serf

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

While Europe was experiencing the great Industrial Revolution, Russia still practiced serfdom. This system, based on a natural economy, bound serfs to the land for their entire lives, subject to cruel exploitation by the landowners.
"Master Uspinsky's two serfs have escaped! Everyone split up and search. Bring them to the master before dawn tomorrow. He will reward you handsomely!"
Several groups of men dressed as servants rode on horseback, carrying torches and hunting dogs, chasing the escaped serfs along the riverbank and farmland.
Meanwhile, a dozen kilometers away, in a wooden cabin, the fire crackled in a warm fireplace.
Although it wasn't winter yet, the lake should have frozen over long ago. They needed to cross to the north shore quickly, otherwise, in a few days, snow would block the roads, making travel impossible. They had to get a sled and dogs quickly. Bunin thought to himself, his handsome brows furrowed, fine beads of sweat appearing on his broad forehead and smooth back. A strong man was thrusting into him, his thick arms gripping his body, causing the poplar chair to creak and groan.
"Ah..."
He couldn't think anymore. The man's iron-like penis thrust in and out of his tender orifice, causing his buttocks to convulse. His hands were bound behind his back with rough hemp rope, and one of his ankles was tied to a table leg with a thick rope. His waist was firmly held in place by the man's iron wrists, rendering him immobile, forced to endure the ravaging of Bunin's body by this stranger's most ugly, hard member...
Why was this happening? He remembered. He was a serf of Master Uspinsky, belonging to the lowest class of people in this country. He had escaped from the master's estate yesterday, along with another serf, who had also been unable to endure the master's brutality any longer.
To facilitate their escape, the two had separated. Later, after a day and a night of travel, though exhausted and hungry, he finally escaped the master's vast land. On the south side of the lake, he saw this house, hoping to find kind people to rest and get some food and water.
"No...no. Please spare me." Pu Ning groaned inconsolably.
"No? What do you mean no?" The man slapped Pu Ning's firm, round buttocks hard from the side, making a clear cracking sound of flesh colliding.
Soon, her fair buttocks became red and swollen. "It hurts..." Because of the pain of the slaps, Pu Ning straightened her body, unintentionally clenching her brows, pushing back the intruding enormous thing.
"Oh...oh...so tight, almost breaking me, so good! Baby, you're not just a little lewd."
"Ah...ah...please let me go. This is wrong, ah..."
"Let you go?" the man sneered. "Can you negotiate with me? Don't think I don't know what you are. You're a runaway serf, aren't you? Is this how you usually serve your master?"
"No...it's not like that." It wouldn't have been a big deal, but hearing it aloud still made him want to cry. As a serf, no one cared about his contemptuous feelings, even though his master always took pleasure in humiliating him.
As if as punishment, the man bit into the nipple, leaving clear teeth marks around it. Then, by manipulating Bunin's waist, the man slammed him hard against the man's weapon, pushing it deeper into Bunin's body...
Bunin's entire body swayed back and forth on the burly man like a puppet, his golden hair moving wildly. As a serf, his hair was unusually vibrant, and darker than the average Russian's fair hair...
"Mmm... Ah..." The man filled Bunin's body with a white, fishy substance, and then Bunin fell to the ground with the force of gravity. Silver threads leaked from the corners of his mouth, and white, cloudy fluid flowed down his thighs, causing his unfocused, light blue eyes to unconsciously stare in the man's direction.
“Truly a Ulysses①. Looks like I won’t need to find a woman this winter.” The man untied the ropes from Bunin’s wrists, grabbed Bunin’s legs from the ground, spread them apart, and thrust his once-erect weapon into Bunin’s weakened body…
Bunin glanced one last time at the man on the ground with his water-blue eyes. He had once used those hands, so delicate for a man, to kill a Russian king’s soldier in Constantine. Killing isn’t just about strength. But he didn’t go through with it; after all, he only wanted food and transportation to leave this place, and the sooner the better. As for the unconscious and bound man, a note was left: “He sheltered serfs and warmly provided them with water and food.” “The master’s men are coming soon.” That man will find his place②.
Every creature has the instinct to protect itself. Sometimes camouflage is needed, especially for the highest form of being, omnipotent and omnipotent. All aspects of life are clowns wearing masks. Arrogant people are easy to deal with; just obey them, even play games with them, and make them believe they are the masters. After the man had his fun on his body, he gave him food and water. His body, weakened by hunger and exhaustion, recovered easily, and most importantly, the man considered himself merely a serf.
Cured meat, strong liquor, a sled, and four dogs. The sled was too worn, and there were too few dogs. But it was too late; Bunin could almost hear the distant barking.
The biting wind cut like a knife, piercing all exposed skin. His eardrums buzzed, and air rushed into his mouth as soon as he opened it. The sled was tilting to one side, and Bunin's palms sweated as he gripped the ropes tightly. Suddenly, the sled disintegrated in an instant, and Bunin was thrown from it. Fortunately, he rolled a few times, escaping serious injury. The dogs dragged the wreckage of the sled and continued running forward.
"Look, what have we found?" It was the master's men; the hounds' noses were close to his face, and Bunin could clearly feel their hot breath and their sharp white teeth.
"Haha... He's one of the runaway serfs. Look at his blond hair, that's his distinguishing feature." A hand grabbed Bunin's hair, tilting his head back. His face, covered in snow and mud, was filled with resentment, the melted snow looking like tears.
"Don't look so pitiful. Crying won't help. You'd better go back and accept the master's punishment. A serf trying to escape is out of the question."
Master Uspinsky was notorious for his cruelty for miles around, and many serfs who tried to escape were eventually tortured to death. Even if someone felt sorry for this young serf, they dared not act on it. Besides, serfs were like livestock, and a serf who disobeyed his master was not worthy of anyone's pity or help.
A noose was put around his neck, and Bunin's hands were tightly bound with thick ropes filled with oil, the other end of which was tied to the saddle. Because of the journey, Bunin went from a trot to a panting run, and finally collapsed, unable to continue, and was cruelly dragged along the ground by the horses…
①: refers to a fairy.
②: In those days, harboring runaway serfs or helping them was a serious crime.
When they arrived at Lord Uspinsky's estate, dawn was breaking. Bunin was covered in wounds from being dragged along the ground by the horses, his clothes tattered. Lord Uspinsky, wearing an expensive, warm mink coat, was already waiting in the courtyard with a stern face, but when he saw Bunin, a smile appeared on his round face, and his small eyes narrowed into slits.
The servants stripped him of his only tattered garment, and whips fell mercilessly, striking every part of his body. Soon, Bunin's naked body lay curled up in the snow. His whole body convulsed and convulsed from the cold and pain, his bloodless lips clenched tightly, and his fading eyes inadvertently caught sight of something on the ice beside him…
It was the head of a dead boy, the head of another serf who had run away with him. Although Bunin hadn't known him at all before, this boy was the only one who stepped forward to escape with him when Bunin suggested running away. Just last night, the servants caught up with him and brought him before the master. They tied the poor boy up, put him in a pit they had dug beforehand, filled it with water up to his head and neck, and after a night, the water froze…
So young, why did he have to die like this?! How cruel!!
"Why?! Why!" It was unbearable, it was self-reproach; hot tears welled up in Bunin's eyes. Master Uspensky, his hands covered by layers of leather, grabbed the serf's chin. “Why did you always disobey and try to escape? Now you regret it and want to beg for mercy.”
“No… why kill him? …He’s just a child…” Due to weakness, Bunin’s voice was very low, but the master couldn’t hear it. Surrounded by several servants, he walked back to the main house.
Two servants who stayed behind dragged Bunin to a well. They made him kneel there and poured buckets of icy water drawn from the well over his head, washing his soiled body.
After a few rounds, Bunin’s pale skin turned red, revealing an indescribable allure. One servant began to pinch the serf’s nipples with his fingers, making them swell and swell in the cold wind. The other servant maliciously trampled on the root between Bunin’s legs with the heel of his muddy shoe, watching it gradually become erect. When it was fully erect, the two men chuckled softly and whispered among themselves.
After being washed, Bunin was led to a large house. Before that, Bunin glanced up and saw a man bowing and yawning incessantly to a head servant, obsequiously accepting a silver coin from the head servant's hand, beaming with delight. The head servant kicked him to the ground. Struggling to his feet, the man saw Bunin, immediately lowered his head, and was filled with shame. Bunin remembered—it was the serf who had been in the same cowshed as him the day they planned to escape. Had this man betrayed him and the boy? Were two lives worth less than a silver coin? Bunin couldn't help but smile bitterly to himself.
In a room, a craftsman used a long iron chain to cuff the serf's ankles and sealed it with studs. Two wooden planks, one with two grooves on the bottom and the other with two grooves on the top, were connected to two shorter, thinner chains. The servants twisted Bunin's hands behind his back, stretched them out together, and the craftsman correctly placed them into the grooves on the wooden planks. Next, the two wooden boards were joined together, leaving no gaps, and then secured with screws.
As instructed by the master, to prevent this lowly serf from rising again and escaping, they decided to keep him permanently kneeling. The craftsmen welded two iron hoops, covered in barbs, onto Bunin's thighs slightly below the groin. As they were welded, the barbs pierced the flesh of his thighs, but without damaging the veins, ensuring they would never fall off. Similarly, three small iron hoops were welded onto his calves, the last one at the heel. Each hoop had a small loop at the top. A very short leather belt with buckles at both ends was attached, one end to a loop on the thigh hoop, and the other end to a loop on one of the hoops. The same leather belt was attached to the same loops on the other leg. This allowed the master to adjust the position as needed, allowing the serf to kneel or stand slightly.
After quickly wiping the blood from Bunin's legs, a servant tied a noose around his neck and stuffed a bridle into his mouth. Leading him along, Bunin crawled laboriously on his knees, to the master's room.
In the luxurious room, Master Uspinsky, attended by servants, sat. The servant removed Bunin's bridle. The master beckoned Bunin over, and after a moment's hesitation, Bunin crawled over on his knees, pulled by the servant's rope.
"Do you know, out of all these people, I loved you the most, why did you betray me?" The master picked up his personal silver whip and lashed Bunin's buttocks, further aggravating his injuries.
"Scream! Why aren't you screaming anymore, you slut? Didn't you always love to moan in bed?"
Soon, a thick red weave of bruises covered Bunin's buttocks.
As the master continued to whip him, servants brought him drinks and towels.
Bunin knew that if he didn't beg for mercy, the master would never let him go. "No~~~. Master, please stop hitting
me." "Scream, scream again." The master continued to increase the force of the whip, almost tearing the flesh off.
"Ah, ah... Master. I was wrong. Please stop hitting me. Please stop,..."
In the last few blows, Bunin thought he would faint. But Master Uspinsky threw down the whip.
"What a beautiful buttocks, so red, so bright, almost dripping blood." The master lewdly grabbed Bunin's swollen and red buttocks with his hands, kneading them hard, as if he wanted to tear the flesh off his buttocks, causing them to twitch in suggestive ways.
"Such a lewd buttocks. Such buttocks must have been hungry for a long time. They must really want to eat."
Bunin's body trembled reflexively out of fear, making his buttocks twitch even more violently.
"No, don't eat~~~~" He understood what the master meant. Escape was futile; his body was bound, his neck dragged, and two servants pressed down on his struggling body, forcefully prying his aching buttocks apart.
The master held something in his hands, pressing it against Bunin's vulva, his eyes gleaming, and licked his oily lips with his fat tongue. The servant beside him also felt extremely thirsty.
The huge, hard cylinder was slowly thrust into Bunin's tormented body. "Do you like it? This is what I brought you from Paris last time. All the sluts and whores there loved it."
When it was fully inside, Bunin's shoulders and head slumped weakly against the floor, barely keeping his body from collapsing, and saliva dripped from his mouth as he gasped for breath. The inner thighs twitched incessantly.
"You seem to have become even more beautiful." The master placed his fat hands on the twitching flesh and licked Bunin's body with his drooling lips.
Pu Ning, nearly losing consciousness, was jolted awake by two heavy slaps from a servant. The master was already seated in a chair. "Come here, you slut, serve me with your mouth." The master's legs were spread wide, his erection clearly visible beneath his clothes.
"Those lowly animals in your cowshed haven't eaten for almost three days. If you don't obey, they'll punish you even more."
"No!" Pu Ning, drawing strength from who-knows-where, ignored the throbbing pain from his swollen anus rubbing against the cylinder, crawling to the master's feet as fast as he could. He carefully and deftly lifted the master's clothes with his mouth, revealing the ugly, thick member beneath, and began licking and sucking it.
"Ah... ah... so good! No mouth is better or more skillful than yours. From now on, you only need this mouth; your filthy hands and feet will be useless."
No!! ~~~Why must he appear pleased and ingratiating when his heart is bleeding?
A white, cloudy liquid sprayed into Pu Ning's mouth and around her lips. Pu Ning endured the nausea and swallowed everything.
The master brazenly pinched and pulled at one of Pu Ning's nipples. "How is it? Missing my cock? Your desire is already too high, it's like it's saying 'I'll fuck you.' Do you want the thing in your ass to keep going? Or...?"
“…I want Master’s treasure, please give it to me.” Pu Ning rubbed her alluring breasts against Master’s trouser leg. Master gestured, and two servants came forward to pull out the cylindrical object, but it flipped over, revealing bright red and tender intestinal flesh, tightly gripping her vulva. Master’s lewd, fat fingers groped and pressed a few times before spasmodically contracting back in.
The servants came forward and adjusted the position of the clasp on her leg, placing it on the ring closest to her knees, so that Pu Ning could raise her buttocks high to the waist of the standing Master, making it easier for him to use her. Then, the servants carefully applied a large amount of sesame oil to Pu Ning’s genitals and Master’s once again engorged weapon.
“My darling, what poem will you recite this time?” Master patted Pu Ning’s still slightly swollen and red mounds.
"What does the master say? How about some pastoral stuff?"
"No. Let's have something passionate this time. To celebrate your return to my side." With that, the master smoothly slid his weapon into Bunin's enchanting depths.
Bunin curled her seductive orifice, controlling her body. She recited in beautiful French, a language a lowly serf could never possess, as if singing:
How can I compare you to summer?
You are more lovely than it, more gentle than it:
the winds ravage the tender buds favored by May, and
summer's lease is too short:
the eye of heaven sometimes shines too harshly,
and its radiant golden face is often obscured:
broken by chance or the fickle ways of the heavens,
no beauty does not eventually wither or perish.
But your long summer will never fade,
nor will it lose your pure red blossoms,
nor will Death boast that you wander in his shadow,
as you live as long as time in immortal poetry
...
The servants, who couldn't understand a word, were captivated by the beautiful rhythm and enchanting voice, while their master, who only vaguely understood, quickened his movements on Bunin's body.
Bunin's lips moved, but his eyes seemed to be gazing at some distant, distant place. Yes, in that faraway place, in a beautiful country, in the vibrant season, someone had recited the same poem for him, in the same French.
But everything was fading away, becoming more distant and unknown. Who would save him? If he knew, he would come, he would come.
Bunin closed his aquamarine eyes, and two streams of tears flowed down his cheeks. His body was captured by the rising, sinful, yet helpless lust, and finally, disturbing moans escaped his lips.
③: Peter the Great's reforms in Russia abolished cumbersome court etiquette, shortened the long skirts of nobles, and stipulated that the upper nobility must learn French. Some nobles were even born learning French before learning Russian. Ordinary people had no chance of receiving education, let alone the even lower-ranking serfs. For a time, speaking French became an important marker of social class in Russia.
The text further explains the current social hierarchy:
First class: The lord, the highest status, a Russian landowner and nobleman, the king of all his territories . Second class:
Next are stewards and some people in manors and castles who have been granted authority by the lord;
it's unclear if they count. Third class: Head servants and servants
. Lowest: Servants and slaves.
Lowest and least respected: Serfs (poor Bunin!).
Everywhere the ice and snow melted, everything was wet, water dripped from the roofs. Uspensky ordered the serfs to chip away at the ice from the carriage road leading to his manor, and to shovel down the wet snow from the rooftops. Everywhere was vibrant with life. The clouds in the sky gradually dispersed, turning into white mist, and then merging with the azure, seemingly damp sky.
It was already April of the following year. The snow on most of Russia's vast lands had melted into spring water, and the weather was pleasantly warm. Having been confined to their respective territories for half a year, the gentlemen had become more frequent visitors.
Today, a group of important guests had arrived, and all the servants were mobilized, bustling about. Having just enjoyed a lavish banquet that had fed the 3,000 serfs on Lord Uspinsky's lands for half a year, these noblemen, ladies, and young women chatted leisurely. Aside from domestic affairs and their harvests, they discussed the lives of the city's elite, the secret romantic encounters at the palace, classical poetry and songs, and historical accounts. Besides flaunting their wealth, the nobles also wanted to display their refinement and show that they weren't mere fools.
The most eye-catching guest was Pet?fi, a newly arrived nobleman from Moscow. Young, handsome, and with a refined air, Pet?fi won the favor of all the ladies present, making the other men quite uncomfortable; he had stolen the limelight.
"Let the Mongols of 500 years turn to ashes on the Don River plain. Now let me tell you about my experience traveling to Geneva with a friend:
We arrived in Geneva at night, and it was raining. Before dawn, the rain stopped. After the rain, the air became exceptionally fresh. We opened the balcony door, and the cool autumn morning air rushed in, making us feel intoxicated. Milky white mist rising from the lake permeated the streets and alleys. Although the rising sun was still hazy, it was already shining brightly in the mist. The damp morning pheasants gently brushed the blood-red leaves of the wild grapes that were entwined on the balcony pillars. After washing up, we quickly dressed and left the hotel. Because we had slept soundly the night before, we were full of energy and ready to enjoy ourselves.
"God has given us another beautiful morning," my travel companion said to me. "Have you noticed that every time we arrive in a new place, the next day is always sunny and breezy?" Living on the air, rising with the sun, will refresh us! Before long, we'll experience that long-forgotten feeling—a sense of cleanliness, a feeling of youthful vitality. "
But where is Geneva?" For a moment, we stood there, bewildered. Everything in the distance was shrouded in a shimmering, veil-like mist. Only the road at the far end of the street was bathed in the glow of the sunset, as if cast in gold. So we hurried towards what we mistook for the shimmering, golden road. The rising sun pierced through the mist, warming the deserted embankment, making everything before us radiant. Yet the valley, Lake Geneva, and the distant Savoy Mountains still exhaled a chilly air. We reached the lake embankment and stopped, overwhelmed with surprise and joy. Whenever people suddenly see the boundless ocean, lakes, or look down upon valleys from a mountain peak, they can't help but feel this mixture of awe and delight. Awakening. The Savoie Mountains melted into the shimmering morning mist. Difficult to discern in the sunlight, only upon close inspection could one see the mountain ridges, like a thin golden thread, winding through the air, revealing the endless range of peaks beyond. Nearby, in the wide valleys, in the cool, moist, and refreshing mist, lay the azure, clear, and deep Lake Geneva.
We longed to enter the embrace of the mountains, to row on the lake, to sail towards somewhere far away… But the mist had not yet dissipated. We bought wine and cheese, admiring the immaculate, welcoming streets and the picturesque poplars and plane trees in the quiet, golden gardens. Above the gardens, the sky had cleared, sparkling like turquoise.
“You know,” my travel companion said, “I always find it hard to believe I’m actually here, because these are places I’ve only ever looked at on maps, fantasized about visiting, and constantly reminded myself that it was just a fantasy.” Italy lies just behind these towering mountains, so close to us, can you feel it? In this wondrous autumn, can you sense the presence of the South? Look, over there is the province of Savoie, the homeland of the Savoian children with their monkeys described in the heart-wrenching stories we read in our childhood!
The fog had completely dissipated, and looking out over the lake from the valley floor, the view stretched to an extraordinary distance. We eagerly took off our shirts, rolled up our sleeves, and grabbed the oars. The dock was behind us, receding further and further away. Also receding were the city, lakeside, and park, gleaming in the sunlight… The shimmering water ahead was dazzling, making our eyes water. The lake beside the boat grew deeper, heavier, and clearer. Dipping the oars into the water, feeling its elasticity, and watching the water droplets splash from beneath them was a great pleasure. I turned around and saw my travel companion's face flushed. For a moment, we stopped rowing, and the surroundings fell silent, a profound stillness. We closed our eyes, listening intently for a long time. There was no sound except the unchanging gurgling of the lake water flowing past the side of the boat as it cut through the surface. Even just from that gurgling sound, one could tell how clean and clear the lake water was.
“Do you remember the bells of Cologne Cathedral?” my travel companion asked in a low voice.
“I woke up earlier than you that day, just as dawn was breaking, and I stood by the open window, listening intently to the clear chimes echoing alone over the ancient city. Do you remember the organ of Cologne Cathedral and its medieval grandeur? And the Rhine region, those ancient cities. Ancient paintings, and Paris… But none of that can compare to this place; this place is more beautiful…” The bells, faintly heard from the deep mountains, were gentle and pure. Sitting on the boat with my eyes closed, listening to the chimes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face and the gentle coolness rising from the water, was so sweet and comfortable. A gleaming white boat passed by about two versts away, its oars striking the lake, creating smooth, glass-like ripples on the surface, slowly approaching us, finally gently rocking our small boat.
Looking around, the trees, large and small, on the mountainside were painted with vibrant yet gentle autumn colors, and beautiful villas nestled amidst lush greenery were quietly enjoying the bright autumn sunshine… My companion scooped up a cup of water, washed the teacup, and then splashed it into the air. The water flew upwards, splashing out streaks of light.
“Do you remember Manfred?” my companion said. “Manfred stood before a waterfall in the Bernese Alps. It was noon. He chanted an incantation, scooped up a handful of water with both hands, and splashed it into the air. Immediately, the Virgin Mary appeared in the rainbow of the waterfall…” How beautifully written! At that moment, I thought, people can also worship water, establish a water cult, just like a fire cult… The power of nature is truly incredible! How immense is the happiness of living in this world, breathing air, seeing the sky, water, and sun! Yet we still feel unhappy! Why? Is it because our lives are short, because we are lonely, because our lives are full of errors? Take Lake Geneva, for example, when the snow… Lyrical Nanoha came here, Byron came here… Some people are alone, yet their hearts yearn for the happiness of the whole world. All the idealists, all the lovers, all the young people, all those who came here seeking happiness have departed this world, vanished forever. You and I, one day, will also depart this world… Would you like some wine?” I handed him a glass, he filled it for me, and then, with a melancholy smile, said, “I feel that one day I will merge into this ancient silence, we will both stand at its door, and our happiness lies within that door.”
We gazed for a long time at the overlapping mountains and the clean, soft blue sky that enveloped them, the air filled with the hopeless melancholy of autumn. We imagined ourselves deep in the heart of the mountains, a place untouched by humankind… The sun shone on the valleys locked by the surrounding peaks, and a vulture soared in the vast sky between the mountains and the blue sky… Only the two of us existed between the water and the sky…
We rowed leisurely, listening to the fading tolling of bells, discussing our trip to Savoie, debating where we could linger and how long, but our hearts wandered, constantly yearning for happiness. The beauty of nature, art, and religion—beauties we had never seen before—stirred a vibrant longing within us, a yearning for our lives to rise to such heights, to fill this beauty with heartfelt joy, and to share our joy with others. Wherever we went on our journey, we were always looking at each other. I believe it was a unique, romantic, and extremely sensitive love, a love that almost deified those before us… But could this happiness be nothing more than a castle in the air? Otherwise, why does it retreat further and further away from us as we pursue it step by step into the lush forests and mountains?
My travel companion, with whom I shared so much joy and sorrow on my journey, is one of the few people I have ever loved in my life, and this short essay is dedicated to him. At the same time, I also use this essay to pay tribute to all our like-minded friends who wander the world together.
"Wow~~~~~ So beautiful, so romantic!!" A surprised scream broke the silence.
"The whole piece is recited in French, it feels so poetic, so poetic."
Everyone was captivated by Pet?fi's romantic sentiment and profound literary talent.
"May I ask who your lifelong love is?"
"I'm sorry, I cannot answer you. His status is very low, an insult to the noble titles of some pretentious people," Pet?fi replied politely with a smile.
But to some, it sounded very jarring. The man sitting next to Master Kashu was also a manor owner, and a neighbor of Master Uspinsky. They were close friends and shared a common grudge. Kashu whispered in Uspinsky's ear, "Call Bunin out and see how arrogant this brat can be. Let everyone know that even a serf by Master Uspinsky's side can speak French and compose poetry. Then you, as the master, are even more remarkable."
Was it "remarkable"? Uspinsky's eyes crinkled with a smile, but then his face darkened. "That wouldn't be good. I was originally going to call him out to entertain you after all these noble ladies had left, leaving only a portion of you."
In a room at the back of the vast, labyrinthine manor. If the front was paradise, then this was hell.
"You slut, make your asshole bigger."
"Ugh, ugh, ~~~~~~~" Bunin, with a gag in his mouth, instinctively let out a mournful cry.
A thick, imposing figure stood behind Bunin, one foot planted on the wooden stick between his legs, which served to bind and spread his lower body. A hand was reaching into Bunin's anus, frantically trying to penetrate completely, relentlessly digging and probing despite Bunin's physical limitations.
After a while, the hand was withdrawn, and then a hollow, thick rod was inserted into the still-twitching, open vagina. "Because you have to serve some important guests tonight, the master ordered that you be thoroughly cleaned, inside and out."
Guests? Would many more men be pressing down on him tonight? Ever since Bunin fell into Master Uspinsky's hands, the master had treated him like a rare and precious toy, playing with him at will and occasionally displaying him to his guests as a rare commodity.
Streams of cold water were poured into Bunin's body several times through a sheepskin water bag via the hollow rod, until Bunin's stomach swelled.
The servant grabbed one end of the stalk and twisted it violently a few more times inside the blocked acupoint. This caused Bunin's snow-white buttocks to twitch. A trickle of water struggled to flow out from the gap.
A large water basin for livestock was kicked behind Bunin by the servant. "Wait a minute, then you can relieve yourself to your heart's content. You beast." The word "beast" made Bunin's bloodless lips tremble. His eyes, as blue as Lake Onega, heartbreakingly calm yet sigh-inducing, flashed with shock, shame, and anger before returning to their original listless and somber expression.
The stalk was pulled out, and an intense, uncontrollable primal reaction surged forth. It was as if something had been repeatedly lost, and finally, the last precious thing he wanted to hold onto helplessly flowed down his cheek with a single tear.
“Crying won’t help, we’ll have to force-feed him a few more times.”
The steward, standing to the side, grabbed Bunin’s chin and noticed that he was only shedding tears, his face devoid of any emotion. Perhaps the tears in his heart had long since dried up. The steward removed the muzzle from Bunin’s mouth and touched the cold marks on his lips with his fingers. This person of such lowly status possessed an inexplicable magic; he was different from all the other serfs. Even now, like a doll, no matter how dirty he was, he still possessed a dazzling radiance.
He recalled the lord’s excitement when Uspensky brought him into the manor, as if a treasure trove had been unearthed from the fields. At that time, Uspensky treated him like a young master, a distinguished guest, giving him the best food and seats, something even the steward, second only to the lord, envied greatly. But this boy just wouldn’t give the lord a kind look. In the end, the lord lost his temper and sent him back to his status to work in the cowshed with the lowly serfs, but he still showered him with favor every few days. He, however, foolishly tried to escape. The master hated serfs who disobeyed orders and ran away…
Several times in the end, clear water flowed out, and the steward personally wiped Puning's body.
He removed layers of white cloth strips, stained with discolored black blood, from his hands, which were locked behind his back in the wooden planks. His wrists, worn raw from prolonged friction, were bruised and swollen, so they had to be carefully washed with warm water infused with herbs and the cloths changed periodically. Otherwise, infection would be difficult to explain to the master.
The iron rings binding his legs had long since fused with his flesh and stopped bleeding. The muscles in his legs, which he couldn't walk, were beginning to necrotize, and his knees, which he used constantly, were worn raw with countless layers of skin. The steward wiped each of these areas as well.
Puning's body was neither thin nor particularly robust; it had no excess fat, and his muscles were white, firm, and muscular. Since falling into the hands of Master Uspinsky, and following the subsequent inhuman torture and abuse, he had lost a significant amount of weight, becoming much thinner, his skin a sickly pale color, and his hair had lost its original golden luster. The lines of his sensual collarbones were clearly visible; his hands and feet, long unused, appeared unnaturally thin due to atrophy; his waist was so thin it was almost unbearable, making his not-so-prominent buttocks appear strikingly prominent. The butler's lewd hand rubbed against Bunin's slightly upturned, firm, snow-white mounds…
Suddenly, the master unexpectedly summoned Bunin to the front drawing room, and this time, surprisingly, ordered the removal of Bunin's shackles. The butler panicked, hurriedly summoning craftsmen to remove the shackles from Bunin's hands and feet, which had been immobilized for six months. Because the anklets embedded in flesh could not be removed immediately, they dressed Bunin in loose trousers and a white shirt.
Even with his legs freed, Bunin was unable to walk immediately and was supported by two servants to the drawing room.
The pale-faced yet beautiful woman captivated everyone in the hall with Bunin's ethereal and sorrowful beauty, like a silvery river shimmering under the moonlight. Pet?fi, seated at the table, trembled violently in his cup, spilling much of its sweetness. His heart clenched, pounding like a drum, but he maintained his composure. "I've finally found you, Bunin."
"Let me introduce you all, this is Bunin. One of my lowly slaves." Master Uspensky. Two servants released Bunin, who immediately knelt and kowtowed several times to his master and all the nobles present.
"Ah, a slave. How could he bring him here?" Those present were deeply displeased that Master Uspensky had placed a serf alongside them.
Lord Uspinsky, however, was unimpressed. Instead, he urged, "Bunin, display your nightingale-like voice and entertain these noble ladies with the most beautiful words!"
Bunin knew he couldn't disobey. Countless times he had seen other serfs, just as miserable as himself, punished for the slightest dissatisfaction or refusal to speak.
A clear, magnetic voice rang out. How wonderful; that voice hadn't deteriorated along with his body. He loved his voice, saying it was like heavenly music, embodying the pure sweetness of nature.
"Swans on the mirror-like water,
flapping their wings,
ripples gently swaying on the river,
ah! Come!
See the stars shining in the sky,
the leaves whispering, the clouds
flying across the horizon..."
Bunin closed his eyes, repeating this call many times. It was a call from the heart; though his body was imprisoned, his heart still yearned for freedom, longed for, hoped for a happy ending, though it seemed so distant and uncertain. It was as if his body followed his heart, carrying him to break free of all shackles, to lie quietly in the arms of his former lover on the other side of the sky. But all of this was like a beautiful dream, so distant and unattainable. He shook his head in anguish.
Everyone murmured in admiration, looking at Bunin with newfound respect.
A round of applause rang out, "Not bad, not bad. Very good French, very beautiful poetry. It shouldn't be something you recited from someone else? It's truly remarkable for a serf to achieve this."
Whose voice was that? So familiar... Bunin raised his head. The shock was immense, the joy in his heart surged like a tidal wave. But... why was he here, attending Lord Uspinsky's banquet, and being seen like this by him? Perhaps he didn't even recognize himself. The once dashing young man, full of righteous spirit. Now, groveling and servile, his body and soul withered. Bunin's eyes dimmed again. Perhaps it was better to be strangers.
“I did it myself.” Bunin’s lower lip trembled, then he lowered his upper body, burying his head in his heaving shoulders.
“How many languages do you speak?” Pet?fi asked.
“English, French, Portuguese, Spanish, and a little Latin.”
“My God!! He’s a genius. Was he really a serf?” someone screamed.
Even Lord Uspinsky smiled wryly; how come he didn’t even know Bunin knew these languages besides French?
“No one here should know Spanish, so you wouldn’t have had a chance to learn it from others. Let me test you on this poem; can you understand it?” It was a clear implication: Bunin, we can talk freely in languages others don’t know; you can say what you want to say but dare not say.
How could I compare you to summer?
You are not only more lovely than it, but also more gentle:
the fierce winds trample the tender buds cherished by May,
and the lease of summer is too short:
the eye of heaven sometimes shines too harshly,
and its radiant golden face is often obscured:
broken by chance or the fickle ways of nature,
no beauty does not eventually wither or perish.
But your long summer will never fade,
nor will it lose your pure red blossoms,
nor will Death boast that you wander in his shadow,
as long as you live on in immortal poetry.
As long as there are humans, or as long as humans have eyes,
poetry will forever reside in my heart because of you, and you will be with poetry.
Ah, ~~~~ Bunin suddenly looked up. Pet?fi already knew him; this was the poem they had exchanged in Geneva years ago. Pet?fi had recited it in French, and Bunin had recited it in Spanish. At that time, Bunin's reserve had somewhat hurt the heart of the romantic Pet?fi.
Bunin, don't hide anymore, I will understand your heart.
Bunin, lost in thought, recited in the passionate language of his nation:
"Between us lies a sleeping tundra forest, and one heart has already given a ring to another heart..."
Yes, he could no longer hide; they both knew each other's hearts. Why the roundabout way? The situation was no longer optimistic. Since I no longer hoped for tomorrow, I would pour out my heart today.
Bunin, I must rescue you. That was Pet?fi's unwavering gaze and determination. In 1840, the Golden Horde, ruled by Batu Khan, grandson of Genghis Khan, conquered Ryazan and other places, and later Kiev, thus beginning the Mongol rule. At the end
of the 14th century, the Grand Duchy of Moscow gradually grew stronger, and Grand Prince Dmitry led his army to defeat the Mongol army on the Don River plain.
② German city name.
③ French province name.
④ "Manfred" is a poem drama by the English poet Byron, published in 1817. Bunin translated it into Russian.
⑤ Located in southern Switzerland, it is part of the Alps.
⑦ A large lake located in western Russia.
Bunin's ancestors were serfs bound to the land for generations, working like oxen and horses for their masters. Bunin's birth destined him to be a serf as well, his life and death belonging to the landowners.
The Industrial Revolution in Europe ushered in a new era for humanity. Many oppressed slaves in various countries were liberated, leading to a significant leap in productivity. Russia was also greatly impacted, and the abolition of serfdom, a system that hindered productivity, had long been advocated. At that time, a large number of newly wealthy and powerful individuals, posing as small merchants and artisans, infiltrated the vast Russian countryside, spreading new ideas to the serfs and taking away children they deemed to have potential.
Bunin was taken away by Pet?fi's uncle, sent to experience various cultures and advanced ideas, and received a comprehensive and excellent education. Despite his humble origins, Bunin was indeed a rare linguistic genius and literary master. His works possess the flavor of classical Russian literature; his novels are concise and tightly plotted, excelling in character and landscape description; his poetry is beautiful and moving, filled with the tranquil and idyllic rural scenery and rustic charm of Russia, and became immensely popular among young people. He and the equally talented Pet?fi were considered literary duos. However, the work contains many insightful depictions of the fate of Russian serfs and social critiques, which led to suppression and arrests by the Tsar and the old-style landed nobility.
He could have been protected by Pet?fi and sent abroad. But the enemy's power was overwhelming, their henchmen ruthless, and he feared implicating his partner's family, while also worrying about the well-being of his serf parents. The situation was urgent, so he returned secretly without informing Pet?fi. He finally managed to return to his beloved homeland, only to find that his parents had both died in a plague a few years prior, a fact he only now learned. Overwhelmed with grief and regret, he sorted through the only remaining belongings in his parents' dilapidated hut.
At that time, Lord Uspinsky was inspecting his serfs. The serfs at that time sat in simple shacks, toiling away under the supervision of overseers. At the end of the year, they were left with only enough food to survive; the rest was handed over to their lord. In winter, they couldn't survive on their own and would huddle together in the livestock shacks near the lord's estate for warmth, trying to endure the harshest Russian winters. But some inevitably died.
Lord Uspinsky, by chance, saw Bunin with a sorrowful expression and was utterly captivated. He stared at him lecherously, his jaw practically dropping. Bunin's attire and mannerisms were those of a well-mannered nobleman, and he even greeted him fluently in French. Such an outstanding person would attract attention anywhere. He hadn't heard of any nobleman like Bunin in the area. If he were a passing nobleman, why didn't he inform him beforehand and offer hospitality? Why go to the serfs' quarters, as if he were thinking of a relative, when the inhabitants here were treated like livestock, even commoners considered them dirty and avoided them?
Although Lord Uspensky always acted first when he set his sights on someone, he still hesitated to admit that Bunin was truly a prominent figure, as Bunin gave off an air of unfathomable mystery. Even Pet?fi once jokingly remarked: "At first glance, Bunin looks like a fallen nobleman; at second glance, like the illegitimate son of a dissolute duke; and at third glance, he becomes the dazzling prince on a white horse, yet no one knows he's actually the prince's former horseman. Haha!" Pet?fi, who was laughing heartily at the time, received a sharp rebuke from the usually mild-mannered Bunin.
Bunin's handsome face gave Lord Uspensky a sense of déjà vu, but he couldn't quite place it. At that moment, Lord Uspensky happened to catch a lazy serf, and ordered him to be hung up and severely beaten, with Bunin watching. The undisguised sympathy and anger revealed in Bunin's clear, lake-like eyes betrayed him, further deepening Lord Uspensky's suspicions.
When the sickly serf was beaten to death by the master's overseer, Bunin rushed forward without hesitation, only to be pinned to the ground by the servants. Master Uspensky tore off Bunin's sleeve, revealing the slave mark branded on his body since childhood. It was the same golden-haired, blue-eyed serf whom Master Uspensky had long coveted, wanting to bring him to the estate as
his own. One day, this young serf had suddenly disappeared, enraging Master Uspensky. From then on, any runaway serf brought back was tortured to death. Since he was the child of Master Uspensky's serfs, and born on his land, his status remained that of a serf, unchanged for life, and like the land, he was rightfully Master Uspensky's property. Master Uspensky's excitement at having obtained the now beautiful Bunin was beyond words; he immediately ordered Bunin to be bound and taken to his estate.
As the steward said, Master Uspensky was initially quite taken with Bunin, not just treating him as an ordinary serf to be played with. Bunin's poignant and elegant charm, especially when a wisp of wind blew through the window, ruffling his hair and revealing his distant, sorrowful, yet gentle, eyes, caused a blush to rise on Master Uspensky's bright, round face, like that of a young girl newly touched by the dews of love. Shy like a child who had just discovered happiness, even the waters of the Caspian Sea might one day dry up, the master had developed a love for Bunin, a serf whom he had always despised.
He placed delicacies, fine wines, animal hides, silks, gold, and silver treasures before Bunin, all in an attempt to win his favor. But all of this was worldly in Bunin's eyes. Master Uspensky would never give Bunin the freedom he so desperately craved; in the end, he threw all those things to the ground.
One day, Bunin sat on the windowsill of the tower that imprisoned him, hugging one knee. A breeze ruffled my hair. Looking up from the iron railing at the vast fields, lakes, and forests, I was struck by the impermanence of life.
Have you ever encountered the lake under the moonlight?
The pure white, singing water sprites.
Vanishing in the first rays of dawn,
only the distant, lingering sound still echoes.
Have you ever met a poet of love and sorrow,
his tears and smiles shrouded in layers of mist,
lingering in the pale wrinkles of time?
Only a handkerchief bearing words gently falls into the arms of a sleeping maiden.
Have you ever encountered the torch in the wild fields?
Unable to escape the shackles of fate, its shadow swaying
in the tormenting wind, hopelessly extinguished
, only ashes illuminating the path ahead
? Have you ever been moved and sighed for it?
Bunin spontaneously composed a poem. The poignant French poem was overheard by the newly arrived Master Uspinsky. His heart pounded, and tears blurred his vision. Master Uspinsky did something no one could have foreseen.
With a thud, the master knelt before Bunin, his hands gripping the bewildered Bunin's legs, his lower body rubbing against Bunin's.
Bunin, his face contemptuous and disgusted, kicked the master to the ground and stormed out, only to be harassed by several servants waiting outside. Unfortunately, he was outnumbered and they subdued him.
Enraged, Master Uspinsky slapped Bunin twice. "You wretch, who do you think you are, daring to look down on me? Look down on me!!" The budding love shattered, and the master revealed his true, bloodthirsty nature, transforming into rage and cruelty. "You're nothing but my lowly slave; I can crush you with a flick of my finger."
That very night, Bunin was tied to the bed and raped by Master Uspinsky.
The next day, the master awoke in a good mood. He touched the warm, pale body lying beside him. Bunin, brutally violated all night, was covered in wounds, a gruesome sight. Her genitals were a blurry mess, with a mixture of red and white filth constantly flowing from her twitching buttocks, down her white buttocks covered in teeth marks and whip marks.
If it weren't for the ropes binding her, and the gag in her mouth, Bunin would have killed herself last night.
How could I compare you to summer?
You are not only more lovely than it, but also more gentle:
the fierce winds trample the tender buds cherished by May,
and the lease of summer is far too short:
the eye of the sky sometimes shines too harshly,
and its radiant golden face is often obscured:
...
Pet?fi, where are you? Are your poems prophecies? But I am neither summer nor Mayflower. I am your heart's sweetheart, and if you knew this, your heart would break. In those days when we wandered the world, you only held my hand, and in the drizzling city streets, you kissed me with the warmth of the sun... But I, so carefully held in your hands, could not remain innocent. " I've been defiled..."
"How about it? Bunin, I've played with you inside and out. See how high you can still pretend to be. Take off your clothes, and you're nothing but a slave under my rule, Master Uspinsky." But Bunin didn't react. The master removed the gag from Bunin's mouth. "You're not cursing anymore? Hehe, you know how powerful I am now. Actually, you enjoyed yourself yesterday, didn't you?" Lifeless eyes, a pale face, bloodshot lips—an indescribable tragic beauty. The master stared blankly for a moment, then suddenly grabbed Bunin and began kissing him repeatedly.
The putrid smell, the disgusting saliva mixed with the stench of blood. All of this, ironically, brought Bunin back to his senses. "Let me die quickly," Bunin thought, closing his eyes tightly. A
pig-like scream rang out. The master cried out in pain, clutching his bloodied mouth, spitting out a piece of bloody flesh from Bunin's mouth.
"Haha," Bunin laughed~~~~~
"You're insane, you biting beast. You think you can die so easily? I'll make sure you live a life worse than pigs and dogs. A lowly slut only fit to moan beneath me."
..................
"Bunin,
you are like the forests outside Moscow, blowing a gentle breeze, giving a sense of tranquility and warmth.
You are like Jingwei on the sea, pure white with your heart turned towards the ocean, daring to brave the storms.
You are like the blue flower by the water, mired in the mud, elegant and refined, noble and virtuous.
Bunin, all these words cannot describe even a fraction of you. We disregard all worldly things, let heaven and earth bear witness, be my companion in life, my destined lover, okay?"
............................
"Ah~~~ Ah wu wu~~~~"
"A beast is a beast, how can it be enjoyable to have sex with its own kind? Haha."
Bunin knelt on the ground, crawling forward with difficulty, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. The master's prized sheepdog, perched on his back, thrust its beastly genitals into Bunin's alluring orifice, pumping wildly.
To prevent Bunin from moving and resisting intercourse, the servants tightened the rope around Bunin's neck. Master Uspinsky, meanwhile, sat in the comfortable chair brought for him by four men, watching the scene with rapt attention.
Finally, the master's prized sheepdog finished its act on Bunin, its limp, barbed genitals withdrawing as Bunin collapsed to the ground. A
servant kicked Bunin's snow-white buttocks. "Ah..."
A torrent of white fluid, like an unstoppable dam, gushed from between Bunin's alluring mounds, marked with fine red welts.
"I can't take it! A born slut." The master ordered his men to drag Bunin before him. "Come here, good boy," the master said, pulling his throbbing, hard weapon from his trousers. "Give it a good lick."
The master grabbed Bunin's hair with one hand, lifting his head to reveal a pale face. His eyes, hidden by strands of hair, had lost their former brilliance, filled only with a sorrowful sadness and a watery glint of lust. "
What's wrong? If you don't lick, I'll throw you back later, and I'll have all those serfs in that shed fuck you." "
Ugh...ugh..." Bunin closed his eyes, sticking out his tongue to lick the master...
"So good! So wonderful. Bunin, your mouth is getting more and more skilled. Wouldn't it have been better if you had just behaved like this from the beginning?" "The master stroked Bunin's hair, humming with pleasure. The sense of accomplishment and satisfaction from this cruelly trained sex slave sent him soaring to the heavens...
My body began to decay, then my heart. I tried to carefully tuck it away in a corner, but it began to shatter. Gradually, my heart became lost, and I drifted away with it into the distance. I hope that before I completely disappear, I can see you one last time, that your image will be etched deep in my mind. Even if I can no longer remember your name, I want to remember who ignited my life... I hope before this winter...
① Caspian Sea: A large lake in northern Russia, the largest freshwater lake in the world."
(This is a flashback. Regarding Bunin's identity...you know now...he's still a serf, hehe. The following is the escape scene at the beginning of Chapter 1, following the plot. Afterwards, life became even more miserable for Bunin. Until one day...)
In the torment of hopeless sorrow,
in the humiliation of body and soul
, the wind blew away the fantasies of the past.
I forgot your gentle voice
and your handsome face.
In seclusion, in the darkness of imprisonment,
my years continued quietly,
without gods, without perception,
without tears, life and love,
offered up by the endless yellow sand.)
Serf supplement: Pure SM scene 1
"You dare refuse me? Fine, you won't listen to reason, you'll have to drink the penalty cup. See how I punish you." "In a room, Bunin's hands were bound with hemp rope and tied to the corner of a large table. He could only kneel on the ground, the master's whip mercilessly striking his body, tearing his clothes apart and revealing his pale skin and bright red welts. The beating made Bunin feel like his whole body was burning with pain. 'It hurts so much, have mercy on me,' Bunin's heart screamed, his clear mind warning him never to give in.
'How about it? As long as you nod your head and obey me from now on, I'll give you good food and clothes.' The master's lewd hand touched Bunin's battered body, and he hugged Bunin from behind, licking the bloodstains with his tongue. 'I should have tasted what you were like long ago. Those rich people in the city wouldn't have let you go. How did you serve them, making them raise you, a serf, like a canary?' As he spoke, a fat hand reached into Bunin's pants, grabbing Bunin's drooping genitals and stroking them."
"Let me go! What right do you have to judge others? Don't assume everyone is like you. You're a disgusting pig." *Slap!* A slap sent blood trickling from the corner of Puning's mouth.
"Puning, I gave you face, but you don't appreciate it; I offered you comfort, but you don't want it. Then you just wait and see how I, a pig, can handle you, a slave worse than a pig."
That night, the master ordered his men to hastily wash Puning's bloodied body. He left him naked, limbs spread wide, tied to the headboard. As Master Uspinsky's fingers explored between Puning's buttocks, Puning tensed his muscles in fear. "Puning, you have the best buttocks! Such snow-white spheres." The master slapped Puning's buttocks, which trembled slightly with fear, each strike bouncing off his mound.
“The first thing that makes someone my favorite is a nice ass, so it’s more comfortable. Pu Ning, you haven’t disappointed me. You have such a wonderful ass; I want to see it grip me tightly. Hehe.” The old man’s thick, black penis rubbed against Pu Ning, while he applied a lubricating ointment mixed with aphrodisiac to his genitals.
After a while, waves of heat rose from his lower body. Bound, Pu Ning could only writhe in agony, his mouth, stuffed with a gag, only able to utter “woo, woo” protests.
“Seems not enough,” the old man lecherously kneaded and played with Pu Ning’s already swollen and erect nipples. He took out a twig made of supple red willow branches and began to whip Pu Ning’s penis and testicles severely. With the first blow, all the blood rushed to his genitals, Pu Ning’s whole body jerked, his fingernails digging deeply into his palms, his face turning pale.
“I will make you excitedly erect, make your lovely thing grow several times larger.” No, ~~~~~~~ Pu Ning’s eyes widened in shock. The second blow caused his genitals to throb violently, his flat abdomen heaving and contracting, large beads of sweat dripping from his forehead, and his temples throbbing incessantly.
The third blow... the whip relentlessly struck his testicles and anus, and soon his vulnerable genitals were covered in a dense network of fine welts...
His vision gradually darkened, the maddening pain persisting without abating or numbing. "Let me die, let me die." This thought screamed incessantly in Pu Ning's mind, and even with a gag in his mouth, he still clenched it tightly, injuring his oral cavity.
His genitals began to wet, with foul-smelling fluid flowing from the cruelly ravaged tip of his penis and anus. His testicles were red and swollen, and with each blow, the previously limp penis, whether from the whipping or the effects of drugs, pitifully and slowly swelled and became erect.
"That's about enough," the grotesque old man said, using a clean piece of silk to simply wipe Pu Ning's genitals. Then, gesturing to Bunin's still erect penis, which wouldn't subside, he removed the gold finger guard from his own fat thumb joint and tried his best to slip it onto Bunin's penis, securing it in the middle. "Cute thing, I really like how it looks now. You'll have to keep it standing for me from now on, hehe." The smiling lord flicked the serf's penis with his finger.
The master's excited, glossy, dark penis rubbed between Puning's buttocks, drooling with desire. Her weak body offered only feeble resistance, yet twisted seductively. Her anus contracted in extreme fear, but when the master's weapon thrust into Puning's body, it tore open.
"So you're still a virgin. I should have been gentler with you."
"Puning, your body is really good. Although you're unwilling, you're holding me tightly, gripping me tightly... From now on, you'll be a wonderful sex slave. I'm so looking forward to that day."
As he spoke, the master gripped Puning's waist, thrusting deeply into her body.
And it grew increasingly intense… "
Puning,
I must rescue you." Those were Pet?fi's resolute and determined gaze and words…
Before me stood such a thin, haggard Puning. My heart clenched with anguish. How much suffering and hardship had you endured? Why didn't I find you sooner?
But fate seemed to be playing a cruel trick on them. Just days after Bunin's departure around this time last year, Pet?fi discovered a note Bunin had left behind, along with something else pressed beneath it.
"Peeuofi:
Please forgive my abrupt departure. The situation is tense, and there's no time to lose. They're closing in on us step by step, like a caged bird being caught; the stakes to strike us are already at our top. Now there's only one question: who will they attack first, me or you? You're different from me; you're a night owl, while I, a daytime lark, hope to draw all the firepower towards me. If I disappear for a while, all the troubles will vanish.
But where can I go... I think of my hometown. I told you it's a beautiful countryside garden, where when spring sheds its soft, pale attire, nature doesn't just..." The days passed, and the landscape was changing steadily. The fields had all been plowed, the stubble fields resembling a black velvet carpet; the field ridges were lush and green, the tender grass even more vibrant; the sky was a deep, clear blue, and the sunlight shone even brighter; summer had quickly donned its vibrant attire, pleasing to the eye and warm, its dominant color green; the lilac trees, their gray branches adorned with purple blossoms, exuded a sweet fragrance, their dark green leaves gleaming, sunlight dappling the tree-lined paths; many large, black flies with a bluish-brown sheen had appeared on the lilac leaves and the sun-baked spots; the apple and pear trees in the old man's garden were already clearly visible, always tempting one to pick them. Against the backdrop of other tall trees, the orchard appears as if it's a vast net woven from the winding branches of fruit trees. In autumn, the branches are laden with fruit, the trees increasingly abundant with colorful fruits, their fragrance rich and intoxicating. In the fields, my hardworking parents are harvesting. They tie the golden corn into bunches and hang them in front of the door. Although most of it has to be handed over, leaving seeds for next year brings hope for a harvest. Each grain of wheat in their hands smooths the wrinkles on their faces… Winter, though not my favorite season, offers a glimpse of the white world outside through the cracks in the door and skylight—snow dancing like silver snakes, the earth frozen—where everyone draws close to each other for warmth. My heart warmed, and I hoped for a vibrant spring next year, for the pristine garden to flourish alongside the ever-bluer sky, bursting with life and fragrance.
The wheel of time turned, crushing all those who dared to resist it. An unstoppable force grew stronger, and all the raging floods and beasts would recede. My belief in that day was constantly strengthened. I hoped that day would come, to deliver all those who suffered like my parents and brothers.
This extremely precious thing was for my protection, but now you need it even more. Although I don't hope to ever use it, its value is not in vain if it can help you in times of trouble.
Bunin 18xx/xx/xx.
After that, Pet?fi seemed to have a bad premonition; he searched for Bunin frantically.
Bunin, will this fulfill my wish? I don't need your sacrifice; can't I protect you? For you, I can do anything! My Bunin, Pet?fi's!
Although he knew Bunin had secretly returned to his hometown, Pet?fi had no idea where it was. Russia was vast, and countless landowners lived off it. Pet?fi's uncle had visited many estates and farmhouses, bringing back more than just Bunin's children, children of serfs.
Pet?fi searched for the beautiful Russian countryside Bunin had described, but all he found were similar rural landscapes. Winter soon arrived in Russia—snowstorms blocked the roads, making travel difficult. Pet?fi waited until this spring… unaware that Bunin had already suffered unimaginable torment, abuse, and humiliation. "
I've finally found you—my beloved Bunin.
I want this serf!"
Everyone present looked at Pet?fi. Pet?fi tried to calm his voice; too much emotional fluctuation would only make things worse. If they knew about his connection with Bunin, they would inevitably pry and ask questions. That would implicate many people and events, which would be unimaginable. Fortunately, the buying and selling of serfs was a relatively common phenomenon among landowners and nobles at the time.
"How much is he worth? I want to buy him. I hope Lord Uspinsky will part with him." Pet?fi's firm words left no room for doubt.
No, Pet?fi, I'm not worth you doing that. You shouldn't have come to me, and I should never have seen you again. Bunin looked up, staring blankly at Pet?fi. Why had his heart, which he thought was dead, come back to life? It turned out that his heart had never truly despaired; his soul had always longed to be saved. He had always hoped to see you again, to reignite his passion. His whole body felt so warm. No matter what you were doing now, he knew that he had truly seen you again.
“You mean Bunin? He’s my treasure. I won’t sell him.” Lord Uspinsky sipped his tea, brewed from green tea leaves brought from a renowned ceramic-producing country in the East.
“And what about these?” Pet?fi ordered his servants to bring up a dozen or so chests. One chest after another was opened. The first few contained priceless spices and teas, then whole, complete pelts of rare sable fur. Like this one, it was from a snow tiger, a species native to the northernmost ice plains. Legend has it that this tiger is large and ferocious; even 20 strong men would find it difficult to defeat, and no one had ever caught a live snow tiger. A single complete pelt could be exchanged for a medium-sized manor and all the serfs attached to it. But that wasn’t all. The last chest was filled with expensive jewels, making the walls of the hall gleam, leaving all the noble ladies and gentlemen present speechless. Even Lord Uspinsky began to waver.
Never before had a serf been so valuable. But Lord Uspensky was truly reluctant to let go of such a beauty as Bunin, because the pleasure he derived from conquering her was unprecedented, making him feel incredibly joyful and youthful.
"Then I'll add one more thing," Pet?fi said, quickly drawing a long, silver object from his waist. It was a pistol, a gift Pet?fi had given to Bunin for self-defense years ago, which he had left behind with a note when Bunin left. It seemed it would indeed come in handy today.
Firearms were still very rare at the time, but not nonexistent. Especially small firearms, which were incredibly advanced for that era, and Pet?fi's pistol had parts made of gold and silver.
Although some of the people present had never seen one before, they had all heard of its terrifying power: capable of taking a life instantly, able to pierce layers of steel plates, its power astonishing—it was practically a weapon of the devil.
Pet?fi pointed the muzzle at Lord Uspensky; the air was thick with tension. All the guests gaped, and Lord Uspensky was drenched in sweat.
“Punin, I know this round-faced fat pig must have tormented you. It makes you so pale and haggard. I’ll make up for all your grievances. How about I blow this pig’s head off with a single shot?” Pet?fi spoke to Punin in Spanish, but his sharp eyes were fixed fiercely on Lord Uspinski, making the old man too afraid to move.
Punin calmly looked at Pet?fi’s handsome profile for a moment, then said, “Peeuofi, your gun isn’t loaded with gunpowder, and it’s not bolted. You can’t blow this pig’s head off for me.”
“Heh, that was my strategy. Lovely Punin, it seems you’ve recovered your spirits. What did you just say, ‘A heart has already given a ring to another heart…’ So you’ve already secretly fallen for a fine young man like me. Don’t forget later, my destined lover, Pet?fi.”
The others only heard them babbling in a language they couldn’t understand. They couldn’t decipher what they were saying from their expressions. This stirred a secret, playful glint in the hearts of Bunin and Pet?fi, as always, in their arrogance and pride. That passion and rebellious spirit was precisely what many yearned to break free from the shackles of this corrupt, doomed society, to raise the banner of freedom and revolution.
Bunin was an immortal poem, already composed. The raging storms outside could never damage the beautiful soul within him. Even a foolish and cruel man like Lord Uspinsky could see his brilliance and be deeply attracted to him. How could such a man not be worthy of Pet?fi's sacrifice?
"So? Lord Uspinsky, do you agree to this incredibly lucrative deal?" Pet?fi smiled maliciously, his lips forming a uniquely charming curve that nearly made the ladies present scream.
Lord Uspinsky wiped the sweat from his brow at the menacing muzzle of the gun. "Alright, of course, he's just a lowly slave. Young Master Pet?fi can take him away whenever he wants, but... your gun."
"A gun?" Pet?fi skillfully flicked his wrist, turning the gun upside down and slamming it onto the coffee table. "It's a bonus for buying this serf. Since Lord Uspinsky has agreed to the deal, everyone here will be my witness. I'll take this slave I've bought now."
With that, Pet?fi walked to the center of the room, picked up the kneeling Bunin, and, under the watchful eyes of everyone, carefully cradled Bunin in his arms before striding out.
Only when he reached the waiting carriage outside did Lord Uspinsky realize he'd been tricked by Pet?fi. Enraged, he grabbed the gun from the coffee table and charged at Pet?fi, disregarding his dignity.
The gun was pointed at Pet?fi's back, but it was empty of gunpowder and fired a dud. The two rows of Pet?fi's loyal servants waiting before the luxurious carriage had almost drawn their swords, but Pet?fi stopped them with a single glance.
"Thank you, it seems Lord Uspensky is returning this gift." Pet?fi used the extra whip in his hand to wrap around the gun in the master's hand, pulling it away and returning it to Pet?fi's grasp.
After Pet?fi carried Bunin into the carriage and drove away, Lord Uspensky's bloated body slumped to the ground as if his bones had been removed, muttering, "Punin... Bunin belongs to me..."
On March 3, 1861, Alexander II officially signed the reform decree and the special declaration abolishing serfdom, granting serfs their freedom.
(Finally, a line from Wen Xin's xxx000…)
“Puning…”
When Pu Ning regained consciousness, she was already in Pei Duofei's arms. The carriage jolted along, and to make sure she wasn't dreaming, Pu Ning struggled to lift one hand slightly, only to have it grabbed by Pei Duofei and pulled to her cheek. “This is real, Pu Ning, it's me.”
“I'm so sorry I'm so late… You're so thin, so light. What happened to your hands, your legs?”
Pei Duofei gently rubbed Pu Ning's withered hands and feet, tears welling in her eyes with heartache.
“It's nothing. Seeing you is enough.” Pu Ning smiled, but it looked tragically beautiful on her pale face. "This is the first time I've seen you cry. Didn't you say that men can risk their lives and shed blood, and that tears are for cowards?"
"I'm a fool, a complete fool!"
Pet?fi draped his warm fur coat over Punin's body, and began massaging Punin's hands and feet again, trying to warm him completely with his own body heat.
Inadvertently touching certain parts of Punin's body, he sensed something was wrong and forcefully tore open Punin's trouser leg.
...
Pet?fi touched the brutal marks and the iron rings already deeply embedded in his flesh... Pet?fi's hands trembled with immense heartache and anger. "Was it some pig who did this to you? If I had known, I would have... torn him to pieces." He had lost all reason and composure; only his two gray-green eyes blazed with fury.
"Pe?fi..." A voice brought Pet?fi back to his senses.
“Puning, when we get back, I’ll definitely get rid of those things for you, have the best doctors treat you, and fatten you up until you’re plump and healthy. Then I’ll do whatever you want, okay?” Pet?fi kissed Puning’s forehead.
But at that moment, Puning’s expression darkened, and he turned his head away. “Pedofi, I don’t deserve this. You haven’t seen how filthy I am. To survive in this world, I’ve so shamelessly opened my body, willingly degenerating myself to…”
A kiss, this one covering Puning’s pale lips, a wet tongue parting his teeth, darting in and playing. Such a passionate, lingering kiss. For a moment, Bunin's mind went blank, her body feeling like it was on a marshmallow...
"Punin, you are my purest lily, inside and out. If you despise yourself, you are torturing me; if you hurt yourself, I will hurt myself ten times more; if you die because of this year's suffering and shadows, I will follow you to atone for my sins. Don't resent yourself or others. Just love yourself well, let me have the hate, I will avenge you. You can only have one complaint, and that is that my love for you is not enough."
"Ah, Pet?fi. How can I repay your love?"
"Punin, don't forget, you have already promised to be mine."
"No, Pet?fi. I want you to be mine." Having confirmed some things, Bunin finally felt relieved and revealed an innocent smile.
“Now, I will completely satisfy my appetite, you beauty.” With that, Puning lowered his head, removed his covering, and took Petori’s desire into his mouth. That desire had already hardened at Puning’s first teasing.
Watching Puning’s efforts, he stroked Puning’s soft hair. Reason told Petori to stop what Puning was doing; his battered body needed rest and recuperation. But he didn’t want to hurt Puning’s feelings. Puning was trying to break free from the prison of his own heart; what he needed now was affirmation, affirmation that everything Puning did was something he didn’t reject. And Puning was also trying to get Petori to accept the Puning he was now. What had happened had happened, leaving an indelible mark.
Petori’s desire had never been so strong; he had never denied having desired Puning before.
Puning, long tormented and abused, treated like a slave, a piece of flesh. His slender, slightly deformed limbs, smooth, delicate skin, uniquely firm buttocks, and those icy blue eyes brimming with erotic allure, along with his nimble tongue and lips that deftly stirred his desires—all of this made Pet?fi's chest pound with excitement.
Watching Bunin, like a lowly, subservient sex slave, naked and sprawled on all fours, using his mouth—which had been trained countless times—and seeing the sinful, unspeakable instruments bound to his thighs, and the slave marks branded onto his inner thighs by Uspinsky with red-hot iron bars,
Pet?fi even had the thought of toying with and humiliating this beauty like a slave, chaining him to a place where he was alone, forcing him to open himself up to him at all times, and to submit to his pleasure beneath him.
But this sinful thought vanished in an instant, his loving, affectionate eyes fixed on Bunin, who was serving him. That was the equal and sincere love for Bunin that saved Petofi from going mad in an instant. (The author also secretly wiped away a bead of sweat for Petofi, not wanting his favorite protagonist to become a sadist, and shouted the slogan: "Tormenting you is loving you—loving you means torturing you. Ugh!")
Bunin's snow-white buttocks swayed cutely from side to side with the bumps of the carriage, his body swaying precariously. Petofi grabbed Bunin and held his sensitive body in his arms, playing with it gently...
Night had fallen, and the pure white moonlight shone into the spacious carriage through the gaps in the window screen, casting a soft reflection on Bunin's delicate, pale skin, giving his body a faint blush of desire. Bunin shyly opened his crotch, coaxing Petofi to use his hands to spread his alluring mounds, and to use his fingers to moisten and bloom his brow for his lover.
Sitting atop Pet?fi's desire, Bunin frowned, "Ah~~~~"
He clenched his buttocks, entwining himself with Pet?fi's vastness, moving his waist...
Pet?fi's member moved in and out of Bunin's body in a wanton manner... Pet?fi's ten fingers clasped Bunin's mounds, cradling him in his palms, letting him ride on his desires... until the final climax...
The nobility of the soul and the baseness of the status coexist; the sanctity of thought and the debauchery of the flesh run parallel; the favored son of heaven, blessed by the gods, is cruelly violated by filthy humans. Bunin
, you were originally an angel who had transformed to perfection, almost untouchable, but now, forcibly stuffed with half of a demon, you appear even more alluring. You are my poison, and also my medicine; I am deeply intoxicated by you!!
In my arms, your pale, happy, languid sleeping face, at this moment, seems eternal to me...
(end)

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