, waiting for a reunion that might never happen, thus passing the last days of her life. Such behavior was, of course, utterly absurd.

Loneliness and despair often breed madness. The girl laughed silently, finding herself ridiculous. In her smile, glistening tears fell onto her pale cheeks. The autumn wind grew colder. The girl went out less, often staying alone in her small room.

At these times, she would always dress like a traditional wife, her hair styled in a bun, wearing a traditional Chinese blouse, white socks, and black square-toed cloth shoes. She would meticulously apply makeup, clean her room impeccably, and then silently wait for a man's return.

In the stillness of the night, the girl would quietly tie her feet together and lie in bed, lost in thought. "Do you really like this?" she asked herself. It seemed like a question without an answer. The girl wanted to cry. A growing weariness brought with it a jumble of dreams.

On the windowsill, a potted begonia bloomed with small, pink flowers, its leaves a translucent, emerald green, like a charming, albeit somewhat gaudy, young lady from a bygone era, quietly displaying a lonely brilliance in the dim, simple room.

He had actually returned. The afternoon sun shone on the cold, quiet room. The Northeastern man stood in the doorway like a wolf, his cloudy eyes radiating a sharp, fierce gaze. In just a few days, he had become much thinner, his angular cheeks now covered with unkempt stubble, his wrinkled clothes even more worn and dirty, and his tightly clenched fists trembled slightly.

In truth, his heart was filled with despair and fear. Seeing the familiar figure appear at the door, the girl felt dizzy, almost unable to breathe, a faint blush rising to her pale cheeks, her eyes involuntarily moistening. The Northeastern man was also somewhat surprised and flustered.

He had intended to appear fierce to mask his unease at re-entering the small house, at least not to reveal his true longing to be accepted. But to his utter surprise, the familiar young girl before him was dressed in a light green floral-patterned cotton blouse, lotus-colored trousers, white socks, and black square-toed cloth shoes, her hair styled in a bun at the back, resembling a young wife from an old-fashioned rural village.

In his panic, he remembered his shameless confession of his secret desires. Because of this, this man, who already considered himself hopeless, suddenly felt a lump in his throat. He hesitated for a moment, then gently closed the door.

"Didn't expect me to come back, did you?" the Northeastern man had intended to say menacingly, but he shamefully found his tone as gentle as a lover's conversation in a television drama.

The girl didn't answer. She had once again become the captive of the Northeastern man. Thick hemp rope, about the thickness of a little finger, bound her wrists tightly, binding her hands, which were tied behind her back. Then, horizontal lines were drawn across her breasts and wrapped around her body. The Northeastern man said this was a Japanese method of bondage.

The girl sat on the edge of the bed, like a young woman abducted by bandits in ancient times, having endured too much manipulation, long since numb and submissive to everything, her eyes lowered helplessly, her hands behind her back, silently allowing herself to be bound.

The dimly lit room echoed with a man's heavy, panting breaths. The girl felt dizzy; her lips moved a few times, but she said nothing. Only when the rope tightened did she involuntarily sway slightly, gazing resentfully at her toes. Tears silently blurred her vision. Her feet,

clad in brand-new white socks and black velvet square-toed cloth shoes with loops, were stiffly pressed together. A tangled mess of hemp rope tightly bound her ankles. She was at a loss, still hesitant and disoriented. Her hands were now firmly bound behind her back; it was too late to resist. Her upper body, arms, and feet were bound tightly by the rope, and she sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed, completely at the mercy of this Northeastern man.

At this moment, the girl once again surrendered herself to a stranger. Large hands embraced her from behind, pulling her into the man's arms before she could even utter a sound. Her lips were sealed by a hot, wet kiss.

Through her clothes, her swollen breasts were gripped and kneaded by spasmodic fingers. With her hands bound behind her back and her legs tied together, she could neither cover herself nor resist, nor escape. Her body was firmly held in place by strong arms. Despite her immense shame, she had no choice but to endure the storm of passionate kisses and lewd acts. Long-suppressed sorrow was released with a joyful outpouring of pain and humiliation. Tears welled in the girl's eyes.

"I missed you so much," the Northeastern man hissed frantically.

She sobbed inwardly, murmuring, "I missed you too."

The moon shone silently on the dark little house. The Northeastern man and the girl lay exhausted in bed, nestled together under the same covers, feeling the warmth and comfort of their skin against each other, their bodies brimming with fleeting, passionate love. Like the men of the countryside, the Northeastern man lay naked, as carefree as a fish in water. He hadn't felt this safe and happy in a long time.

The girl lay quietly in the man's broad arms, her hair disheveled, also naked, her hands still bound behind her back, helpless against his caresses and affections. With each caress and tease, she felt an involuntary shyness in the darkness.

"Are you still stealing?" she asked softly.

“I’m only stealing from you now.” He pinched and twisted the girl’s erect nipples with a grin, answering, “I’ve reformed and found a job as a supermarket security guard.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to get into trouble and drag you down with me.” He chuckled, “You’ve already had enough bad luck running into me. If you get into legal trouble too, you’ll be a little unlucky one.”

The girl suddenly felt a lump in her throat. At that moment, a tingling sensation spread from her breasts to her entire body. She had never felt such a strong, stimulating, hazy desire, never felt such a soft, trembling dizziness. For the first time, she wanted to be untied so she could open her arms and embrace a man. The Northeastern man gradually became sleepy and drowsily untied the girl.

“It’s too uncomfortable to be tied up like this. You should get a good night’s sleep tonight,” he said, yawning. “Don’t try anything funny, or I’ll kill you.”

He wasn’t worried that the girl would run away after being untied. He had already chained her right foot with a long, thin iron chain, the other end to the bed frame. She could only step off the bed at most. The key to the padlock was placed far away on the windowsill. She didn't make a sound. The Northeastern man finally drifted off to sleep, gradually emitting soft snores.

The girl was still awake, silently nestled in the arms of this bear-like, muscular man, gently stroking the deep, hardened lines on her wrists from the rope, feeling an overwhelming urge to cry. She quietly and shyly kissed the man beside her. This was the first time she had ever

kissed a man first. The dawn sunlight streamed into the quiet little house. The Northeastern man woke up, smelling the aroma of fried food. After the frenzied ordeal, his unusually strong appetite was awakened, and he longed to devour a meal immediately.

"Get up, have some breakfast," he heard a gentle voice call out.

The girl stood smiling before him, her eyes lowered shyly. Behind her, on the table, lay soy milk, fried dough sticks, and freshly fried eggs.

She had clearly freshened up, wearing a brand-new blue cotton jacket and trousers with white peony patterns, white socks, and black velvet square-toed cloth shoes. A light touch of makeup made her fair face appear even more radiant, highlighting her red lips, white teeth, and bright, delicate eyes. Her dark hair was styled in a traditional bun, adorned with a hairpin; the tassels swayed gently with her movements.

"Don't stare at me like that. Haven't you ever seen a beautiful woman before?" the girl said shyly, blushing slightly. "Don't you like this outfit?"

"I love it," the Northeastern man murmured in reply.

"Hey, how did you get away? Didn't I tie you up?" he asked, puzzled.

"Idiot, isn't there a broom over there?" the girl said with a grin. "I used it to pull the key over from the windowsill and unlocked the door. You were sleeping like a log, you didn't even notice."

After breakfast, the girl washed the dishes, and the Northeastern man changed into his security guard uniform, ready to go to work.

"I hope you catch a thief today and get a lot of bonuses," the girl said with a grin.

"I'll arrest you first."

"Why should I? I didn't steal anything."

"You did steal, you stole my love," the Northeastern man said seriously. "Hey, little thief, I have to tie you up before I go to work, otherwise you'll run away, and I'll become the dumbest security guard in the world."

"I swear I won't run away," the girl shouted.

"But I'm worried," he said, pretending to be serious.

The girl was pushed back onto a chair, her hands were tied behind her back, and she was bound with hemp rope around her shoulders and arms. A towel was stuffed into her mouth, and tape was used to seal it. She obediently allowed herself to be bound, without struggling.

At this moment, she resembled a young married woman from the old days, with her hair tied up in a bun, wearing a brightly colored cloth shirt, rustic white socks, and black velvet square-toed cloth shoes with loops. She shyly discovered that she was not only tightly bound, but her full breasts were also tied up so that they stood straight up and upturned. Although the bodice covered her chest, her high and alluring curves were still visible.

A strand of disheveled hair drooped in front of her eyes. Her hands were bound behind her back, unable to brush away the hair that concealed them. The Northeastern man showed no mercy; each rope was tightened forcefully, digging deep into her flesh, each knot secured tightly, making escape impossible no matter how hard she struggled.

The girl felt a tightness in her chest, her body swelled, as if it no longer belonged to her. Her feet, clad in white socks and black velvet square-toed cloth shoes with loops, were also tightly bound. Soon, she was carried to the bed, face down, her bound hands and feet tied together, moaning incoherently, unable to move.

Gazing at the girl bound hand and foot, the Northeastern man suddenly felt a surge of emotion. He realized that this beautiful young woman was even more adorable and gentle than he had remembered or imagined; her shy, downcast appearance, bound hand and foot, was exceptionally endearing. For some reason, he felt a tightness in his chest, a sense of guilt.

The second hand of the alarm clock on the windowsill ticked away. Time seemed to stand still, stretching on endlessly. The girl lying on the bed cried.

She had struggled desperately, twisting her wrists, trying to break free of the ropes binding her, but the more she struggled, the tighter the ropes dug into her skin, making her hands and feet feel welded together. Her arms and legs grew increasingly sore and numb, the pain unbearable, like torture, each second a living hell.

Now, she had given up the futile struggle. Her cheeks, bulging from being stuffed with towels, were already numb and stiff. She couldn't move freely, nor could she call for help, forced to endure the torment. For a frail girl, this prolonged, tight binding was truly cruel.

The girl sobbed helplessly, feeling the growing weight of sorrow and pain, feeling the fear of a young woman dressed in a brightly colored cotton blouse, white socks, and black velvet square-toed shoes, her hair tied in a bun, being bound and imprisoned, feeling the torment she willingly endured for love.

Crystalline tears streamed down her delicate cheeks. The long-sleeved cotton shirt, white socks, and black square-toed cloth shoes represented a longing for the virtuous woman of old. The young wife's updo symbolized the characteristics of a modest, refined woman. The tight bindings represented the conquest and subjugation of love, perhaps also the fear of losing that love.

...

She didn't know if she was overthinking, but hoped there was some truth to her guesses; at least for her, being bound and tortured at this moment was not simply pain and humiliation.

"God, am I going crazy?" she thought desperately.

When the Northeastern man returned to his small house after work, he realized something was wrong. He quickly untied the girl, who was almost unconscious. Stroking her disheveled hair, this usually clumsy man was flustered and didn't know what to do. While rubbing the deep grooves on the girl's wrists from the rope bindings, he cursed himself inwardly for his recklessness.

He never imagined that the prolonged binding would lead to such serious consequences. The girl no longer had the strength to curse him. She collapsed into the arms of the Northeastern man, silently shedding tears. Her limbs, now free, were numb and swollen, every joint ached, and her entire body was hollowed out by sorrow, her eyes glazed and dull.

Darkness gradually fell. Under the soft lamplight, the seemingly wilted glass begonias on the windowsill appeared bright again. The aroma of sizzling scallions wafted from the neighbor's kitchen. The girl gradually regained consciousness, though she was still weak and in pain. Suddenly, she hugged the Northeastern man tightly.

"You bastard!" she whispered, tears welling in her eyes as she nestled against this rough and perverted man. "You're so cruel to me, I'm so miserable, and you didn't even offer a word of comfort."

He seemed to be struck by lightning, instinctively and blankly embracing the petite and soft young girl.

"I'm sorry, I was wrong," he mumbled, lowering his head.

Apologizing earned him a kiss.

"Shall we go out for dinner?" the girl asked tenderly, gazing at the man who had bound her. "I'm starving all day. If I don't eat soon, you'll really torture me to death."

"Okay, let's go right away," he hurriedly agreed.

"After dinner, whip me," she whispered shyly. "I want to be beaten, beaten by you."

"Ah, why?"

"Because you like it, and I like it too."

The small street restaurant was bustling with business. The copper hot pot blazed brightly, mutton slices, tripe, and vegetables bobbing in the boiling broth, the air filled with the sounds of people exchanging pleasantries and the pungent aroma of baijiu (Chinese liquor). The Northeastern man and girl had both drunk some alcohol, their faces flushed and slightly tipsy. He thought she looked beautiful and lovely at that moment.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked with a smile.

"Of course, she's prettier than you, but we've broken up," he casually replied.

"You tied her up too, beat her?" She scoffed, disbelievingly. "I don't believe it."

The Northeastern man's face darkened; he said nothing. Because, in truth, he had never had a girlfriend. He was insecure. A man with no money, a clumsy appearance, and unusual fetishes couldn't possibly not be insecure. He downed the glass of baijiu in one gulp, his throat burning, his eyes slightly moist. A soft, small hand firmly grasped the large hand of this burly man.

"Are you angry?" the girl asked softly.

"No," he said roughly.

"Don't be angry," she smiled playfully. "If you're angry, you can be angry when we get home, however you want. Don't keep a long face now, you naughty husband, be good."

This ambiguous, teasing suggestion made the Northeastern man's heart burn. On the way home, the girl nestled in the Northeastern man's arms like a couple deeply in love. He felt a strange, warm feeling. Suddenly, the girl chuckled.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked curiously.

“I don’t look like a kidnapped silly girl at all, I look more like your wife,” she said with a grin

. “You’re not as fierce as you used to be, just like your silly husband.” The Northeastern man didn’t know how to answer, and just smiled awkwardly.

“The day after tomorrow is my birthday,” the girl said coquettishly. “You have to give me a present, or I’ll cry.”

Red, the color of joy.

Red candles were lit in the small room. The girl wore a red dress and red high heels. Her glamorous evening makeup concealed the paleness of her cheeks. Her dark eyes sparkled, filled with a bittersweet joy. After all, another year of youth had passed. A square paper box tied with colorful ribbons was placed on the table. This was a gift from the bad guy who had kidnapped her.

Like other girls, she loved the gift. The Northeastern man did not disappoint her. The girl gently opened the box, her eyes flashing with surprise, coquettishness, and feigned resentment. She pretended to be angry as she looked at the Northeastern man who was trying not to laugh, but he pulled her into his arms.

“You’re so bad,” she said softly.

"Don't you like it?" he grinned. "I ordered this online; it's quite expensive."

The flickering candlelight illuminated the "gift" in the box: a pair of ugly, dark iron shackles. The thick shackles and chains gleamed with a dark blue light, looking somewhat eerie and terrifying.

The girl sighed. "I don't know how expensive it is, but it's definitely heavy," she murmured.

A necklace given by a lover should be worn around the neck. The Northeastern man, however, grinned wickedly as he put the shackles on the girl. The girl closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the "gift," and the cold shackles fitting snugly around her ankles, indicating that this villain had definitely planned this all along.

"Perfect," he winked and made a face, defiantly putting the key to the shackles into his jacket pocket.

A strange feeling filled the girl's heart. She tried to take a few steps, the heavy shackles dragging her feet, the thick iron chains rattling loudly. Her ankles ached from the hard iron hoops, and her feet, clad in red low-cut high heels, stood awkwardly and unsteadily.

Compared to being bound by ropes, being locked in these heavy shackles made the girl feel like a prisoner even more. The Northeastern man chuckled, admiring the girl in her shackles. She also silently gazed at the simple-minded man.

He slowly walked over. She was then bound tightly again. Thick hemp rope, about the thickness of a little finger, was tightly wrapped around her arms and wrists, pulling her bound hands high behind her back. Even the slightest struggle caused her twisted shoulders and elbows to feel as if they were dislocated.

The girl's heart pounded, her cheeks burned, and she wanted to escape, but bound tightly and shackled with heavy leg irons, she couldn't move an inch. Her high, rounded breasts rose and fell slightly, her eyes lowered shyly, and she pleaded tearfully, her body gradually going limp.

He ignored the delicate girl's pleas and ordered her to walk in circles around the room.

The clanging of thick iron chains echoed in the small room. The girl, dragging her bound arms, struggled to move her feet, her legs trembling like a prisoner being led to the execution ground. The whip occasionally lashed her exposed, full breasts and buttocks, producing dull thuds. The burning pain pierced her body, and she trembled with helpless, pitiful cries.

The girl lowered her eyes shyly, enduring the relentless driving. The hard shackles chafed her skin, and every step was excruciating, causing her to break out in a cold sweat. Finally, after being whipped, she lost her balance and fell headlong. A pair of strong arms nimbly caught her. She was easily carried to the bed.

"With these shackles on, I won't have to tie you up to go to work every day anymore," the Northeastern man said softly. "That would be too uncomfortable for you, silly girl. Do you like this gift?"

The girl nodded obediently. Actually, she knew the reason was weak, just to cover up a perverse hobby. For some reason, she hoped he wasn't lying. Like autumn leaves, the calendar pages on the wall fell one by one. The date for the follow-up visit to the hospital was drawing closer.

The girl and the Northeastern man seemed to have forgotten about it, laughing and joking happily every day, playing the roles of a bound and tormented woman and a vicious thug, indulging in a strange and tender love.

Every day, she wore heavy shackles, locked at home doing housework. He went to work at the supermarket every day, bringing home some food. The day before their follow-up appointment at the hospital, to avoid the doctor noticing the marks of the restraints, they didn't play wildly and went to bed early. The girl freely embraced the Northeastern man, kissing him contentedly, seemingly in a good mood.

"If the doctor tells me tomorrow that my condition has worsened, you should be happy," she said with a grin. "Once I die soon, you'll be completely free and won't have to waste your youth with a silly girl anymore."

"Bullshit!" he said fiercely. "If you say another word, I'll hang you up and whip you right now."

"I sincerely hope you can live a happier life in the future."

"Don't mess with me, I'm in a bad mood."

The girl lit a cigarette for the Northeastern man, smiling as she nestled against his broad chest, like a lazy kitten, infinitely content in his arms, closing her eyes, seemingly already filled with sleepiness.

The begonia on the windowsill had just been watered, its pink flowers glistening brightly. Suddenly, the man from Northeast China felt a chill in his chest. The girl's soft sobs echoed from the small house. He gently patted her back, wanting to say something, but his throat tightened, and he couldn't utter a word. Gazing at the charming little flowers on the windowsill, he too felt like crying.

The next day, the girl left the small house early. She refused the man's offer to accompany her.

Watching that familiar figure board the bus, he suddenly felt waves of frustration, fear, and emptiness, as if something inside him had been torn apart and vanished, and the sky grew even grayer and darker.

For the entire day, the man from Northeast China remained silent. Even his most joking colleagues, seeing his gloomy face, stopped laughing and teasing him. After work, the man from Northeast China hurried towards "home," his mind growing increasingly agitated the closer he got, even starting to imagine the possibility of finding the house empty.

"Even if you run to the ends of the earth, I will find you," he muttered fiercely.

Upon entering "home," the man from Northeast China froze.

The small house had been cleaned spotlessly. Seeing the Northeastern man burst in, the girl sitting on the edge of the bed looked up, her face deathly pale, and burst into tears. Bundles of hemp rope, dark shackles, and a leather whip lay neatly on the table. The girl had changed into a brand-new, brightly colored, well-tailored red blouse, light green trousers, white socks, and black square-toed cloth shoes. Her hair was styled in a bun at the back of her head; she looked pretty and cheerful.

"The doctor said it was a misdiagnosis; I don't have cancer," she sobbed. "I wasn't reassured, so I went to several big hospitals, and the specialists all said the same thing."

The Northeastern man's nose stung, and his eyes reddened. He knew it was shameful for a grown man to act like this, but he couldn't hold back his tears. The girl hugged him tightly.

"Today, I want you to bind me properly and have fun," she cried happily. "You can hang me up and whip me or torture me even more severely. I'll do anything you want."

A bucket already contained whips of varying thicknesses. Her feet, clad in white socks and black square-toed cloth shoes, were tightly bound together, three feet off the ground, swaying helplessly in mid-air. Heavy stones weighing over thirty pounds were tied to her ankles. The girl wore

a brand-new, bright, well-tailored red blouse and light green trousers. Her hair was loosely tied, her hands were tightly bound with hemp rope, and her head hung low. She was suspended high from the rafters. The buttons on her collar, shoulders, and armpits were undone, revealing her fair, delicate skin and most of her breasts.

She felt her hands stiffen and go numb from the bindings, her heavy body hanging in the air, unable to move. Her arms, pulled straight and her legs, bound with heavy weights, were being pulled so hard her ribs felt like they were about to tear apart. Even the slightest movement caused waves of excruciating pain. A towel stuffed in her mouth bulged her cheeks, silencing her sorrowful cries. The Northeastern man stood happily before her.

"You've really put me through a lot! It was a misdiagnosis! I worried for nothing, I'm so angry!" he said excitedly.

These words made the girl want to cry.

"I'm going to give you twenty lashes to vent my anger," the Northeastern man said with a grin. The

water-soaked leather whip lashed hard against the girl's body, making dull cracking sounds. Crimson and purplish welts rose on her snow-white skin, eliciting muffled moans. His whipping was merciless. She felt the pain had reached its peak.

After delivering the final lash, the burly Northeastern man suddenly squatted on the ground, wailing like a bullied child, tears streaming down his face. The girl was also crying, her body soaked with tears. Suddenly, her hair was grabbed, forcing her to look up at the man's contorted face.

"Did you hear me? I'm going to marry you, or I'll kill you!" he roared, his eyes red, his body trembling, almost hoarse. "Or you can kill me, or I'll be your husband for life."

The girl, suspended from the rafters, couldn't move, gazing sadly at the distraught man.

"Tell me, do you agree?" he asked, choking back sobs.

Late at night, the moon hung high in the star-studded sky. The girl, covered in whip marks, lay naked on the bed with the Northeastern man, skin to skin, neither of them sleepy, gazing at each other in the moonlight, their eyes shining.

"Shameless, a grown man like you crying like that," the girl said softly and coquettishly.

"You haven't done anything, I'm getting impatient."

"Nonsense, how am I supposed to say it? Your mouth is sealed shut, I'm stuck there, I can't say a word even if I wanted to."

"You're teasing me on purpose, what do you mean 'too late

to speak'?" "I just don't want to say yes."

"Why?"

"Because you're too silly." The girl sighed softly, "You should have realized it long ago, I've already fallen in love with you."

Happy days always seem too short. Several weeks passed. On a sunny day, the Northeastern man and the girl walked affectionately and joyfully into the marriage registration office of the Civil Affairs Bureau.

He wore a brand-new suit, his shoes gleaming, his collar radiating pride. Because his fiancée was lovely and beautiful. She wore a somewhat tacky red suit skirt and red low-cut heels, her makeup a little too heavy, but her bright eyes and happy expression only brought a knowing smile to others. Because her gentleness and deep love were simply too beautiful.

The young couple didn't mind the old lady at the registration office's incessant lecturing on love, nor her expressionless, interrogation-like questions. They were surprisingly patient and kind, even infecting the old lady, who had made marriage registration a highly professional and procedural affair, with occasional warm smiles.

However, whenever no one else was around, the Northeastern man would anxiously ask the girl if she was in pain. He had bought her the red, low-cut high heels she was wearing that day. The shoes were beautiful, but stiff and tight, pinching her toes; walking in them for a long time would surely be very uncomfortable.

The girl always gently shook her head, saying it didn't hurt. In fact, her toes were already quite sore from being pinched. But these were gifts her beloved man had painstakingly chosen for her. Although somewhat uncomfortable, the pain constantly reminded her of what kind of wife she should be, and what pain and happiness were.

She remembered a line of poetry she had once read: "Whoever has not experienced pain has no deep love."

The same small house had now become a warm bridal chamber. The kidnapper had become the groom. The kidnapped girl had become the bride. After drinking the nuptial wine, gazing at the shy, downcast girl, the Northeastern man felt as if he were in a dream. Clumsy and unsure how to begin their wedding night, he scratched his head and gave his wife a silly laugh.

"I'm completely dizzy," he chuckled self-deprecatingly.

The girl glanced at him shyly, also somewhat reserved and bashful. She had changed into her husband's favorite red jacket and trousers, red embroidered square-toed cloth shoes, her hair styled in a dark bun, her eyebrows and eyes painted, and red velvet flowers adorning her temples. Sitting on the bed, dressed in bright red, she looked joyful and radiant, like a beautiful young bride newly married in bygone days. As usual, her hands were bound behind her back, and she wore heavy shackles.

Not long ago, one night, the girl had told her parents with tears in her eyes that when she desperately believed she had a terminal illness, a boy had stayed by her side, giving her the nourishment and care of love. The boy was poor, but honest and hardworking, diligently earning his living. His parents, sighing and lamenting, naturally didn't object to their daughter marrying such a boy. Lost in her daydreams, the girl couldn't help but chuckle.

"What are you laughing at? Am I being silly again?" the groom asked suspiciously, looking around nervously.

"I was thinking, if my parents knew how you would treat me, they definitely wouldn't agree to let their daughter marry such a perverted scoundrel like you," the girl said seriously. "

My dad knows martial arts; he'll break your legs."

"Fine, you dare laugh at me!" the Northeastern man said, grabbing her. "I'm going to punish you."

The girl giggled as she was tickled, squirming and begging for mercy. The playful teasing quickly turned into a long, deep kiss and heavy breathing. The girl, pinned beneath the Northeastern man, suddenly fell silent, gazing lovingly at her husband. Though her bright red clothes were wrinkled and her hair disheveled, her shy face appeared exceptionally beautiful.

"You know what? I have a secret?" she whispered.

"What secret?" her husband asked, bewildered.

"You big bad guy, you've finally achieved your goal." The girl looked up, her eyes sparkling, bravely and happily whispering, "Don't think I don't know what kind of wife you want me to be. Humph, you're so smug now, I've really become the kind of woman you like, a perverted little woman who enjoys being tormented by you."

Outside the window, all was silent. The husband's eyes welled up with tears.

The metropolis is always changing.

Sometime in the past, a small grocery store appeared in a community. The owner was a young and pretty woman, kind and hardworking, and her prices were reasonable. She quickly attracted many residents to shop there, gradually becoming a familiar face in the community.

Years ago, the woman's husband was a supermarket security guard, working long hours every day, appearing kind and gentle.

In front of outsiders, this burly man was always helpful and very obedient to his wife. Even when she complained or scolded him, he would always smile and remain silent, seemingly a typical "henpecked" husband.

The women's federation staff responsible for protecting women's rights never imagined that this capable and efficient young woman would be bound hand and foot by her kind-hearted husband almost every night, wearing heavy shackles, and gently playing the role of a prisoner and slave, sometimes even being whipped as punishment. This was because she had offended her husband during the day, or some other pretext had been fabricated against her.

They also never imagined that this young woman actually enjoyed this kind of abuse.

In this vast and diverse world, no matter how unconventional, harmony is happiness. Because even a fool understands: love always needs the nourishment of harmony.

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/221196.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=221196&aspx=1

Last access time:

Previous Page : That night, that rain, that feeling

Next Page : Husband, do you know my heart?

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

The scent of autumn

comment Open a new window to view comments