【Eastern United States Sadomasochistic Love】(Part 1) (04-05) Author: Higashimura Mimo

Author: Dongcun Mitao
Word Count: 3825

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Chapter 4

Even though she was still 200% lubricated by him, her whole body still exploded when he entered!

-- It was as if he had penetrated her from her vagina to the top of her head, completely and utterly possessing her in an instant, leaving her completely unable
to think. The only sensation in the universe was a huge heat piercing through her, turning her into nothing more than
a shell wrapped in this heat.

Soul? No soul. She only had this penis inside her and this man pressing heavily on her body.

How could it be so big!! So hot!! The perfectly proper missionary position, purely relying on his size, his
shape that perfectly matched hers, his heat and hardness, drove her crazy.

The entire knee-size bed was soaked layer upon layer.

That day, her throat was so sore that she couldn't drink much—not drunk enough, making it doubly difficult to accept the fact that another man was not only going to
enter her, but was entering her with her consent.

What a servile woman—she mocked herself more than once. Her one and only first love, morbidly and tightly binding her soul.

Five years had passed without her realizing it? Her lover from that day was long gone.

Yet she still humbly and listlessly unilaterally and stubbornly persisted in her loyalty and love. In some peculiar way.

Fortunately, Tony was enough to disregard her feelings and began to enjoy everything he wanted to enjoy—
a helpless slave before him, a small female toy. This made her feel much more psychologically comfortable. She
could deceive herself by saying, "Hey, I'm just being forced.

" Time seemed boundless; space had become meaningless. It could be here, there, anywhere.

Vast expanses of sea and fire. Enough to make one sink and burn, in the realm of sensual desire.

During her short break, when she should have been resting and adjusting to the time difference, she was arbitrarily violated and ravaged by the tall man. Time
and time again . She dragged her extremely tired body back to the airport, yet felt inexplicably satisfied. Such sweet candy, once tasted,
became addictive.

The air in the cabin was always very dry. Daylight broke. The eastward flight chasing the sun made fatigue even more intense:
the view outside the porthole was perpetually bright.

Severely sleep-deprived and dehydrated eyes were particularly sensitive to light. And during the five hours from Washington to Phoenix, the turbulence was
so severe it was nauseating—embarrassing to admit: there were flight
attendants who suffered from such severe airsickness. A congenital ear imbalance, there was nothing they could do.

Phoenix at 1 a.m. still had a 100-degree fever.

A lonely Airport Marriott. The extreme exhaustion led to a brief, involuntary burst of energy
that kept her awake.

The thick hotel curtains remained motionless, the monotonous hum of the air conditioner only amplifying the silence.

Silence, emptiness, despair, madness.

She didn't know how much water they had lost the night before. At least she was overflowing, to the point that she couldn't believe it
herself . The last time she felt this madness was too distant to recall.

Waiting isn't terrible; what's terrible is having nothing to wait for. Wandering isn't sad either; what's sad is having nowhere to wander: from
one room in one city to another, and then another, and yet another,
what's the difference between a perpetually solitary midnight and remaining stationary? She still misses what she longs for, still thinks of what she misses,
having never truly been anywhere.

So, on the spacious knee-size bed, various charger cables are scattered—
cellphone, latchtop, iPad, and the sash of a bathrobe—and
all sorts of empty, rope-like objects that can temporarily alleviate the madness…

tissues, pillowcases scattered on the floor. The perfect masturbation she's learned over the years suddenly seems
powerless . The body's memory is so stubborn. Last night's brutality was, in fact, the most passionate night of passion. Has it
already made her yearn for it?

Completely naked, she lies curled up on the bed, finally exhausted, falling into sleep. The darkness of night briefly and perfectly concealed the marks
on her body.

She slowly learned to suppress her emotions with pain, and to overpower despair with pleasure—she slowly became adept at it. She

longed for home, longed for home, longed for home, longed for home. But, hey, did such a place really exist?

Chapter Five,

The Second Time. Her home. A quiet townhouse near the airport.

She never brought anyone—a man with whom she had this kind of relationship—back for a short visit or overnight stay. Her own home, such a private
place; a falling out or being entangled with him would have endless consequences.

Yet, the person she could trust to bind her hands, feet, and even all her sensitive areas, seemed to make
going home incredibly natural. A strange sense of security? Was it a feeling
of being protected and safe, intertwined with torment and humiliation? Could it be a bit like the pain and pleasure of her twin limbs in her central nervous system?

He walked into her high-ceilinged entryway, imposing and dignified, and for a moment, she felt as if she were welcoming a long-lost lover
.

"Your slippers aren't big enough, don't bother changing them."

She apologized, embarrassed to find that there weren't any shoes in the shoe cabinet that fit him.

"It's alright, consider it helping you mop the floor."

He smiled gently, took off his shoes, and took her arm, leading her inside as if it were his own home.

She had taken a shower. Flip-flops, her hair disheveled. They drank tea and wine,
talking about .

He kept overturning all her worst psychological preparations. It turned out that he also had many admirable qualities
besides . For example, his taste in music, his attitude, his intelligence and understanding, and his special
sense of humor—a ease that transcended the happiness of life itself.

In this respect, it was rare that she didn't dislike him.

Their differences were also obvious: she was destined to be a solitary and simple person; while he had grown up among people, was
worldly wise, and navigated the surrounding society with ease. Like creatures floating in another world through a transparent glass tank.

But the last vestige of his sincerity and gentleness made her feel that he wasn't
as numb, arrogant, or repulsive as most men who navigated society and investment banking with ease.

Of course, for a man in his thirties, all impressions could be easily faked. Making someone appear
sincere and gentle wasn't difficult.

Thinking about this, she felt bored—whether he was sincere or not, what did it matter to her? He didn't need to go to such lengths. They were
merely a brief stop in each other's short lives.

Drinking, she felt her body gradually softening. Her bare feet were propped up on the coffee table, her ankles bare,
the curve of her calves barely visible beneath her wide robe.

He said, "This band's songs remind me of you." He went to the computer and played them for her one by one. It was an
Icelandic band. The music was lingering, profound, passionate, and poignant.

As she listened to a tender part of the song, Tony suddenly pulled her tightly into
his arms . Quietly, without saying a word.

That one second of shock! Her mind went blank for thirteen seconds. Her body stiffened instantly, unsure if she had given
him the right information.

The infinitely warm, her favorite, almost desireless embrace from behind—
an unprecedented sense of security, like petals gently falling onto solid ground.

Being held tightly in another human's arms, how many centuries ago was that? In her memory, it was
incomparable. Her poor, unresponsive database…

not only a well rope, but also a feeling too long forgotten, could instill a decade of fear and unease.

So much so that the sex that day felt a little strange. She desperately wanted to forget—if she could: to dilute the shock of that embrace with intense
sensory stimulation; but he, on the other hand, seemed unsatisfied.

That's the downside of a sensitive partner; being able to sense the other's feelings and experiences can sometimes be
a constraint on one's own pleasure.

His hands slowly slipped inside her bathrobe, gently and slowly caressing the delicate
bones beneath her warm skin.

"You're so thin,"

he said, a hint of pity in his voice. His warm breath burned against every joint of her neck, slowly
pulling down the collar of her white bathrobe to reveal sections of her spine.

"The most beautiful back in the world." His possessive kisses landed on her shoulders and back.

"Come, sit here."

He released her, sitting in the chair she used for drawing in her study, exposing a large section of her geisha-like neck and back
, pulling her into his arms and half-forcibly making her straddle him. To succumb to madness wasn't easy.

Although she prided herself on being sensitive and capable of indulging in her senses, she found herself struggling to resist other thoughts, especially
such terrifying ones: she, in fact, felt a strong resonance with another man's simple embrace?!

And the man had already begun to unfasten the belt of her bathrobe… the pure white yukata was stripped down to her elbows; her
snow white breasts were only two inches from his chest beneath his herringbone shirt.

Tony always liked to do this, impeccably dressed himself, then enthusiastically stripping her clothes off
until she was completely naked, while he remained impeccably dressed, slowly admiring her blushing embarrassment
—straddling his lap like this made him feel like a stripper.

He gripped her slender waist with his large hand, then suddenly buried his face between her breasts! Like a child. Short,
neatly trimmed black hair brushed against her skin. He addictedly inhaled the scent of her breasts.

"Fallen flowers and flowing water, spring is gone, a fleeting moment of pleasure."

These words from the Southern Tang dynasty's last ruler came to mind. So be it. Let it resonate so strongly. Normandy,
Hawaii. What's coming, who can stop it?

He remained motionless, holding her, his head buried in her breasts for a long time, finally lifting his head from between her breasts. As if lost in a century of bliss.

Spring waters bluer than the sky, painted boats sleeping in the rain.

At that moment, in his worldly eyes, she saw a childlike attachment; but that attachment vanished
in an instant Was he afraid too?

In the blink of an eye, it was replaced by frivolity and wantonness. He used his lips and tongue to explore the peaks of her breasts, teasing and lingering continuously.
She was forced to straddle his thick legs, between his long, slender legs,
her shameful love juices dripping onto his prada trousers.

She was apprehensive, afraid he would point this out, using harsh words she couldn't bear to face.

But he seemed like a different person all day, treating her with exceptional gentleness—a gentleness in stark contrast to his previous
brutality .

He teased her breasts, occasionally biting her soft spot, twirling her long hair around his fingers, pulling it
occasionally , causing her to arch her back and thrust her chest forward, as if offering her nipples to his lips and teeth…

When she was overwhelmed with desire, she bit her lip, her closed eyes opening waterily, meeting his
intense gaze.

“Your eyes truly speak volumes. Eyes brimming with desire, is that you?” His large hand touched her
cheek .

Tony pulled down his pants, lifting her up like a child, placing her on his massive, erect member.

“Ah!!” She cried out in unbearable pain, as if pleading for mercy.

He was truly, truly enormous… going all the way in was so difficult to adjust to.

This time, Tony didn't completely ignore her. He eased the rhythm of lifting and pressing her down,
gradually increasing the depth with restraint. He was so strong, or perhaps she was too light. He manipulated her effortlessly,
like a toy, slowly and tenderly caressing her, her juices pitifully flowing down between their joined thighs.

Even holding her in his large hands without exerting any effort, she was nearly exhausted. Even more pitiful was the little wooden chair in front of her beloved
easel, which seemed about to be torn apart by this guy…

He wasn't satisfied yet, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, throwing her onto the bed to continue his ravaging…

After that night of frenzy, Tony actually fell asleep beside her like a child. At six in the morning, she vaguely
sensed a panicked person wake up and leave.

Didn't he never sleep beside anyone else?

Could it be that her warmth brought him to sleep?

[To be continued]

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【Eastern United States Sadomasochistic Love】(Part 1) (04-05) Author: Higashimura Mimo

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