Chongqing escort women

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

In the sweltering summer, Chaotianmen Wharf was like a giant steamer, boiling day and night. The narrow, damp, muddy, and winding streets were chaotic, teeming with countless anxious porters. They wore blue uniforms, their trousers rolled up high to reveal their withered calves, and wore barefoot military rubber boots that were originally green but had been washed until they were severely faded. They carried heavy bamboo carrying poles.

Whenever a vehicle drove by, these porters would swarm around the door, shouting hoarsely in hopes of getting some business. Young people unwilling to do hard labor to earn money scurried around the streets like rats: "Sir, do you need a boat ticket?..."

Groups of alluring women stood under the trees. Seeing me walk across the road, one woman followed closely behind and whispered, "Sir, want to have some fun?"

"Sir, are you a tourist?" Having just shaken off the prostitutes who offered themselves to me, a woman of medium build and fair skin approached again: "Sir, if you want to tour Chongqing, I can be your guide." As she spoke, the woman pointed to the camera on my chest and said, "You're alone, right? I can not only be your guide, but also take your photos!"

Looking at this woman with extraordinary temperament, a beautiful figure, and full of vitality, my lust was aroused, and I readily agreed: "Okay! Miss, where shall we go first?"

"The Hongyan Memorial Hall!" After saying that, the woman very naturally took the camera from my hand, waved her slender white hand, and gracefully hailed a taxi. We got into the taxi side by side and headed straight for Gele Mountain.

As a teenager, I carefully read the novel "Red Crag." The heroic and moving stories of those tenacious revolutionary martyrs deeply moved me. With utmost reverence, I strolled through the prison, which reeked of decay, and discovered that this renowned prison was not as exceptionally sturdy and mysterious as described in the novel. It was even somewhat rudimentary, and many parts were simply too vulnerable to attack.

Entering the gloomy cell where Jiang Jie had been imprisoned, the woman whispered to me, "Back then, Zhou Enlai should have had a way to rescue Jiang Jie and the others. He gave the intelligence to the 'Double-Gun Granny,' but this old woman had a grudge against Jiang Jie and deliberately delayed because of personal grudges. As a result, she arrived too late, and Jiang Jie and the others had already been shot. Because of this, Zhou Enlai almost executed the 'Double-Gun Granny'!"

"What? How could that be?" I was deeply skeptical of the woman's words. "Miss, where did you hear this from? It must be hearsay. I've never heard anyone say anything like this before."

"Sir, we people in Chongqing all know about this. The government doesn't allow it to be made public!" the woman replied mysteriously. Then, she raised her camera to me: "Come on, sir, please stand still. I'll take a picture of you. Remember, this is where Jiang Jie lived!"

“Yes,” I muttered, taking a picture in front of Jiang Jie’s portrait and gazing at the various instruments of torture in the prison. “Jiang Jie endured all sorts of tortures during her life, yet she never gave up on her ideals. She truly deserves respect!”

“Hmm,” the woman nodded, “the cruelest punishment was driving bamboo skewers into Jiang Jie’s fingers. Ah, just thinking about it is terrifying. The bamboo skewers driven into her fingers must have been excruciatingly painful, sir. You must know that the ten fingers are connected to the heart!”

“I’ve heard,” I said, turning my face away and speaking with ulterior motives as I browsed the various instruments of torture, “that Jiang Jie was also gang-raped in prison!”

“Oh,” the woman hesitated. I turned to look at her and noticed her face was slightly flushed. Seeing me staring at her with a smile, she denied it, “No, that’s not true. It’s all just people’s dark thoughts, making things up.”

Holding her camera, her face still slightly red, she continued, “I’ve accompanied many tourists from other places to visit the Hongyan Memorial Hall. They have the same mentality as you, always associating it with the humiliation of Sister Jiang, and getting some kind of dark satisfaction from it!

Sigh,” she added, glancing at me, “Are all men like this? Do they get some kind of pleasure from thinking about other women being humiliated?”

The woman was indeed quite elegant, not only beautiful but also eloquent. She was particularly fond of her hometown, Chongqing, and introduced its famous historical sites, mountains, and rivers to me as if they were her own treasures. We walked and chatted, and before we knew it, we arrived at the main entrance of the memorial hall. I took the camera from the woman's hand: "Miss, let me take a few pictures of you too, as a souvenir of my trip!"

"Sure," the woman readily agreed, taking out a small mirror and carefully combing her jet-black hair. "Sir, wait a moment, let me fix my hair before you take the pictures!"

After combing her hair, the woman stood in front of a sculpture, striking a graceful pose. I raised my camera and snapped a quick shot, then took several more photos of this beautiful woman from various parts of the memorial hall.

Through the small viewfinder, I carefully examined this posing woman. She was rather thin, and whenever she turned her body, two rather thin buttocks bulged out in two unsightly, pointed mounds. When the woman stood upright in front of my camera, I noticed that because she was so thin, her legs couldn't even be fully closed, forming a triangular gap between her hips, which were also bony and somewhat sunken.

I squinted through my nearsighted eyes, zoomed in, and quietly moved the lens towards the woman's crotch. In the hollow of her flesh, a charming little mound seemed to protrude: Ah, that was the woman's alluring private parts! Such a beautiful woman, her slender legs must hold a magnificent, intoxicating, and wondrous vulva, right?

"Sir," the woman urged, seeing me hesitant to press the shutter, "Hurry up and take the picture, I'm tired of standing!"

Click! I zoomed in as far as possible, secretly pressing the shutter towards the woman's crotch, taking a close-up of her vulva through her pants, thinking to myself: I'll savor the photos when I get home.

Looking at the woman beside me, chatting away, smelling her faint perfume, I lost all interest in sightseeing in the mountain town. My mind started preoccupied with the woman's vulva: Ah, what a pretty young woman! What does her little cunt look like? How much hair does she have? Or perhaps they're simply hairless? The South is teeming with white tigers, and hairless beauties are everywhere!

"Oh dear, it's raining," a light drizzle suddenly began to fall. The woman quickly opened her umbrella, leaned close to me, and solicitously held my hand over her shoulder: "Sir, come this way, don't get wet!"

"Thank you," I said, happily leaning closer to the woman, deliberately rubbing my body against her clothes: "Miss, you're so thoughtful, bringing an umbrella with you!"

"It's a habit. It rains a lot in summer, so people are used to carrying umbrellas! Sir," the woman pointed forward, "Sir, you should take a picture here!" I lifted my umbrella; it turned out to be a monument. The woman gestured for me to stand under the monument, while she raised her camera. I looked at the monument: "Miss, this should be the Monument to the Victory of the War of Resistance Against Japan, right?"

"Yes, it was later renamed the Liberation Monument!"

"Why was it changed?"

"That wasn't up to us. It's good enough that it wasn't torn down!"

Across the street was a telephone exchange. My phone was dead, and I thought I should call home. So I pushed open the door and went inside, but all the phones were occupied. I didn't have the patience to wait, so I turned and walked out: "So many people! I won't call!"

We strolled down the street again, and the woman secretly glanced at me: "Sir, if I'm not mistaken, you must be an impatient person."

Wow, women are so perceptive; they always subtly observe your every move, painstakingly trying to guess your thoughts.

"Sigh, this world is really tough," the woman suddenly said, a worried look on her face, her beautiful features showing an intense longing for money: "Sir, you've traveled all over the country; you must be very well-informed. What can I do to make a lot of money these days?"

"Hmph, you want to make big money?" I smiled faintly at the woman, looking at her defiantly, thinking to myself: With your skills, making big money is difficult. "Miss, you need real talent to make big money..."

"Yes," the woman fell silent, walking anxiously down the wet street.

I casually said, "You can make big money dealing in heroin!"

"Oh, oh," the woman shook her head vigorously, "No, no, I wouldn't dare, even if I starved to death! Sigh, forget it, if you don't have the luck, don't even think about it, it's pointless!"

"If you're too daring to deal in heroin," I tentatively said, "you could work as a prostitute, making money is easier and faster!"

"Oh, oh," the woman shook her head again, "No way, I won't do it, look at those prostitutes on the street, they can't even get a few clients all day long, only a few dozen yuan per session, how can they make any big money!"

Oh, I thought to myself: I see! " It's not that you don't want to do it, it's that you think you earn too little each time!

" I decided to launch my formal offensive against the woman. "It's noon, let's go eat!"

"Okay, let's go," the woman's face lit up, and she gently took my arm. I deliberately stretched out my arm and brushed against her chest. Through her outer clothes, I felt a pair of flat breasts. The woman stepped back and straightened her clothes. "Sir, I'll take you to a restaurant. The food there is not only delicious, but also quite cheap. I know the owner of that restaurant! With me, he'll give you a discount!"

The restaurant owner was a chubby middle-aged man. He was warm and talkative. When he learned that I was a tourist from Northeast China visiting Chongqing, he poured me tea and proudly boasted, "Sichuan is a great place. We have produced many famous people in Sichuan! There are..."

"Boss, quickly bring us the menu," before the owner could introduce me to the famous people of Sichuan, the woman impatiently interrupted him. "Sir, you order!" The woman handed me the menu.

“Oh, Miss, I don’t know what Sichuan dishes are good. I’m fine with anything. I’m here today mainly to treat you. Miss, please order whatever you’d like!”

“Sir,” the woman readily accepted the menu, seemingly warning me, “Well then, I won’t be polite. Shall I order?”

“Anything is fine,” I leaned back in my chair, my gaze burning into the woman, unabashedly conveying my restless desire. At the same time, my fingertips casually tapped the table, making a crisp sound. “Miss, order whatever you’d like!”

“This, sir, this dish is very delicious, quite elaborate,” the woman pointed to the menu, expertly introducing each Sichuan dish. I was completely bewildered, absentmindedly replying, “Okay, okay, in that case, let’s have a plate to try!”

"Ah," the owner said, holding the menu and noting down the woman's orders while continuing the previous conversation with pride, "Sichuan is famous for its many famous people! We have Zhu De, Liu Bocheng, Deng Xiaoping..."

"Alright, alright," the woman snapped, tossing the menu back at the owner. "Stop rambling! Everyone knows who we are. Hurry up and serve the food; my stomach is growling!"

"Okay," the owner replied, still wanting more, picking up the menu and heading into the kitchen. Soon, dishes were laid out on the table one after another. Looking at the abundant and delicious food, the woman pleaded earnestly, "Sir, please don't mind. I've ordered so much food; we can't possibly finish it all. How about this? There's a young man from the countryside outside, doing odd jobs at the market, destitute and pitiful. I'll bring him some food, okay?"

"Alright," I thought to myself, "This woman is not only quite pretty, but also very kind-hearted!"

I liked her even more, and my desire to penetrate her intensified. "Miss, why bother bringing him over? Just let him eat with us!"

"No," the woman picked up a large bowl. "Sir, I'll take it to him. He eats so fiercely; I'm afraid you'll laugh at him!"

The woman ladled half a bowl of rice into the large bowl, then piled various dishes on top of the rice, before excitedly running out of the restaurant. The owner, seeing this, said to me, "Sir, this woman has a very kind heart. Whenever she has the chance, she always tries to get some food for that poor, destitute boy! These days, good people are rare!"

"Oh," I turned around and asked the owner, "What does she do? Does she have a formal job?"

"Yes, she not only has a job, but she's also a secretary at a large state-owned factory, specializing in computer tinkering. However, the factory shut down, and both she and her husband lost their income. Their child still needs to go to school, so she had no choice but to shamelessly work as a prostitute! She works long hours, and earning money is hard-earned! Once, on her way home late at night, she encountered a bad guy in an alley who mistook her for a prostitute and tried to take advantage of her. She was saved by a poor young man sleeping in the alley, and from then on, she was exceptionally kind to him. A few days ago, she accompanied a foreigner to lunch at my restaurant. According to her,..." She made a fortune, and the next day, she bought the poor young man a set of clothes! ...She,"

the shopkeeper hadn't finished speaking when the woman rushed back to the restaurant. Seeing the shopkeeper abruptly stop talking, and glancing at my complicated expression, the clever woman knew the shopkeeper was talking about her. She calmly sat down, pretending to know nothing: "Sir, that young man is very grateful to you. Hearing you were a tourist, he said that when you leave Chongqing, he'll help you with your luggage and see you off at the train station. Although he has no money, he has inexhaustible strength!"

“But where am I supposed to find him?” I asked. “Where does he live? How can I find him?”

“Sir,” the woman pointed to the alley outside the window, “he can’t afford a house, let alone a hotel. He sleeps in the market sheds at night!”

“Isn’t it cold there?”

“It’s alright. Fortunately, winters in Sichuan aren’t too cold. He can manage!”

“If he were in the Northeast, he’d be in real trouble. He’d freeze to death sleeping outside.”

“Sigh, what can he do? He’s just trying to make a living. Sir, you don’t understand where we are, especially in the countryside. It’s very poor. In many places, even getting enough to eat is a problem!”

“Same here,” I said, staring at the woman’s flushed face. “It’s the same everywhere. No matter where you are, there are more poor people than rich people!”

“…”

We both worked with computers and typed text. Our similar jobs made us hit it off. We boasted about our typing speeds, and I confidently said, “Under normal circumstances, I can type over a hundred words a minute without any problem!”

"Hmph," the woman said smugly, "I can type at least 150 words a minute! How about that, you can't do it!"

"Come on," I scoffed, "Miss, stop bragging. Are you just copying and pasting phrases? Otherwise, you wouldn't be this fast."

"Sigh," the woman sighed, staring blankly at her slender hands, "Typing is something you can't do without. A friend introduced me to a job the other day, but as soon as I sat down at the computer, my fingers wouldn't obey me. Looking at the keyboard, remembering how comfortable I used to be sitting in the office, I started crying. Tears streamed down my face. Sigh, look at me now, it's so heartbreaking."

"Don't be sad, Miss," I sincerely comforted her, seeing her on the verge of tears again, "The factory will reopen, and you'll be back in the office, typing away. Have faith, things will get better!"

The more we talked, the closer we became, and the more we drank. Gradually, I became somewhat drunk. The woman noticed and earnestly advised, "Sir, you can't drink anymore, you're already a little drunk!" With that, she reached out her slender hand and, like a dutiful wife, forcefully snatched the glass from my hand: "Don't drink anymore, you're drunk. Come on, I'll take you back to your hotel!"

I squinted my drunken eyes, leering at the woman. With her help, I lifted my heavy body, feigning drunkenness, and stammered, "Oh dear, miss, I really have to trouble you to take me back to my hotel. The streets here are a mess, there's no sense of direction, I really can't find my way!"

"Okay, no problem, let's go, I'll take you back! Ouch," I deliberately leaned towards the woman, who struggled to catch me: "Sir, stand still, don't fall!"

"Miss," I said, stepping out of the restaurant and looking at the woman beside me. Fueled by the alcohol, I could no longer restrain myself and formally made my request.

The woman's beautiful face flushed crimson, and she said seriously, "Sir, this won't do! I only accompany clients on trips, I don't do that kind of thing! Sir, no, absolutely not!"

"Miss, I love you so much, I like you so much, please, please say yes, I'll pay whatever you want,"

she pleaded, pointing to the trees lining the street after my insistence. "Sir, if you really can't hold back, there are streetwalkers everywhere, I can call one for you!"

"Hmph," I replied decisively, "Miss, if I wanted to find one, couldn't I find one myself? Why would you offer yourself up? Miss, I only want you. Miss, you're so beautiful, and you have such a great presence! Miss, please, please say yes..."

“Sir, you…” I persisted, subtly revealing a roguish air of “I won’t pay you if you don’t agree,” the woman looked at me helplessly. “Sir, you’ve really had too much to drink. Don’t you realize how out of control you’ve become? Where did your gentlemanly manners go? Oh, what are we going to do?”

“Come on,” I grabbed the woman’s arm. “Miss, come back to the hotel with me. I promise I won’t mistreat you!”

“No, no,” the woman struggled, wavering. “A hotel is absolutely out of the question. If we run into someone I know, it’ll be all over. If my husband hears about it, he might kill me! Come on,” the woman waved her hand, and we got back into the taxi.

I held the woman close, my hands groping her breasts wantonly. "Okay, miss, wherever you want to go!"

"Sir," the woman repeatedly pushed me away, "Don't do this! What are you doing? It's not good for people to see!"

The car crawled out of the bustling city and onto the fog-shrouded Yangtze River Bridge. Looking at the surging river below, I noticed that many houses along the riverbank were submerged by the flood, teetering on the verge of collapse, with only patches of dark, broken roof tiles visible.

"Heh," I said, still holding the woman, "miss, why don't you demolish those houses? What's the point of them being submerged all the time?

" "We can't demolish them, people still need to live there!" the woman explained. "Once the flood season is over and the floodwaters recede, the original residents will have to move back. If we demolish them, where will they live?" "Driver," the woman suddenly turned to the driver, "Stop! We're here!" The taxi stopped at the bridgehead .

The woman, arm in arm with me, carefully led me down the bridge. I swayed and leaned on her shoulder: "Miss, where are we going? To your house?"

"Get lost," the woman muttered. "To my house? You want to die? Have you no time for this?"

Reaching the embankment, the woman maintained her composure, gracefully removing her high heels, rolling up her trousers to reveal her thin, yet incredibly fair calves. Then, she bent down and grabbed my shoes: "Sir, take your child off and hold it in your hand. Let's wade across!"

"Child," I glanced at the shoes in my hand, "Miss, why do you call these shoes 'children'?"

"Just call them that. Let's hurry up and go. Don't ask so many questions!"

Hand in hand, the woman waded through the river towards an old house temporarily vacant during the flood season. The river's current sobered me up slightly, and I fully understood the woman's intention: "What, Miss, are we going to make love here?" “

Oh,” the woman playfully tapped my forehead, “Where else can we go? A hotel room? I’d never dare go, hehe.” She chuckled, “This place is great! Beautiful scenery, clear blue water, and no bed fee! Hehe, sir, you have to give me the money you saved on the bed!”

“Miss, no problem, it’s nothing!”

The woman and I waded through the river, splashing as we entered the flooded house. The house was empty; there wasn’t even a chair, let alone a bed. I looked troubled. “Miss, there’s nothing here, what are we going to do?”

I straightened my back. “Are we just going to make love standing in the water like this?”

“Hmph,” the woman searched for a more ideal spot, “Just bear with it. Who told you to insist on doing it!” "

Oh, what's that?" In one corner of the house, a steep, narrow wooden ladder led straight to the ceiling. I climbed the ladder and my eyes lit up: "Miss, the attic! There's a small attic up there!"

I climbed up to the attic with great delight. The cramped attic not only had a bed, but also blankets and pillows, neatly arranged at the head of the bed. I plopped down on the bed and happily pulled over the woman who was looking around: "Miss, please sit down!"

"Hmm," the woman's eyes were alertly fixed on the wall: "Who is this?"

"Hehe," I looked up. On the wall hung a framed portrait of a young girl, very elegantly displayed. I guessed: "No need to ask, the owner of the attic, perhaps she forgot to take her portrait in the rush of fleeing!" The woman

was still staring at the art photograph on the wall. I had lost all patience. I grabbed her white hand and began to greedily caress it. The woman was a little embarrassed and tried hard to pull her slender, delicate hand out of my strong grasp. But

I wouldn't let her. I simply brought her white hand to my lips, grinned, and began to suck on it with relish, making a smacking sound.

"Tsk, look at you," the woman said, feigning anger at my lewd behavior. "Why are all men like this? They can't resist a pretty woman, like a stinky mosquito that never stops biting!" “

Hehe,” I chuckled, kissing the woman’s white hand while squinting my bloodshot, drunken eyes, gazing lustfully at the beautiful woman before me. The woman lowered her head shyly. I reached out my other hand and gently stroked her glossy black hair, my fingers slowly sliding down to her flushed cheeks. The woman, still with her head down, said slowly, “Sir, I’m still a little worried. I’m doing this to upset my husband!” “

Miss, don’t worry too much, Miss, I like you so much, you’ve completely bewitched me, Miss…”

Releasing the woman’s white hand, I happily embraced her limp waist, my reeking of alcohol as I moved my lips towards her face. The woman frowned, trying to avoid me, her supple waist arching backward. I pressed myself against her, forcefully pushing the slender woman down onto the bed, my drunken body pressing heavily against her chest and abdomen.

The woman struggled futilely beneath me. I held her forehead, kissing her cheek for a long time, while my other hand began to peel off her blouse, reaching inside her bra to fondle her not-so-full breasts.

Under my pressure and passionate kisses, the woman took a deep breath. She stopped resisting, calmly lifting my face: “Sir, I’m so sorry for what I’m doing to my husband. Sir, I’m so scared!”

"Hmph," I thought, my mind filled with filth: What a slutty little wench! Stop pretending, stop acting all high and mighty. You're always hanging around the docks, always walking along the riverbank—you're bound to get your hands wet. You've probably slept with countless men already. You're no different from a professional prostitute, except you're not like those streetwalkers who'll sleep with anyone for a few bucks. You're selective, and you're waiting to be sold.

You're just saying all this to squeeze more money out of me!

Thinking of this, I said, "Miss, it's just for fun, nothing serious. I'm from out of town, I'll be done and I'll just leave. Who will know about what happened between us?"

"Sigh, I'm sorry to my husband!"

"Come on," I said, no longer wanting to listen to the woman's nagging. I sat up abruptly and quickly stripped off the woman's top. My eyes were immediately filled with a white expanse, and I was overjoyed. However, as my gaze swept over her more closely, a strange disappointment arose: the woman's figure was too thin and frail. Although her skin was extremely white and delicate, her breasts were pitifully small, not even as big as mine. I gently pinched them; they were dry, shriveled, and cold, without any elasticity.

"Wow, such small nipples, how can there be any milk?"

"I really don't have any milk," the woman said frankly, "My child grew up drinking milk!"

"Oh, miss," seeing me start to loosen her belt, the woman shyly pressed her thighs together. I suddenly pulled hard with both hands, and with a rip, I yanked the woman's pants off completely. The woman's body fell backward with a thud, and her two withered, stick-like thighs were exposed brightly in front of me. The thin thighs formed a huge gap at the bony hips, which was the woman's private parts that made my fantasies.

"Ha, miss, let me see," the woman said, about to close her thighs. Excitedly, I climbed between her legs and forcefully spread them apart, my lustful eyes fixed on her. Her genitals were a pitifully pale white, with prominent, bony bones. A sparse tuft of pubic hair clung to the top of the opening. I casually ran my fingers through it; the black hair was incredibly long, coiled, and covered two dark, long labia.

As I looked, I couldn't help but feel disappointed. Alas, after all the effort I'd put in, the boasts I'd made, the promises I'd made, and the great vows I'd finally made to sleep with, how could her genitals be so drastically different from her beautiful face? Experienced johns say: you can tell a woman's genitals by her mouth. But while her lips were incredibly beautiful, her genitals were utterly ordinary!

"Sir, what are you looking at? Haven't you seen enough yet?" the woman muttered shyly, her white hand trying to press down on her unremarkable, yet potentially valuable, private parts. "Sir, haven't you seen enough?"

"Don't move, let me touch it," I pushed the woman's white hand away, parted the two pigmented labia, and saw a very loose, wide-open, long, fleshy hole. I slid three fingers into the hole and started stirring them haphazardly, immediately surrounded by a torrent of vaginal fluid.

"Oh," the woman groaned. I pulled out my fingers, climbed onto the woman's breasts, and held my penis to her mouth. "Miss, hurry up, give me a go!"

"No, no," the woman pushed my penis away. "No, sir, I'm not good at this!"

"Come on, stop pretending!" I unceremoniously pushed my penis to the woman's mouth.

Unable to resist, the woman reluctantly grasped my penis, wiping it repeatedly with her white hands and scrutinizing it carefully with her eyes. Then, she lifted her eyelids and asked, "Sir, are you sick?"

"Stop talking nonsense," I retorted, already disappointed by the woman's appearance, and her pretense only fueled my annoyance. "Smooth, red, and shiny, what kind of disease could there be?"

Seeing my displeasure, the woman abandoned her inhibitions, parting her lips slightly and naturally taking my penis into her mouth, expertly sucking on it. Her wet tongue danced around the hot, round head of my penis. Watching her skillful oral technique, my disappointment was somewhat compensated. With a twist of my hips, the head of my penis happily entered and exited the woman's wet mouth. The woman sucked on my penis head while manipulating my testicles, her eyelids fluttering as she asked, "Sir, is it comfortable?"

"It's alright," I replied, continuing to thrust my penis into her mouth, while asking lewdly, "Miss, do you give your husband oral sex at home?"

"Yes, if he asks, I do. My husband is very obedient and treats me very well," the woman nodded confidently, then asked thoughtfully, "Sir, why do men always want women to suck their penises? Is it really that good? Does it bring pleasure?"

"Of course," I said, straddling her chest and pushing my penis deep into her mouth, "When a woman sucks your penis, a man gains an unprecedented sense of self-esteem. Watching the woman beneath him obediently suck his big penis, a man feels a sense of superiority, a feeling of being high above! He feels like he has completely conquered the woman!"

"Heh heh, so many theories about dicks!" The woman spat out my penis and began to rub it repeatedly with her white hands, quickly making it smooth, shiny, thick, and hard. Holding my penis in her hands, she said, "Sir, is that enough?"

"Thank you!" I gripped my penis and happily inserted it into the woman's vagina, thrusting with all my might. My penis frequently went in and out of her vaginal opening, pulling out the constantly secreted vaginal fluid, which flowed everywhere like a flood, making a mess of the woman's thin genitals and delicate inner thighs.

The woman opened her small, bright red lips in ecstasy, breathing rapidly and moaning frequently. The walls of her vagina contracted rhythmically, tightly gripping my thick penis. Gradually, she experienced an extremely wonderful pleasure, something I hadn't expected. Ah, such a loose vagina could bring someone to orgasm? I increased the force and speed of my thrusts.

“Ah, ah, sir,” the woman said involuntarily, her forehead glistening with sweat, “You’re so strong!”

“Really?” I thrust in hard. “Miss! Am I stronger than your husband?”

“Yes, strong!” The woman suddenly looked up, wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me passionately, her white hands caressing my chest. “You’re much stronger than my husband! Look how strong you are, your flesh is so hard! Your penis is much bigger than my husband’s! Oh, be gentle, I can’t take it!…”

"Ah, ah," the woman's words deeply aroused me. I grabbed her thighs and began to thrust fiercely. The woman beneath me cried out ecstatically, "Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh..."

We made love wildly in the attic. Whether it was excessive excitement, the alcohol, or the cool river breeze, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't ejaculate. I held her down and thrust in and out stiffly. The woman was drenched in sweat and breathing rapidly. "Oh, oh, sir, you're so capable!"

she moaned. The bed creaked and groaned, "Ouch, ouch!" "Ooh, oh, oh,"

I thrust and thrust, poking and poking, my vision gradually blurring. In my dazed state, the woman's moans suddenly took a strange turn. I felt a tingling sensation in my hand as I pressed against the woman's. I looked down and exclaimed, "My God, what is this?!"

There was no longer any woman moaning on the bed. Instead, there was a female ghost lying on her back, her body covered in red, fleshy bumps, staring at me with lustful eyes. Looking at her face covered in red, fleshy bumps, I felt she looked familiar. Oh, right, she looked like the girl in the art photos on the wall. "You, you," I trembled with fear, my hands smeared with disgusting, filthy blood.

Seeing me get up to leave, the female ghost leaped up, her naked body covered in red, fleshy bumps lying across the bed. "Hmph, you think you can leave so easily!"

"Who are you?" I asked, trembling with fear.

The female ghost raised her chin towards the wall: "I was the owner of this attic. I was only sixteen, but I contracted an incurable disease—lupus. I just died recently, before I even passed the scrutiny of hell. Just now, out of sheer boredom, I went back to my little attic to retrieve my art photograph."

"As I went up the stairs, I heard constant groans and moans coming from the attic. I climbed up and saw it was you—you two adulterers! You were actually on my bed, fooling around! At that moment, I really wanted to strangle you both, but seeing you two so lovey-dovey, whispering sweet nothings, I found it quite amusing and novel.

So, I secretly attached it to the photograph and peeked at it."

"Seeing all this pointless fuss, and then, somehow, I couldn't control myself anymore. I thought to myself, I've lived a full life, but I died so young, without even experiencing marriage. I'm not reconciled! So I secretly stepped down from the photo and possessed this little vixen's body, to experience marriage myself. Here," the female ghost casually took down the artistic photo from the wall and flaunted it in front of me, "This is my beautiful face when I was alive, Mr. Liu. How about it, pretty, right?"

"Mmm, mmm," I agreed without any principles, still looking for a chance to escape, "Miss is indeed beautiful, truly beautiful!"

"Thank you for the compliment! Sigh," the female ghost admired her photo with longing, then looked at her current wretched state. "I never imagined I'd end up like this, covered in red, fleshy bumps that burst open at the slightest touch, oozing pus and blood, and stinking horribly!"

Setting down the photo frame, the female ghost grabbed my neck, opened her mouth, and pressed it to my lips, groaning softly. A stream of choking pus and blood sprayed into my mouth, and I screamed in terror, desperately pushing the female ghost away.

Finally, the female ghost released my neck, grabbed my hair, and dragged me towards her crotch. "Just now in the photo frame, I heard you talking about how women giving men oral sex brings them dignity and authority! Hmph, gender equality, come on, give me oral sex too! We women also need dignity and authority, come here!"

"Spare me!" The female ghost mercilessly straddled the bed, her thighs clamping my head, rendering me completely immobile. Her dark, fleshy crotch, covered in red bumps, slowly pressed against me. From its repeated ulcerations, nauseating pus and blood dripped onto my face. "Hurry up and lick it, or I'll strangle you!"

"Spare me!" Urged and threatened by the female ghost, I painfully raised my head, stuck out my tongue, frowned, and grimaced as I licked the female ghost's crotch. The female ghost was instantly aroused, her dark crotch groaning and writhing up and down: "Oh, oh, oh... oral sex is really good, oh, oh, oh... so comfortable!"

"Alas," I groaned in pain, struggling desperately between the female ghost's legs. The ghost grew increasingly frenzied, squatting down with her legs wide open, her dark, viscous groin pounding against my face, glistening with pus and blood, emitting a pungent stench.

My head was finally able to turn freely, and I saw that the ghost was deeply engrossed in lust. I opened my eyes, pushing her buttocks upwards while secretly scanning the room: I realized my head was facing the attic door. If I mustered my strength, and caught the aroused ghost off guard, I could slip off the bed and escape. With this thought, I steeled myself. As the ghost's buttocks lifted again, I nimbly slipped out from between her legs and darted towards the attic door.

"Damn it, trying to run away!" the female ghost roared in fury. Seeing me try to escape through the door, she grabbed a picture frame from the bed and hurled it at me viciously. It hit me squarely on the head. "Ouch!" I cried out, instinctively shaking my head. The shattered frame tumbled off my head with a crash.

"Oh dear!" the woman beneath me stammered, frantically brushing the shards of glass off her. "Sir, you were too rough! You shook the attic so hard it was pounding, and you even knocked off the owner's portrait!"

"Ouch," I seemed to regain my senses, the last trace of alcohol in my forehead dissipating. Looking at the woman haphazardly making the bed, and recalling the hallucinations I'd just experienced, I sighed deeply, feeling utterly exhausted. I collapsed onto the bed with a thud. "Ugh, I'm so tired!"

[The End]

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