[Lost in the joy and pain of sadomasochism] [Author: Bai Chi] [The End]

Chapter 1
Standing in front of the large bathroom mirror, looking at my reflection after showering, I couldn't understand why I had such impulsive thoughts. Looking at myself in the mirror, I felt that at twenty-eight years old, I still had such good skin and a confident figure.
His image appeared in my mind; I didn't know why I felt such a strong expectation for a stranger. It was three weeks ago. My husband was frequently away on business trips, which led me to wander into a nightclub out of boredom.
Sitting at a table against the wall, I ordered a plate of nuts and a glass of red wine. While waiting for the bartender, I casually observed my surroundings. There weren't many people, and most were with companions. Only at the table next to mine sat a man with a coffee pot brewing on it. He was facing a laptop, his hands skillfully typing on the keyboard. I looked away.

I slowly sipped the familiar red wine, then elegantly peeled some nuts, glancing around again. Everyone was doing their own thing. One of the four men at a table gave me an interested look, which I returned with a disdainful glance before turning my attention back to the man who seemed oblivious to everyone else.

I began to observe him. He was about forty years old, not conventionally handsome, but the confident way he typed on the keyboard suggested a certain self-assurance. His short, buzz-cut hair gave him a distinctive air.

His fingers appeared slender and pale in the dim bar lighting. Judging from his posture, he was about 1.7 meters tall. Neither his face nor his upright posture gave him a bulky appearance; he probably wasn't as fat as I had imagined.
His posture suggested he was a well-mannered middle-aged man, and his clothing and seating arrangement indicated that he lived a comfortable life.

He went about his business as if no one else was around. My mind raced – playing video games? He didn't seem like it. – Writing a contract? That didn't seem like it either; contracts usually have templates, you just need to modify or add necessary clauses.
Finally, I firmly believed he was writing something – a paper? A novel? A poem?

Looking at myself in the mirror again, I noticed a blush had crept onto my fair face, and I felt a warmth spreading through my body. My hands gently caressed my breasts; my husband had once praised them for being elastic, soft, and smooth. My fingers proudly stroked the small areolas, the nipples hardening unconsciously.

My gaze, like a man's, traveled down, past my flat, smooth abdomen, and settled on the top of my legs, looking at my mons pubis, a place my husband cherished. I remembered that when we first got married, he called me a "white tiger" (a derogatory term for a woman who is unattractive to mend her pubic area).

I'd heard that hairless women in that area were called "white tigers," and were considered unlucky for their husbands. I looked at my husband with adoration, carefully plucking a few precious strands of hair with my fingers, saying, "Isn't this it?"

But a strange sense of inferiority welled up inside me. Other women had thick, glossy black pubic hair; compared to them, I was practically a "white tiger." I felt different from other women, and my husband seemed to enjoy using this to seduce me.

My body temperature rose again. Looking at my large, exposed labia after I squeezed my legs together, my heart pounded. Instinctively, I relaxed my legs, allowing my swollen labia to naturally settle between them. As my legs parted, a drop of glistening fluid brought a strange itch before dripping down.

A touch of narcissism crossed my face as I reached between my hot, itchy legs, gently caressing my swollen, rosy vulva. A surge of intense desire rushed to my head, causing me to close my eyes. I placed my middle finger between my familiar labia and slowly slid it back and forth. Waves of pleasure spread from between my legs throughout my body. My mind kept replaying the sensations my husband had given me, searching for unforgettable memories.

But those unforgettable sensations were few and far between. Involuntarily, his image appeared in my mind. Almost simultaneously, my brain transformed my finger sliding between my legs into his finger. In that instant, I felt my vagina contract.

I savored the sensation of his finger sliding across my hot, sensitive, and already wet vulva. One hand pinched my hard nipple, imagining his rough squeezing it. Involuntarily, I tightened my grip, and an electric-like pleasure shot from my nipple straight to my vagina, as if igniting all my desire there. It was a feeling completely different from what my husband had given me.

A sense of conquest unleashed something from my subconscious. During our honeymoon, my husband had been rough in the heat of passion, and when I told him it hurt, I immediately regretted it, because an indescribable desire wanted to be released. But his gentler actions closed the door that had been loosening to open.

My inner anticipation led my brain to grasp my large labia, squeezing and imagining him pulling them forcefully. Instantly, an intense, tingling sensation surged through every cell of my body. An unprecedented pleasure made me feel like I was floating on a cloud, followed by a strong tingling in my lower back, and powerful contractions in my vagina. I felt a tight grip on the fingers that had somehow entered me.

As the trembling subsided, I opened my eyes and couldn't believe my eyes when I saw myself in the mirror. The woman in the mirror was incredibly beautiful; her delicate, white skin seemed to be veiled in a pinkish mist, and her cheeks were flushed as if painted with rouge.
I almost couldn't bear to look. How had I become so lustful? Pulling my fingers out of my body felt like being submerged in water; my entire hand was covered in a sticky, slippery liquid. At the same time, I felt a ticklish itch on my thighs from the flowing liquid. I couldn't think anymore. I went back to the shower, wanting to wash away my lust, to cleanse my subconscious lust.

As I sat in the Night Dream Bar, sipping cool orange juice with warm lips, my eyes were fixed on the confident face beneath the buzz cut. Looking at him, I imagined what it would feel like to kiss me with those warm, sexy, smoky lips

. Would he caress me with his hands, preparing for an attack, or would he go straight for my sensitive spots? Everything seemed to be under a spell. I snapped back to reality, immediately feeling my body heat up. A strange itch spread from my groin throughout my body, making my still-unconscious thoughts chaotic. The intense heat turned into anticipation, but I wasn't quite sure what I was anticipating; I just strongly hoped something would happen.

He casually looked up from the screen, glancing around. When our eyes met, I saw no lingering interest in his gaze. Disappointment enveloped me, while another part of me mocked: "Don't flatter yourself, you lewd woman. He didn't even look at you properly." Overwhelmed by a masochistic shame, I lowered my head, but the heat within me intensified. An itching sensation made me acutely aware of the flow of fluid.

My eyes never left him. I saw him reach into his laptop bag, take out a notebook and pen, and quickly scribble something while looking around, searching for something. He quickly put down the pen, tore off the page he was writing on, folded it casually, and beckoned a waiter.

During my conversation with the waiter, I couldn't see his expression. He glanced back at me, making my heart leap. I felt their conversation might be related to me, and for some reason, I suddenly felt a strong urge to believe the note was addressed to me. I had a premonition, which fueled my inner turmoil. At the same time, I wondered what it would contain if it were indeed for me.

As expected, the waiter placed the note in front of me and told me it was from that gentleman. I didn't speak, only nodded. After the waiter left, I hesitated again, wondering whether to read it. I didn't know what it said; if I didn't read it, everything would remain the same; if I did, the consequences were unpredictable. But curiosity and my earlier anticipation led me to open the note.
Two lines of elegant but confident and aloof handwriting: "If you're interested, come and sit with us. Your observation of me should now become a deeper understanding."

I couldn't help but look up, and saw a smile I'd never seen before on his face. When I noticed his gaze, my heart skipped a beat. His gaze was filled with warmth and sternness, but behind it lay something I couldn't describe—an indescribable feeling that made me flustered and breathless.

It was as if his gaze had become a hand, pulling me, who was almost speechless and unsure of what to do, towards his table. I sat down like a puppet, and his deep, masculine voice called out, "Hello!"

I mechanically, reflexively, placed my hand in his outstretched palm, which held his nimble fingers.

Immediately, a warm, strong feeling washed over me. It took me a while for my consciousness to return to normal, and I politely replied, "Hello!" Only

then did I realize his thumb was sliding across the back of my hand, feeling the smoothness of my skin. I hurriedly pulled my hand back.

He waited a moment, looking at me, and said, "You've been observing me for a long time. Can you tell me why?"

I couldn't help but look up to meet his gaze, because my own mind had already told me that if I wanted to understand him, and I was already sitting at his table, why bother thinking about such trivial things with a stranger?

I mustered almost all my strength, looking into his deep gaze, and said, "I don't know, are you just curious? Is it because I'm alone, sitting in the same place at the same time every week, doing the same things?"

He seemed to see right through me, even he didn't know why.

I started to feel flustered again, not understanding why, and could only say, "Maybe."

He looked at me and said, "From a psychological perspective, you're probably a woman with a family but no one to keep you company. Loneliness has created an excess of curiosity in you. Don't be surprised, because if you had someone with you, you wouldn't come to a bar. If you weren't lonely, you wouldn't have this curiosity. A fulfilling life leaves you no extra time for curiosity."

I felt like he was reflecting my thoughts. Thinking about it, wasn't my life just like that? Alone, facing four walls, at an age when I need warmth and romance, yet helplessly accepting this loneliness.

Thinking of my relatively happy family and my good husband, an instinctive resistance made me feel I shouldn't be led by the nose, that I should have my own thoughts. So I asked, "What do you write every time you come?"

He didn't answer immediately, but instead scanned me with his unsettling gaze, saying, "I write about some of my experiences and events in the form of a novel."

"Then why not an autobiography?"

I tried to show I wasn't ignorant. This is probably a common human failing; both men and women have a desire to impress those they admire—it's almost an instinctive reaction.

"An autobiography requires real people and events. Real events are fine; there are many similar experiences in the world. But when you combine real people and events, there aren't many people with the same experiences and events. Publishing that online might have negative consequences, even bringing unnecessary trouble. There's a big difference between a novel and an autobiography."

His viewpoint clearly showed he was a meticulous person.

Curiosity made me blurt out, "May I read your work?"

I regretted it immediately, but another part of me quickly offered an explanation that my rational self could accept: wasn't I just trying to understand him? I could learn something about him through his writings.

I was constantly conflicted; I longed for solace in my loneliness, yet my happy family and good husband warned me against crossing any boundaries. I almost didn't know if I should continue talking to him.

"You really want to see it? It might be something you can't easily accept, something very unusual for you,"

he said, without any refusal but with concern for me.

I didn't fully understand his words. My mind kept conjuring up the idea of "unusual" as homosexuality, which made me re-evaluate him. But no matter what, I couldn't believe he was gay. My personality led me to blurt out, "Are you married?"

He smiled warmly at me and said, "No. Did you misunderstand what I meant by 'unusual' as homosexuality? If I were really gay, you wouldn't be sitting here talking to me."

I don't remember where I heard the saying that women with big breasts are brainless. At that moment, I felt like I had a mental disability. My mind searched for what I knew about "unusual," and the answer quickly came from him.

He opened a picture on his laptop and then asked me to sit next to him to look at it. An immediate and intense visual and moral shock overwhelmed me.

It was a remarkably clear photograph: a beautiful woman bound hand-to-hand with thick red ropes, each section meticulously bound, especially her already full breasts, which appeared even more prominent due to the binding at the base. Red welts covered her fair skin, and her nipples were clamped by gleaming metal clips, from which hung two walnut-sized copper bells.

Further down, two tight ropes bound her incredibly sensitive vulva, the shaved pubic hair adding to the eroticism. Yet, the overall image possessed a certain beauty, particularly the woman's facial expression. Glistening tears welled in her eyes, yet amidst the pain, she displayed an unusual satisfaction, revealing that she was enjoying an indescribable experience.

I was stunned by the photograph, and simultaneously, a burning heat rose from my groin, rapidly spreading to every cell in my body, a tingling sensation giving me an unprecedented surge of desire.

"Do you know about sadomasochism?"

he asked, turning off the screen. I hadn't yet recovered from the shock and instinctively shook my head.

“Here’s a USB drive. You should have a computer at home, right? There are some of my works on it. If you can accept it, then look at it; if you can’t, then don’t. But it’s a different kind of sexual experience,”

he handed me a small USB drive, which I took without thinking much.

“Alright, it’s getting late, you should go home,”

he said, putting his laptop into his backpack and calling the waiter to settle the bill.

I didn’t fully come to my senses until I was outside. Once I was on the street, my rationality returned, and I said goodbye to him. He said, “Shall I walk you home?”

“No need, my home isn’t far from here,”

I said, pointing in the direction of my house. He said, “Perfect, my car is in that parking lot over there,”

and we started walking in the same direction.

“Can I have your phone number?”

he suddenly asked. I was taken aback, quickly thought about it, and then gave it to him. “Didn’t the photos from earlier scare you?”

he asked with concern.

I covered my face and said, "No, did you take that picture?"

He nodded and said, "She's the sex slave I like."

I was shocked again, a strange feeling washing over me—a mix of disgust, disbelief, and a touch of jealousy. I didn't understand why.

Before I could recover from my shock, still wondering how a woman could be a sex slave, and what a sex slave would be like, he said, "Give me your hand."

Almost without thinking, I reached out my hand. When he took my hand in his warm one, I instinctively resisted and tried to pull it away.

After I failed to pull away, he gripped my hand tightly. I glanced ahead; we were almost at my apartment complex. We had just reached the shadows cast by the streetlights and trees when I felt his grip on my hand tighten. As I involuntarily turned, my lips were already on his.

My scream was silenced by his hot lips, and a masculine scent, tinged with tobacco, filled my nostrils. This very masculine aroma filled me with anticipation; it was something my husband never had.

But instinct made me gently push him away. He timed it perfectly, pulling away. I said, a little angrily, "You…" I

didn't know what to say next.

He looked at me with eyes as bright as a wolf's and said, "You're beautiful, full of the allure of a mature woman. Please forgive my involuntary reaction."

I couldn't be angry at all, nor was I really angry. It was just so sudden. That expression was entirely an instinctive display of restraint, a way of proving I wasn't a promiscuous woman, trying to avoid his gaze. That gaze made my heart race and my heart soften. I didn't know if I could resist sleeping with him if I persisted. So I said, "I'm here, thank you!"

He smiled and said, "Okay, goodbye!"

Then he turned and left without a trace of lingering affection, while I watched him until he turned the corner.

Chapter Two:

I walked into the living room, an unprecedented exhaustion making me lie down on the sofa. My mind replayed the events of the night like a movie. When I thought of that photo again, my sensitive body made me feel an unusual sensation in my groin, so I got up and went straight to the bathroom.

When I took off my carefully chosen underwear, I found my entire crotch area soaked in a sticky, slippery liquid. A scent I'd never smelled before assaulted my senses, filling me with shame. I'd never secreted so much fluid at once before, and the shame was a powerful assault on my moral compass.

I removed my clothes, and as the warm water flowed over my burning skin, the usually comfortable temperature became slightly cool. I used the showerhead to rinse my still-flowing, sticky vulva. The water's impact made my vulva itch, and I wondered how I'd become so sensitive. My mind drifted to what it would feel like to be tightly bound by those two red ropes.

With each sip of water, heat began to build within me, and I felt an itch deep inside my vagina. I was starting to feel the stimulation from the water jets, but unwilling to give up the tingling sensation, I instinctively reached out to use my fingers to block and lessen the water's force. My fingers involuntarily slid between my lips. My reason told me I was washing, but my subconscious made me feel like it was my husband's fingers probing inside me.

I couldn't control the strength and speed of my hands. My middle finger felt like it was being sucked onto my clitoris, which was already noticeably erect. My confused mind wanted to refuse, but my fingers uncontrollably rubbed against my clitoris, which was giving me increasingly intense pleasure. Just when I felt like I was about to collapse, his eyes appeared in my mind.

His wolf-like gaze looked at me, and at the same time, the face of a tightly bound woman flashed in my mind. It was mine. As if I were under a spell, I dug two fingers into my burning vagina and made a sound that sounded very distant: "No... don't do this... um..."

When I woke up from the dream, there were water droplets all around me from the shower. I felt ashamed of myself again. I had become so thirsty. I didn't think anymore and quickly cleaned up the water droplets all over the bathroom. Then I dried myself with a towel, wrapped my still hot body in the towel, walked past the mirror without daring to look, and went into the bedroom without even putting on my usual nightgown. I hid naked under the covers.

I tried various methods to banish the images that kept recurring in my mind. His inescapable gaze and that intensely stimulating photograph flashed alternately in my mind. I began to develop a strong interest in the sadomasochistic relationship he described, but my instinctive morality and existing knowledge made me strongly resistant.

I tossed and turned in bed, my increasingly awake mind making it impossible to sleep. I decided to get up and check the contents of the USB drive he had given me. Just then, my phone, which was charging, rang. The sound was very loud in the quiet night. What would normally be a pleasant ringtone startled me in my restless state. I thought it was my husband calling, but when I picked it up, I saw it was an unfamiliar number. Before

I could think further, a premonition told me it was him. I didn't dare answer. Reason told me that my behavior tonight had already gone too far, and I should forget everything immediately. If I continued, I didn't know what I would become.

The phone rang persistently, but what if it was my husband calling? Maybe my phone was dead. What would he think if I didn't answer? This was a reason even I didn't quite believe, yet it made me want to answer. Reason told me to answer; if it was him, I could tell him I didn't want anything more with him.

The call connected, and his voice, so captivating, came through: "Still awake? Nothing much, just wanted to know if you got home. Hearing your voice is enough. You took so long to answer, you must have been hesitating. Go to sleep, I won't bother you anymore."
The call ended abruptly.

I didn't even get a chance to speak, and I could hardly accept it. I sensed he had something left unsaid, but he hung up. A sense of disappointment rose within me. I don't know why hearing his voice made me want to talk to him; maybe it was loneliness, a desire to have someone to chat with.

I put down the phone, my mind racing, wondering what he was doing, what he hadn't finished saying.

As I got up and put on my nightgown, I took a USB drive from my bag and went to the study. Sitting in the leather chair in front of the computer, the cool leather against my bare skin stirred a feeling within me.

Soon, his descriptions drew me into a completely unfamiliar world of sex. I completely forgot myself and everything around me, my eyes fixed on the flickering screen. When the female protagonist first addressed me as "master," my heart clenched. A suffocating tension, an involuntary heat spreading from my groin throughout my body, overwhelmed me. I was captivated by the female protagonist's experience of pleasure amidst painful whipping and torment. My mind kept asking myself what that feeling was like, especially the mindset of a woman calling a man "master."

I tried to put myself in the female protagonist's shoes, to experience what it felt like to be enslaved. A strong sense of humiliation and shame made my heart race, my body heat up, and an indescribable sexual hunger surged within me.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and grasped my familiar nipple with one hand. Imagining the scene of the female protagonist being tortured, I resolutely squeezed the nipple tightly. Instantly, a searing pain, like being electrocuted, spread from the nipple, and at the same time, I felt my uterus throbbing inside my vagina—an indescribable sensation. As I increased the pressure, I felt the near-orgasm I used to experience during sex with my husband, but much more intense.

Uncontrollably, I grabbed my other nipple, squeezing my tender, sensitive nipple with both hands for about a minute. The tingling pleasure that spread throughout my body instantly overwhelmed all sensation; the orgasm brought me to a state of mild unconsciousness.
Whether it was the tingling from the orgasm that made my hands weak, or the pleasure that delayed the pain, my nipples no longer felt the searing pain, but rather a continuous, lingering pleasure. I savored this comfortable feeling as the orgasm subsided.
When I loosened my fingers, which were a little stiff from squeezing too hard, I realized that I had used almost all my strength to squeeze my nipples. I couldn't help but pull down my collar to check my nipples, which hadn't returned to their original round shape. A strange feeling of self-torture filled me, and it also challenged my moral bottom line.

As my emotions gradually calmed, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I slowly stood up and immediately noticed something unusual about my vulva. Looking down, I saw a pool of viscous liquid where I had just been sitting, and I felt it flowing down my tender thighs. The flow of fluid made me feel hot with shame. I quickly grabbed a cloth and wiped myself clean, thinking to myself how wanton I had become. I had never secreted so much fluid before.

With a woman's characteristic stamina, I cleaned myself up and lay down on the bed, eventually falling asleep from exhaustion.

The next morning, looking at the slightly protruding bags under my eyes in the mirror, a pang of resentment rose within me. If my husband had been there, this wouldn't have happened. A sense of injustice and resentment grew over his absence, but I comforted myself by thinking that if I had done something to betray him, it was only because he wasn't there for me.

Seeing that it was getting late, I hurriedly left. It's almost an unwritten rule that civil servants work less on weekends, and there's a tacit understanding between different groups. Sitting idly at my desk, my thoughts began to wander aimlessly.

His face kept appearing in my mind, followed by the scenes he described and the picture that perfectly captured them.

I tried several times to shake off the racing thoughts, but the more I tried, the more I thought about it. Adding to this, the unfinished story from last night made me almost unable to resist the urge to go home and finish it, yet I regretted not bringing my USB drive so I could watch it on my work computer.

The ringing of the phone brought me back to my senses for a moment. Seeing the number, I instinctively glanced around. Fortunately, everyone was busy with their own things. As I pressed the answer button, I stood up and walked out. Immediately, an unusual sensation in my genitals made me uncomfortable, a dampness as if I were menstruating.

I forced myself to go outside. When his voice reached my ears, I felt an involuntary surge of heat, a fear of being discovered, as if I were truly having an affair. I wondered if I had lost my composure; I felt the ambiguous glances from my colleagues passing by.

"How was it? Did you sleep well last night? I bet not so well. Did those unexpected things scare you?"

His voice was incredibly alluring.

"No, I've never heard of anything like it. It surprised me,"

I replied, unsure how to answer, so I had to be honest.

"I think you can handle it. Okay, let's have dinner together tonight. I'll pick you up,"

he said, and then hung up, giving me no chance to explain. I almost called back, but then I thought better of it. I knew I couldn't refuse him; the end result would be the same—I'd go to his invitation.

I put away my phone, blaming myself for not being strong enough. I wasn't like this before. In the past, my colleagues always said I was quite assertive. A male classmate pursued me back in school, but I didn't accept him; you could even say I was a bit heartless.
How could I have become so submissive? He couldn't compare to my husband in age or looks, yet I couldn't resist his gaze. His eyes made me lose my mind, unable to think. I didn't understand how I had changed.
After calming down, I immediately went to the bathroom. The sticky, slippery fluid inside my underwear filled me with shame. How could I have become so impulsive? I used paper to dry myself as much as possible. After cleaning my underwear and urinating, I wiped my genitals with paper. Even the touch of the paper aroused me. I didn't dare linger, trying to put everything aside and quickly leaving. I was afraid that if I stayed any longer, I would lose control like last night, putting myself in public and using public spaces to restrain my waning self-control.

At dusk, I deliberately dressed myself up, but not too conspicuously. I knew I was sitting like this entirely to gain his approval.

Not far away, I spotted the car he had told me the license plate number. Although my heart was racing, I instinctively glanced around, hoping not to attract too much attention from my colleagues.

After getting in the car, he glanced at me and said as he started driving, "I even tidied myself up a bit."

My heart skipped a beat; he really knew me too well. I didn't say anything, just blushed and looked ahead.

He didn't say anything more to embarrass me. We drove to a well-known seafood restaurant, and led by the waiter, we arrived at a small private room reserved for couples. These days, businesses are so good at attracting customers, especially upscale restaurants like this. Besides those who come on business trips, they often have private rooms for couples—it sounds nice, but they're mostly for lovers.

He took the lead in everything, only asking if I was comfortable with certain things. Actually, working at the tax bureau, being treated to meals by businesses is very common, so I didn't have any dietary restrictions. We barely spoke during the meal, just discussing the freshness of the seafood and the chef's skills. Notably, he ordered a bottle of my favorite red wine.

While waiting for the waiter to pay the bill after dinner, he asked me, "Want to go to a bar?"

I looked up at him, trying to read something in his eyes, but what I got made me feel uneasy. His eyes were very sincere; I couldn't detect any ulterior motives.

"You know, a lot of the bar owners know us,"

I said, not knowing why my subconscious made me say such a reason. The implication was that he wanted to take me to a place where few people knew me. I didn't know why I expected him to take me there—a place where no one knew me. It was as if I had been looking forward to entering his life for a long time.

He said with unusual understanding, "Then let's go to my place. It's the weekend; we can chat more and get to know each other better."

It sounded like something out of a first date after being introduced by a matchmaker.

I was hoping for this outcome, but I was also a little afraid of it. My heart was pounding, and my face felt hot, but thankfully, the red wine I had drunk helped to mask it.

As I got into his car, completely unprepared, he pulled me close, his warm, wet lips covering mine. I tried to struggle, but I couldn't muster any strength, especially when his hands grasped my full breasts outside my shirt. I lost all restraint and passionately welcomed his kiss. After

a while, he released me, looking at me with his captivating eyes. I felt as if I were completely naked before him. Shame made me hot all over, and I lowered my head shyly, avoiding his gaze. He gently lifted my chin so I could look him in the eye. My heart was pounding in my throat, but I knew he wanted me to look at him.

I mustered all my courage and looked at him. His eyes were so deep; I saw a tenderness in them, but even more so, an irresistible authority. His lips moved, and a distant voice reached my ears: "Unbutton your shirt, let me see your breasts."

Instinctive shame and reason made me resist, saying, "No!"

He showed no change in emotion; my reaction was exactly what he expected. His gaze hardened, but he calmly said, "Aren't you ready?"

My heart skipped a beat. His words seemed to tell me that if I wasn't ready, he was ready to end the date immediately. Another instinct told me, "Weren't you looking forward to it? Why are you backing down? Weren't you prepared for tonight's date? You even dressed up for it. Now, in the dark car, you can't even unbutton your shirt. What can you do in bright light?"

I don't know what I did; everything became blurry. I only remember feeling a chill in my chest and saying something.

It wasn't until the car started moving that I regained my senses. Instinctively, I covered my almost exposed breasts with my clothes. He put one arm around me and gently stroked my head. I felt an overwhelming attachment to him and, instead of being forced, leaned against him.

Chapter 3

The car quickly arrived at a newly developed residential area. After turning a few corners, it stopped in front of a relatively secluded two-story building. The security door slowly rose, and I sat up straight. He drove the car into the garage, and the garage door slowly closed.

After getting out of the car, he pointed and led me through a small door in the garage. As soon as I entered, I saw a voluptuous and beautiful middle-aged woman. Her clothing surprised me. She wore a black leather collar around her neck and a wide, almost transparent skirt that was so short that I could almost see the crotch of her legs. She seemed slightly uncomfortable when she saw me, but quickly ignored my presence and said, "Master, you're back,"

as she reached out and took the clothes to hang on the hook.

He calmly said to me, "This is the nanny, Aunt Liu,"

and then introduced me to her, saying, "This is your temporary mistress."

He then led me to sit on the sofa in the spacious living room.

Aunt Liu quickly brought me drinks, then glanced at me with a look of shame, before giving him a respectful look. He nodded slightly, and Aunt Liu left with a helpless yet resolute expression.

I couldn't help but look at him curiously. The fact that he had a woman with him and still wanted me made me a little uncomfortable, a woman's reserve and vanity making me hesitate about whether to leave. I could tell from Aunt Liu that their relationship was unusual, but I was reluctant to leave.
I didn't know whether to stay or leave, and couldn't help but ask with a strong sense of inquiry, "Is Aunt Liu your slave?"

He didn't answer directly, but said in a different tone, "You're different from her. I don't want to say what I hope you become, I just want you to experience it. You're very smart, with strong desires. I believe you'll understand the kind of relationship I hope for."

As he was speaking, Aunt Liu came back, holding a rattan cane about the thickness of a finger in her hands. The cane had clearly been processed, its surface shiny with oil. She walked up to him, knelt down, and said, "Master, this lowly servant has made four mistakes this week. Please punish me."
His face was expressionless, but it had a strong impact on me. I couldn't believe it was like this. In my mind, I only thought that Aunt Liu was just a woman he used to amuse himself. What would I become? Would I one day become like Aunt Liu? Compared to her, I felt I was better than her in every way.

Women can be really strange sometimes, especially in front of men. They always try to appear better than other women present. I didn't even consider how many women he had. I might just be one of his many playmates, but I liked him. So I wasn't bothered by Liu Sao's presence, just a little uncomfortable.

I felt a sense of awe towards him. So many women were attracted to him, which meant he was an excellent man. I looked at him with affectionate eyes, feeling a heat rising in my body. My instinctive modesty made me try to control the growing heat.
"Thirty strokes on the buttocks, ten on each breast, and the extra ten strokes are a reward from the mistress,"

he said confidently and expressionlessly. Liu Sao thanked him obediently, turned around, knelt down, and said to me, "Thank you, mistress."

Then she crawled to the top of the coffee table, put the rattan cane in her mouth, and without hesitation, lifted the hem of her short skirt, which barely covered her buttocks.

A very fair, round, plump, and alluring bottom was exposed to my view. As if by prior arrangement, Aunt Liu chose to be on the side closest to me, which allowed me to clearly see everything she exposed. Only then did I notice a three-finger-wide leather belt between her legs, tightly binding her genitals. I also saw a wire extending from her vagina, connecting to a box in the belt around her waist.

I hadn't noticed it at first because her skirt was loose, and my usual aloofness had prevented me from really looking at her. But now, seeing this was a different visual impact than the red rope binding had given me, and my body began to feel excited and hot. The
beautiful, fair, full, and rounded buttocks before me made me compare them to my own. I felt that I was definitely not as plump, and my buttocks were a bit more perky, without the faint whip marks. I had to admit that I wasn't as fair as her; my skin tone was a creamy color, more in line with the perception of yellow skin.

He removed the cane from her mouth, stroked her hair with his other hand, showing great affection, and kissed her. My heart suddenly skipped a beat; a complex mix of jealousy, anticipation, resentment, and a fear of leaving washed over me.

A rational part of me told me it wasn't too late to leave; I had a loving husband and a relatively warm home; this was a step into an abyss, all of this was perverse, contrary to societal morality, and this distorted relationship was a sign of mental illness.

Another instinctive part of me objected, telling me that while humans have intelligence, they cannot escape their animalistic nature. Using morality as an excuse to cover up and suppress one's instinctive needs is hypocrisy. Different understandings and levels of education create different moral boundaries. Mental health is determined by whether one's emotional outbursts harm others; I was merely pursuing a kind of sex that others desired but were unwilling to try. Animalistic nature cannot be changed by morality.

Just as I was caught in my own internal struggle, the crisp sound of a cane striking flesh and the subsequent scream shattered the balance. When I saw the red welts that instantly appeared on her fair buttocks, and the look in Liu Sao's eyes as she turned to look at him, I felt as if that blow had struck my own buttocks. Imagining that burning sensation made my uterus tremble, and the spasms and itching in my vagina left me powerless.

There was a hint of pain in Liu Sao's eyes, but more than that, there was anticipation. Her eyes told him that she was looking forward to the next blow, and her loving expression made her eyes begin to look blissfully hazy. I couldn't understand her feelings, but I knew that those eyes meant that even if he beat her buttocks raw, Liu Sao would smile through her tears.

He sat on the sofa and gestured for me to sit next to him. I complied without any resistance. He put his left arm around me, gave Liu Sao's tender buttocks another slap, and then whispered in my ear, "Let me touch your breasts,"

while kissing me on the cheek.

I turned to look at him, a strong sense of shame making me shake my head. He pulled my head closer, licking my earlobe with his warm, wet tongue, making every pore on my body open. He said, "Unbutton your clothes and put my hands on your alluring breasts."
This made me even more flustered. Being asked to be naked in front of a third party on my first time was something I couldn't handle at all. My instinctive shame made me let out a soft moan in refusal, but a strange impulse surged within me, a sudden expectation that he would forcibly strip me naked. I couldn't help but say, "Do it yourself."

He continued to lick my earlobe persistently, leaving two red marks on Liu's buttocks. Accompanied by Liu's cries of pain and pleasure, I saw tears welling up in her eyes, but her gaze towards him was still full of obedience and attachment.
"Your behavior has brought you the necessary punishment. In a moment, I will show you the consequences of disobedience. Before the three blows, you must choose whether to obey or leave,"

his words were cold and devoid of emotion, yet his kisses on my cheeks and ears were full of tenderness.

My inherent pride made me want to stand up and leave, but a feeling of defeat made me resentful. I didn't want him to look down on me by leaving. I don't know why, but I cared a lot about his attitude and opinion of me. I was almost in a state of constant tension, with only his hot breath on my face and ears intensifying the itching in my vagina and the surging heat within me.

The suppressed moans of Aunt Liu were starting to grow louder. Subconsciously, as if someone was helping me, I raised my hand and unbuttoned the buttons I had already undone in the car. After the first button was off, the rest were much easier.

When my clothes were open, I grasped his warm hand with a slightly trembling hand, with difficulty but also with a determined look. With one hand holding his hand, I pulled down the bra covering my proud, elastic, snow-white and pink breasts, guiding his hand to place them on them.
When his warm, soft hands covered my already sensitive breasts, I suddenly stopped tense. I exhaled, feeling a huge weight lifted from my shoulders and relax. This psychological relaxation meant I had surrendered myself to him, and the desire that had been burning all afternoon was released. This made my body several times more sensitive. I began to feel his caresses on my breasts, and with his gentle movements, a continuous, tingling sensation spread throughout my body, activating sensitive cells in every spot, and sending waves of pleasure through every nerve in my body.

Just as a sudden, intense pain shot through my nipples, Aunt Liu's cry drowned out my moans. The burning stimulation of my nipples made me feel a wetness in my crotch. I couldn't help but lean against his shoulder, my hands tightly wrapped around his waist.

He pinched the base of my hardened nipples with his thumb and forefinger. This pinching caused me pain, yet it was bearable, unlike the unbearable pinching of hardened nipples. The rubbing and squeezing intensified the stimulation, making my body weak and my legs increasingly hot and wet.

My body felt like it was in a sauna, the rush of blood fueling desire, constantly assaulting those indescribable subconscious desires. I felt a growing urge for his fingers to press harder, a longing for greater stimulation. As if preordained

, just as I was anticipating more stimulation, the whipping ended. I saw Liu Sao gently stroking her swollen buttocks, her eyes blurred with tears as she looked at him. He released me, embraced her, and kissed her hair.

Watching them, I felt a surge of intense jealousy, and wondered if I would become like Liu Sao. Could I do better than her? Could I truly endure all of this? Why did I aspire to be like the woman in that photograph or like Aunt Liu in front of me?

Before I could get any answers, Aunt Liu had already removed her almost transparent short skirt. I saw two full, slightly sagging breasts; the dark green veins were clearly visible through her fair skin. There was a purple mark on her right breast, and her two grape-sized nipples stood erect, reminding me of my own. I immediately felt the tingling sensation from the nipples I had just had pinched.

Aunt Liu knelt down, cupping her two heavy, white breasts in her hands. She glanced at me casually, then looked at him with a determined gaze, as if to say, "Come on, I'm ready."

He didn't immediately strike, but instead reached out and grabbed Aunt Liu's nipples, looking at her, then turning to look at me. Suddenly, I heard Aunt Liu's painful groan. I understood her feelings, which involuntarily reminded me of the stimulation he had given me earlier. I shuddered, a tingling sensation spreading through my vagina, and fluid flowing inside.

He turned his head and released his hands, which, without warning, began to rub against Liu's soft breasts. Immediately, the two white mounds of flesh began to throb. Liu closed her eyes, a look of intense pleasure on her face. The itching from my groin made my body burn, and my legs involuntarily cycled between relaxing and clenching.

When I saw him pick up the rattan cane, preparing to strike, I felt as if I were about to be tortured, and I couldn't help but let out a soft moan—a slight, almost orgasmic fainting sensation emanating from my breasts and vagina. He glanced at me,

and without hesitation, the cane fell on my exposed breasts. It seemed this was the first time he had a good grasp of the situation, making me feel pain without causing resistance or defiance. He quickly struck my white, full breasts with the cane, the continuous blows almost bringing me to a peak. A fleeting moment of resistance instantly transformed into anticipation of orgasm.

Just as I subconsciously hoped he would hit harder, he turned his blows on Aunt Liu. Aunt Liu's piercing scream opened my eyes. I saw Aunt Liu trembling, her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him. When the blows landed on her soft breasts again, she screamed and cried out repeatedly, "Master, Master,"

her eyes pleading.

He gently stroked her breasts, and after she calmed down a bit, he struck her again. Aunt Liu trembled with pain. I knew what I had just endured was nothing compared to what she had suffered. The places where I was hit only began to turn pinkish-red, without any obvious streaks, while Aunt Liu had a bright red mark on each of her breasts that had already begun to bulge.

Finally, it was over. Aunt Liu put her short skirt back on, took the key he had given her, and went to wash herself and rest as he instructed.

Chapter Four:

After Aunt Liu left, he pressed me down and said, "Now I can see how wet you are."

I was momentarily stunned, staring blankly at his moving lips, when I heard his clear voice: "Take off your clothes. If this happens again, the punishment will escalate."

I snapped back to reality, looking into his determined gaze. That gaze told me I had no reason to resist; I could only obey his orders. A feeble resistance welled up inside me, and I took off my shirt. As I tried to stand up, I was surprised to find myself unable to stand. My buttocks lifted off the sofa but quickly fell back down. Feeling my legs weak, I instinctively adjusted myself and stood up again.

At that moment, I had no other thoughts but that he wanted me to undress. A strong sense of shame made me hesitate, but I didn't stop myself from unbuttoning my jeans. Driven by the impulse of intense shame, I finally took off my tight jeans.
The thought of being naked in front of a man other than my husband filled me with extreme shame, a mixture of reason and morality. Instinctively, I squeezed my legs together, shielding myself with my hands to avoid his piercing gaze. I felt my breath catch in my throat, and copious amounts of semen squeezed from my hot labia.

He didn't speak, but naturally reached behind me, hooking his hand onto my trembling buttocks. His firm touch tightened my smooth, sensitive skin. I took a step closer, bringing his face less than a foot from my already vulnerable vulva.

His other hand caressed my smooth, white thigh before resolutely thrusting between my soft, clenched legs. This almost instantly gave me the numbing, weak ecstasy of orgasm, and I involuntarily let out a joyful moan.

Then came an even more intense pleasure. His middle finger was stroking the fabric of my underwear, which was already embedded in my labia, while his index and ring fingers rested naturally on my bulging labia. What shamed me even more was the squelching sound of something moving in and out of the mud. I felt my utterly shameless state was completely exposed to him, and all my former modesty and pride vanished.

He didn't stop because of my extreme shame. He withdrew his fingers from between my hot, wet legs and said, "You are very sensitive. Your potential is even better than I thought. Look at yourself, smell your lewdness."

As he spoke, he placed his fingers on my philtrum.

The scent I'd already smelled suddenly intensified, a strong sourness mixed with a faint fishy odor. I was all too familiar with this smell, especially ever since I saw him at the bar. It had become increasingly intoxicating during my nightly fantasies. I knew all too well how strong this scent was, and I felt an overwhelming shame for my lewdness and lust.

My instinctive restraint made me slightly turn my head to the side. He didn't stop attacking my already unbearable shame, smearing the sticky fluid from his fingers on my philtrum. Instantly, the intoxicating smell seemed to remind me of my lewd nature. I instinctively reached out to wipe it off, but he stopped me by quickly pulling my underwear down to my thighs. I instinctively gasped, trying to grab my falling underwear, but to no avail.

The panties wedged between my labia sent a jolt of electricity through me as they snapped open. My hand stopped midway, the near-orgasmic sensation causing me to moan. My legs buckled, unable to support me any longer, and I let out an uncontrollable gasp: "Oh!"

He timed it perfectly, supporting my hips to prevent me from collapsing completely. Once I straightened up, he lifted one of my legs, and my parted labia could no longer contain the gushing fluids from my vagina.

I tried to close my legs in utter shame, but his strong support prevented me from doing so. My lifted foot landed on the sofa, finally finding support. At the same time, I knew my wanton genitals were completely in his sight—a feeling beyond words.
Feeling ashamed at being exposed to my lewd state, I instinctively covered my genitals with my hands. He gently stroked my smooth thighs, looked up at me, and said, "You're really lewd, preparing to masturbate in front of me on our first time. That's great."

My instinctive attempt to cover myself was interpreted by him as me masturbating in front of him, which made me blurt out without thinking, "No! No!" I

immediately removed my hands from my genitals. As I did so, I realized I had fallen into his trap, and I was now completely caught in a dilemma.

He didn't let me off the hook because of my immense embarrassment; he continued to humiliate my almost collapsing mental state, saying, "What, want me to see your alluring cunt?"

His words pierced through my defenses like bullets.

A surge of desire to abandon everything and passionately indulge in sex, a sense of loss I couldn't resist, a subconscious submissiveness, and an expectation of being conquered made me involuntarily say, "See? I'll show you."

As soon as I finished speaking, my original pride and reserve turned into a feeling of grievance, and tears welled up in my eyes. At the same time, I said in a coquettish tone, "You're bullying me."

He didn't speak, but completely unexpectedly covered my genitals with his warm lips. I had never felt or acted like this before. In the past, when I was with my husband, he had also asked, but I had always refused, saying it was unclean, and therefore I had never performed oral sex on him. Now, my genitals, covered in semen, completely ruined the original beauty, yet he showed no disgust whatsoever.

Before I could even decide whether to stop him, his hot, nimble tongue had completely taken control of me. Waves of pleasure, faster and faster, crashed over me like a tidal wave, making me lose my senses. Any remaining restraint vanished in an instant. I was completely controlled by the tingling, powerless feeling he gave me; my body and soul seemed to separate, everything around me seemed to stop. My whole body trembled from the spasms of my uterus, and the indescribable, out-of-body sensation of orgasm made me forget everything.

When I regained my senses, I realized I had his head pressed tightly against my lower abdomen. A cool liquid trickled down my thighs to my feet. I released him, and he lifted his head from my genitals. When I saw his lips, smeared with my fluids, I had a momentary illusion. A voice in my head told me, "This is your man. Everything you have belongs to this man. You are this man's slave."

A fleeting thought passed, and impulsively, I lowered my head and kissed his lips forcefully, licking the rich, sour taste of his bodily fluids. I held his head tightly, pressing it between my swollen breasts, and trembled as I said, "I love you, I'll do anything for you."
He kissed my breasts alternately, one hand reaching between my legs, his fingers expertly slipping into my wet, slippery vagina. His intrusion quickly brought me to a fever pitch, and I suddenly wondered what his penis would feel like. At the same time, another part of me said sternly: How could you be so shameless, fantasizing about a man's penis behind your husband's back?

Another thought explained, I'm a normal woman, I need sex, my husband is away for long periods, I need the comfort of a man like my husband, it's not my fault.

I contradictorily accepted his probing, feeling the nimble fingers inside my vagina constantly bringing me pleasure. The pleasure slowly gathered, and I didn't know what I would become. I had an indescribable feeling inside me, a strong expectation of something, yet I didn't know what it was.

Images of the twisted flesh bound by red ropes and Liu Sao's plump buttocks marked with bright red welts kept flashing through my mind. Thinking of these things, the heat in my body accelerated, and an intense lust drove me to a frenzy.

As his thumb pressed against my swollen clitoris, I trembled and cried out as if electrocuted. The fingers inside me powerfully stimulated my sensitive genitals, and the accumulating pleasure carried my mind and body to their peak. I felt that numbing moment was about to arrive, and I couldn't help but let out a joyful cry.

Everything happened without warning. Just as I was about to reach my climax, he stopped and said, "Let's wash up and go inside."

Watching him walk towards the bedroom, a sudden emptiness left me at a loss. Extreme restlessness made me want to get dressed and leave.

His almost cold departure left me feeling humiliated, like trash being discarded. My proud nature made me grab my clothes to leave, but the intense feeling of humiliation gave me a slight satisfaction to my latent masochistic desires. At the same time, thinking of that photo and Aunt Liu's whipped buttocks, a surge of heat rose from my vagina.

I don't know what I was thinking, but I actually took my clothes and headed to the bedroom, a thought of "Let's see what you can do to me," even a masochistic expectation that he would humiliate me, while simultaneously telling myself that if he couldn't give me what I wanted, it would end.

Warm water washed over my burning body, washing away the slippery fluid, and my body calmed down a bit, but my mind grew increasingly agitated. The intense expectation and need made me involuntarily reach for my crotch, ostensibly to wash away the still-flowing fluid, even though I knew I shouldn't do this, that it would make me lose control. But my fingers still firmly rubbed my burning vulva.

The tingling sensation throughout my body reignited my desire. Reason told me to lower the water temperature slightly to clear my head. I quickly washed myself, suppressing the itching, knowing I couldn't wear my underwear anymore. As I hesitated about how to leave, the bathroom door opened. Instinctive shame made me hastily cover my private parts, and I felt a surge of disgust at his insolence.

He handed me a dress, still unopened, saying, "Try this on, see if it fits."

Then he left. As I opened the package, I felt incredibly grateful for his thoughtfulness. My initial disgust turned into self-reproach, and I blamed my husband for not being so considerate.

Wearing the emerald green, low-cut silk nightgown, I stood before the fogged mirror, wiping away the condensation with a towel. A beauty I couldn't believe myself was revealed. I immediately felt how perfectly I suited the color emerald green.

The halter-neck dress exposed my rounded shoulders, and the style and color of the dress made the lines of my bare shoulders appear so beautiful. I felt a strong admiration for his aesthetic sense and unique eye, and at the same time, my love for him deepened. A strong desire to be possessed by him made me leave the bathroom. When

he saw me come out, he came up to me, kissed me, and said, "You're so beautiful, wait for me a moment,"

before going back to the bathroom.

I was stunned by his praise. Women care a lot about what men think of them, and a strong sense of vanity makes women crave more praise, especially from men, whose opinions can almost sway their aesthetic preferences. I sat on the soft, wide bed, a glass of red wine on the bedside table, which I knew was for me. I picked it up, took a sip, and then lay down comfortably.

My mind started to wander to his penis again, guessing its size and shape, and anticipating how he would treat me differently than he would treat my husband.

The sexual fantasies aroused my already intense lust, sending waves of heat coursing through my body. The surging blood fueled my desire, and images of a body bound by red ropes, twisted flesh, and Liu Sao's pale buttocks covered in whip marks, along with the chastity belt embedded in my labia, kept flashing in my mind. I began to hope he would be rougher with me.

I kept asking myself, would he be rough? If he really was, could I accept it? How rough could I accept it? The answer was only one: I firmly believed I could accept his sexual style.

When he came out wearing only a pair of shorts, I was immediately drawn to his healthy, strong physique. His well-defined muscles, clearly the result of regular exercise, made me want to throw myself into his arms. I stood up abruptly, my eyes fixed on the place I had been fantasizing and hoping for.

The tight shorts revealed his secret and my suspicions; the high bulge in his crotch fully exposed his masculinity, giving me a dizzying, numbing sensation as I rapidly imagined what it would feel like to be inside me.

He met me, grasping my shoulders and then my trembling hands, placing them on either side of his waist. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. Under his guidance, I slowly pulled down his shorts, and immediately, a startlingly large penis gripped my heart.
Before me was a perfect male genital organ; its erection made the mushroom-shaped glans purplish-red and shiny, with a coronal ridge the thickness of an egg. Along the back of the coronal ridge were countless tiny nerve granules, and the thick, long penis shaft pointed straight upwards, the extremely engorged corpora cavernosa making several blood vessels bulge out.

In the thick thicket of hair, two testicles, detached from his genitals due to the heat, dangled, sliding up and down within his scrotum with his slightly rapid breathing. I felt waves of desire coursing through my body; the rapidly flowing fluids in my vagina, causing an itchy sensation, constantly stimulated my almost uncontrollable lust.

He cupped my head in his hands, pressing his fingers down from behind my head, and slowly pulled my head towards him. At the same time, he slightly thrust his hips forward, his purplish-red glans approaching my lips. I immediately understood his intention, and instinctive restraint made me pull away.

His hands firmly controlled my head, and I looked up at him with a hint of resentment. My mind drifted back to a description of the annual phallus worship ceremony held in Japan, a ceremony that truly embodied humanity's beautiful expectation of procreation, with each totem displaying the subservient worship of men by women.

I began to be controlled by his deep gaze, I began to lose the ability to think, and the image of his penis kept appearing in my mind. I had the idea of taking his penis into my mouth. His explicit suggestion made me more and more submissive, and I felt that I had no power to resist him.

When the smooth, soft yet hard glans touched my lips, which were trembling with tension, my whole body trembled involuntarily, and I opened my mouth and swallowed the egg-like glans. I knew that at this moment I had surrendered, and I had nothing left to resist, because I had never let a man's penis enter my mouth before. I gave my virgin mouth to a man who was not my husband, and this was more exciting to me than the hymen I gave to my husband.

Chapter 5

If what I gave my husband was my virgin body and the right to try life together in the future, then what I gave him at this moment was my whole body and soul.

I didn't know what it tasted like, but it felt like his weapon to completely conquer me. Slowly, under his suggestion and guidance, I began to adapt and try to bring him pleasure with my mouth. I almost fawned over him as I swallowed and spit out his penis.

He released my head, removed the straps from my shoulders, and grabbed my swollen, itchy breasts. I placed my hands on his firm buttocks; the pressure created two indentations on the outer sides of his buttocks, and my hands involuntarily caressed his smooth flesh.

As he continued to play with my full breasts in different ways, my desire became uncontrollable. The intense itching and anticipation made me spit out the glans in my mouth and say, "Come on, I can't take it anymore."

He lifted my chin with his hand, looked at me, and said, "Are you ready? Have you decided to be my sex slave?"

I nodded almost without thinking and said, "Yes."

He slowly pushed me down. Ever since I started giving him oral sex, I had completely betrayed my husband, and there was no obstacle to him entering my body.

He spread my legs, and my short skirt quickly rose to my waist. Instinctive shame made me close my eyes, expecting him to enter me forcefully, but there was no movement. All I saw were his hands roaming over my thighs. The intense itching and lust made me unable to control myself and open my eyes to look.

He knelt between my legs, his gaze fixed on my vulva, which was now completely exposed to him and had become incredibly obscene. Seeing his gaze made my whole body tremble. An overwhelming sense of shame made me feel like a prostitute. But I couldn't control myself and I couldn't stop myself from leaking a lot of semen, making my already obscene vulva even more messy and unbearable.

I became a little nervous and cried out, "Don't look!"

while covering my face with my hands. He continued to stroke my smooth thighs, turning his gaze to my face and saying, "You feel ashamed. Actually, you prefer to be humiliated. Your subconscious has the capacity to endure even greater humiliation, it just hasn't been developed yet."
I was stunned by his words, but moral reason and instinctive restraint made me blurt out, "No."

"Then why do you unconsciously produce a lot of vaginal discharge when you see me looking at your wet genitals? This means you find that my gaze on your genitals has a strong stimulating effect on you. Your subconscious has produced endocrine secretions that arouse your desire. This physiological reaction is beyond your rational control, so you should accept reality naturally, give up the control of reason, and release your repressed emotions. You will achieve unimaginable results,"

he said, staring at me.

In my heart, I still agreed with what he said, but the repression of years of moral education made it quite difficult to let go all at once. "But I can't accept such a erotic gaze all at once. After all, it's a woman's most private place. My inner shame still makes it impossible for me to accept this way immediately." "

I'm struggling agonizingly inside, my reason constantly suppressing the rising desire, while the fire of desire burns away the reason that has become dwindling. Reason keeps shrinking, like tightly bound pieces of paper, the closer to the center, the less likely it is to burn.

" "You are very intelligent and perceptive, therefore you need help. I will help you break free from the shackles that suppress you, using forceful means to unlock the animalistic primal desires that have been imprisoned and self-imposed for so many years. Your hands will unconsciously reach out to cover them, so I will fix them in place. Will you accept that?"

he said tenderly and irresistibly.

I nodded in agreement, and at the same time, the image of me bound and restrained flashed through my mind. He got up and brought out several bundles of emerald green rope. I was instantly excited; this color had already been confirmed by the nightgown he had given me—perfect for my creamy skin.
At his request, I took off the nightgown, put my hands behind my back, and he skillfully tied my hands. Then, he used the excess rope to wrap around my breasts several times, finally connecting it to the rope binding my hands. He pushed me down onto the bed, my hands twisting in pain as they were pressed beneath me.

He gently stroked my breasts, which were squeezed even more prominently by the rope, sending strange sensations through them. He told me to open my bent and closed legs. Looking into his captivating gaze, I forced myself to overcome the sudden surge of intense shame.

Under his forceful blows to my buttocks, I slowly opened my legs wide enough for him to see my disheveled genitals completely. I then closed my legs again, because opening them gave me a numbing sensation of mild orgasm, and some fluid leaked out.

Seeing this, he picked up another rope and said, "It seems your legs are too disobedient."

He then tied my calves to my thighs, pulling the rope back at my knees so my legs couldn't close. After binding them, he lightly slapped my soft, white buttocks a few times with his palm, saying, "Now I'm going to seriously and freely enjoy your genitals. How about it? Are you willing to let your master admire them?"

His words struck me intensely, like pouring oil on my burning lust, instantly burning away the taut paper. Unable to control my collapsing desire, I self-destructively said, "Yes, I can't take it anymore, please."

He watched me writhe helplessly, reaching out to skillfully manipulate my wet, engorged labia, occasionally parting them to expose my vaginal opening. I immediately felt the flowing fluid, the strange itching and sensation of it flowing through my tight anus. I felt like a fish waiting to be slaughtered, only my mouth and heaving abdomen moving.

His humiliation didn't stop. He intentionally or unintentionally scraped at my sticky discharge with his fingers, his fingers clearly kneading my anus as he slid them over it. The tightness of my anus sent a jolt of

pain through me, and I cried out, "No!" He brought the liquid, glistening under the light, close to my face. It smelled sour, and I felt numb, unable to think.

He smeared the sticky discharge on my hardened, sensitive nipples, then slowly penetrated me. His eyes were fixed on me; I couldn't look away. If I closed my eyes, he would slap my incredibly wet vulva, sending an indescribable rush of sensation through

me. He held his fully erect penis, rubbing the smooth glans against my hot, ravaged vulva. The sensitive opening and labia faithfully transmitted the pleasure and the deep itch within. My heart raced, anticipating his powerful penetration, even masochistically hoping for the tearing pain of my first time.

He continued his gratifying rubbing, and I was desperate and helpless.

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[Lost in the joy and pain of sadomasochism] [Author: Bai Chi] [The End]

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