[Lewdness - Registered Exorcist] Prologue: I'm Back

My name is Yang Cheng. I belong to the Seventh Division of the Cultivator Association. I am a Level 4 Exorcist.
In 2008, I was investigating a series of organized demon-using criminal activities in Europe. Due to a faulty intelligence report
, I was captured and subjected to inhuman torture and humiliation by members of the opposing organization. During my
142 hours as a hostage, I endured beatings, waterboarding, electric shocks, and all sorts of unimaginable abuse,
including being raped day and night by 11 men and 4 familiars.
—Of course, all of that is in the past. Relying on the intelligence I transmitted before my capture, the Cultivator Association wiped out
this evil organization. I was rescued. The rescuers told me I was lucky because
the other two exorcists (one male and one female) captured at the same time as me were already dead. The male was torn to pieces,
unable to be pieced back together; the female was raped to death.
—I think if the rescue had come any later, I would have suffered the same fate.
But to be honest, I don't think I was lucky at all.
This accident left me in the association's hospital for two months and eight days. It was the first time in my life I'd ever seen
so many evangelists! Their power of will was fascinating, like sunshine, illuminating everything, almost as if they were
trying to save all sentient beings. But deep down, they weren't really trying to save anyone. I once asked one of
the evangelists who cared for me how much my treatment would cost. He told me the compensation for the two exorcists who died
was about $350,000. At that rate, my medical expenses would be enough to kill me five or six
times over. I was stunned. I said, "
Aren't those big shots in the Third Division (responsible for the association's daily operations and expenses) just wishing I'd die on the spot?" The evangelist chuckled and said, "You Level 4 guys,
every death is a loss. Even as a big shot in the association, I wouldn't want to lose you. Even if you're injured, crippled, as long as you have a
breath left, I'll save you." I immediately sensed something was wrong. I said, "What if I wasn't Level 4
?" He smiled and didn't say anything more. A chill ran down my spine...
Then, after recovering, I failed the stress test. You know,
anyone would have psychological trauma after such an ordeal. The association arranged for a psychologist in his thirties to provide
counseling for me. It lasted a week. During that time, he started by having me undress in front of him, touch my breasts, and
masturbate. Then he played with my breasts, licked my vagina, and then had me suck his penis. Finally,
without a doubt, he inserted his penis into my vagina. "Your willpower is quite strong compared to others I've seen.
Your problem is simply that you were raped. Those men fucked you, caused you pain, and subconsciously
equated sex with pain. What we need to do now is rebuild that equation. When you can enjoy
pleasurable sex, the so-called trauma will naturally disappear." These were his exact words. I admit he
was right, because at the time, I could vividly imagine myself being
gang-raped by those disgusting men and terrifying familiars whenever I closed my eyes. So I cooperated fully with his "treatment," letting him repeatedly defile
my body, fucking me with his huge penis until I cried and screamed. Of course, I must admit that after each wave
of shame and orgasm, while fragments of those memories still surfaced occasionally, the fear gradually
faded, and eventually, there was even a slight sense of stimulation and excitement… But these weren't the important
points. The important point was seven days later, when the psychological counseling ended. We had just finished our "final test," and
we were naked, embracing each other. His penis was still inside me, not yet soft. He
pressed me down on the bed, his hands still grabbing and kneading my breasts. Then, with an embarrassed look, he told me
that this kind of psychological counseling only required the two of us to meet once a day in a quiet environment and talk face-to-face for
ten minutes to achieve the desired effect—and this bastard had actually brought me to his house and made me do what a prostitute
did for a week!
You'll never know how embarrassed I was.
From then on, I deeply understood two things: sex objectively brings pleasure; and the most shameless
way to bully a girl is to tell her something that makes her angry after having sex with her, and then have sex with her
again…
Afterwards, he gave me a business card: his name was Qin Qi. He said I could contact him anytime if I needed anything. I
rolled my eyes at him, annoyed: "You're here to bully me?" I didn't realize
the ambiguous connotation of the word "bully" at the time. I wonder if he did. In short, he sincerely
said to me, "I'm sorry." Then he even added, "If I had to choose again, I would still
do you." Facing the anger in my eyes, he showed no fear: "You're too beautiful."
"Get lost!"
I told him.
But I didn't throw away his business card; I kept it in my wallet. Of course, I never contacted him again.
The monastic society gave me a total of seven months of leave and a sum of money—similar to a pension, but since I
hadn't "died a glorious death," I didn't know what to call this money. During this time, I used
this money to travel the world. Hawaii, Florence, Paris, Dubai—all
the places I had wanted to go before but didn't have the money or time for.
I don't know who said it, but after a woman is gang-raped, she either becomes terrified of sex or
falls in love with the ecstasy. If you add a touch of self-destruction, a promiscuous woman
is born.
I used to be the former, but after being "trained" by that bastard, I became the latter, and there was a bit of self-abandonment involved
—after doing so many things, what else is there to care about?
During my travels, I made love wantonly with handsome strangers. Black, white, yellow, European,
Asian, American, Australian… all sorts of penises were thrust into my mouth and vagina,
pouring their power and semen into me. I even tried having sex with ladyboys in Thailand. You can't imagine the
feeling. A rather beautiful and delicate woman is kissing you, squeezing and rubbing your breasts together…
Then a huge penis appeared before your eyes and shoved into your vagina. It was really bizarre, and also
magical. At least that's how the one who slept with me gave me that feeling. A beautiful woman, even prettier than me,
was playing same-sex games with someone while raping me in a man's way—it was a dreamlike
feeling. Of course, later I learned that he (or she?) was the best kind. If you were to hire her, it would
cost a lot of money. Those who, no matter how much makeup they wore, were obviously men, just made people feel disgusted.
It was a crazy trip.
I haven't counted how many men have slept with my vagina. I counted at first, but after counting dozens, I really
didn't care anymore. I think I now perfectly fit the definition of a slut. At the same time, I also know that sluts
aren't promiscuous.
The day I reported back to headquarters, my colleagues' amazed eyes witnessed the changes in my body and temperament. Although
I wasn't conservative before, as a woman, I was still afraid of those strange looks
. But now, I can stand tall and even look them in the eye. My current favorite outfit is
a thin mini-skirt and a tank top, with sandals underneath—I don't like stockings. At least in my personal experience
, stockings only serve two purposes: a) to cover up imperfections on the feet; b) to match the color. As a powerful
exorcist, my body certainly won't have any unsightly scars or marks. As for color matching, I personally
prefer light-colored skirts and clothes, so there's no need for anything extra. Another reason I like light-colored clothes is that
they're more sheer, allowing you to vaguely see my fair skin. Because of this, I specifically
went to the hospital for laser surgery to completely remove all the hair on my genitals and underarms. As for the culprits causing the color difference
: bras and underwear, after some internal struggle, I've decided to relegate them to the top shelf of my wardrobe—I won't
wear them anymore. And so, in the hall of the Cultivator's Association, you saw a woman like this: her skin as smooth as jade, her complexion
as delicate as lotus root, her long hair simply clipped back with a hairpin, her face adorned only with light eyeshadow, her features
exquisite, her eyes captivating, and most importantly, her curvaceous figure perfectly proportioned. She wore only a low-cut, backless
tank top, and her skirt, when she stood up, barely covered her thighs—could you see the
two rosy nipples on her chest?
Okay…if I keep going, everyone'll beat me up. Undoubtedly, for a woman, she is the most beautiful
, right? ==> ^_^
Anyway. I, the nemesis of demons, the summator of sin, Yang Cheng, have returned!
All you demons, are you ready
?

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[Lewdness - Registered Exorcist] Prologue: I'm Back

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