How to Kill the Girl You Love in Four Years (The End)

... 　　Slowly, 　　the guests, gradually recovering from their hangovers, were finally able to embark on their journey home that afternoon.
The 　　main road leading out of the city circled the inner and outer walls. Five li straight from the city's bell and drum towers, 　　the various Han and non-Han men and women in the restaurants, teahouses, and Lanzhou noodle shops were all visible under the midday sun. Naked, dragging iron 　　shackles and hand and foot fetters, Kunlun female slaves slowly walked along the street. Strong Han soldiers, half-naked in 　　their military uniforms, walked slightly behind isolated Black women. The general's guards, wielding 　　ten-foot-long whips that could shatter pottery from nine and a half feet away, were now being used 　　in public to demonstrate the tragic fate of a female adversary who had once resisted the Great Zhou Dynasty 　　. The woman's dark, wide, bare feet bore the weight of straight, regular wooden planks and continuous chains of iron on her ankles. 　　Her arches curled up like dying shellfish. They trembled for a long time, prostrate in the quartz gravel, 　　before finally gathering enough strength to move. The heavy, sturdy soles and heels of the black woman were actually 　　dragging along the coarse gravel, swaying and tumbling like a stone millstone, grinding over the scorching 　　hot road surface. 　　The whip, a foot long, hung from her hand, dragging far across the road. The soldiers escorting the Kunlun female slaves 　　followed their prey leisurely. Walking alone and isolated in the middle of the town's main street, naked, barefoot, sluggish 　　and slow, was exactly what the victorious side hoped to see when punishing their female adversaries. Victory was rich 　　and succulent, worth savoring slowly; the winner could walk easily and casually, chatting and laughing. They waited for 　　a larger, bustling crowd, shoulder to shoulder, of curious onlookers, to gather, and then, 　　under the unified gaze of the masses, to easily and casually inflict pain on the naked woman. The whip tip suddenly leaped, 　　striking like a predatory raptor across the distance from back to front, sweeping across the woman's bare shoulder blades from right to left. 　　Beneath those bones lay her heart. 　　Rega's shoulders, back, and buttocks almost never had a chance to fully heal. Surrounded by two or three deep 　　whip wounds, her flesh swelled and festered, filled with saturated juices and blood. 　　Her veins and arteries, stripped of the skin's protection, were exposed fresh and tender to the sunlight and sandstorm, the light sharp as thorns 　　, the wind painful. And the four ridged leather straps, wielded with all their might by the strong man 　　, each blow exceeding her limit of endurance. The leather, swift as a hoe, dug like a sickle, 　　harvested; her repeatedly injured tendons and fascia, already red and moist, tender and untouchable, were in 　　an instant ripped out and shredded, turning into fluffy, red blossoms flying in the air. 　　It had always been pain, but now it was vomiting. Pain has its limits, but the weight of the whip, like a surging tide, 　　penetrated her shoulders and back, pierced her chest, reaching the very tips of her breasts in an instant. Her nipples 　　stood erect, bouncing in the air—a surging, piercing, searing wave. Reja heard 　　the pair of deep, black, enormous bells on her chest resound with a deep boom, like two solid iron cannonballs shooting 　　out. The wooden yoke she had been bowing her head and covering her chest with her hands was overturned by the impact of her breasts, like a sampan in the waves 　　. The woman let out an uncontrollable animalistic cry. 　　A tall, dark, naked woman hunched over, half-crouching and trembling in the middle of the road. Her internal organs churned 　　, making loud swirling sounds, and streams of yellow, white, red, and green fluid 　　gushed from between her lips and teeth, overflowing half her body. The woman desperately contracted her urethra and anus, but could no longer resist 　　the force of the gushing air; various excrement sprayed and overflowed, covering her legs, feet, front, and back. 　　Walking naked, being beaten naked—this was the game of public humiliation. The naked woman spread 　　her legs wide, step by step pulling at her open vulva. Was it tight or loose? Was it pubic hair or a white 　　vulva? Were her breasts round or flat? Were they large and small, high and low, bulging and standing forward 　　or limp and lying on the ground? No matter how valiant your past exploits may have been, now every snotty-nosed 　　teenager only sees you with tears streaming down your face, snot and phlegm, begging and wailing. The common 　　folk, men and women, young and old, see you drenched in the stench of filth flowing from your mouth and nose, and your 　　yellow, turbid urine dripping down the street. For the next twenty days or so, your breasts and genitals 　　will be the crudest, most vulgar gossip and joke in Lanzhou noodle shops. They'll comment that 　　after twenty years of being penetrated by men, your anus, squeezed between two large, dark mounds of flesh, actually looks rather small and 　　tender, even somewhat amusing and endearing upon closer inspection. 　　Even so, the woman is still forcing herself to straighten her chest. Straightening her bare breasts isn't for 　　pride, but simply to be able to drag her next left foot forward. She tells herself, she must lift her leg… lift her leg. She 　　must begin as soon as possible. But her calf muscles, in their spasms, completely lost control. The woman could already hear 　　the lazy approach of riding boots behind her. 　　The reward for trying to walk was the whipping of your bare shoulders, back, hips, and legs. Until you could no longer walk 　　. Then your naked body would 　　roll, twist, and struggle on the hot gravel in the middle of the road, shackled, handcuffed, and in a wooden cangue. The punishment for not being able to walk was more hands and more whips, more brutal 　　and vicious whipping. Walking naked, being beaten naked, and being beaten even more when you can't walk anymore... This was 　　the second rule of the game of public humiliation. 　　---------------------------------------------------------------------- 　　Eight paragraphs, over 1800 words, just one lash. 　　Writing torture stories basically can't avoid writing about whips. I'm the only one who can write 1800 words about one lash. That's 　　slow. 　　I know many friends will find this passage nonsensical. Yes, writing for fun 　　is inherently nonsensical.

I know some readers might find this passage particularly interesting and passionate, like reading poetry
. That's great.
I didn't initially write about whipping like this, but writing angst inevitably involves it many times. I can't say
how much variety I can create with a few casual lashes, but I've considered
different perspectives and descriptive methods for the more dramatic scenes. For example, the lash Meng Hong received.
"Finding the right spot with the thin tip of the whip is actually quite difficult. I became very accurate later on, all thanks to
practicing on Sister Hong. I could strike squarely between her two lumps of flesh, the leather strap weaving into the crevice, and then
pull it out from underneath. The whip came out red, and after a while, blood seeped up from there,
flowing down her stomach. The way the woman screamed was terrifying, but men really could feel it.
Sister Hong had great core strength; when she struggled, she could twist her upper body, reminding me of that writhing
snake.
Ah Bin watched the whole time, counting off. He said, 'Yes, today we'll whip her in the middle; anything less doesn't count
.' My next strike was against the woman's calf muscles, with force..." It eased up a bit. Ah Bin said, "This doesn't count."
At that moment, there seemed to be no other way but to prepare for the sound first, whether the pain was bearable
or not, it was all up to Sister Hong to deal with. The second time, the leather strap slapped flat against the woman's fleshy mound,
the force pressing down on half of her labia, flattening it, all the way into her cavity. What goes in, comes out
; her urine was sprayed into the air like a fountain, endlessly. It spilled out, fell back down, and flowed all over her
body and face. A bespectacled man next to me was trembling all over. The bosses no longer bothered with
those village girls; they all gathered around here. "
When I finally ran out of new ideas and angles, I was forced to resort to that extravagant Kunlun slave story." What I
mean is, for serious writers, repeating oneself isn't very interesting; it should be done less, and avoided as much as possible.
Slowness is a skill in writing. Writing skills
gradually develop through reading (books), experiencing (life), comprehending (thoughts), and practicing (sentence construction and writing). In forums, I often see casual praise: "The poster's writing
is really good!" Actually, 90% of online forum posts can't be considered good writing at all. Is writing something
like "A daughter's sorrow, a big monkey crawling out of the embroidery room" considered good writing? Laughable. What is good, what is bad? There's almost nothing to say; you can only
slowly ponder and gradually appreciate it yourself. "A big monkey crawling out of the embroidery room" is considered bad.
Writing itself is something that can be intoxicating. Writing stories is a level above plot—that's the sentence.
Honestly, when people meet, the amount of nonsense they can come up with is limited. We
've seen enough of it by the time we're decades old. Writing erotic and sadistic stories to this point, you can make up something like chopping off hands and feet, digging out hearts and lungs to cook and
eat—it's all been done by people. How much more can you stand out? So, go all out and go for the bigger picture, fabricating
all sorts of ultimate conspiracies, horror, and absurdity. Let me just say
this: that's the evil path, it'll drive you crazy. Over the years, I've seen countless writers drive themselves crazy. Let me give you the simplest example. It starts with a rural boy,
fighting and picking up girls, all with some everyday details, seemingly kind and endearing. But as the story grows, it's about conquering the world,
so you fight your way up level by level, the monsters you fight become increasingly powerful, and the women you sleep with become increasingly sophisticated. This exponential
growth quickly spirals out of control. Eventually, you'll encounter Martians, and your protagonist will
represent Earth entirely. Sound satisfying, right?
So satisfying, so cringeworthy.
But let's get back to the point. In previous posts, I've emphasized humanity and human emotions. Writers need to understand women's joys
and sorrows, and to grasp the principles and rules of the world, in order to write stories that are both sincere and realistic. But sincerity and realism
don't preclude the dream of transcendence. Magnificent, wild, magical, psychedelic, and bizarre imaginations are
the other wings that allow a good story to take flight. 　　These buildings, traversing the flat, grassy plains, are pulled by human labor. Before these 　　buildings equipped with enormous wheels, a vast and long array of naked women stretches out, eight naked women side by side forming the facade of their procession. This
heavy 　　but persistent wall of flesh approaching us may 　　be twenty-five feet wide, its depth seemingly endless. 　　… 　　The combined power of hundreds of naked women, harnessed by wooden pillars and ropes, focuses on a single point at the front of the cart. Behind their 　　hunched 　　, heads bowed, disheveled figures, the 　　magnificent palace adorned with reclining Buddhas, eaves, wind chimes, and spires emerges like a mirage through the pervasive mist of the lakeside rainy season. 　　This is an idea. 　　-------------------------------------------------------------------------- 　　That day, the Pearl Coast sailed on the high seas for an entire day, and at night a group of 　　dolphins followed the ship's side. They chased the ship all day without letting it fall behind. They pushed and shoved it, 　　embracing a tiny baby with their flippers. 　　--------------------------------------------------------------------------- 　　This is also a kind of imagination. 　　Good imagination, click here: 　　Intestines, 　　Giant-Winged Old Man, 　　This is what you call imagination. Saving the earth is weak compared to this. Regarding imagination, it's about being unexpected yet reasonable. 　　A childish imagination is the opposite: expected yet unexpected. Expected because I anticipate that any video 　　game kid would think they could dominate the universe someday by being cool, cheating, and using their silver tongue; unexpected 　　because it's really inappropriate that even 500 years after Wei Xiaobao died, this childish imagination hasn't subsided.

Only with boundless, vibrant imagination can one experience an endless, slow-paced life. Ten thousand words are written,
traversing heaven and earth, from one person to all people, from one event to all events, turning it right and left
, from left to right and front to back—a single layer of skin, a single thread, is completed. Moreover, the choice of words and sentence structure is dazzling,
precise, and cunning; sometimes accurate, it's self-evident; sometimes cunning, it's unbelievable. Like clothing, stitch by stitch;
like an onion, layer by layer; like being chased by a dog, somersault by somersault. It makes people stare wide-eyed,
their hearts tremble, unsure of where they are, unsure of the time.
This is called imagination. This is called good sentences, good writing.
Actually, I really don't object to writing about Mars. It's about having ambition. Even if it's just writing about a
sexual encounter with a Martian princess, who looks like a centipede, with antennae, mouthparts, insect compound eyes, an armored body,
a hundred legs, and also happens to have one (or many) woman's vagina. Then you write about
how the male protagonist enters and exits, managing to lull the princess to sleep.
The entire piece is ornate and exaggerated, nauseatingly provocative, using every rhetorical device imaginable—metaphors, parallelism, antithesis, personification, rhetorical questions—
adorned with numerous famous lines from Tang and Song dynasty poetry, full of genuine emotion, a mix of love and hate, tears streaming down his face, a torrent of words
. Ten thousand words.
I truly admire you as a man/woman who can play with words, a man/woman with ambition. Really.
Actually, in all my years in this industry, I've written about a million words, and it's all about pain, over and over again.
Life is painful, so I've stuck to writing only about pain. I used a million words
to write dozens of different female protagonists from a single source of pain, each with their own unique charm. Wouldn't that be considered particularly imaginative?
Playing with words is like entering a demonic path. Words have magic. Whether one can go from demon to Buddha, I don't know. Saying that demon is Buddha is
too simplistic, a bit too light-hearted. But at this point, whether it's evil,
magic, or the radiant light of Buddha, one can shut up and only be aware of the situation.
Part Five
: As a result, Philip sent two soldiers to take me back to Moyan. I was truly disappointed, and I was afraid. Especially afraid
.
My master seemed to be in a good mood. He asked me what I wanted to do to relax since I was on vacation.
I should have said I would leave it to my master, but my tears were already flowing uncontrollably. I cried and
said, "I only beg you not to lock me in the underground cave..."
"Is it very uncomfortable in there?"
It wasn't just uncomfortable. It was extremely, extremely terrifying. I would rather be beaten to death. I just kept
nodding frantically. He stared intently at me. This old man, with just a word, could keep a living
woman stuck in that hole, motionless in her own excrement for six months, or even ten years.
I felt I was about to give in.
In the end, he agreed to let me stay on the ground floor of the villa.
That was a favor, of course. A servant has to pay a price. Every evening, the master would sit in the backyard and have me entertain
him, which required my dance partner. I would start from a kneeling position, holding a python as thick as a hand in
my hand, rubbing it and encouraging it to coil around my arms, thighs, and then my entire body. My own hands
would also touch my entire body, trying to create that
wanton energy that made me unable to resist seeking out men.
To make me look more professional, he would often show me videos of erotic dances and make me imitate them. If
my movements weren't natural enough, or even if my gaze wasn't captivating enough, there was always a group of
soldiers around me, and they would immediately point it out with their whips. Compared to the girls in the videos, I had a slight
advantage: I could improvise and play with the chains on my body, wrapping them around my limbs or swinging them
in circles to enhance the effect.
They even found a dancer from Thailand to coach me. At first, seeing such a monster as me was bound to make her
nervous, but after I promised her more money, she seemed much more normal. I have to admit, seducing men
is an art, and she was an expert in this field. Every gesture she made was like
a cluster of lotus flowers blooming, completely different from a silly girl like me who just figured things out on her own.
Accompanied by the lingering traditional music of the United States, after a few shy, undulating movements with the snake, my ten fingertips
followed the order, ready to manipulate my weathered vulva. I used the delicate
, coquettish techniques I'd just learned to slowly draw some fluid from my little opening. Then I had to grip the python's neck tightly
, using its pointed head to pry open the crevice between my labia. When I felt that area begin to
tremble and stir, I had to exert even more force—a final, determined effort—and forcefully
shove the snake's cool head inside me. Its body was covered in layers of scales,
sliding ridge after ridge along the tender flesh of my vaginal walls… Every hair on my body stood on end, but
I kept my face upturned to the audience, my cheeks creased with a sweet, cloying smile. If
I dared show even the slightest sign of reluctance, I'd be immediately given a good beating. Even after the beating, it would still
be forced in. After a few more beatings, I'd finally learned how to perform a erotic dance with it inside my body. I
would writhe and roll around on the ground, scratching my ears and cheeks, trying my best to look
incredibly excited and seductive. But in reality, for the first ten days, I would act seductive once, get a
good beating, and then have the python stuffed into my stomach, letting it wriggle and slither around inside, a
whole night of this. They said this was to let me get closer to it and get to know my partner's personality.
It wasn't until the next ten days that I slowly recovered. Sometimes I would roll around on the ground with the snake, kicking
my legs, and only manage to get a few slaps after a whole day of practice. That means my various exaggerated movements and
snarling finally matched the rhythm men wanted. When I could twist my waist,
swing my breasts, stomp my feet and spin around, my arms raised high above my head, and that
thing could still flap its big tail between my legs... Back then, I relied solely on the muscles at the vaginal opening.
The power was firmly held within my body. I could even coax it into my anus.
By the way, pythons can smell blood. Usually, before dancing, they would
gently rub a razor into my vagina a few times, and when they let it burrow in, you wouldn't believe how crazy it was.
The Thai dancer sitting to the side was dumbfounded, even though she was a true expert in this entertainment industry.
She unconsciously clutched her chest with both hands, repeatedly cheering for me.
When I was first kidnapped here, Bamo tortured me with snakes. Back then, I would scream as soon as a snake was
lifted up, more effective than a red-hot iron bar. When they put the snake inside me, I had a complete hysterical breakdown
. I never thought that in just over a year I could make this so entertaining. Humans are truly
adaptable animals.
One day before a performance, my master called me upstairs to his bedroom and allowed me to sit in front of his wife Nissan's large teak vanity
. He took out a wooden box about the size of a biscuit tin, saying it was a gift for his prostitute.
I opened the box and knelt down to thank him.
"Do you know where to wear it?"
"This slave knows, Master."
On a deep red velvet cushion sat three golden bells, two slightly smaller, about the size of my little daughter's fist
, and one larger, roughly the size of a Sunkist orange. I picked up a small one and held it flat in my palm; I imagined
it was cast in bronze, heavy and substantial. A stainless steel nail, more than an inch long,
gleamed silver, was attached to the bell's ring. Two rings of sharp barbs were delicately made along the shaft of the nail.
I remained kneeling, lowering my head to cup one of my breasts with my other hand, letting the
mutilated nipple, cracked and bleeding, peek out from between my fingers—my nipples were still there that year. I pressed the gleaming nail tip against
it, gritted my teeth, and thrust downwards with all my might… a tearing pain, like my heart was being ripped apart, shooting down my spine
. I arched my back as if hit by a bullet, my head slamming against the edge of the dressing table in front of me. I trembled
and released my grip.
Gasping for breath, I pleaded with my master, "My hands are too weak. Please, Master, let Bamo help me put it on
!"
"You don't like my things anymore?" "
No, no…no, I like it, I like it." I took another copper bell from the box,
its golden light gleaming in my tear-filled eyes. The
largest remaining bell was attached to a thin horizontal bar, sharpened at both ends and also with small
barbs. This ornament could only be put on by someone else. Several people held down my legs and busied themselves for a while, then
inserted the small steel bar horizontally into the opening of my labia majora, plunging both ends deep into the cleft.
I groaned in pain as I stood up, my legs bent like a bow. The bell hung perfectly upright between my legs
, ringing crisply, seemingly a small decoration covering my private parts.
This is the reward my master bestowed upon me for teaching me the snake dance. Every time I dance for him , I must exert all
my strength, and the little copper bells will shake violently, making a continuous, beautiful sound. I
am a slave woman; my master spares my life so that I will endlessly do what he wants.
No matter how many beatings I endure, how much pain I suffer, no matter how well I manage to perform,
nothing changes. I am still a lowly woman, like a pig or a dog. My master wants to tell me that no matter
how happily the bitch wags her tail, the only reward she can receive from him is eternal pain, and even
more pain.
More than two years have passed since that day, and these three little jingling creatures have been
stuck in my three spots all day long. I have three unhealed wounds in the softest flesh of a woman's body,
and that area hurts a lot when I walk and have sex. Because of the barbs at their base, they cannot
be removed without tearing the entire flesh apart. I endured that for almost a year before Philip and his men finally forced me to pull
the two erections stuck in my breasts out.
During that year, I, this slut, found something new again. The soldiers flipped me over and over
, trying different positions to see what kind of sounds they could make. Every time they reached
my deepest point, they were practically squeezing the spikes through my skin. They knew not to
ram too hard, and they didn't want a brass object pressed against the base of their penises, but they could squeeze, press, and
rub. When they started, those little spikes felt uncomfortable inside my flesh. And then there
I was, pinned beneath them, screaming and crying in waves of pain. It felt like the twisting pain
could contort every muscle in my body into a hard, twisted rope.
With so many tiny nails and thorns stuck in my flesh, and then handing this body over to my brothers to work on, I
would need half a day to recover after each session. I would gently touch my swollen, swollen breasts and the bells
. After some time, the wounds stopped bleeding.
Pressing the nails aside, I could see pinkish fascia peeking out from the flesh, somewhat darkened and dried. Whatever
the reason, perhaps it was the antibiotics they kept giving me, although the holes from the nails never closed
, and I did have a persistent low-grade fever, at least it didn't become inflamed and fester, turning the whole
area into an unmanageable mess.
I spent my third year as a slave to my master, with three small copper bells hanging from my body. I spent most of my
time in Moyan, and sometimes they would take me to Lazhen. Aside from the usual punishments of whipping and masturbation
, the rest of the time was spent endlessly, day and night, providing sexual services to the men on both sides.
That day, I was being done by two bodyguards at the same time; they sandwiched me between them, one using my vagina and the other
my anus. I instinctively cried out loudly, and eventually they all left. A leather shoe
kicked me hard in the stomach, and I looked up to see Achang.
"Get up," he said, holding a pair of handcuffs, "We're going to Lazhen."
Using handcuffs meant a long journey, so I twisted my hands behind my back and let him cuff me, following behind him...
I went into the garage downstairs. He opened the car door for me and then kicked my shin, so I obediently
climbed into the Japanese jeep with my hands behind my back. After struggling to squeeze in, I knelt in the gap between the seats,
which was always my spot on long trips.
The car drove into Lazhen and stopped in front of the district government building. The first place he led me to was the toilet. Achang called
two soldiers to hang me from the water pipe and whipped me in circles. The whip marks were both horizontal and vertical, with a suitable density,
weaving a purplish-red checkered pattern on my naked body, making me look a bit like I was wearing a fishnet
lingerie set.
"Looking at it this way, it's actually quite exciting," he muttered to himself.
He untied my wrists and made me kneel on the ground to listen. Achang told me I had something to do.
"A whore like you, who's read a lot of books, will definitely like to keep a gigolo company."
That was the gist of it. Under the persuasion and enticement of some neighboring countries, country M implemented a so-called
nationwide anti-drug campaign, providing small loans to farmers in traditional poppy-growing areas on the condition that they switch to
legal cash crops.
This campaign has been going on for over a year. As a female slave who frequently accompanies her master, no one
understands the absurdity of the whole thing better than I do. All the funds went into the district government's account—that is, my master's account—
while the local farmers, of course, continued to maintain high enthusiasm for growing
the agricultural products that made them the most money.
Now, a certain anti-drug committee of the government has decided to compile a set of reports and forms to showcase their
achievements over the past year. After spending so much foreign donation, something printed and distributed is necessary
. All government departments operate in this way.
Thus, an official was sent to our remote mountain area to inspect the villages, large
and small, and to count how many hectares were previously planted with poppies and how many hectares had been converted to coffee or corn.
This person has already been staying in the guest room of the district government building for three days.
Whoever he was, he should have just scribbled something in that guest room: "This area originally had 1,000 hectares of narcotics planted
, now it's 800 hectares of corn and another 200 hectares of rice." Or he could have written 10,000 hectares
.
But my master already knew that this guy named Mao Mao was a nobody, a lowly clerk. He was probably
so ignored that no one on the committee told him
what to watch out for when he came to our area. Phil was already being quite polite to him, letting him rest in the area, "We'll have
any numbers you need ready." And Mao Mao was still talking about wanting the area to arrange a car for him so
he could conduct necessary investigations.
This annoyed everyone. The ever-cynical Phil brought me to Lazhen to play a joke on him.
I was kneeling in the kitchen waiting when the cook, Old Ge, joked with me, saying he'd always wanted to try making steamed chicken with my breasts
. I told him my grandmother was too old, and he should go cook his daughter instead.
Old Ge was my master's cook, and he came with us to Lazhen to entertain guests. He was
the only K-city person I met here, and I heard he had worked as a head chef in several restaurants there. He wasn't a thug; he was just
doing it for the money. Sometimes (when I had a rare moment of free time), we would chat casually about the good
food or fun places in K-city.
Old Ge was fat, like many men his age and size. He was also very lecherous, but
a bit rigid. I was the one who taught him how to use a woman's buttocks. After that, he became very fond of it, and he always liked to
pin me down on the raw meat counter and do it to me.
Later, A-Chang came in and said, "Little bitch, bring the tea in." I quickly got up, picked up
the tea tray I had prepared earlier, and went across the corridor to knock on the door opposite.
After three gentle knocks, I pushed open the slightly ajar door. Mao Mao was seated in the main seat by Philip, facing the door.
He was speaking intently to Phila, then glanced at me casually, and naturally, his mouth dropped open,
frozen in shock.
I'd been naked in this place for a long time, and it had been a long time since I'd seen a man react like this to my nakedness
; I almost couldn't help but chuckle. I walked over to him, knelt down beside him, and placed
a cup in his hand to make tea. Then, starting with Phila, they took turns pinching my breasts and legs, and I smiled at them gently and submissively.
Because I had to kneel each time, it was a slow process. But it wasn't until I had finished setting up the four teacups that I heard
that dazed voice ask, "Who...who is she?"
"What, Committee Member Mao Mao, haven't you heard of Su Li? The youngest daughter of the infamous drug dealer Wu Laoguai.
Look at her thighs and buttocks...turn around so Committee Member Mao Mao can see." I turned
my buttocks, which had become much wider over the years, towards him, and then obediently pulled them apart with my hands. My loose
anus was as wide as a sewer drain without a cover; it must have looked quite astonishing.
A minor official from the district sitting next to Committee Member Mao Mao was quite witty. He picked up a chopstick and inserted it straight into my anus. I
hissed and inhaled, moaning softly.
"She used to be a beauty, but not anymore."
"Please, servant..." I turned the chopstick around, used my thumb to lift the lower clitoris, and used my
other fingers to dig in and completely open my labia majora. It was a filthy, garbage-filled mess inside.
"Please, poke this again."
"Look, look, tsk tsk tsk, the meat's all black from pickling. The chef must have just fucked it again."
"Then wash the female slave with liquor. The alcohol's strong kick will be gone in a second."
That would nearly kill me. But if it weren't for the need to torment me every now and then, they probably
wouldn't have spared my life.
Luckily, Committee Member Mao Mao was already groaning beside me. "Forget it, our Committee Member is worldly-wise.
What's your rotten hole? Who wants to poke it? Go on, go on, go pour the tea."
Old Wu was a real person, who died a few years ago in a war with my master. His daughter was also a real
person; my master kidnapped her from Tokyo to eliminate any potential threats. Nobody told me.
How she died, or even if she's still alive somewhere. It's just that while the soldiers are torturing me,
someone will say, "When we cut open Suli's stomach and ate her liver, she screamed even more pitifully than you."
"Drink tea, good tea. You can't get tea this good outside," Phila said.
"Suli is a brave and good girl. She regrets the suffering her deceased father caused the local people
and is determined to atone for her family's sins through this self-torture. She has sworn a poisonous oath to
spend the rest of her life wearing these chains and naked. She cries and begs us to beat her every day. Is that right, Suli?"
"Yes, yes, Deputy District Chief, that's exactly it," I replied, feigning remorse. Although this role-playing prank is on me, I still want to laugh. Such 　　amusing things are rare
in these years of slavery . 　　"Actually, it doesn't have to be like this, it doesn't have to be like this," Phila shook his head with pity. I stood close to Mao 　　Mao, refilling his tea and then pouring wine for them, all the while carefully shaking the small bells on my body, making them flutter from side to side. 　　Looking down at my bulging trousers, I knew Mao Mao's reaction was quite something. 　　My tall, naked body was eventually tanned a uniform dark brown by the tropical sun; my large, 　　heavy breasts hung like ripe fruits from my thin, bony chest, and my long, black hair 　　cascaded down to my buttocks. There were also thick, interlocking chains wrapped around my neck, hands, waist, and feet, 　　plus a body covered in tangled, jagged scars. This kind of savage stimulation 　　could only be found deep within the US, a land of bandits, thieves, drug lords, and tyrants. 　　I had finally transformed from a refined office girl into this bandit woman. As for Phila and 　　the others, I had long since stopped caring about my appearance. It wasn't until I met a new man 　　that I saw myself again from a different perspective, through his eyes. 　　After drinking too much, I turned to face our committee member, Mao Mao. The alcohol 　　was practically poured into the copper bell I was holding up, and I climbed on top of him, pouring it into his mouth. 　　Even after it was full, the day wasn't over. The group dragged Mao Mao back to the guest room, both supporting and carrying him. 　　I fed him water, painstakingly undressed him, and then knelt obediently by the bed. However, it wasn't until quite 　　some time after daybreak that he groggily opened his eyes, then stared blankly for a while. I lifted the blanket and took his penis into my mouth 　　. 　　"You'll definitely want to pee, won't you, Committee Member Mao Mao?" His soft thing filled my mouth, and I whimpered 　　, "Just pee in my little slave sister's mouth." 　　He jumped up from the bed like a rabbit in fright. 　　Of course, my master and Phil weren't planning to use me, a bruised and battered slave, to seduce him; it 　　was just a joke. Since this fool wanted to act up, I'd find someone to keep him entertained. The district government then 　　officially appointed me to assist Committee Member Mao Mao with his statistical work. 　　I can drive, so I drove for Mao Mao, with Xiao Xu and a bodyguard accompanying him. It had been three years since I'd been in 　　the driver's seat, and I dragged a bunch of chains as I climbed in. The warm, patterned leather seats rubbed against my 　　bare buttocks and back, feeling surprisingly comfortable. I gripped the steering wheel and 　　tested the clutch and accelerator with my bare feet, feeling a mix of emotions. 　　Mao Mao, carrying a ridiculously small bag, climbed into the back seat of the jeep. Xiao Xu sat in the passenger seat and closed the door. He 　　handed me something, saying, "Naked Sister, find a place to put this." 　　Scaring Mao Mao was fun; they had already agreed to beat me up the whole way, leaving me 　　a bloody mess, which would surely scare the committee member half to death. But just looking at the prop in my hand made 　　me shudder. It was a rarely used steel wire whip, nine thin strings twisted together as 　　the tip, inserted into a wooden handle. It wouldn't be fun to use it on someone. I wrapped the steel wire 　　tip around the handle, leaving the tip as a tightening knot. It looked pretty neat; now it was time to spread her legs 　　, open her vagina, and, after removing the bell, I brazenly inserted it, handle and all, into her vagina. 　　It was quite rough and solid, pushing its way in all the way, the coiled steel wire even had its own spiral. I could handle a thicker one, but 　　it was also long. The back half of the handle was blocking the way, preventing it from going in. This thing dangled between my legs, 　　at a slightly outward angle; what could it possibly look like, so straight and clumsy? 　　It was pressing against me so leisurely from below, I could only straighten my upper body, my buttocks barely 　　touching the edge of the leather seat. I dared not lean back comfortably. With a click, I started the engine, then 　　released my left foot, and the car roared forward. With each movement, that thing rubbed against my flesh inside, itchy and numb 　　. Okay, I'll just consider it a consolation prize—solid yet rubbing against me. 　　The car window was open, and a cool breeze swept past my swaying breasts. Having a big truck to drive on, at least 　　it can keep out some of the wind... maybe it's not so bad? Let's go, let's go, we're heading towards Sannoh now. 　　At each village, Mao Mao insisted on meeting their chieftain. He had a list of questions, the first being: 　　what did the village grow in the past? Then, the second: what does the village grow now? 　　The old man who came out would solemnly tell him, firstly, our village used to grow opium, but 　　thanks to the district chief's earnest persuasion, we evolved to the second: now, our village truly 　　only grows coffee. 　　The idiot committee member turned back with a sense of accomplishment, the first thing he saw was me, who had just stumbled towards him. I had just 　　staggered to my third step when this step landed headfirst, feet first, bottom in the air, and then I fell 　　flat on my face with a thud, my forehead hitting the tip of his leather shoe. 　　That's because Xiao Xu was about to make me lie down. The guys usually don't like 　　to talk when they want me to do something; they just kick me. My butt got hit by his kick, and before I could even adjust, 　　I fell headfirst into the grass. Needless to say, that damn whip handle was still sticking out. It twisted on the outside and 　　ripped out on the inside—it really felt like a knife. I immediately clutched my stomach and rolled around on the ground.

"Old Manle, haven't seen our little bitch in a while, huh? Want to mess with her? Relax, relax, let's have some fun
."
After such encouragement, the old chieftain Manle's bitter face did indeed show a bit of vitality.
"Go, go, crawl behind the car." He beckoned to a naked woman like he was herding a hen
. While doing so, he kept glancing back at the village.
A group of men were huddled behind the Japanese jeep, relentlessly fucking me, all of them drenched in sweat. Old Manle
probably had some self-awareness; he first stripped naked and sat on a rock, looking at our group
for a while before his penis even showed any interest. By then, my stomach had gotten a little better.
I grabbed a clump of wild grass, arching my backside and thrusting my hips upwards, working on the little thing inside me, while stealing
glances at Old Manle. The old man got a little impatient and started using his hands to help. Little Xu was truly understanding. He
pulled himself out and said, "You little bitch, go help our old clan chief."
I crawled over on my knees, picking up the whip handle that Little Xu had tossed aside. The old
man was completely useless; he'd definitely need sex toys then. I knelt before Old Manler, smiling at him,
and then, in a particularly seductive manner, I spread my legs again, spread my vulva, and after removing the bell, I inserted it, handle and
all, for him to see.
My thin, bony hands, bound by heavy iron shackles, gripped Old Manler's shrunken, dry foreskin, sliding
up and down for ages. My little wrists ached terribly, but he still wasn't doing much. I
cursed inwardly, but I still had to go for it.
After taking him in my mouth, I used my teeth to nibble at his glans. My teeth moved down in tiny, sharp steps, all the
way to his bumpy base. At this point, my entire tongue pressed his penis firmly against my palate,
swallowing saliva like I was drinking cola, making smacking noises. After a couple of rounds, he
seemed to feel much better. I grabbed his free hand and stuffed it between my legs, where
the whip, which was halfway in, was held. Even if he was stupid, he should know to grab the wooden handle inside, right?
"Pull it out a little... mmm... pull it out a little, oh... the little slave's little pussy
loves the chieftain's big stick the most... thrust, thrust, mmm, use some force to thrust the little pussy, big stick
..." My completely naked body swirled around his big stick, a truly intricate and varied
motion.
My mouth was still full of his penis. I looked up at him from below, my eyes flashing, as I
slowly pulled my lips back. His member had finally grown bigger, and I figured
it was time to retreat. My plan was to let him go, leave him hanging for a while. He might be impatient, but I wasn't
. I could leisurely lick his stomach, then slowly lick his chest
, and then ask him if he wanted to ejaculate in my mouth or inside me.
But plans don't always go as expected. To my utter surprise, his penis had barely left my lips when it started
twitching wildly under my eyelashes. Then, a large gush of white fluid suddenly gushed from that little opening.
My mind went blank; it felt like something terrible had happened. Apparently, most men don't like empty mouths;
they usually talk about ejaculation inside or something like that. A woman's flesh is warm and moist, offering comfort and companionship;
being away from home makes life feel incredibly empty. I've gotten into similar trouble in the military, usually
ending up getting beaten up by the soldiers, who wouldn't stop until they'd practically killed me. But then again
, sometimes some brothers would specifically ask me to do it all with my hands, straight through, and
that would be it. And, just between you and me, some even wanted me to use my feet to rub it.
In short, I was captured specifically for this job; I'm the lowest, most despicable
sex slave. If they're even slightly unhappy, it's always my fault.
I pounced and took his second wave into my mouth; there should have been a third… but no, this
old geezer went limp like a dead worm in the blink of an eye. I could only lick his flesh up and down to buy
time, while Xiao Xu burst into laughter. "Get up, sister, give me the things."
This was probably just a little game for them, but it wasn't for me. For a
female slave like me, who owed her master a blood feud, all roads led to the whip, and in the end, the only result was always a good beating.
"This female slave deserves to die, this female slave is useless, I beg Uncle Xu to punish me."
He planned to hit my back and buttocks first. I found a tree, knelt down, stretched out my arms and hugged the trunk,
pressing my forehead tightly against it. The thin steel whip only made a "whoosh" sound when it struck my buttocks, but the pain was excruciating.
"Ouch, my god!" I cried out after the second strike.
"Tell me why you're being whipped?"
"Mama...this servant girl did something wrong! This servant girl's filthy mouth shouldn't have spat out Master Manle's penis!"
"Should you?"
"No! Oh dear, you've beaten this servant girl to death...this servant girl will never dare to do it again..."
"Won't dare to what, naked-bottomed sister?"
"Oh...this servant girl won't dare to spit out his penis anymore, not even a little bit...oh dear..."
I don't know how long I endured it before I finally heard someone call me to get up. Standing up and opening my eyes,
the first thing I saw was Mao Mao's terrified face. The second thing I saw was a large, sticky mass
of flesh at my feet. Just a few minutes ago, this stuff was part of my buttocks. My entire back felt like it was on fire; I
didn't even dare to touch it.
I struggled to walk, twisting my legs, and everyone climbed back into the car. Xiao Xu's fingers casually
slipped under my labia, stirring them intermittently: "Let's warm you up first. We'll drive for half an hour
, then we'll stop and give you a second round."
He stirred me while trembling as he lifted the clutch. Then, seeing him nod at the instrument panel,
I slammed on the brakes and climbed out of the car.
This time, he just slapped my breasts back and forth. I steeled myself, opened my eyes wide, and stared intently. Seeing...
The wire pierced a centimeter deep into my breast, then with a "whoosh," a string of blood droplets shot out horizontally, fluttering and scattering
onto the flesh of my ribs. The sight was truly frightening. The little bell fluttered like butterfly wings
, and after seven or eight lashes, the surface of my breast was completely torn off. The wire fell again, cutting directly into the tender,
red flesh beneath the wound. At that moment, I howled like a dog… Who knows how much strength I used?
The whip, slicing down both ways, made an X on my breast. The flesh in the middle of the X split into
triangles, and with another lash from the wire, each piece of flesh was first torn into strips, then flipped over, and then whipped again at its root
. This small piece of flesh was completely airborne; the skin and flesh were severed, but the tendons were not. A pile of flesh, clinging to
a few blue veins and small blood vessels, dangled and swayed under my nipples.
By the fourth lash, they would truly be gone with the wind. The whip's blossom swirled and circled, scattering along
with a pile of red, bloody flesh fragments. They could fall into the wild grass two meters away. And
somewhere on the other side of my breast, more skin and chunks of flesh were already dripping and scattering.
"There has to be a third one," Xiao Xu announced, "The third time we'll whip my sister's skinny ribs raw."
Only then would his slave sister truly become a bloody mess. After that, I'd go deal with
the next village chief. This time, I obediently and wholeheartedly used my mouth to get him out, swallowing
and licking it greedily, making sure not a drop leaked out.
That day, I finally made it back to the district government, my whole body covered in dried blood and bits of flesh.
I begged Mao Mao to let me use the bathroom in his suite. As soon as I entered, I collapsed, my whole body went limp, and
I lay on the tiled floor and cried my heart out. Tonight, they still want me to play with Mao Mao, otherwise
they'll just call me to the barracks like this, and I don't know what those soldiers will do to me.
I cried as much as I wanted. A woman, after crying, still has to clean herself up. I filled the bathtub with warm water and very gently and
slowly washed the festering wounds on my body. I pinched the strips of flesh that were too cracked to be glued back together, and
with a determined bite and a scream, I tore them off. After an hour of cleaning, I
casually walked out to scare Mao Mao. My body, covered in cracks soaked in water, looked white and tender, like many
open little mouths, oozing yellowish fluid at the slightest touch.
When Mao Mao finished washing, I had already prepared a pot of tea for him. I spread all his clumsy reports on the chair
and knelt down to fill in the numbers. Everyone says girls have an advantage in language learning. I've lived here for
several years and even taught at Lizhi Middle School, so my Mandarin listening and speaking skills are passable. Doing something like this in Mandarin is so-so
.
The committee member looked restless, constantly staring at me. Of course, he couldn't believe those lies about Su Li;
that would be too stupid. But the whole situation was too bizarre, and he couldn't make sense of it.
Finally, he cautiously asked me, "Are you really Su Li?"
"Yes, yes, the female slave is Su Li."
"Did you really do this willingly?"
"The female slave's father is a bad person, and the female slave is willing to be beaten and fucked by everyone."
"Look, your investigation records for today are all done. Let the female slave take off your pants."
This time, he obediently let me strip him naked. Later, he mumbled, "Su... Su Li,
could you... go and rest? Let me... let me... sleep alone."
"This slave knows you hate the daughter of a drug dealer. If you want me to leave, I'll have to go to the army camp and beg the brothers
to fuck me. They're all so fierce, they'll beat me badly. Just let me stay with you tonight."
I hugged his thin buttocks tightly, already having his scrotum in my mouth.
He slumped towards the head of the bed. "Su Li, Su Li... then... then... use your lower body
."
"Committee member, committee member, Su Li's whole body is bruised and battered, how can I let you climb onto this slave's
broken body?..."
The next day was the same. As soon as the car drove outside, Xiao Xu and the others dragged me out and beat me mercilessly. The
craziest time was when they tied my two thumbs together and dragged me behind the car for a good fifty meters. My
body was never quite intact to begin with, and now it was even more riddled with small, sharp stones
and coarse sand embedded in my flesh and blood. Well, I guess it was like a glutinous rice cake that had been rolled in a pile of sesame seeds.
That evening, I took a big needle and knelt in front of Mao Mao, groaning and calling for my mother,
picking out the stones one by one while constantly nagging him, "Uncle Xu is really kind; two days have passed, and he
hasn't even had the heart to spank this slave's rotten cunt yet. Mao Mao, do you want to give it a try?" Later, I knelt down and stuck my rotten butt
out for him, "Please help this slave sister get the stones out of here."
From then on, Mao Mao never mentioned going to the village to check the numbers again. For the next whole week, I just stayed with him
in the guest room, making up numbers and filling them into the forms. People learn to be lazy easily; after two days, he made
me do all the work. He'd go for a walk out of boredom, then come back and muster the courage to have sex with me once or twice
. Usually, he'd thrust in and out thirteen or fourteen times until it was all over the place. Looking back now, although
I got a few beatings, compared to the work I usually did for the soldiers, those days with Committee Member Mao Mao
were a rare moment of relaxation.
After Mao Mao left, the master took a liking to this kind of play. When entertaining friends, he'd call me out and make me kneel to the side, telling them I was Wu Laoguai's daughter, Su Li. 　　He found it amusing
to see everyone's surprised expressions . 　　While they chatted, I'd help them pour tea and so on. During meals, he'd make me do a snake 　　dance in the living room. Sometimes, the master would put on a show, bringing in a folk band from hundreds of kilometers away to play melodious Nanyin music, accompanying 　　me as I twisted and turned naked with a python. Since I was now a servant at the banquet, I had to twist 　　my waist while keeping an eye on the other side of the table, refilling anyone's empty cup. 　　Most of the guests from the mountains didn't care about small animals like rats and worms, so I quite boldly used my vagina to clamp down on that thing.

My head. Its long tail dangled out of my crotch, coiling around my entire body and thrashing about for ages, unable to break free.
How much muscle strength do I need for that move? Even the masters of Thailand have praised it.
I knelt beside the guests, pouring them drinks with the thrashing snake, thinking to myself, "Hmph, if Mao Mao
saw this scene, she'd be in for a world of trouble."
We chatted, drank, and ate slowly. They weren't Mao Mao; they didn't take me seriously at all. Nobody thought
to tell me to stop, and I wouldn't dare stop myself even if you beat me to death. Dragging a big snake around and wiggling your butt—
it's amusing if you do it for seven or eight minutes, it's lewd if you do it for half an hour, but if I've wiggled for the whole afternoon, well
… even my own mother wouldn't recognize me. I was just lying on the ground, arching my backside and lifting my buttocks
. I had to free one hand to tightly cover my vagina; the thing inside was already restless and just wanted
to get out, and it might escape at any moment. My hands and feet were weak and numb, and I was so dizzy that I couldn't see clearly. At this moment,
someone finally spoke to me, "Go, let my brothers have a go!"
The guests who came that day were Ni Xiang's brother, and he brought a few villagers with him. They lived in a remote
mountainous area further north. It seems that a long time ago, my master had been hiding there
for a long time when he was being chased. It was probably Ni Xiang's family that took him in, and these friends were the villagers from that village; they
had saved his life.
With a headache and nausea, I forced a fawning smile, hugged the buttocks pressing down on me
, and I think I kept muttering to that man how big he was, how good he was, and how much he enjoyed fucking the female
slave. But even I sounded like I was crying. Later, while I was licking their dicks,
I fell asleep between the thighs of two men.
I wasn't fully awake when they flipped me over. One foot pressed down on my ribs,
twisting them violently left and right. I screamed like my mother had died, as if the bones on both sides of my stomach
were breaking into pieces.
And I couldn't breathe at all, "Ugh...ugh..." I said.
A man squatted down in front of me. I thought he was going to fuck me, but no. His
big, strong hands, like millstones, pressed down on my thin ribs and rubbed them hard... My head and feet
shrank back into my body like a ball. He rubbed again, and I convulsed again.
My master stared at me with disgust, then suddenly laughed: "Big brother, take her over there.
Your adopted brother, Kerry, is still digging for gold, right? Let her go there to relax, and it would be best to just
kill her there, so I don't get angry seeing her again."
From the very beginning until now, I haven't mentioned how my master himself has been with me. It did happen, but
not often, and he's actually... a bit weaker. Compared to his age, his
abilities in this area may have declined a little earlier. The rumor circulating in the guardhouse is that over the years he's only
ever used my body. Now, I rely entirely on my lips and tongue, on experience, to work hard for half a day to get him
to produce even a little bit. Everyone knows that now, my mouth is much tighter than my vagina. Things have come to this
point, and Ni Xiang, who stays in the villa with my master, definitely won't like me. Nixiang was the master's youngest wife.
She was actually timid but kind-hearted. She had witnessed firsthand how the master had abused me year after year
, perhaps out of fear of the increasingly uncontrollable brutality.
They began to argue constantly. Although my master was ruthless, he was still a man
, and soon he became as irritable as any ordinary man. I think that's what caused today's events.
Several burly men dragged me from the ground, tied my hands behind my back, and shoved me into the back of a beat-up farm vehicle. The vehicle
started and drove north-southwest along a country dirt road for a day and a night. All I could see were vast,
dark gray mountains with exposed rocks. After another day and night of climbing over the mountains, we came to a small cluster
of houses built of piled-up stones—this must be Nixiang's family home. I was thrown into a side room,
half of which was piled high with large pieces of firewood, and the other half with a broken stone mill. I sat on the ground with my back against the millstone, waiting.
Sometimes someone would come in and stare blankly at me, and I would stare back blankly. Then they would come up and force me onto the millstone, and
have sex with me for a while. No one said a word the whole time.
The most vivid memory from those days was that it was much colder here than down the mountain. The icy, dry mountain wind
howled in through the high back window, ravaging my naked body, which had no cover whatsoever. By midnight, it was unbearably
cold.
Perhaps a month passed like this. One day, they said Keli had come down the mountain. Several people pulled me out, made me
carry a large bag of corn, and followed some mountain people a long way into the mountains. Our destination was a small gold mine hidden deep in a canyon. Beyond a large expanse of lead-gray gravel riverbed, a turbulent, 　　dark river
flowed . 　　Two wooden-framed shacks stood there, and a bottomless tunnel slanted down into the riverbed. The naked men, 　　their muscles taut and blood surging, dragged huge bamboo baskets filled with river sand out of the mine entrance, squatting down to 　　catch their breath. 　　Near the water, in another spot where small gold nuggets were being panned from the sand, several other men were busy at work. 　　I'd been working here for almost a year. They beat me, but didn't kill me. Perhaps it was because out of 　　the twenty-odd men digging for gold here, I was one of only two women, and they needed me. 　　Another woman, a Kazakh woman in her thirties, older than me and not pretty, was very robust. 　　All the men working in the mine, plus the two of us, were completely naked, as if they'd just been born 　　. Dirty yellow mud flowed down the tunnel ceiling through the cracks in the wooden supports, and the accumulated mud on the ground 　　was ankle-deep; anyone foolish enough to wear clothes would quickly rot into wet, mushy pieces. The river sand in the bamboo basket 　　was dripping wet, heavy like a pile of dead bodies, and a thick rope was looped around my thin, bare shoulders. Dragging 　　it behind me, I had to use all my strength to crawl forward a single step. Each person had a battery-powered lamp in their mouth— 　　the only somewhat modern device in the mine—and we struggled back and forth in the muddy water.

Everyone else worked for wages; for each basket of sand they hauled, they received a small bamboo
tally, which the mine owner used to keep track of their earnings at night. But I didn't need tallies or wages. The only way to get me to work harder was through beatings.
In the narrow tunnels, it was impossible to watch me all day. The mine owner's method was to calculate my
workload at the end of the day, comparing the number of baskets I hauled to the highest number hauled that day. For every basket less, I was whipped three times
.
This was essentially forcing me to be the strongest laborer every single day. I couldn't possibly do it, so I
was beaten every day. And the whips here weren't the tanned cowhide the master used to punish me with; those whips usually
only left bruises and welts. Perhaps due to the rugged nature of the mountain people, the whips used in the mine were made of raw hide,
with a square cross-section and sharp edges. The mine owner, Keli, said they were for thieves who stole gold dust.
At night, bonfires were lit, and by the end of the day, even the strongest men were lying sprawled on the ground. The mine owner told
me I had four fewer baskets than Meng Kun today, so I deserved twelve lashes.
Meng Kun's chest was twice as wide as mine, and he wasn't wearing chains or
that awkward, cumbersome brass bell hanging from his crotch.
I stood up unsteadily, my muscles aching all over, my legs feeling like they were walking on cotton. I struggled
forward, sometimes crawling on all fours. I managed to move to a wooden stake
in front of me, hugged it, and had my hands tied to the other end. If I was whipped on the front yesterday, today it would be on the back
. The man whipping me didn't really swing his arm much; the sharp edge of his raw leather, like a knife, sliced into the flesh of my buttocks in a flash
, then he pulled it out, blood and flesh. The order of lashes was my calves,
back, and thin shoulders. If he really put in the effort, he could tear the skin off my back in one go,
exposing my entire white shoulder blade.
After only ten days of this, I was exhausted and lay motionless in the shack. The mine owner only needed to multiply
the amount of ore others had hauled out by three, whip me for three more days, and he could fulfill his friend's request.
But then someone would whisper to the boss, "Spare her life, the little girl is pitiful,"
or implying it was a waste to beat her to death for nothing, it would be better to keep her for fun. The burly men pitied
me and fed me hot soup. Although the mine owner, Keli, said harshly, "I don't want to do this either, this is what my
sworn brother asked me to do," he was much gentler when whipping me, and later quietly
changed the whip to a pine branch. Two months later, everyone stopped mentioning the labor competition.
We were all crammed into a small wooden shack, each person spreading out their small bedding, more than twenty
tattered quilts laid out in two rows. The Keli woman who had lived with everyone before I arrived was, of course, the same when I arrived
. I didn't bring much luggage. If we were down in the mountains, even sleeping outdoors wouldn't have scared me, but
here, a layer of frost would form on the ground after one night. Every day, after a symbolic pause under the tree branches, I'd climb
into the shed, grab a blanket, and crawl in. The guy inside would mutter to himself, and I'd
press my naked body against him and touch him, and he'd quiet down. The two of us would squeeze under one thing for the night.
Don't think that's how it is that night; soon a third, a fourth, a fifth, or even a sixth would
grope their way in in the dark, or simply drag me out of the blankets if the guy I slept with
complained too much. Honestly, I was so tired that by the time they limply pulled their things out and
rustled away, I couldn't even tell who they were.
The mine owner, Keli, slept in another wooden shed, which was just as dirty and dilapidated as ours.
Sometimes he'd sit at the door smoking, cough, and say, "Ah Qing," and I'd just say "Hey" and walk over.
So everyone knew I wouldn't die here anytime soon.
There's really not much more to say about the gold mine. We'd crawl into the mine
shafts on all fours while the morning star was still shining, then it was mud, yellow sand, and those big bamboo baskets. Everyone was biting their lips, crawling, crawling,
crawling for their lives. When we came out of the mine at night, it was a sky full of stars again. At most, we'd go to the river to bathe, and everyone
would eat dinner naked in several circles. If I hadn't mentioned it earlier, actually, not only in the mine shafts, but here, except
for Keli wearing a pair of shorts and sometimes a wrinkled advertising t-shirt from who-knows-where
, nobody wore anything all year round. Everyone walked around naked. A little thought reveals
that it was a completely unnecessary problem; within dozens of miles, only our mine existed, and no outsiders ever came. Besides
, the mountain people really could withstand the cold. I'm starting to like this place; here, I feel like everyone else.
The most absurd thing that happened to me in the gold mine was that Meng Kun wanted to marry me. As winter approached,
he went to the mine owner and said he was willing to forgo his entire year's wages, asking for his permission for this strange idea.
Keli's attitude was noncommittal. "Alright, alright, tell her she doesn't need to go down the mine anymore, go cook for everyone,"
he finally said.
So I went to cook. I climbed up the hillside, chopped a bundle of firewood, and carried it down. I stepped across the gravel on the riverbank to fetch
water, and also to wash some clothes for Keli; he was the only one here who still needed clothes washed. I walked until
the river water reached above my calves and squatted down. The river was filled with melted snow from a distant glacier, icy
cold, making even my well-trained bare feet cramp.
At that time, no one in the mine cared about me anymore; I could run wild in the mountains. Keli and the others might not be able to find me,
but this place was far from civilization, and I would definitely starve to death in the wilderness. The important thing was that I could die; I only
needed to rush a few steps into the middle of the river to be swept to the bottom by the waves. But my situation was improving;
we—me, Meng Kun, and the gold mine owner, Keli—all felt that Qingqing and that group of
drug dealers hundreds of kilometers away would never have anything to do with each other again. Meng Kun and I even discussed whether we should use a saw to remove the
shackles on my body.
I looked at my haggard face and a clump of disheveled hair floating on the water. Ironically
, I had always wanted to grow my hair long in K City, but I had never managed to. I wanted Meng Kun to make me a...
In a wooden hut, I cooked for him and sewed him clothes. This was probably the best possible
outcome Lin Qingqing could hope for right now.
Another equally absurd thing was that I was pregnant again. Interestingly, even then,
Meng Kun didn't stop others from having sex with me; he knew he didn't have that right yet. I still
squeezed into the small wooden hut with everyone else. He went first, very enthusiastically, then squatted to the side, silently watching everyone else. Because
of morning sickness, I went outside to vomit and came back to tell the men I was cold. Meng Kun, covered in sweat,
covered my buttocks with his large hands, pulling me tightly against his broad chest. My
fingers, now as dark and rough as his, idly played with his hairy testicles and large penis. Another
guy lying behind me kept touching my bare back.
One day, I squatted in front of the stone stove, tending the fire, idly swaying and listening to the little bell ring. I looked up abruptly
and saw three men with guns on their backs standing in front of me, smiling. The one in the middle was Bamo.
Now it's Philip...
At the end of last year, I had some free time, and the boss played around with Aqing for a while, making her write several of her own lewd stories.
The naked young woman wrote and cried, while Achang and the others kept beating her up; it looked quite pitiful.
After the Spring Festival, everyone had to get back to work, so we stuffed that little bitch back into the underground stone cave and
never paid her any more attention.
Then, a couple of days ago, the first paragraph of Aqing's story from four months ago was reposted online—
the one from number 19 downstairs. Apparently, some people are quite interested. So the boss had to say, "Let's use it for half a month, then
cut Aqing out..." Okay, no problem. I have a few accounts to collect at the end of April, so I'll let you all look at
Aqing's earlier parts to whet your appetites. But since last Tuesday night, hehe... I
won't say what she's like now.
The Finale
Every single night, bound tightly to the basement, I longed for a complete mental breakdown, or perhaps
the extreme physical pain that would induce a fleeting moment of lucidity, or even unconsciousness. But I
never received such fortune. My arms, stretched out at my sides, were bound tightly to the wall with thick ropes,
and only the first two toes of my feet could touch the ground. I had been standing like this against the wall for four days and nights,
the pain keeping me almost constantly awake. Any woman whose breasts had been sliced
away piece by piece like this, leaving two deep craters on her chest, would also find it as difficult to sleep as I did.
And every night at the end, Xiao Xu would never forget to smear coarse salt into those two tattered wounds
.
On nights like these, I was forced to stare wide-eyed into the dim corner of the room, involuntarily
reliving my four years of life as a sex slave. As a young woman, I had
lived naked for four whole years, exposed to the public eye in towns and villages, every single day, every single hour,
without ever receiving even a single strip of cloth to cover myself. Undoubtedly, my master would also leave me to die naked,
the only adornment on my body being the chains I had never been freed from for those four years.
Aside from the indigenous women deep in the jungle and on one or two small islands, I imagine this would be a rare experience
; even they wouldn't chain their hands and feet all day, nor would they pierce their vulvas with small bells
. I could no longer recall the pride and spring-like exuberance that wearing a beautiful dress brought to a woman
; in fact, I didn't even know what it felt like to walk in shoes. I would ask myself,
would life without iron shackles really be any easier? For a city woman who had spent so much of her early life
selecting, buying, and collecting a large wardrobe of beautiful floral fabrics and silks, this was truly a
great irony.
Before experiencing these things firsthand, one might not imagine the many unexpected
troubles and embarrassments that living naked can bring; it's not always so alluring to men. During a woman's monthly cycle,
there are three to four days when menstrual blood flows continuously, and I'm not often allowed to wipe it away. Even if I were allowed to,
I might not find anything. This isn't my own home; my towel is by the sink, and there are
tissues under the coffee table. Without permission, a female slave cannot touch anything in the master's room. Many such small things can become
unexpectedly torturous, which I haven't talked about much. For example, once I accidentally broke
the broken porcelain bowl I used to serve rice. Just imagine how I ate after that.
Menstrual blood flowed down my legs and feet; every step I took left a bloody stain on the floor. It's hard to say what a soldier driven to desperation
might do in such a situation. On the third day after giving birth, I was whipped and forced to get up,
sweep the yard, and wash the floor. A woman's lower body doesn't completely clean itself until a month after delivery; the red,
then white discharge just kept flowing, drying, and forming foul-smelling scabs on my inner thighs.
For four years, I was constantly being sexually assaulted by men, using every orifice on my woman's body. And it wasn't just
being assaulted; it was often in public places, like outside the military camp in Lazhen town
, crowded with residents, where I was repeatedly subjected to public sexual acts. If I was raped an average of twenty times a day, you can calculate
how many sexual encounters I had over those four years. Since those nights were so unbearable and so long, I
calculated how to pass the time. As for those who saw my naked body during those four years, forget them
; it's better not to count them.
I was beaten every day, ten lashes each morning and evening without fail. And then there was that one night, when
my vagina was rubbed hundreds of times with a thick wooden stick. As for the other more special ones, I've already mentioned
them all. Oh, but I just remembered one exception:
those days when I was hunched over, my hands and feet tightly curled up, head bowed and back bent, squatting in the cement pit for months on end. It wasn't like I had to be beaten or stabbed every day.
I hardly saw any men during those days. Pulling me out and putting me back in was too much trouble; sometimes Ah Chang would remember to call two bodyguards
to do it, and sometimes they would just let me go.
The year at the gold mine was a bit better; later on, it was just Kerry and the others playing around with me.
Even I was surprised to see the hidden potential within me. After
twenty-four years of pampered indulgence, I learned many more basic things, things a woman
could do even with her empty body: carrying water, or how to please many men. Meng Kun had taught me that I
could even live off these things. But I thought I probably wouldn't need these skills anymore; this time,
I was truly going to die.
On the very first day they started talking about cutting me alive, the soldiers, right in front of me,
transformed the small wooden stick that had been with me for four years into a cruel toy. Specifically, they hammered many steel needles into the wood. They
were ordinary large sewing needles, clamped with pliers and hammered into the wood, breaking off the eye and leaving a
short, sharp stub. The front half of the stick was densely covered with needle points, and what was special was that these points all went in and
out at an angle, pointing backward, making it look like a spiked club.
My owner wanted this toy to stay with me more closely during the last ten days of my life. Once it was inserted into my
vagina, those dense, tiny steel claws gripped my hymen and wouldn't let go. My
thighs and lower abdomen throbbed with pain, and the muscles inside that had enveloped it spasmed, twisting
into hard lumps, squeezing it tightly each time… squeezing those reversed barbs,
which bulged and arched upwards inside. Human pain, once it subsided, would ease, but as I slowed down, it
wouldn't retreat. It was like a little, sentient being inside, always following the right
path. I'm still a living girl, my mother… living people feel pain, they need to move, and every
movement I made squeezed it, and every squeeze made it arch upwards. Now it had finally climbed to the very top of my vagina, pressing
against my cervix, a soft, gentle pain.
I ran my free left hand along the exposed handle, where some sludge and blood had seeped, sticky
and slippery. I wasn't sure how many young women my master had killed, but he certainly had enough experience
to know what he wanted. Piercing a woman's vagina with a sharpened wooden stick was too direct; he
wouldn't do it. The important thing was not to rupture internal organs and cause massive bleeding, so a ravaged woman could still
live and suffer.
They said that starting today, the next four days would begin to torture my feet, and perhaps my
hands as well. My master had said that before I died, I would see many things missing from my body. They
would probably let me live for another four or five days; I really hoped it would be sooner.
I can still sit here clearly writing down my slow death process because this morning, when the sunlight
finally shone into this underground torture chamber, Phila walked in and stood before me. I had been convulsing and
struggling all night, rambling incoherently to him, probably begging him to let
me go and lie down.
He stared at me for a while, seemingly showing genuine pity: "We all enjoy reading
what you write to your husband, and I think he'll like it too. I'll untie you, and you promise to write one last paragraph.
Tonight we're going to start cooking your hands, and then there won't be another chance."
He was truly insane; I shook my head as far as my neck could turn. I groaned, "No,
ouch, no... no..."
"Whatever, you can stand against the wall like this until tonight. But if you agree, I'll have Dr. Huang
give you a painkiller injection; at least you'll feel much better during the day. You still have four or five days to endure."
He said indifferently. He knew I would eventually have to agree.
After the injection of Demerol, the pain was indeed less. I stared blankly at the table, not knowing what else to write.
Philip kindly encouraged me; he was rarely so kind.
"Little bitch, don't worry about your impending death. Think more about those beautiful, graceful, innocent...
Even if you don't want to talk about that little bastard who cheated on your husband, you still have to report on the
state of your hole down there, how it became such a strange thing? Your husband will definitely care, that
's his precious thing! As you write, you'll get sentimental, you'll realize you don't even
have breasts anymore. Hahaha!" he said.
Okay, whatever.
After Bamo brought me back from the gold mine at the beginning of last year, no one bothered to explain things to me, and I remained silent
. Female slaves never need to ask questions. The only thing I was happy about was seeing my daughter. She was two years old, didn't
recognize me, but wasn't scared by the scars, bloodstains, and chains on my body. She was really brave. Her nanny
told her I was a kind of dog that could stand up and walk.
Everything was back to normal. Oh, right, there's one more thing that needs to be restored: my belly.
One rainy morning in Country M, I trudged up the hillside in the drizzle, my broad waist and hips swaying.
My clenched toes slid through the sticky red mud. I'd just
spent the whole night with the soldiers at the camp below; my back ached, my stomach hurt, and my whole body felt heavy and weak, the kind of feeling that made me want to squat down . A few guards, the owner of the villa, leaned lazily against the gate, watching 　　me approach
with indifferent eyes . 　　"Hey, little bitch, have you eaten?" one of the brothers greeted me. 　　I stopped respectfully: "Reporting, Uncle, the female slave hasn't been eaten yet." 　　"Want to try some of Uncle's water first? Look at your gluttonous, filthy face, you must have been thinking about it all night, right?" 　　I knelt down in the mud, skillfully unbuckling his belt. I pulled his military trousers and waistband down 　　to his knees and held them up, burying my head between his legs. The bodyguard I had in my mouth was leaning 　　down, elbows crossed. For him and his companions, playing with me was as 　　commonplace as taking a quick pee in the toilet. But 　　I had to be meticulous every time. I went from shallow to deep, from slow to fast, until my long hair was flying 　　. I started screaming while simultaneously trying to hold down his pants. Meanwhile, the guards above...

He bent down and grabbed my hair, suddenly lifting my entire body up. His fierce eyes were fixed on
my face.
"You slut, are you really that thirsty?"
"You pretentious bitch, I'll teach you to pretend!"
The man freed one hand and slapped me across the face in a half-circle, heavy and dull like a
bear's paw. He did it again. He loosened his grip on my hair.
I was thrown to the side by the blow, and a soldier watching the scene kicked me. The first man,
still throbbing with erection, was burning with lust. He pulled his leg out of his trousers, bare-chested, and took
two steps forward, bending down to pull me up.
Then came his knee, springing up like a spring.
It was their traditional fighting technique, using the back of the leg to strike. The first knee slammed into my
stomach, and the third struck my left breast. I only heard the bells ringing incessantly, then
suddenly a cloud of mud flew up and hit my face. Actually, he had used the momentum to throw me off, and
I was falling from the air.
All the bitterness in my throat was stuck, I couldn't breathe, and I just kept dryly gagging. Having
performed the martial arts routine so thoroughly, his masculine heroism was greatly aroused, and he pressed down on me,
thrusting into my body. He groaned loudly, and then a large amount of blood gushed from my vagina.
I clutched my throbbing stomach and slowly propped myself up, covered in mud.
Between my legs, in a pool of blood, was a small lump of flesh with arms and legs. "Call Mr. Huang!" I heard someone shout.
After that, everyone knew I was just waiting to die. Every day, all I felt was soreness, fatigue, exhaustion, and
my vagina and anus were becoming increasingly loose. When I was alone, urine would unknowingly trickle
down my legs until my feet were completely soaked before I even realized it. Even soaked in my own urine
, I didn't want to move. I just calmly thought about it; incontinence was bound to happen again. After
all that, fewer and fewer people were interested in playing with me. At most, they'd make me
suck their mouths. Occasionally, when they got into a mood, it got even worse. They'd make me spread my legs and beat my genitals until
they were swollen before they even started. At least the swollen areas were still a bit tender and tight, like
the time A-Chang used his wooden penis on me.
As a result, I spent days kneeling alone in the corner of the bodyguard's room, lost in thought. The result of no one having sex with me
was that I fell into emptiness and depression. After all these years living in this place,
what else could I do besides being used by others? I remember staring blankly as the yellow urine
flowed out again, trickling onto the ground, and then I thought that I really should be taken out by my master to be skinned.
Few people wanted to touch me anymore, and people beat me much less often. I need to mention those two times.
First, Achang got angry about something I can't remember anymore. He found a hollow wooden frame,
lifted it off the ground, and made me lie face down on it, my hands and feet tightly bound to the four corners of the frame.
The copper bells hanging from my breasts were placed in the middle of the frame, and he lit two thick incense sticks and stuck them
into the copper covers of the bells to heat them.
My head and face were also drooping downwards, and I stared intently as the copper bells were slowly heated to a dark red color.
The heat transferred to the two steel nails inserted into my breasts, hanging below my chest, like two
huge bombs with a countdown timer. Because my nipples were pressed against the two red copper plates, by the end of the day
they had been baked into a thin, charred crust, black and hard like burnt rice
crust stuck to the bottom of a pot.
They untied me at the end of the day, but didn't let me lie down. I was dragged to the wall, made
to stand straight, and Xiao Xu tied the base of the bells with thin hemp rope in front of me, fastening them to the exposed
nail heads on the wall. My arms were pulled behind my back and handcuffed.
Achang looked me over. His smile told me something was wrong. He called to the soldiers, "Let's go!"
I was truly terrified. My chest had been ruined like this;
how long could I stand on the ground with my bare feet?
They laughed and left, leaving me standing alone until the next morning. Many, many times, I
simply couldn't hold on any longer. Each time, I made a firm decision to pull myself out and immediately lie down.
With a sudden thud, I plunged headfirst into the ground. But every time I tried even a little,
the pain from the bottom of my breast was excruciating. What would it feel like if it were pulled out completely? "Just a little longer," I thought, "just
a little longer, maybe... someone will really come down and untie me?" I pressed my forehead against the wall,
pitifully twisting my body left and right, desperately trying to make myself look better.
I endured until noon that day before finally tearing my breast. I didn't even look at my chest;
I just stared incredulously at the wall where two small, swaying brass bells hung. From the ends of the bells
protruded two stainless steel nails buried in my breast tissue, the ones that had tormented me for two and a half years. The nail heads were barbed, with tendons
and flesh wrapped around a large cluster of my mammary glands and ducts, dripping with bright red blood.
Then I collapsed to the ground, unconscious, finally able to lie down.
That was the beginning. They began methodically destroying my body, and next up were
my genitals. This time, my owners were very serious. They first tied my hands and feet tightly, then propped
my buttocks up. Dr. Huang brought a hospital-grade IV stand, but the glass bottle hanging from it contained
sulfuric acid. The large bottle of sulfuric acid was hung on my stomach, its height adjusted, and with a slight turn of the switch,
the acid dripped, drop by drop, onto my vulva.
A woman's vulva is a small, fleshy mound that rises upwards, but water flows downwards. The water seeped into every crevice,
leaving no opening untouched. The lower part of my crotch was my labia, which had both slits and openings. Slowly, all of these areas
, from top to bottom, inside and out, were soaked in the sulfuric acid.
I jumped and screamed in that soup, using more energy than I'd ever exerted in my life. After a few thrashings,
the ropes binding my hands and feet loosened. A-Chang and the others would stop every now and then to re-tie me, and later they
added several more leather belts around my waist and legs. This whole thing was supposed to be filmed, but the camera was shaking so badly the focus
was off.
The camera was pointed directly at my inner thighs. Xiao Xu put a 25-inch monitor on a stand and
pushed it towards me, so I could see how my entire soft vulva was emitting bluish smoke, slowly rotting
into a pool of dark brown, fleshy paste.
This time, Dr. Huang took out his scalpel. Since I was bound and couldn't move, he
didn't bother with any anesthesia; he just used the scalpel to directly slice away
all the necrotic skin and flesh from that entire area. Finally, the doctor stuffed two gauze rolls, one large and one small, coated with ointment into my vagina
and urethra to prevent the wound from sticking together. For several months afterward, those areas slowly healed. Dr. Huang was exceptionally
meticulous and responsible, personally changing my dressings and bandages every day without fail. If the scars had been allowed to
heal and shrink on their own, there probably wouldn't have been the hole they needed.
Dr. Huang clapped his hands and straightened his back. After the scalpel was finished, my blood flowed like a small river. He brought over
a large wad of gauze and cotton to cover it, but A-Chang pushed him away. Two bodyguards were heating a small gardener's spatula on a nearby
stove. After the spatula was heated until it was red-hot and shiny, they pressed it down from my lower abdomen
. My legs had been spread wide apart, and the scorching hot iron surface fit perfectly
, stopping the bleeding completely… That day, the entire room was filled with thick, pungent fumes
—how could it smell so bad!
The third bell that had been with me for so long was thrown on the ground; I had nowhere to hang it anymore.
At the end of the year, my master told me he had decided to kill me and then forced me to write down my
experiences of the past four years. I was somewhat unable to control my excitement when writing the first piece, but I calmed down later.
I wrote intermittently until February.
My master probably never imagined that this would become so entertaining online. When I
didn't want to write anymore or couldn't continue, he would beat me. My master's life experience made him believe that
everything could be achieved through beatings, even writing. He would give me ten sheets of paper in the morning, and if
I hadn't finished by nightfall, he would make me stick out my feet and smash my toes with a wooden mallet.
Then he would read what I had just finished writing, and if he felt it wasn't lewd enough, he would smash it a second time. Or he would have his brothers take
turns having sex with me all night, forcing me to find the right feeling in practice.
I repeatedly fainted and woke up, my ten toes a bloody mess, bone fragments
protruding from my joints, the pain making my face pale. My master, however, smiled and said, "Aqing,
you're like that princess from One Thousand and One Nights, surviving solely by telling stories to her husband."
He was probably referring to One Thousand and One Nights. Scheherazade wasn't a princess, but to associate her with Middle Eastern Arabian
drug dealers is quite remarkable; my master is indeed extraordinary.
The story must eventually end. After finishing the gold mine section at the end of February, I've been hiding in the small cave,
not even my brothers have come to find me. My master had already said that I'm not living by coercion anymore. Four nights ago,
they dragged me out of the cave and tied me to the wall. They told me they would
kill me in ten days, detailing what to do on the first day, the second day, everything.
After explaining, they began, making the first incision on my breast.
They wouldn't even agree to take me back to the surface for one last look. I just wanted my bare feet to
step on the damp grass one last time and breathe in the night air. Achang kicked my ankle hard,
saying, "Dream on, shut up!"
The breasts the men were lifting were covered in scars, not a single piece of tender flesh left. A sharp
blade pressed against the edge, cutting in an arc, then slicing vertically towards the nipple. The cuts
intersected at a right angle; that's where my skin was torn from my body. Xiao Xu used a pair of pointed
iron pliers with long, thin jaws, gripping a bit of the peeling skin and pulling it up, slowly creating a triangular
incision. He then inserted the blade into the wound, severing the obstructing fat and fascia.
A small flap of flesh, skin and all, several square centimeters in size, was flipped up; the knife was then switched to the front to cut it off.
There would be a lot of blood; more cold water would be needed to wash it away. The exposed fat deep within the wound would eventually
be washed away into a pile of white, soft, cotton-like stuff. Then they would cut open the second piece of skin and tear it
off.
They did it slowly, completely ignoring my pleas and cries. If I fainted from the pain,
they would have to go to the trouble of waking me up. After a day like this, the entire surface was cut open, and the two red, fleshy lumps on my sides
had shrunk considerably. Xiao Xu poured handfuls of salt onto his palms,
rubbing it vigorously into my flesh. Only then was the day over, leaving a whole night for
me to carve time. The ropes binding my hands remained tied all night. I leaned against the wall, straightening my body,
and looked down at the two sticky, fleshy lumps on my chest. The various feelings and experiences from body to mind at that time
were truly indescribable.
The next day would begin again. The moment I saw the gleaming blade touch my tender flesh, soaked in yellow fluid, I
wanted to scream, but that was just a thought. What came out wasn't a sound, but only bloody
stomach acid. The knife was terrifyingly sharp as it cut into the skinless flesh. They first cut a triangle
, then tore and ripped, pulling out a grotesque strip of fat. The woman's swollen breasts
were covered entirely by strips of fat; it took a whole day of slow cutting to reveal the clusters of glandular tissue beneath
, connected by tiny fleshy tubes—a disgusting sight. They used pliers to grab these things and pull them out by the roots
, sometimes simply grabbing them with their hands and yanking them out. My whole body convulsed violently as they pulled out a…
Come on, a series of spasms, each one tugging at my heart.
By yesterday morning, my chest was finally reduced to two large, clean, dark red patches of flesh. I've studied a
little physiology, so I know these are my exposed pectoral muscles. There are also a few messy cross-sections, those are
tendons connecting to my internal muscles. Their original purpose was to tighten the breasts, allowing a woman
to pose with her chest held high.
Even if my pectoral muscles were cut off, I wouldn't die. So yesterday they continued cutting. Sometimes they
accidentally ruptured larger blood vessels, and they would use a red-hot iron to stop the bleeding. They would cut off a piece to see my
reaction, rub it with salt, and then cut off another piece. The pain I experienced is indescribable; just
thinking about it makes me tremble. With each layer cut off, I would break out in a sweat, as if I had just taken a shower, and they kept
feeding me water.
Finally, I must thank my master; he kept his promise. Before this all started, he went through
several connections to send my little daughter back to China. To put my mind at ease, he even had photos taken there and
sent over online. I won't say who's holding her in the photos.
After that, her stepmother didn't care what happened to her anymore.
Night fell, and I wearily put down my pen. I said to Phila, "It's time. Call them back."
Now it's Phila's turn.
This is how we dealt with the little bitch's hands and feet. Actually, she'd already been with so many men; perhaps
we should call her an old bitch.
We bound her feet tightly together. To a man's eyes, those bare feet didn't seem like part of an interesting woman
. They were withered but strong, the rough joints tightly wrapped in hard, mottled, thick skin,
looking very dirty. Even stranger were her toes; some pointed this way, some twisted to the other,
some hooked on the soles of her feet, unable to straighten. I'd probably describe them as the claws of a mother eagle. If they
were a little softer, I was going to suggest the owner find a clay pot and
stew them alive until they were thoroughly cooked, maybe even adding some red dates and angelica root if he was in a good mood.
The current decision is to take a more drastic approach. Xiao Xu boiled a large pot of water nearby, the heat at full blast,
bubbling and bubbling. Bamo scooped out boiling water and poured it onto the mother dog
's hind paws. Because we were all watching, he couldn't let the water splash too far, so he
poured it little by little. It took a long time before her paws were completely scalded red and chubby.
Whether they were cute or not is a matter of opinion, but at least they looked clean and soft on the surface. I had originally told her
it was like a spicy hot pot, where you blanch the meat in boiling water and then remove it. I tried using a wire brush a few times, and
although the little bitch screamed in pain and her skin cracked, the meat wasn't cooked enough to
fall off piece by piece. So I had to ask Bamo to pour boiling water over it a few more times. The principle was: keep scalding until the white meatballs
bulged out like cooked fish eyes, and the meat easily came off the bone with a chopstick.
We tried having this woman say something into a tape recorder while her feet were soaking, but she wasn't very cooperative
. It was mostly just "Ahhh, it hurts, it hurts… Uncle Chang, Mom… My daughter
… Shoot me, kill me… No… Ah… Waaah… Waaah…" etc., nothing
really. So I had to finish writing the rest of the story; I had to give the police a complete story.
In my experience, the police don't like stories that end abruptly; they always want to know where the bad guys hid the body
.
To avoid dragging this out too long, we started scalding her hands with boiling water, scrubbing away the festering, rotten flesh
layer by layer with a brush. Sometimes we'd splash a spoonful of boiling water on her, making her
look like she was about to jump up. In other words, we'd adjust the atmosphere when her hands and feet became less sensitive from overstimulation
. Of course, we'd often kindly stop to let her rest, sometimes even giving her stimulants
to keep her conscious.
The next day, we'd probably even use ginseng soup, giving her some of that stuff to maintain her strength. We were a little worried
she'd die from the pain before experiencing the full experience, so we decided to give her a final
anal love a little earlier.
At that time, her limbs still had strands of dark red flesh clinging to them, not yet cleaned, but
we didn't wait any longer. We dragged the little bitch outside the gate, where a thick wooden stick, about the thickness of a wrist, had been prepared
, and a deep pit had been dug.
Although a woman's anus isn't very tight, it was still far from enough for a stick of that diameter.
First, we had to use a knife to cut the sphincter muscles she used to tighten the opening; this was the main obstacle.
Going further in, it was less of a problem. Dr. Huang had said that animals, regardless of sex, have intestines that are highly elastic
.
We tied her hands behind her back, lifted the wooden stick, and carefully inserted it into her anus. The stick was indeed coated with
a lot of grease. After inserting it forty centimeters, we moved this large, fleshy skewer, stick
and all, to the edge of the pit. Again, we lifted and placed it gently, carefully, and buried it upright. Everyone rushed around
, some holding her body, some supporting the stick, and the rest quickly filling the pit with soil. This flurry of activity took a lot of our
effort.
The young woman, who had been limply submitting to our manipulations with her eyes closed, was now truly suffering. Honestly,
being stabbed in the front with that stick must have been incredibly painful, but she didn't have much strength left. She was incredibly
resilient, but now her entire weight was slumped onto that stick, suspended in mid-air with no
support on any side. I know she was in pain, scared, and the feeling of that thing pushing upwards in her belly was unbearable—I can't even begin
to imagine it for her. It was... inhuman agony and despair.
No one could endure that. The little bitch spread her thin, long legs
and kicked wildly in all directions, puffing out bubbles of all sizes. The more she
struggled, the deeper her body sank onto the stick. And there's one more free bonus...
A small discount. Her sudden, violent movements of her legs and hips gave the wolf-tooth-like creature, which had been trapped inside her vagina, some
room to move. It was also pushing and hurting inside, but since we're naturally inclined to have things pressing against us there,
I hope this dog in its predicament can tolerate it and treat it as a somewhat special consolation prize.
The boss didn't like dogs in such a predicament being able to close their eyes. So, A-Chang personally stood on a chair, pinched
her eyelids, and pulled them open piece by piece, cutting them off with a knife. Blood would flow, turning her vision
red, but the thin fluid couldn't completely block out the light. This meant she would always have her eyes wide open, staring
at her bare body, devoid of breasts, hands, and feet, and she could also admire her own strange, unique
posture of riding in mid-air. Of course, I can imagine that everything she saw was immersed in a
pinkish atmosphere.
Aside from gasping and moaning, she uttered her last words to Ah Chang, who was close to her face:
"Thank you, thank you for letting me die."
We really did raise her to be a very obedient girl, didn't we?
Actually, she underestimated the particularly adventurous and exciting desire men have for playing with women. Although she
endured the ordeal on the log until the afternoon, she still didn't die. Because we cut the log and put her down,
letting her lie on the grass to recover a bit more, Ah Huang even finished giving her an IV drip of saline solution with a cardiac stimulant.
When I went over with a small knife, the girl stared at my face with her wide, eyelidless eyes, blood-
red and quite frightening. She tried to move her lips, perhaps wanting to try one last time to plead for something. I
squatted down beside her, smiled at her, and began to slowly cut her earlobe. That one cut made her swallow her words back, and she endured until the very end without uttering another sound. Then, with a bit more force, I twisted and turned and 　　cut off her nose
in the blood .
Her face was now a mess, like a slaughterhouse, perfectly matching
the woman who had neither breasts nor labia. Behind me, Xiao Xu and the others were busy pinning strips of kerosene-soaked cloth to her
body with thumbtacks, lighting them one by one—this was their appetizer between two main meals.
She spent the night lying on the damp grass she had hoped for. At sunrise, they would once again impale her on the stake, presumably for her last day. They poured kerosene on 　　the exposed wooden handle
outside her vagina and lit it; the flames licked and burned for a while before silently 　　smoldering into the wood. I suspect our girl 　　has become quite familiar with this kind of barbecue in the backyard over the past four years. A novel experience was stuffing a ball of rag into her mouth and lighting it too 　　—this was how they used up the last of the kerosene. It was obvious she could still feel pain. 　　The sounds and bizarre movements of this mutilated woman's body were truly indescribable . 　　To put it another way, it might be like a young woman, nearly dead from being raped by forty or fifty men, being forced into a 　　sexual climax. 　　The boss had promised to tie a large stone to each of her exposed ankles. 　　Dai Tao, I told you on the night of the 8th that I had someone hang up the phone number for this website! I knew you would come here 　　to see how your little wife had endured these past four years. Go down and 　　watch it carefully, think about how your woman crawled around naked, dragging her chain 　　, being beaten and screaming, and how I kicked her like a dog. She's not really 　　dead yet; she might even live until tonight. We've opened a betting pool on whether she'll die. I've bet a pack 　　of cigarettes that your wife will survive until a wooden stake pierces her throat. The agreed-upon win/loss strategy is to wait 　　until the beginning and end are connected, then let Xiao Xu gouge out her eyes. He'll cut around both eye sockets, remove them, and throw them away. 　　As long as she has even a shred of feeling, she'll feel pain, she'll be able to move, right? That'll be our bet on her living to win. I'm actually 　　quite curious, if you were to join in, which side would you choose? 　　Choosing to be our enemy will be a lifelong regret!

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/145969.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=145969&aspx=1

Previous Page : How to kill the girl you love in four years (2)

Next Page : [Sex Cup War] 1-3

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

How to Kill the Girl You Love in Four Years (The End)

comment Open a new window to view comments