[Seven Nights of Forbidden Books] Author: Unknown

Author 　　: 　　Unknown 　　Source 　　:
sis
********** 　　...　　　　　　********** 　　...　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　I met Rumei in July in the online chat room BiChat. I'm a stubborn person; 　　even in voice chat rooms, I insisted on typing because I believed that using voice chat would defeat 　　the purpose of online chatting, and it would be much more convenient to make a phone call. Therefore, I was very unpopular there, despite having carefully 　　chosen a name for myself—"Seraphim." 　　I'm 30 years old this year and have a seemingly respectable job. By day, I'm a hardworking bee; by night, I'm 　　a stinging scorpion. 　　There are two places I frequent on BiChat: "Women's Sky," a gathering place for lesbians, and 　　"Courtyard Stories," a gathering place for SM. I think you can already guess what I'm talking about from my description. Yes, 　　I'm both a lesbian and an SM enthusiast, which is indeed a very troublesome thing, 　　like a road that gets narrower and narrower, leaving me with very few lifestyle options. 　　Rumei first caught my attention in "Courtyard Stories." At that time, she was 　　arguing with a male member. Since neither of them had opened a private chat, the content of their argument was clearly displayed on the large screen 　　. I've long forgotten the specifics of their argument, but I remember the gist: 　　the woman with the ID "Rumei" was accusing the men in the compound of being fake SMs, real perverts who only wanted 　　sex. 　　I silently watched her sharp words until she calmed down. 　　I quietly messaged her privately: "Hello, are you a female SM?" 　　After a long pause, she replied aggressively: "So what if I am! Are you like that scumbag from before, 　　wanting sex the moment you open your mouth!" 　　I thought to myself, this woman is really arrogant, completely unlike other female SMs who are submissive. She speaks with 　　a meek and obedient tone, probably not an easy woman to deal with in real life. I'd better not mess with her. Thinking 　　this, I typed fiercely: "Miss, I'm not some scumbag, I'm a woman. Besides, I 　　have no interest in female SMs with such a bad temper. Even if you stripped naked and offered yourself to me, I wouldn't!" 　　That's how I met Rumei, amidst our mutual animosity. Because we'd already argued when we first met, I 　　paid special attention to her. Gradually, I realized that Ru Mei's temper wasn't as bad as I'd imagined. The reason she was so peculiar 　　was simply because she was too intelligent. She could often instantly distinguish in chat rooms who were genuine SM members and who 　　were just scumbags trying to sneak in for free sex, and then she couldn't help but be sarcastic towards those who were teasing her. But 　　what's the difference between the two? I often ask myself, does going through SM rituals 　　make sex pure? I tend to see things simply. Becoming a lesbian is my innate destiny; BDSM 　　gives me psychological and physical pleasure, so I've become both. As for other daily behaviors 　　, I ask myself if I'm any different from others. And these two innate traits are precisely related to sex. If 　　I insist on digging deeper to figure things out, the end result will only make me more confused. 　　One night, I got home from a night shift around 1 a.m. I habitually turned on my computer and logged into 　　Biliao (a chat platform). I noticed there were very few people in the compound that night, but Rumei was quietly logged in. I thought for a moment and could 　　n't help but ask her, "Want to chat?" 　　Once the conversation started, Rumei and I suddenly became very comfortable with each other. Towards the end of August, I asked her if she 　　would be willing to accept "female BDSM" training. She said she had never tried it with a woman. I said, quite persuasively, "Women 　　are stricter than men." 　　After I sent Rumei my photo, she gave me her phone number. I think maybe it was my very 　　tomboyish appearance that attracted her. Actually, the difference between a pure tomboy and a man is like two identically wrapped gift 　　boxes; if you don't open them, you won't notice the difference inside. 　　After getting Ru Mei's phone number, I frequently used it to give her instructions, demanding she fulfill her 　　responsibilities as a submissive. These commands often came to me suddenly while I was at work. I would ask her what she was wearing that day 　　, and if she said she was wearing a skirt, I would say, "Go to the restroom now and take off your underwear. You 　　can't put it back on until I give you permission. 　　" She would be silent for a while on the day of the call, then say, "I'm teaching." I remained silent to express my dissatisfaction with her answer 　　, and she would whisper, "Okay." 　　Since Ru Mei worked in Beijing and I was in Shenzhen, I wasn't sure if she followed my instructions, but 　　whenever she whispered "Okay," I felt a strange sense of pleasure. Ru Mei 　　was a music teacher, and her voice was very pleasant. To extend my fantasies about her, I deliberately didn't ask for her photo.

In mid-September, we agreed to meet in Beijing during the National Day holiday. Before we went, I had her do a lot of
preparation and sign a "Master-Slave Contract." The contract stated that during the seven-day holiday, her body would unconditionally
belong to me, and her wishes would unconditionally obey my preferences. Although this kind of contract might seem
ridiculous to outsiders, if you're a submissive or masochist, you'll understand the weight of this agreement. During those seven
days, I could do whatever I wanted with Rumei, fulfilling all my hellish fantasies. Whether she could bear it or not, she
could only silently accept it. It was like handing over a living person completely to you, to be slaughtered at your mercy. This kind of
extreme trust is something ordinary people can't have.
With this contract, I couldn't concentrate on work every day, enduring until I boarded the plane to Beijing.
After takeoff, I suddenly regretted it, blaming myself for not looking at her picture beforehand.
What if she looked disgusting?
My lesbian side started to act up, tormenting me in mid-air until I landed at Beijing
Airport.
As Ru Mei walked towards me while talking on the phone, my anxious heart finally settled. She hung up and
asked me shyly, "Are you an angel?"
I nodded.
Ru Mei's long, curly hair cascaded over her shoulders; she looked much younger than the 33 she had told me she was.
A stylish beaded handbag was slenderly draped over her arm, and her beige trench coat made her appear even taller, revealing
a long dress underneath. Wearing heels, she was probably about 1.68 meters tall, almost as tall as me. She
had an oval face, a faint red mole beside her small lips, and bright, almost watery eyes. I suddenly felt guilty
. Although I had been with several female submissives in Shenzhen before,
I had never seen one as beautiful and feminine as Ru Mei. I even secretly felt sorry for her, because I believed that a woman with such clear eyes
should have a sunny life, not become a clandestine worker like me, struggling in the shadows
.
I calmed myself, considering my responsibilities as the master. If I developed such strong
feelings for her from the start, would we be going to go shopping hand-in-hand every day for the next few days? Since we had
arranged everything ourselves, she certainly wasn't expecting sweet moments together. In her mind, I
was probably already stereotyped as an invulnerable and ruthless sadist, and what she was waiting for was my cruel and merciless torture.
How could I let her hopes, and my own, be dashed? Thinking this, my heart hardened. I
'm a person who values professionalism, even as a SM practitioner. I gave her a cold glance
and nodded to indicate that I was indeed a SM partner.
She stared at me for a while, looking a little flustered. I didn't say anything, just stood there
in the crowd in the waiting hall. Finally, she said to me in a low, respectful voice, "Master, please come with me."
Ru Mei's living conditions were very privileged; she came from a revolutionary family, and almost everyone in the surrounding area was a cadre. She herself
was a lecturer at a famous music academy. If it weren't for her special interests, I think she definitely wouldn't have associated with
someone like me who looked like a street thug. Even if we met, she would probably call me a pervert behind my back
. Ru Mei had been married once, which we had discussed online, but she didn't elaborate on
the reason for the end of her marriage. She only casually told me that she and her husband grew up in a cadre compound
, they had a six-year-old daughter named Minmin, and they divorced three years ago. Her husband remarried quickly after the divorce
.
To be honest, I wasn't very interested in the trivialities of her family life. A relationship like ours was
like duckweed, passing by without any future, and asking too much was pointless. But sitting next to her at that moment
, I was quite interested in her body. I looked at Rumei, who was driving, and commanded her,
"Open your legs."
She gasped, glanced at me, then turned back to stare at the road. As if making a decision, she slowly opened
her legs. I reached over and pulled aside the hem of her trench coat, lifting her long skirt. The smooth satin hem
brushed against my hand, giving me a urge to tear it apart. When my fingers touched her thighs, her body tensed
, and her legs reflexively tried to close. I quickly placed my hand between her legs and commanded, "Don't
move!"
This extremely forceful tone relaxed her nerves. She should understand that for these seven days, I
was her one and only god, and also her own choice.
I moved my hand up, pressing it against her genitals, lightly feeling the shape and thickness of her pubic hair. I even
gave her a playful pinch on the thigh as a reward. Satisfied, I withdrew my hand and said, "Very good, you
did as we agreed."
Her face flushed slightly, and she replied as written in the contract, "Thank you for the praise, Master."
This dialogue was like a sitcom, laughable to the point of being comical, but it was the only answer she could give me
. According to the rules of SM, if the S doesn't speak, the M cannot speak freely, but if the S asks a question, the M
must answer, and must answer humbly, in a way that pleases the S. This is the age-old
master-slave contract. Unless humanity eliminates social classes, you will still find this servility
and domineering nature in many people.
Ru Mei's car was a Honda Accord, pure black, with a spacious cabin, not particularly suitable for a woman to drive, but
she drove it with a swaying grace. I had lived in Beijing for a year, so I was somewhat familiar with the city's roads
. Watching her car drive towards Xizhimen and finally stop in a residential area behind the Xiyuan Hotel, I couldn't help but worry
. This area was too noisy; if she wasn't careful, her neighbors could easily discover something.
Ru Mei sensed my concern. While locking the car, she told me that she
had bought the apartment two years ago as a secondhand property, and no one knew she owned a place here. She rarely stayed there and didn't know any of her neighbors
.
I thought this was what they called a wealthy person's secret retreat. I guessed this woman must have
received a considerable amount of money in her divorce settlement. And SM isn't something just anyone can afford.
Like Ru Mei's shadow, I followed her into the residential area, one after the other. Perhaps it was because I was wearing designer sportswear...
With his imposing, serious face, the security guard didn't even ask me a question when I entered the residential compound. This was a
compound built in the mid-1990s; in Beijing, property management fees for such locations are practically astronomical. Ru Mei's building had 12
floors, and it was clear that wealthy people lived there. Because it was close to the Xiyuan Hotel, many
foreigners from overseas offices also rented apartments here. Along the way, Audis, Mercedes-Benzes, BMWs, and other luxury cars I couldn't name
were parked everywhere.
I think the biggest characteristic of wealthy people is their strong sense of defensiveness. A person without money basically doesn't need to be wary of others
because they have nothing to be taken advantage of. But with money, it's different. Perhaps in the eyes of the wealthy
, the world is full of thieves, swindlers, and robbers. Therefore, the wealthy generally maintain a certain distance from others, and
this distance is exactly what Ru Mei and I need. Only in the affluent neighborhood where everyone is indifferent to each other can we safely and
completely fulfill our vows.
So all my worries were unnecessary. These random anxieties, combined with the bumpy ride of the trip, left me extremely
exhausted. I just wanted to get to my room and rest as soon as possible. Besides, my stomach was growling with hunger, so
I quickened my pace and followed Ru Mei into the elevator on the 11th floor.
Ru Mei's wealth exceeded my expectations. This apartment on the 11th floor was actually a duplex. As soon as I opened
the door, I saw a pear wood staircase with a railing on the side of the living room. The dark pear wood flooring made the room seem
gloomy. In the center of the spacious living room sat a huge grand piano; who knows how Ru Mei managed to get
it into the room. On the south side of the living room was a three-piece sofa set, light gray genuine leather, quite expensive.
There was no television, no dining table; the only place to put things was a glass tea table. What impressed me
most was the huge rug in the center of the living room, covering most of the floor. I wasn't sure if it was
Persian made, but its soft, furry texture stirred up many inappropriate thoughts in me. I wanted to pin Rumei down
on this carpet, ravage her, and fiercely question her about her extravagance—didn't she know that extravagance was
a sin!
As I stood on the porch lost in thought, Rumei gently closed the door, placed the small bag hanging on her arm on
the porch closet, took off her trench coat and hung it up, then squatted down, untied my shoelaces, and helped me take off my shoes. I
stroked her hair, thinking that being a submissive was actually quite nice; someone was eager to serve you, and you felt perfectly justified in doing so
.
Ru Mei helped me change into slippers, stood up and asked, "Do you need to rest for a while?"
Her beautiful neck exuded a fragrant scent, which made me irritable. I suddenly grabbed her by the neck
, pushed her against the wall, and harshly said, "Don't you know that only I can ask questions here? And you didn't even
address me as 'master' when you spoke to me, you worthless wretch!"
My harsh words left her speechless. This sudden humiliation struck her unexpectedly,
causing her eyelashes to droop in fear, like a frightened rabbit. I released her,
left her on the porch, walked to the sofa, and comfortably half-reclined, putting my feet on the coffee table.
After sitting for ten minutes, I noticed she was still standing against the wall in the porch, not daring to move. I then instructed
her, "You can come over now. If you make the same mistake again, you will be severely punished. Of
course, I really hope you make a mistake, because I came here to punish you. Now, I'll teach you the first thing to do:
go get me some drinks."
While Ru Mei went to the kitchen to get a drink, I took a closer look at the house. I realized it was originally a three-
bedroom, two-living-room apartment. I didn't know if it was Ru Mei or the original owner who had demolished all the bedrooms and converted them into a living room, leaving only a
kitchen and a bathroom. The kitchen had a completely transparent glass door, and I could clearly see Ru Mei
getting me a drink from a huge refrigerator. According to our agreement, we wouldn't go out for these seven days; the only place we would stay was
Ru Mei's apartment until I left Beijing, so this large refrigerator must have been stocked with a lot of food.
After dawdling for ages, Ru Mei still hadn't come out of the kitchen. I grew impatient and yelled at her to come out. Sitting
on the sofa, watching her panic, I slowly stood up and walked behind her. Suddenly, I grabbed her hair from behind and pulled
her to my chest. She felt as if a shotgun had been pointed at her spine; her body stiffened, and her rapid breathing
pierced my ears like nails. I whispered insults in her ear, calling her a useless, good-for-nothing,
a lowly slut. She cried, her shoulders trembling. I couldn't resist biting her earlobe,
licking its contours with my tongue. Her ear burned, her heart pounded, and her neck flushed. I didn't want to admit I was seduced by her beauty
. I stepped on her knees, forcing her to kneel on the carpet. I suppressed the urge to strip her naked
and ravage her, because I knew she wasn't completely conquered yet. I had plenty of time; there was no rush
. I released her, letting her kneel there sobbing.
After I calmed down, I remembered the agreement between us: I was allowed to ask questions and she would answer them,
and she was not allowed to defend herself against my reprimands. Because I hadn't asked her what drinks were in the fridge,
she couldn't get them for me, nor could she proactively ask what I wanted to drink—this was a breach of the agreement. When
I blamed her for not getting a drink, she couldn't defend herself, so she could only silently endure my harsh words
. It was a wonderfully strange cycle, like Catch-22; it seemed
difficult for her not to make mistakes during those seven days.
But what I hadn't expected was that Rumei, who argued with men online, was so docile in real life—a
huge contrast that prevented all the difficult things I had planned from coming to fruition.
I stopped the punishment and asked her, "What drinks are in the fridge?"
She knelt there, looked up, and her moist eyes held a grateful sense of being understood.
"Iced coffee, green tea, orange juice, mineral water, and beer, Master."
"Green tea, please. And get me something to eat, keep it simple, anything is fine. Don't ask
me again!" Seeing that she was still kneeling there, afraid to move, I said, "You can get up now."
Ru Mei did as I instructed. After finishing a bowl of instant noodles with fried eggs, I secretly praised Ru Mei's
cooking skills. It seemed that this trip to Beijing was worthwhile. However, I didn't show any expression on my face. Praise
is taboo in SM; saying too much would ruin the meaning.
After Ru Mei finished washing the dishes, I said I wanted to take a shower and rest. She led me to the master bedroom upstairs. The bedroom had a
two-meter-long bed with a stainless steel, ornately designed frame, large enough to strap anyone to. A
four-door wardrobe faced the bed, its mirror clearly reflecting any movement on the bed. I opened
the wardrobe; there weren't many clothes hanging inside, indicating Ru Mei rarely stayed here. I took out a rope and
a scarf from my backpack and hung them in the wardrobe. While hanging the rope, I stole a glance at Ru Mei's expression; her pupils
suddenly dilated. She was definitely a submissive. After I got my change of clothes and went into the bathroom, I noticed Ru Mei had followed me in. I asked her, " 　　What are you doing in here?" 　　She replied, puzzled, "Serving you, Master, while you bathe."
Her 　　words stunned me for a moment. My damned lesbian instincts kicked in again. As a lesbian myself, I 　　simply couldn't bring myself to shower in front of a woman, let alone have her serve me! However, my submissive mindset 　　made it impossible for me to refuse a female slave serving me. If I wasn't open about it, my status as the master would be greatly 　　diminished. Because my past SM activities had always been too hasty, I had never encountered 　　a situation where we had to bathe together. 　　I gritted my teeth and pretended to be calm, saying, "You're really thoughtful!" 　　This was probably the most nervous bath I had ever taken in my life. While waiting for the tub to fill with water, my palms were 　　sweating profusely. After the tub was full, Ru Mei tested the water temperature and came over to help me take off my clothes. I held her hand and said, "You 　　haven't changed your clothes since you came back. Go out and change into something you'd wear at home before coming back in." As soon as she came out of the bathroom, I 　　quickly took off my clothes and jumped into the tub. I poured a lot of bath soap into the water, stirred it up, and then comfortably 　　leaned against the edge of the tub. I thought that even with the best eyesight, it would be impossible to see my body clearly under the bubbles. 　　When Ru Mei came in again, she had changed into a white cotton nightgown, just reaching her knees, with 　　a matching belt around her waist that accentuated her curvaceous figure. She knelt gracefully in front of the bathtub, her posture elegant, like a 　　fallen queen. I moved my back towards her, and she gently wiped my back with a towel; her slender fingers captivated me 　　. Water splashed out, soaking her nightgown, her dove-like breasts seeming to burst forth, ready to 　　fly in the wind. I couldn't help but turn her head, kissing her fiercely, and dragged her into the bathtub. In my hands, she 　　seemed to melt into a puddle of water. My dark heart consumed all my desires, and I couldn't help but be passionate 　　towards her. When her pajamas were removed, I saw faint welts on her delicate chest and abdomen. Jealousy 　　hardened my movements, turning caresses into ravaging. I pinched one of her breasts and asked, " 　　How did you get these?" 　　She answered painfully, "Three days ago at the club, Master." 　　I roared in fury, "You're so shameless! Knowing I was coming, you still couldn't resist going out to 　　get a beating. Did that man who beat you give you a thrill?" 　　I increased the pressure on her hand, and tears streamed down her face. I mocked her, "You ca n't even handle this 　　? The worst is yet to come. If you can't take it now, I can..." "Leave." 　　Hearing me say I was leaving, she fought back tears, disregarding the breach of contract, and urgently said, "Don't go, 　　I'll listen to you, you can do whatever you want, but please don't leave." 　　She held my hand and kissed it, begging me not to leave. Her tears dripped onto my hand, and she sobbed 　　, "I waited so long for you, that's why I went to the club." 　　I was deeply moved, hugged her, and patted her back to comfort her, saying, "It's okay, be good, I won't go." 　　She hugged me tightly, as if I were her lifeline, clinging to me like a child. She rested her head 　　on my shoulder and said, "Master, I love you, you're even more beautiful than in the photos." 　　My face flushed red, because without realizing it, my damned breasts were pressed against hers 　　. 　　After finally finishing my shower and changing into black pajamas, I looked at myself in the mirror. I 　　did have a certain dashing air about me, but unfortunately, I had a naturally cold expression. My thin lips were often pursed into a thin 　　line, and my originally delicate face, with two vertical nasolabial folds between my brows, made me seem unapproachable. No wonder 　　people at work called me an assassin behind my back. 　　I don't know if people's appearance reflects their inner state, but judging from my looks and my hobbies, I definitely 　　belong to the category of someone whose appearance reflects their inner state. 　　Perhaps it was because I had been soaking in the water for too long, but I suddenly felt sleepy. I didn't care what Ru Mei did 　　to me, climbed onto the big bed, lay down, leaving Ru Mei still standing by the bed, and fell asleep in less than three minutes 　　. I woke up in the middle of the night and found Rumei wasn't lying beside me. Turning on the bedside lamp, I saw her 　　asleep on the carpet beside the bed. The October night in Beijing was already chilly. Her body was curled up, her thin shoulders 　　rising and falling slightly, her thick hair obscuring her face. I had an urge to understand her, but I 　　couldn't ask anything. I simply leaned down, gently woke her, pulled her onto the bed, and held her cold body in my arms, letting 　　her gradually warm up. She woke up, her eyes bright as she looked at me, letting my hands unconsciously 　　caress her body, and then we drifted off to sleep together. 　　Chapter Two: The Fire Star 　　When I first saw the photo of the Seraph, my heart skipped a beat. The feeling was like 　　being plunged off a roller coaster, the world losing its weight. 　　Don't think I was stunned by the angel's appearance. Although I admit, the angel was very beautiful. 　　She was already 30 years old, yet still as slender as a young girl. This balance of yin and yang is perhaps 　　the most precious thing in a world with clear-cut distinctions. I've seen many beautiful people and beautiful things, but beauty is sometimes like a gentle breeze 　　—it passes without a trace. Some ordinary people, however, are like dust—once they're there, they're hard to erase. 　　For many years, I thought I had forgotten this person, including everything related to her. Unfortunately, 　　memory is often like a loosely sealed box; it's easy for its contents to be revealed. And this time, 　　the person who opened my box was this seraph, Les. There are many people in the world who look alike, but...

The emotions and gazes were worlds apart. Even twins, their eyes always gleamed differently when they looked at the world
. Therefore, I've always believed that everyone in the world possesses a unique soul, and everyone
is different. But when I stared at this photo on the screen, my theory crumbled. The departed
soul seemed to reside in the seraph's eyes, silently watching me with a long-lost indifference
. I lost the ability to think; I only wanted to feel its sharp gaze again, that
cruel pain mixed with pleasure.
From the moment the angel appeared before me to her merciless humiliation, my mind was in a daze.
The feelings I had fantasized and longed for countless times swirled in the air, never settling on me. I
was like a clumsy actor, afraid to deviate from the script, performing the role of a slave with effort but without commitment,
but what I wanted remained elusive. If this continued, I didn't know how much longer I could endure.
In the past, my SM games with some people had to end prematurely because they didn't align with my own feelings
. In the Beijing SM community, many people called me a freak behind my back, and some even said worse things, that I
wanted to be both a prostitute and a virtuous woman. In their minds, any female submissive should be
grateful for being hit or insulted, not like me, suddenly turning ruthless at so-called crucial moments, transforming from a slave into
a queen. I don't know if I'm scary when I turn on someone, but my students gave me a nickname—
the Snow Queen. They say, "Teacher Xia, you look really cold when you're stern."
It doesn't matter. Maybe this girl called Seraphim isn't what I imagined, just as not everyone with wings
is an angel; flies and mosquitoes also have wings.
There's an old saying that's true: retribution may be delayed, but it will come eventually. Sometimes, expectation is the same; when you want it to come, it
doesn't knock, and when you don't want it to come, it's already inside. In the middle of the night, a warm hand
gently woke me from my sleep, forcefully pulling me into her arms. The innate coldness met the fiery heat, and for a moment
, the world seemed to lose its weight again. I quietly looked at the angel; still sleepy, she resembled a fallen noblewoman
, her natural arrogance and the marks left by the streets blending together in a strange harmony. Her brow was slightly furrowed,
her skin pale, her lips tightly pressed together, and I, like her most beloved toy, was held tightly, caressed casually, as if
afraid someone would take me away.
Before meeting her, I mistakenly thought the angel was an absolutely cold-blooded heroine, because she often
said harsh things to me on the computer, stirring up the primal, base desires deep within me. Meeting her, I discovered she possessed
an innate, pitiful childlike quality; even when she was fierce, it seemed as if she was defying everyone in the world. Through
our first day of contact, I experienced a stark difference between the female and male protagonists. The
double shame, evoked by subtlety, was something the male protagonist couldn't provide. Many female submissives publish articles online describing
the harmonious game between slave and master, believing this to be the highest level of SM. However, I have my own perspective. If the cooperation is
too perfect, and the slave understands every step of the master's actions, the fun of SM is essentially lost. Only
the unknown is terrifying, and this is what I long for—to feel someone who wants to completely possess me push me
into an unknown abyss, then use my helplessness and despair to evoke her pity, either to save me or to abandon
me more completely.
Of course, perhaps there are deeper layers, heights I haven't reached yet. Perhaps one day I
will finally unveil this final chapter and understand the true meaning of SM.
Before the angels arrived, they had already given me unknown pleasures. One night, I had just finished showering and lay down in bed when Angel
called. As usual, she asked me directly, "What are you wearing?"
"Master, I'm wearing a nightgown, black silk, with lace trim," I answered as usual.
"Immediately put your phone on vibrate." Her command startled me. Although I couldn't imagine
what she wanted to do, I still complied.
"All set, Master."
"Take off your underwear, put your phone between your legs, against your genitals, and start now
!"
Her domineering and seductive words rendered me powerless to resist. I thought being completely passive was a kind of happiness
—no need to think, no need to feel embarrassed, just do as she said. I turned off my phone and tucked it into
my underwear. The cold metal cover caused heat rash to break out on my legs. The unsettling
clash between my soft, intimate skin and the sharp steel made my heart race. I had a premonition of what she wanted to do.
The brief wait before it officially began felt longer than a day; time seemed to stand still. My entire being
was controlled by the phone pressed against my private parts.
Finally, it began to vibrate, urging my heart to pound. In my struggle with desire, I imagined the cold expression of an angel,
as if her gaze pierced through everything, penetrating deep into my body. I groaned, an uncontrollable expression,
but just as I was about to cross that line, the vibration stopped, and I plummeted from the sky into the abyss. God,
it was an emptiness deeper than cruelty. The person on the other end of the line was like a hellish angel lurking in the darkness; she
wanted you to live and you to die, leaving you utterly bewildered. Before I could recover from the emptiness, my phone started vibrating again
. To seize the fleeting moment of pleasure, I abandoned all shame and tried to match its rhythm,
but it was always beyond my control, repeatedly teasing my fragile nerves. Finally,
as if calculating the end of my desire, it stopped teasing me. The dual helplessness, both psychological and physical, transformed into a gushing
out of pleasure, intense and lingering, moistening my metal.
From complaint to gratitude, from resistance to worship, in 10 minutes, the angel led me to the ultimate.
Waking up in the morning, I found the angel had left the room. I had chosen a white Japanese-style bathrobe with violet floral patterns.
I should have worn underwear underneath, but thinking that the angel might make things difficult for me, I simply put on the bathrobe naked
, tied the straps, and went into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. While combing my hair, I noticed
a red mark on my neck from a fingernail scratch. I couldn't help but gently touch it, and suddenly remembered the feeling of being pinned against the wall by the angel yesterday.
My heart immediately sank into despair. Indeed, women are particularly prone to leaving marks on each other—fingernails, hickeys, lipstick
…even a casual hug can leave a safety pin embedded in the flesh.
I remembered the tools the angel had me order from Chun Shui Tang before she arrived; she said it wouldn't be convenient to take them on the plane,
so I should place the order in Beijing. Seeing the order form, my face flushed, imagining the marks each tool would
leave on my body and soul. I wanted to tell her I had to work overtime during the National Day holiday and asked her to come another time. But
I said nothing, obediently complying, because my anticipation of her had outweighed my fear, leaving
me powerless to resist.
What have I encountered today? Lost in thought, I left the bedroom and tiptoed
downstairs like a cat. I saw the angel sitting at the piano, the lid open, pretending to play with her fingers in mid-air, her back
swaying back and
forth, completely absorbed. Her childish antics made me chuckle. Then she froze, turning to glare at me angrily, like a tyrant enraged. I
knew my end was near. Dejected, I went to her and knelt at her feet. She didn't let
me go. With a cold smile, she pulled my face up, staring down into my eyes. Fear gripped my
throat like a giant hand. I didn't know what punishment she would inflict, and I had no way to avoid it. I
frantically avoided her gaze, hoping to elicit her pity.
"What were you laughing at?" she suddenly smiled, but there was no joy in her eyes
.
Like prey caught by a hunter, I lost even the last shred of will to resist. I simply clung to her knees
, begging for mercy, "Master, I'm sorry, it's my fault. I made you angry. Please forgive me this time."
"Forgive you?" she sneered, relentlessly adding, "You've probably forgotten
how a female slave should speak."
"Yes, Master, I'll go get it right away." I didn't hesitate any longer; haggling would only bring me greater
disaster.
I hurried upstairs, entered the room next to the bedroom, and took a riding whip from the shelf. According to the contract,
if a slave did something wrong, the only thing they could do was fetch the whip for their master. I had thought that for these seven
days, I only needed to be submissive and obedient, and that it would be extremely difficult for her to have the opportunity to use the whip
. I hadn't expected that she would find an excuse on the very second day. Holding the riding whip, I nervously walked downstairs, each step
feeling like walking on nails. That despair and helplessness overwhelmed me once again.
The whip exuded the smell of leather; short and sturdy, with a dark wooden handle, the scent was stronger the newer it was
. Several thin strips of leather were twisted together, braided into a plait, resembling
the black leather cords worn around the necks of many fashion-conscious young boys. The angel brandished
the whip defiantly in the air, the sharp sound sending a shiver down my spine. Who says the masochist isn't afraid of pain? Normally, even the
slightest cut to my skin would cause me pain for half a day. Perhaps it's precisely because I'm so sensitive to pain that I experience this strange
sensation, involuntarily indulging in fantasy, hoping to use it to numb my body's sensitivity.
Her pajamas were taken off, tossed aside carelessly, and she curled up into a ball on the carpet, the purple floral pattern looking
crumpled and colorless. I was glad I had the foresight not to wear underwear under my pajamas,
otherwise she would have found another reason to intensify her punishment.
"Your skin is so beautiful." Angel swept her whip across my back, and I stood there, frozen in place.
She said, "I can't believe you've had a child. Your figure is still perfect. I wonder if
leaving scars on such a beautiful body would be breathtakingly beautiful."
Although I desperately wanted to beg for mercy, that would be breaking the contract. I could only purse my lips, hoping
I could withstand the pain when the first lash landed. But after a while, the whip still didn't fall. Angel seemed
more interested in my smooth abdomen. She hugged me from behind, gently stroking it with the tip of the whip. The tingling sensation made
me unsteady on my feet, almost half-lying down in her arms. She slipped a hand between my legs, kneading my most
sensitive spot. I couldn't help but groan. Before I could recover from the pleasure, the whip lashed firmly
across my abdomen. My groan immediately turned into a cry, and my body involuntarily bent over. She forcefully pulled me
back, keeping me against her chest.
The whipping, accompanied by teasing, nearly shattered my fragile nerves. As the whip marks crisscrossed, a burning
desire surged from my lower body, spreading throughout my entire being. My skin turned red with arousal, every vein throbbing as if about
to explode. Her fingers, wandering over my private parts, evoked a thirst like someone who had been wandering in the desert for a long time without water
. I could no longer care about restraint or rules, and said to her, "Put...in."
She stroked the whip marks, her eyes glazed, as if drunk, saying, "Beautiful, beyond my imagination, but
your request isn't enough to move me."
I couldn't resist the call of my body's instincts, and like a vulgar harlot, I begged her, "Please, Master, insert your fingers
." This base and shameful phrase stirred a strange pleasure deep within me,
like an exhibitionist walking naked in the street. Shame became an added bonus of pleasure; that secret pleasure
, through the accusing and astonished gazes of everyone, concentrated in the most primal nakedness.
The angel was clearly moved by my vulgar words; she no longer questioned whether my tone was humble enough. I
felt the hottest part of my body slowly opening like a flower. Just as I anticipated her nimble fingers
penetrating deep inside, she stopped. A slight stinging sensation then shot deep into my body. This
damned devil had inserted the handle of the riding crop into me! My legs went weak, and I knelt on the ground. This time, she
didn't try to support me; she seemed to have lost her strength and knelt behind me as well.
The angel lay on my back, carefully twirling the riding crop from behind. Through my clothes, I could feel
the lines of her female body—a softness I had never experienced with a man, stirring up feelings of both hatred and pity within me
.
When emptiness is filled by nakedness, regardless of whether the act is elegant or not, the final result is the same, like water...
Fullness overflows, regardless of whether the cup contains clear or muddy water. Humans are actually quite simple; what's complex is often
the self-imposed limitations, as if without these limitations, humans would become like other animals.
I enjoyed the increasingly pleasurable movements; the pain from the whipping in my abdomen now became an aphrodisiac. I sensed
the angel was also happy; her desire swirled in my ears through her hot breath.
The whip tip, hanging between my legs and onto the carpet, filled the room with an air of extravagance.
I cried out unrestrainedly, acting on primal instincts. I wanted to ask the angel, "Are you happy too?"
Like a symphony, it abruptly ended with a soaring final note. I collapsed, exhausted, onto the carpet. The angel
pulled out the wet whip, tossed it aside, lay down beside me, held me tightly, hesitated for a moment, and finally
kissed my shoulder forcefully.
After the passion came endless exhaustion. In my dream, an angel soared through a blood-red sky, her snow-white wings
outstretched in the wind. I stood deep in the woods, my naked body enveloped by sharp roses; the slightest movement
would send thorns piercing my skin. Powerless to break free, I could only look up at the free angel, as if gazing at
heaven from hell. Suddenly, the angel opened her eyes, her golden pupils fixed on me. She
flew towards me in a staggering motion, crashing into the roses. White feathers fell from her wings. She
screamed in agony, gripping my hand and pulling me forcefully into the air. The roses bloomed maliciously, like the hands of a demon,
piercing my body and leaving long, bloody streaks. Finally, she lifted me into the air, blood
pooling from our wounds and dripping onto the silent earth. A fissure opened in the earth,
revealing countless cold eyes staring at us. They collectively judged, "A fallen angel! Guilty, you
are guilty!"
The angel held me tightly, standing in mid-air. Time seemed to freeze. The cries of "You are guilty!"
echoed in the air, like heavy blows landing on the angel. I felt the angel's arms around me grow weaker and weaker. She
struggled unwillingly, raising her head to hide her pain from me. Her snow-white wings turned black amidst the judgment,
still stained with burning celestial fire. Her once golden eyes gradually dimmed. She gave me a gentle smile
, as if becoming a hellish angel was her greatest wish. I wept uncontrollably, my heart clenching, an
indescribable sorrow, as if I had lost the most beloved person in the world.
I woke up crying, tears wetting the angel's arms that were holding me. She asked, "What did you dream about
?"
Unable to shake off the sorrowful dream, I turned and hugged her, sobbing as I answered, "I dreamed
about you, Master."
She was silent for a moment, then sighed softly, "I know, you called my name." She paused, then
added, "Never mind, I won't ask what you dreamed about."
We lay there embracing for a while until the angel's stomach rumbled. I then remembered we
hadn't eaten anything since we woke up that morning. I said apologetically, "I'm sorry, Master, I should get up and cook for you
."
After getting the angel's permission, I put on my pajamas and went into the kitchen to cook for her. As I carried a dish ... When I walked out of the kitchen with my
steak and pasta, I found her expression had returned to its usual coldness. She was sitting on the sofa, lost in thought. I carefully
arranged the cutlery, poured her a drink, and respectfully said, "Master, please eat."
She ate as if she hadn't eaten for days, burying her head in her food. Only after finishing most of the plate did she remember I was still there
. A hint of embarrassment flashed across her face as she said, "You should eat something too."
Only then did I go into the kitchen to eat my almost cold steak. Through the glass door of the kitchen, I
observed the angel as I ate. Her enjoyable expression suddenly warmed my heart. I thought of
when I was still married to my ex-husband. No matter what delicacies he ate, he always looked like he couldn't swallow them, making everyone around him
feel nauseous.
Just thinking of my ex-husband made me feel nauseous, and I couldn't eat the rest of my steak.
All afternoon, Angel was engrossed in reading in the second-floor study. Sunlight streamed in through the window,
shifting from the left to the right of her chair, casting her shadow on the chestnut-colored floor, like a mirage in water
.
When I first entered the study, Angel glanced at the computer on the desk for a while, then decided against turning it on
. Instead, she browsed the bookshelves, picking up books that interested her and placing them on the floor. Soon,
a pile of books accumulated. Satisfied, she pulled up a chair and sat down to read.
She looked up at me and said, "Will you read with me?"
I obediently browsed the shelves for a while, pulling out Seiichi Morimura's *Proof of Humanity*. To be honest,
I hadn't read most of the books on the shelf. I'd bought them purely out of a momentary interest, or perhaps to
fill the shelf, so each book was beautifully bound, printed on high-quality paper, and exuded an alluring
scent of ink. But I had no idea what the contents of many of them were.
I secretly observed the angel through the book. She was so focused, unlike many who skim through books
. The words, seen through her eyes, had built a world entirely her own within her heart.
Perhaps only someone as focused and imaginative as her could guide me to the essence of life. Simple
commands, pointing directly to the desires of the heart—if I were freed from the constraints imposed upon me by humanity, what would I have left? Certainly
not shame or love.
"Hey, what are you thinking about?" Her sudden question interrupted my reverie.
"Nothing, Master."
"Hmph!" She gave a soft, cold laugh. "You're lying." I panicked, sitting there speechless
.
Perhaps because she was in a good mood, her tone softened after a while, and she said, "Come here, kneel down
beside me."
I took the book, got up from my seat, and knelt down beside her legs. She took "Proof of Humanity" from my hand, flipped
through it casually, and then muttered to herself, "I really want to hear 'The Straw Hat Song' again."
"I do, Master, would you like to hear it?" I carefully pressed my face against her leg, snuggling against her like a kitten
. I could feel that this song had some connection with her.
"Sing," she hesitated for a moment before agreeing.
"Mother, do you remember
the straw hat you gave me?
Long ago, it was lost.
It drifted into the misty mountains.
Oh, Mother, that straw hat
, do you know where
it is? It was like your heart,
I can never have it again.
Suddenly, a fierce wind howled,
snatching my straw hat away. Oh,
it swept the straw hat high up,
drifting into the clouds beyond the sky.
Mother, that straw hat
is all I have, my priceless treasure,
just like the life you gave me,
lost and gone
..."
It turned out to be such a moving song. When I taught students before, I only thought it
sounded nice, but when I saw the angel's indifferent eyes gradually moisten with my singing, I was completely
captivated by my own voice. I dared not look at her face, afraid of pulling her back to reality from her momentary tenderness. I
hoped she couldn't see me, only hear my singing, and then open the most closed corner of her heart, even if only
for a moment.
She eventually regained her composure and curtly praised me, saying, "You sang quite well, but don't think
that means you can ignore our positions. Remember your slave status. Now go and prepare dinner immediately
. Call me when you're done."
I reluctantly and respectfully agreed, leaving the study to go downstairs to cook. Actually, I hated cooking—greasy, tedious
—but precisely because I disliked it, I had to do it, just like all the clauses in the master-slave agreement,
which I loathed but had to abide by. Only in this way could I find myself again amidst the punishment.
Dinner was utterly unremarkable. The angel neither praised my fried fish nor found fault with
me. The room was deathly still, but through this facade, I had a feeling that a storm was brewing. Her
absent-minded expression and cold gaze towards me foreshadowed the turmoil within her, a storm brewing
.
What could it be? My nerves tensed again. Could that song, "The Straw Hat Song," be the fuse
? As I dawdled in the kitchen, washing the dishes and applying hand cream, I finally approached her, awaiting her next command
.
She was curled up on the sofa, smoking heavily, burning off a large portion of the cigarette butt in one gulp. Her
anger erupted suddenly, and she yelled at me, "Do you really need so many crystal chandeliers in your living room? What a waste of
electricity! Of course, a pampered young lady like you wouldn't know how to save money. You must be
upset that I'm saying this, with your nouveau riche attitude! Get out of here right now and find some candles to light, turn off these damn
crystal chandeliers, now, get out!"
I rushed to the kitchen, rummaged through the cupboard for some red candles used during power outages, lit them on a silver candlestick
, and placed them on the coffee table on the sofa. I also turned off the bright crystal chandelier, plunging the room into darkness
. In the shadows, her anger flickered like candlelight, a devilish smirk playing on her lips. She
feigned concern, asking, "Are you cold?"
"Thank you for your concern, Master, I'm not cold," I replied, trembling.
"If you're not cold, why are you shivering? I've noticed you're a habitual liar! But it's alright, I'll help you correct this
flaw." She stood up, and I quickly knelt, praying she would let me go.
"Since you're not cold, take off your clothes." She knelt before me, maliciously lifting my
chin with her finger.
"I'm sorry, Master, I lied. I am indeed a little cold." I hesitated, unwilling to take off my clothes, because
I couldn't guess what the consequences would be.
"You want to disobey me? Take them off now, or you'll regret it!"
Her threat worked; I no longer cared about the consequences and had no choice but to remove my clothes.
"Very good." She stood up, then sat back down on the sofa. My heart skipped a beat, but she
immediately said, "You want me to just sit here? You're hopelessly stupid! You're cool without clothes on
, but I'm dying of heat. Go get me a beer and a glass of ice. You're like an abacus bead
, only moving when you push it."
When the beer and ice were placed in front of her, she didn't touch them, but instead looked me
over repeatedly. She asked in a very gentle voice, "Are you still cold?"
I cautiously thought that if I said I wasn't cold, she definitely wouldn't let me put my clothes back on; if I said I was
n't cold or hot, she would definitely find an excuse to get angry; if I said I was cold, she still wouldn't let me put my clothes back on, and she
would say some unpleasant things. So, after weighing the options carefully, I finally decided to answer, "Thank you, Master, I'm not
cold."
"Not cold means you're very hot. Come here, let me help you cool down."
"I'm not hot either, Master."
"If you're not hot, you're cold. It's okay, I can warm you up."
Every word she said drove me almost crazy. I reluctantly walked up to her, and she pulled me
onto the sofa, making me lie down. She said absentmindedly, "Women are such a hassle. When they're cold
, they say they're hot; when they're hot, they say they're cold. They're so hypocritical. I hate lying, especially women who lie even after becoming mothers."
She caressed my breasts, gently arousing my desire. As if that wasn't enough, her movements became increasingly
seductive. She said, "When you went to the kitchen to get the beer earlier, were you deliberately trying to seduce me?"
I was hit where it hurt and said embarrassedly, "I was afraid you'd be angry, Master, so I hoped you'd
forgive me for trying so hard to please you."
"Do you think I'd forgive you? It seems you really are hot right now." She kissed my
skin, which was burning with desire, forcefully, her tongue swirling around my nipples. That wonderful feeling made me feel languid all over, and I moaned softly
. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my nipple, turning my groan into a scream. I jerked my eyes open and saw
an angel pressing an ice cube against my breast. The sudden stimulation was unbearable, and I struggled.
I tried to escape, but she held me firmly. I dared not pry her hand away, so I could only grit my teeth and beg her to remove
it. She ignored my pleas and moved the ice cube over my body. Wherever it touched,
I couldn't help but gasp. Finally, the ice cube stopped on my lower abdomen. She asked, "Are you still hot?"
I quickly begged for mercy, "No, Master, please remove it. I'm so cold."
She smiled, picked up the ice cube, put it in her mouth, chewed it, and spat it into my mouth. I swallowed it, thinking
the torture was over. But then she took a candle from the candlestick, held it above my body, and hovered it
there. She said, "I'll give you some warmth since you're cold."
I was terrified and completely lost the ability to think. I could only lie there motionless, staring at the
red candle. She tilted her hand, the movement very elegant, like a nobleman pouring red wine into a glass. A few drops of candle
wax fell onto my chest with my screams.
Ignoring the agreement, I struggled to escape, but she was prepared. She threw the candle back onto the tea table,
took a rope from the crack in the sofa, and quickly tied my hands behind my back. I protested, "Master,
this isn't a low-temperature candle, it's a regular candle."
"How can a low-temperature candle warm you up?"
"I'm not cold anymore, Master."
"You mean you like ice?" She scooped an ice cube from a glass.
I froze. Ice or candle? Which should I choose? They were
like the seventeenth and eighteenth levels of hell; choosing either would lead to my utter destruction. I trembled as I looked at her, speechless.
"Let me choose for you. Look at you, shivering again." She put the ice cube back and picked up a candle
. My nerves were on the verge of collapse with her movements. I gritted my teeth, thinking, whatever, let it be
. Waiting is the hardest part. But I never expected that when the candle wax dripped, I wouldn't be able to hold back my tears.
That damned angel actually pried open my thighs and dripped it between my legs. I burst into tears.
The whipping that morning must have torn my most sensitive spot, so the heat of the wax instantly aggravated the pain. I
curled up my legs, trying to escape the pain.
I struggled to turn my back, exposing my naked back to her. She stroked my back with one hand, like
a lover who both loved and hated me. She kissed my spine and said, "You have a scar here, a deep one. I
believe it must have hurt much more when it was reopened." Her words struck me instantly. That
feeling that had led me astray returned. My crying, my physical pain, all suddenly vanished, leaving
only the excruciating pain of my heart breaking. Suddenly, I was no longer afraid; instead, I hoped the candle in the angel's hand could save
me. I turned my head and said, "It hurt, so I remembered."
"Then you must not remember me." She held the candle close to my spine, the flame almost burning my back.
She gazed into my eyes, slowly pouring all the wax onto my scar, as
focused as watering a sapling with a clear spring. I bit my lip, silently watching her. We stared at each other for a long time. Then she blew out all the candles
, untied my ropes in the darkness, and began to move slowly on my body, like a domineering lover exercising
the power I had given her, leading me into a world of revelry.
Chapter Three: Tuesday
The raindrops outside the window pattered wherever they could land, reverberating into a jumble of emotions. In the middle of the night, they came
. In October in Beijing, the usually sparse rain suddenly struck the festive city. Ru Mei woke up,
afraid of disturbing my feigned sleep, she tiptoed upstairs to get an air-conditioned blanket to cover me, then curled up next to me and fell asleep again
.
Her bare back, like a smooth fish, swam from the Arctic Ocean to the Amazon, experiencing two different
worlds of cold and heat. Perhaps Ru Mei was truly a fish in her past life, a mermaid who seduced passersby with her songs. Her deep affection and her
danger were all lurking in her voice. She was both my most cherished lover and my most hated enemy.
Without conflict, where would the tyranny come from? Because she was too beautiful, I wanted to destroy her with my own hands, to prevent her from falling into
the hands of others.
Last night, I was a demon, manipulating all the rules of the world. Even in Ru Mei's eyes, I was
the epitome of cruelty. But this rainy night, I couldn't sleep. Ru Mei's song, like a seed planted in my heart,
sprouted poisonous vines with the falling rain, entwining the dusty past.
In the 21st century, talking about innocence is laughable, like a novel with an overly perfect structure
. A happy ending is equivalent to superficiality. But who hasn't been innocent? From the absurd to the real, we've gained
so much, but lost only our innocence. Twenty years ago, on National Day, I sat on a stone bench by West Lake while my father
accompanied my mother to find a restroom. Back then, the facilities in tourist areas were inadequate; finding a toilet meant either waiting in line for half an hour
or traveling to a distant location—there were no easy options. While my parents were worrying about finding a restroom
, I was also worrying about how to write "My National Day." Anyone born in the 1970s should remember that
schools would assign this kind of holiday essay every time, tirelessly and unchangingly.
As I cracked open walnuts while thinking about my essay, the shells piled up on the stone bench and onto the ground. Soon,
an old woman wearing a red armband appeared. Ignoring me, she picked up all the shells and put them back on the bench, fining me five
yuan – my entire month's allowance! At ten years old, I no longer cared about appearances and burst
into tears by West Lake. A large group of tourists, tired of the scenery, gathered around me, and I instantly became the most
striking yet saddest sight on the lake.
I was surprised by the endless tears of my youth. Perhaps half an hour, perhaps forty minutes, it wasn't until
through the tears that I saw my parents rushing towards me. After I finished sobbing and complaining, my mother immediately
became furious. She dragged me to find the old woman who had fined me, saying that these people didn't even spare children, they were obsessed with money
! My father, however, followed behind, trying to persuade her to let it go, saying that their child had also made mistakes
. The mother got even angrier, pointing at the father and yelling, "Are you even a man? I'm already suffering all this humiliation because of you
, and now even our daughter is being bullied because of you! Are all the good people in the world dead, and you're the only one left to suffer?"
"Let's play the good guy..." Father remained silent as usual. Realizing I'd messed things up, I quickly and obediently pulled
Mother to look at the fish. Father followed at a distance, looking rather clumsy. I'd never understood
why, both being university professors, Mother was so beautiful and clever, while Father was so honest and slovenly
. Were men and women always so different?
Reaching the Flower Harbor Viewing Fish on Su Causeway, Mother's mood had improved considerably. She chatted and laughed with me the whole way, and passersby
stole glances at us, especially the men, whose eyes held a strange glint. Suddenly, I found
the straw hats being sold by vendors far more appealing than the koi in the lake. The red, blue, yellow, white...
ribbons on those hats stirred a longing within me. My astute mother immediately noticed my desire. To make up for
my earlier tears, she smiled and told me to choose whatever I wanted. After much hesitation, I picked a white satin one and pretended to
wear it.
"You're so vain!" My mother gently pinched my cheek and said, "Luckily you don't look like your father, otherwise you
'd never get married."
I retorted stubbornly, "I won't get married!"
"Fine, don't pout. Come here, let's take a picture." My mother agreed on a price with the photographer and
pulled me over to pose. I leaned against her, feeling blissfully dizzy, and said, "Mom,
can we take another picture next year?"
She smiled and said, "Sure, next year you'll be a grown woman."
That night, I was too excited to sleep. The straw hat hanging on the wall inspired me, and I secretly got up to write my
essay. I remembered the bus ride home, my mother holding me and singing "The Straw Hat Song." Although she sang it in
Japanese, it didn't stop me from thinking how beautiful the song was, so I asked her to sing it again and again, all the
way home.
At dawn, I took my essay to my mother, hoping she would praise me as usual. I pushed open my parents'
bedroom door, but it was empty. I waited and waited until noon when Grandpa knocked on the door. I asked him if Mom was
at his house. He ignored me, went into my room to pack a few of my clothes, and then took me to his house. I
waited and waited there, asking and asking. Grandma got annoyed and said Mom had gone on a business trip. Only then did I reluctantly
put away my composition book.
A few days passed, and Mom didn't come back. A week passed, and Mom still hadn't returned. Later
, Dad came and took me back home. I asked him when Mom would be back from her business trip. He ignored me again. I kept asking him questions
until he lost his temper. When he did, he would slam his fist on the table, making the room pound loudly. The house was filthy;
no one had cleaned it since my mother left. Dust fell in gusts with my father's temper, stinging my eyes and making me
cry uncontrollably. Finally, I stopped crying because my father said, "Your mother isn't coming back. She abandoned us. No matter how much you cry,
she won't come back. Save your tears."
I locked myself in my room, unable to process what he was going on. I thought and thought, and finally, I understood. It turns out that
anyone in this world can abandon anyone else. Although I was only ten years old that year, I already understood this truth.
I took the straw hat off the wall, lit it with a match, and the smoke seeped out from under the door. My father smelled it
and rushed in, snatched the burning hat, and stomped on it. After he finished, he cried and said, "We two
can survive too."
When I was ten, my mother's sudden departure made me hate women, even though she later wrote me many letters with
an address in Tokyo on the envelopes. I threw them all into the trash can. I thought she was a traitor.
At twenty, I fell in love with a girl in my class and dorm. She said, "Zhang Yue, run! Let's see who
gets to the classroom first!" "Zhang Yue, hurry up, come and catch me!"
I unknowingly fell for her, but I also hated her. I couldn't escape her delicate face; it looked so much
like my mother's. So I stopped running and stopped chasing. She turned around and ran back to me, saying, "If you don't
like running, I can walk with you."
We fell in love. That overwhelming happiness made me suddenly forget everything. I forgot the taste of abandonment, believing
those were the best years, the brightest season.
We headed straight for heaven, we headed in opposite directions.
Some people believe in love from the beginning, and if it's shattered, they will be in great pain.
Some people don't believe in love from the beginning, but later they do, and when it's shattered, they lose
all feeling.
Pain or losing all feeling, which do you choose? Perhaps you don't even have the chance to choose, just like I did back then
.
Her family discovered her abnormality, and the school was in an uproar. In China, there isn't a century of burning at the stake
, but it can still torment your mind and body in every way. My journey from hate to love, and back to hate, is like flying from hell
to heaven, and then plummeting back to hell—this kind of fall is more heartbreaking than staying in hell forever.
She left, silently packing her bags in her dorm room, her family waiting outside. I climbed over the wall from the next dorm into my own
, and she didn't even glance at me. I sat on the bunk next to her, smoking. I dared not speak; if I made a sound, her
family would immediately burst through the door, and I wouldn't even have the chance to quietly watch her leave one last time.
When everything was tied up, she carried her things to the door but didn't open it to leave. She just stood there, then suddenly
turned around, threw down her things, rushed to me, snatched the cigarette from my hand, loosened her collar, and pressed the cigarette butt to her chest
. I tried to stop her, but her eyes were fixed on me. We stared at each other, bidding a final farewell amidst the smell of burning flesh
. The cigarette went out. Throughout, she remained silent, calmly buttoning her collar again, and
left, escorted by her family.
My love and hate intertwined, growing wildly within me. I wanted to kiss her wounds, to
rub salt into her pain. I loved, I hated, I wanted to tear fate apart. It turns out, wounds are also
a part of love.
In this world, if no one needs you anymore, you won't need anyone anymore.
Leaving became the biggest event of my youth, leaving behind everyone and everything: the death of loved ones, my father
's remarriage, the dramatic changes in my hometown, the familiar accent… I traveled north, occasionally pausing
under the gray skies of northern cities, those unfamiliar faces leaving no trace, like water. On the road, I met all sorts of women…
Son, our necks intertwined like swans, then separated in an instant, our wings stained with blood, our hearts filled with bewilderment
. Like a migratory bird, I flew from north to south, all the way to the southernmost edge of the world, where the sun was warm
but human kindness was scarce. I decided to stay.
When I could no longer fly, I was as ordinary as a duck, trudging through a world of steel and concrete, my feathers
dull, speaking the language of ducks, greeting each other with rough slurs. I understood that this was not my world; the
moment I spread my beautiful wings, I would be driven out. So, I found a stable job, a steady
girlfriend. Through them, I made the world acknowledge that I was a duck, that I was gentle and refined, that I was
a perfectly normal person, that I lived naturally, that I lived healthily.
Late at night, I wandered the internet. At that moment, I was an angel from hell, arrogantly proclaiming, "Servants
, I am the king of the dark kingdom. I love you, therefore I will whip you."
Ru Mei woke up, touched my forehead, and exclaimed, "Master, you have a fever!"
She put on her pajamas, looking at me helplessly. I felt as if a burning hot stone was pressing down on me, sinking heavily
into the sofa. I weakly said, "Get me some fever reducer."
Even the strongest person gets sick; this is God reminding us that we are insignificant. I weakly
swallowed the handful of pills Ru Mei handed me, along with a glass of water made from melted ice, the water still seeming to retain
Ru Mei's faint scent.
Ru Mei went to make breakfast, and before she came out, my eyelids felt sticky. The medication and insomnia had a combined
effect, making me sleep soundly for days. I don't know how much time passed, but I vaguely heard Ru Mei
talking to someone. I quickly forced myself to wake up and peeked through my eyes without moving.
I saw Ru Mei sitting on the small table in front of the piano, her phone pressed to her ear. Her voice was somewhat suppressed.
She said, "Why haven't you answered my calls? Is Tongtong alright? I haven't seen her for months. Yu
Feng, you have to let me see her."
The other person had clearly rejected her request without any hesitation, and she immediately became agitated, forgetting my presence
, and said loudly, "You can't do this! She's my daughter, not yours!"
"So what if it's yours! You perverted bastard, go tell your parents if you dare, that Tongtong is that
murderer's child!" His roar came through the phone. I was surprised that Ru Mei didn't move the phone
away from her ear; instead, she pressed it even harder, her fingers trembling from the force. She
shouted into the phone with almost all her might, "Sun Yufeng, you are the most despicable person in the world! Give me back my daughter
..."
Her screams, so desperate, sent a chill down my spine. I completely ignored the fact that the other party had already hung up. When I
realized it, I frantically tried to redial, but it was obvious that the "most despicable person in the world"
had turned off his phone or was no longer answering her calls. After several attempts, she finally realized that her actions
were pointless, but with nowhere to vent her frustration, she slammed the phone down, smashing it
on the piano. The broken pieces scattered like limbs. I was worried she'd go insane if this continued
, so I deliberately coughed behind her. She heard it and stood there, motionless for a long time. When she turned
around, a smile was on her face, but there were tear tracks in her eyes.
"Master, you're awake." She walked to my side and knelt down obediently.
"How could I not wake up when you were making so much noise?" Although I was incredibly curious and wanted to ask her about the
man named Sun Yufeng and her, I maintained an indifferent expression.
She reached out and touched my forehead. I could still feel that her hand hadn't calmed down. She said,
"Master's head isn't so hot anymore. I'm sorry, it was my fault for waking you. Please punish me
."
I felt weak all over and had no strength to manipulate her. I pretended to be generous and said, "Fine, I'll
let you off this time. Is there any breakfast left? Bring me some."
She seemed a little disappointed. She lowered her head and went into the kitchen to get some food. She came out with
her head down again and brought a bowl of heated porridge to me. Just as I was about to sit up and eat, she frowned slightly, tilted her hand, and spilled half of the porridge
on my neck. I jumped up from the heat and quickly brushed the porridge
away. My neck was still burning. I was furious. This insidious woman actually wanted to provoke
me with such a clumsy method. She wanted me to torment her like this, even resorting to throwing porridge at me.
I pointed at her nose and yelled, "There are plenty of cheap women in the world, but I've never seen one more cheap than you! You just
want me to beat you up? Go ahead, bring me all your favorite stuff. I want to see just how cheap you really are
!"
After hearing this, she didn't kneel down and beg me like she had before. I immediately ran upstairs, my steps light.
Watching her graceful back, I trembled with rage.
Ru Mei returned from upstairs sooner than I expected. I didn't even have time to tidy my clothes before she was already
kneeling before me with a large suitcase, a desperate smile in her eyes. Her deliberately provocative expression made me
extremely uncomfortable. A slave who deliberately makes a mistake is a complete challenge to the master's authority. In the world of SM, the crime is
no less serious than that of a rebel; immediate execution would not be an injustice.
Her unusual behavior secretly alarmed me and reminded me of a question I had always overlooked: in
the game of SM, who is truly in control? Am I, as the dominant one, being led by the nose by the
submissive? When she tries to please me, I cherish her; when she makes a mistake, I punish her. The problem is, pleasing her and making a mistake often hinge
on a single thought. Thinking deeper, perhaps her pleasing her and making mistakes are intentional, solely to achieve
her desired outcome, and I'm merely responding to her pre-planned results. In that
case, my self-righteous position of master is nothing more than a passive execution. Is it possible that in SM, the one being
abused is the one in control?
I felt frustrated. To mask this weakness, I deliberately ignored her and the box, carefully
folding the towels on the sofa. I tried to stall for time, using some clever tricks to overturn the argument of passive execution.
But no matter how much I thought about it, I couldn't shake the idea. It suddenly took root and became a thorn in my side. Damn it
, this was exactly like the "Master-Slave Contract" I signed with Ru Mei, falling under the category of "Catch-22."
If a slave makes a mistake, even intentionally, and the master doesn't punish
her, then he loses the meaning of being a master. But if he punishes her, he falls right into her trap. Whether he punishes her or not, he loses his command authority, like a
general without troops who still has to fulfill the responsibility of signing a document.
My head grew heavier and heavier. The high fever that had seemed to subside earlier crept back into my body,
mingling with my complicated thoughts, making me feel suffocated and my shirt soaked with sweat. The spot on my neck where the porridge had burned was burning painfully.
To control the waves of dizziness, I knelt down opposite Ru Mei. Her reserved smile, at this
moment, turned into a mockery. I suppressed my anger and discomfort, opened the briefcase, and looked at the dazzling array of S&
M tools. I praised her, "You're such a good slave. I bought everything on your list. Very
good, very good. Let's see, what should we use? Or should we use them all?" I took out a pair of handcuffs and neck cuffs, holding them in
front of her. The metal chain connecting the cuffs was cold; I even wanted to press it against my burning forehead. I
smiled bitterly to myself, wondering who was torturing whom.
"Put them on yourself. Haven't you been waiting for this for a long time?" My sarcastic tone finally elicited a reaction from her.
Her smile vanished from her eyes, leaving only despair. She mechanically replied, "Yes, Master."
Although I began to doubt who was in control, it was clear that she was the one suffering.
She obediently looped the largest cuff around her neck, fastening it behind her back. Then she fastened
one of the two handcuffs to her left hand. Since the distance between the two handcuffs was less than two fingers,
I had to do the rest with my left hand. I moved behind her, twisted her hands behind her back, and clasped her right hand tightly.
A metal chain, about the thickness of a little finger, hung from her collar, running along her spine and securing her hands. I bent down, dragged over a suitcase
, took out a pair of scissors, and cut down her spine, severing the shoulder straps.
As the dress slipped down, she was like a gift being unwrapped, naked before me.
We were silent like never before; the only sound in the room was my heavy breathing. I found my nose completely
blocked; those seemingly insignificant movements had drained me of all my strength. I involuntarily pressed my forehead
against her back, secretly absorbing the coolness of the metal chain, taking the opportunity to catch my breath. Suddenly, she turned around, looking at me suspiciously
. I quickly pulled the metal chain, forcefully twisting her body back. I didn't want her to say anything of concern
; that would be an insult. Having already lost confidence, I couldn't afford to lose any more strength. To prevent her from saying
anything I didn't want to hear, I quickly took a gag from the box, stuffed it into her mouth, tightened
it from behind, and fastened it behind her head. If I'd known gags required so much effort, I would have made her buy a gag instead.
Unlike a gag, a gag must be tightened firmly so she'll involuntarily open her mouth and bite down
. When punished, the pain will cause her to bite down and stop screaming.
With everything ready, even the worst show had to go on. I considered: a whip? Given my current
physical condition, I'd be exhausted before I could even give her twenty lashes. Nipple clamps? Using my hands would be more appropriate
. A stun gun? Medical cardiac defibrillators typically have a maximum energy of 360 joules, while SM stun guns
have a maximum energy of only 0.004 joules—a complete joke. I rummaged through the box for a while and found that
everything I'd asked her to buy was utterly unoriginal. When I made the order, I must have been blinded by lust, wasting so much
money.
Ru Mei seemed impatient and couldn't resist peeking at what I was doing, so I quickly told her to stop.
At that moment, the evening sunlight began to flicker outside the curtains. Ru Mei's living room balcony faced west, and I remembered I
hadn't eaten all day. Worse still, I, who usually had such a big appetite, had no desire to eat, and I
was even racking my brains to deal with my slave. A sense of desolation welled up inside me; I had truly brought this upon myself. But I'm also
a stubborn person, otherwise I wouldn't be burdened with this unacceptable dual identity, yet still living a fulfilling life.
To go all the way, never to turn back, is the blackness ingrained in my veins. So no matter how the world changes, I
will still have sex with women, and I will still be a cold-blooded master. I forced myself to stand up, grabbed the metal chain,
and led Ru Mei upstairs.
I will not disappoint my slave. If you insist on this outcome, if you insist on embracing despair, I can
give it to you.
Entering the bedroom, I made her kneel before the bed. A black gag was pressed between her lips. I wasn't sure if she liked
the smell of leather; even if I asked, she couldn't answer. But from her pale face, I sensed her
worry—whether it was worry about the unknown she faced, or worry that I would collapse. I didn't want to look at her strange gaze
any longer. I went to the wardrobe; three silk scarves and two cotton ropes, one black and one white, hung quietly inside.
I chose a black silk scarf to blindfold Ru Mei. As she was plunged into darkness, her breathing
became rapid. Looking at her helplessness, I felt a surge of self-pity and couldn't help but kneel opposite her
and embrace her. Although her hands were cuffed behind her back and she couldn't hug me, she rested her head on my shoulder
. Gradually, tears seeped through her silk scarf onto my shoulder, soaking it. I removed her gag
and entwined my lips with hers, sucking the leather flavor from her tongue. She cried out. I said:
"Promise me you won't speak."
After a long while, she finally nodded resolutely. I hardened my heart and pushed her away from my lips. She couldn't express herself
, only shaking her head forcefully, begging me not to leave. I stood up and walked towards the wardrobe, but couldn't take a step. Looking down, I
saw her biting my pants with her teeth. I struggled a few times but couldn't break free. I bent down and stroked her hair, telling her,
"Never forget, you are my slave, and I am your master. What I give you is what I want to do."
She released her grip. Amidst her suppressed sobs, I resolutely walked to the wardrobe, took out two
ropes, tied them together, and then tied a knot at intervals between each rope. I think everyone can be
an angel or a devil, as long as they have enough creativity.
I tied one end of the black cotton rope to the bathroom doorknob and the other end of the white cotton rope to the opposite window frame,
stretching them as taut as possible. They stretched horizontally in mid-air, from black to white, like a road leading from hell to heaven. From
the many cosmetics on the dressing table, I chose the oiliest bottle of BB cream, poured it into my palm, and tried to spread it evenly on the cotton
rope, applying even more to areas with knots.
I dried my hands, helped Rumei up, led her to the bathroom door, lowered the waist-high rope, lifted one of her
legs, and let her straddle it, then released my grip, leaving the rope around her private parts. Because her hands were cuffed behind her back, the rope
snapped back, startling her and nearly causing her to lose her balance and fall. I steadied her and, while backing away, urged her
, "Come along the rope, don't give up. This is something I've carefully prepared for you."
"Lord..." she began, but I shushed her, saying, "You can cry, you can laugh, you can
scream, but don't speak."
She finally bit her lip and cautiously took a step forward. I leaned weakly against the bay window and beckoned to her
, "Six meters, and you'll be beside me. Come on, you can do it."
Encouraged by me, she took another step, and her private parts were immediately caught in the first knot. She
cried out in unbearable pain, instinctively bending over, but fearing she would fall, she had to take another step forward. Although I
couldn't see her eyes, I could still feel her unbearable torment. Every step she took was like a constant
battle with her own body. She cried, groaned, and felt helpless, but she never spoke, never begged for
mercy.
A sharp sensitivity mingled with pain. Six meters, eighteen knots, transitioning from black to white. Ruthlessness was the obstacle I tied
, gentleness the lubricant I applied. Ru Mei, is what I did what you wanted?
Whether crying or laughing, everything has an end, nothing lasts forever. When Ru Mei came before me,
every part of her body trembled. Whatever she was thinking a minute ago, this minute she was only immersed in her own
feelings. Fine beads of sweat seeped from every pore. I lowered the rope and helped her lie down on
the bed. We both looked more in need of saving than the other.
I lay down and unlocked her neck handcuffs, finally pulling off her scarf. Her eyes were blurry for a moment before she looked at me. I placed
my hand between her legs, where it was as moist as her body. I slowly moved my head to her chest and
said wearily, "I'm sleepy." (
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