The lust and torment of three women

The room temperature that morning was around 27 or 28 degrees Celsius, so the winter sun felt warm but not scorching.

Like Julia, having shaved off the excess hair on her mons pubis and vulva, her mature womanly body, completely exposed, was restrained by metal handcuffs, like three swaying, snow-white, glistening, luscious legs hanging on a clothesline.

However, my brother Da was a playful young man, not a connoisseur of fine flesh. With a metal clamp and a bucket of ice-filled red wine, my brother Da began a cruel, one-man show of physical punishment. "You can't sing? Sing properly, sing it out loud… Ha! You can't even sing, no wonder you're just my kept bitch… right? Kelly…?" Amidst laughter and teasing, my brother Da's eyes revealed a wild and unrestrained wickedness beyond the years of a young boy, arrogant and unrestrained, mercilessly torturing the woman's body with ice blocks that writhed with every touch.

Kelly instinctively tried to dodge the large ice blocks pressed against her skin, constantly twisting and turning, but to no avail—the large ice blocks held by Da's clamps caught up with her swaying body, sliding smoothly down her curves…

breasts, nipples, navel, lower abdomen, and then to her hips. The chill emanating from the ice blocks caused Kelly's off-key humming of some old folk song to gradually transform into soft screams. Ah~ Ahhh~ Ahhh! In the end, my husband Da Ge still managed to slip the clamp between Kelly's legs, pressing the icy ice directly onto her exposed vulva for almost a minute. Her short, hushed screams escalated into long, unbearable howls.

But Julia and Lonely didn't have time to offer Kelly any pity in her moment of shared misery. Soon, Da Ge's focus shifted to us taking turns experiencing the pain.

She had only endured the ice torture for a few minutes, but for Kelly, it felt like years passing in an eternity!

As her body relaxed, Kelly, supported only by the handcuffs binding her wrists and her legs buckling, swayed her entire body in the wind, resembling a succulent, glistening piece of flesh dancing a seductive, frail dance on the balcony of our Lin family's living room.

Her trembling body, with saliva dripping from her lower lip and onto her teardrop-shaped C-cup breasts, was a sight that even Julia, herself a woman, found indescribably sexy and alluring.

But my brother Da's sudden whim often spiraled out of control; after the three of us had experienced firsthand how refreshingly cool ice could be, what awaited us next was the excruciating pain of scalding hot wax penetrating our skin.

Julia was the first to be tested this time, but it wasn't the first time she'd experienced the burning sensation of hot wax dripping onto her skin. However, Julia's experienced gritted teeth and endurance were actually a provocation to my husband, Da Ge, who feigned defiance. So, the lit red candle flickered incessantly, increasing the frequency of the wax dripping, just to hear more of my weak cries. At the same time, along with the threat of the candle flame and the wax, my husband gave me creative, game-like training commands. "Within 30 seconds... write the lyrics to our national anthem with your buttocks...?" What 30 seconds? What do you mean, write the lyrics to the national anthem?

While Julia was still thinking about the opening lyrics of the national anthem, she suddenly felt the burning sensation of the candle flame across her skin, followed by five or six drops of hot wax dripping onto her buttocks, causing a stinging pain.

I, being sensible, started wiggling my hips, following the direction and rhythm of the candle my husband was waving. Experiencedly, I swayed my body, avoiding several moments when I might get covered in wax, but I also decided to join in with a low scream, unable to hold back any longer.

As for the 30 seconds? The national anthem lyrics? From beginning to end, those were never the focus of my husband's attention.

The woman's body, handcuffed to the clothesline and awkwardly tiptoeing to dodge, seemed to be dancing a striptease with fear, twisting her hips and writing some inexplicable Chinese characters—both laughable and comical, yet somehow exuding a flamboyant sexiness.

My husband laughed; the image that radiated from his eyes, a picture of tormented pleasure, seemed to have been perfectly captured by Julia.

Ha, even if Julia was his father's second wife and stepmother, and possibly the biological mother of his first child, the complex human relationships only deepened the immorality of this farcical adult erotic game. Aside from that, I didn't see my husband, Da Ge, showing any extra mercy.

In the end, the three of us women inevitably ended up with several red and swollen marks. Although not burns, the patterns formed by the solidified wax on our skin bloomed like red flowers, vividly blooming flowers of pain…

However, this exhibitionist game and BDSM feast on the balcony was far from over. Instead, as my husband, Da Ge's thick, erect penis grew increasingly aroused, the torment and pain we three women endured became even more unspeakable and shameful.

With a sturdy clothesline, my husband, Da Ge, naturally also prepared some green plastic clothespins.

But clothespins don't clip clothes or socks; they clip sensitive and delicate erogenous zones on a woman's skin.

Eyelids, earlobes, nose, tongue, lips… these are the parts that can be described openly when clipped by clothespins.

Nipples, breasts, labia, and a slightly swollen, erect clitoris… these are several private and sensitive erogenous zones that are difficult to talk about, how they are clipped by clothespins.

Clipped with a dozen or twenty green plastic clothespins tied together at the ends with white cotton string, and adorned with many eye-catching "green leaves," Lonely looks like a Christmas tree sprawling with sensuality.

But Lonely was far more delicate and fragile than anyone imagined. My husband, Da Ge, barely tugged on the white cotton rope, and the tangled clothespins shifted. She winced in pain, violently shaking the handcuffs, tears and snot streaming down her face. Her tearful appearance, however, possessed a unique, pitiful charm. "Answer the question properly, you bitch #2! Tell me… what's the relationship between a starfish, a shooting star, a chimpanzee, and Patrick Star from SpongeBob SquarePants?" The adjective and usage of "pitiful" didn't seem to exist in Da Ge's dictionary, so naturally, he didn't show any extra "pity" for Lonely.

However, in the ten seconds it took to answer, Lonely seemed to give every possible answer she knew, but none of them were correct.

"Idiot! How could it be related? That bitch #2's brain is clearly not working. Just stay a bitch and don't even think about going back to being a woman, ha!" With another insult to a woman's dignity, my brother Da uttered an answer no one had considered, leaving Lonely momentarily stunned.

In that moment of thoughtful hesitation, the ball of white cotton rope in Da's hand twitched. Lonely's belated reaction, a second or two later, was the expected response to the clothespins falling off her body. Then came silent tears and snot streaming down her face, and a dozen or so heavy gasps as she tried to process the physical pain.

But these nonsensical answers, coupled with his witty responses, were far beyond the comprehension of the three of us normal women. While it offered a glimmer of hope for a correct answer, it was essentially just another pointless psychological game. Not content with tormenting us, my husband abandoned all pretense and opted for something more painful: a child's belt, meant for his uniform shorts, slammed onto the balcony floor with a sharp, loud "smack," leaving us trembling and staring at each other.

He was truly a little devil who enjoyed tormenting women, yet he also possessed a mature physique, a handsome face, and a magnificent, alluring penis—a little devil who made us three women both love and hate him.

Regardless, at that time, he was a little devil, a little devil who had lost his humanity after tormenting women.

I watched as my husband, Da Ge, aimlessly swung and whipped us with a dark blue children's plastic belt. The three of us women, like sandbags being punched haphazardly by strong adult men, were hanging on the balcony, our wrists cuffed, supporting us on tiptoe, swinging in circles in the air.

We were powerless to resist, slightly dizzy, covered in belt marks and clumps of wax on our bodies. Even our neighbor, Mrs. Hu from building number 38, couldn't bear to watch. Separated by the iron bars of our balconies, Mrs. Hu, usually talkative but whom I'd never bothered with, was about to say something when my husband suddenly slammed the belt against the bars, the buckle almost embedding itself in the gaps. Startled, Mrs. Hu was suddenly pulled into the living room by her husband, who grabbed her clothes.

"Everyone sweeps the snow from their own doorstep, and doesn't care about the frost on someone else's roof!" Is it that my little devil is so fierce that even the neighboring couple wouldn't dare offend him? Or is it that the coldness of the world makes people more accustomed to minding their own business?

"What? You think you'll be okay just because someone saw...? Dream on! I... haven't had enough fun yet!" My brother Da chuckled sinisterly as he stroked his nearly fully erect, thick penis, the clear, colorless lubricant from his urethral bulb glands making it glisten and shine, making it look like a frightening little iron rod.

And the more excited he got, the more my brother Da's devilish side would escalate—for example, the sound of wooden chair slats he'd torn from the classroom hitting the three of us women's skin was thick and loud.

For example, a stream of warm, slightly smelly, golden urine barely squeezed out from the urethra of his hard penis, followed by my husband Da Ge sweeping his penis left and right, drenching the three of us women with urine that made us feel both ashamed and humiliated.

"Come on! Smile! Su○Li, Xu○Qin, and Fang○Zhen...look ahead..." However, our trembling embarrassment and unbearable awkwardness did not make my husband Da Ge mercifully let us off the hook. Instead, we were forced to bite our ID cards down, allowing him to take photos with his digital camera, proving how despicable and shameless we three women were.

Sluts, flesh slaves, or so-called human toys—in the face of a man capable of conquering their body and soul, women cannot choose the identity they choose to serve, like Julia, Londony, or Kelly.

"Corporal punishment needs no explanation, a wicked child cruelly abuses a wife, pitifully beautiful, the torment leaves her unformed and unhealthy;

pregnant with an ominous seed, the mischievous child mercilessly abuses her, an inexplicable and hateful little man, who grows up to be both fortunate and virtuous."

Thinking about it, this was the thought in Julia's mind at that time, half-dazed, about my ill-fated relationship with my husband...

But having been ravaged and abused like this, why should the three of us women continue to follow my husband with our masochistic tendencies?

There's only one answer: because of my husband, and other aspects of him that make it hard to leave him.

Around 11 a.m., I bid farewell to the balcony ... Handcuffs and a clothesline—finally, the three of us women could return to the living room to rest.

A thin blanket and quilts were laid on the floor, and my husband, Da, took over, taking meticulous care of us.

After efficiently and carefully washing away the dirt, he gently and considerately applied ointment to all our wounds. After a clumsy but earnest massage to relieve the pressure, the three of us were greeted by the aroma of his young master's specialty, omelet rice.

Men who can cook well, regardless of age, always have an extra advantage in a woman's eyes—perhaps it's genetic! Because of my Da… My brother's father? Mr. Lin, also possesses culinary skills that rival those of a professional chef.

However, these past few months, let alone delicious meals, even getting a proper glimpse of him has become a rare treat.

And my man, my little devil Da Ge, now sits on the living room sofa like his father? Mr. Lin, reading the newspaper, looking every bit the upper-class gentleman.

The three of us women, after eating most of the omelet rice he served, contentedly lie under thin blankets and quilts, enjoying the gentle breeze from the fan, our eyelids half-open as we admire Da Ge's handsome face and his muscular physique. He had a lean, fit physique.

In her heart, she was still half-shyly recalling the two or three orgasms she had just experienced—in the bathroom while showering, the three of us women had each received a round of penetration from my son, Da Ge.

Equal distribution, right? The fairness that adults value, my little Da Ge, had put into practice!

But this quiet little happiness was shattered by a sudden phone call. My son answered, but instead of his usual loud voice or humor, he simply listened and answered questions until the call ended.

"The person who called my phone… was that woman… my biological mother!" Da Ge said, a little forlornly, after hanging up.

In the three years since Julia and her husband remarried, frankly, people rarely heard them openly discuss the things that happened in their family before, especially about my son's mother.

But in my son Da's messy room, the only thing that remained consistently clean and tidy was an ordinary wooden photo frame; and the photo in that frame was a family portrait taken a few years ago, featuring the three of them.

Then, for the first time, Julia heard my son Da talk about those past events, and his unspoken thoughts.

My son Da had always deeply resented his father, Mr. Lin's, incompetence, hating his inability to keep his mother's body and heart.

He also deeply resented his mother's heartlessness, hating her for cruelly abandoning her husband and child for an affair with someone he didn't even know.

He also hated his own helplessness, helpless because he was too young to do anything but watch his parents separate.

Therefore, since Julia and his father, Mr. Lin, remarried, he had never given me a kind look, because I had taken his mother's place in the family, and he saw a familiar shadow of his mother in me.

What he did to me, to Londony, and to Kelly was all a form of revenge, a way of proving himself. He was taking revenge for the shadow of his mother that he saw in us, proving that he was capable of understanding the joys and sorrows of adults, and that he was no longer the helpless child who could only cry helplessly as his parents divorced.

He didn't know how to break free from this feeling, and could only let it grow infinitely, driving him to take revenge and prove himself again and again. Sometimes, he was afraid and felt alienated from his own actions—that was his true feeling. But if he didn't do this, he was afraid that he would relive the nightmares of his parents' divorce.

So, he became hopelessly addicted to the carnal pleasures and torment of the three of us women, finding temporary peace in the process, as if he no longer hated his mother, whom he hadn't seen for over a year.

His hatred for his mother lasted as long as his longing for her—that was the love-hate relationship of longing!

But Da-ge's desire to see his biological mother again stirred Julia's innate maternal instincts, making her want to help him fulfill his wish to find his long-lost mother.

However, before that, we had to deal with something.

Suddenly, our doorbell rang. Looking through the peephole of the iron gate, we saw police officers, a man and a woman.

We asked Da-ge to answer the door and engage in some playful harassment, giving us time to dress elegantly, touch up our makeup, and comb our hair before we could calmly deal with these two young police officers who had come to settle their score.

Compared to how terrifying my dog Da Ge is, the police who came to investigate after receiving reports from the neighbors don't seem so scary.

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The lust and torment of three women

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