Falling in love with a girl who already has a boyfriend, parts 1-6, all by Blue-faced Cat's Slave

Word count: 30,000 (1-6 complete)
Foreword:
First, I want to thank the authors of the articles "Spending Valentine's Day with a Couple Dominant" and "After My Friends Discovered My Mish Tendencies," for you both resonated with me. For a long time, because I fell in love with a girl who had a boyfriend, my intense inferiority complex led me to wander through various forums, collecting articles about couple dominants to satisfy my own pleasure, and I also indulged in endless fantasies. Until today, after reading your articles, I realized that: the real is the best, even if the reality isn't perfect in terms of plot. What we want is just the feeling of admiration, not specific actions or events.
Second, I once posted a similar thread on D8, of course, without involving SM, and I also omitted many SM scenes. As a result, I was heavily criticized. Some people questioned: Since you spent tens of thousands on the female lead, why not find a prostitute or a one-night stand to solve the problem? With tens of thousands spent, what kind of woman can't you find? Hehe, I think he still doesn't understand us. Actually, if I were willing to take out tens of thousands, I could probably force a handsome man and a beautiful woman to train for a period of time, but would that be meaningful? They are not my masters.
Thirdly, all the events I described are true. They may not be exciting, but that doesn't matter. There are plenty of articles about couples seeking excitement everywhere. In fact, before reading the articles by these two friends, I had also thought about adding my own fantasies, but I won't now. As I said before: it's meaningless.
1.
Like many college students from rural areas, I endured ten years of hard study to finally enter a national key university. After graduation, I entered a state-owned bank. My income was not bad, but due to my poor family background, beautiful girls were always out of reach. Like many male colleagues in companies or schools, every July when college graduates start working is the most exciting and anticipated time for us unmarried male colleagues. However, the company doesn't recruit many people each year, and as for beautiful women, that's even more of a matter of luck. As for beautiful women being able to be with you, that's almost impossible.
Whether it was luck or misfortune, that autumn, just as we were wallowing in yet another disappointment, our company hired another batch of employees—the so-called labor dispatch workers. When the new employee reported for duty, I was immediately struck by her beauty and could hardly believe my eyes: she was a very pretty girl, about 1.65 meters tall, dressed in a crisp tracksuit, with her hair in a ponytail, and her fair skin was almost dazzling in the soft autumn sunlight. By the standards of the "d8 pack of wolves" (a term for men who are attractive but lack beauty), she was conservatively estimated to be at least a 7 or 8 out of 10. At that time, I truly believed that my spring had arrived, because labor dispatch workers, in terms of both status and income, were far inferior to us regular employees. This gave me a surge of confidence, and I thought I had a great chance of winning her over. Later, I learned that she was a year younger than me and had been transferred from a large hotel in the city (because her mother was a long-time employee of the bank). Naturally, I began to employ the typical actions of a single man: proactively teaching her business knowledge and showering her with meticulous care and attention. The manager of our savings bank was a very smart person, and naturally knew what I wanted to do. So she asked me to mentor her, and I was naturally extremely grateful. I patted my chest and said no problem, I definitely wouldn't let my boss down.
I don't know if it was love at first sight or what, but I quickly fell in love with her. I was excited every day, and I had never felt that going to work was something I looked forward to so much. At that time, there were some very small savings banks like that in our area. These places usually required six people to be on duty at a time, with three on duty at any one time. But because the manager always made exceptions, it meant that she and I spent a lot of time together.
This went on for about a month. During this time, I took care of her in every way possible. If she wanted breakfast, I would get up more than 40 minutes early and ride my bike to a faraway place to buy it, then rush back, wrapping it in a brand new piece of clothing that I had never worn before so that she could eat it hot. She said she loved the hot and sour noodles near the university town. To prevent them from spoiling, I took a taxi back, spending over 30 yuan just to bring back the 3-yuan bowl intact. In short, I genuinely cared for and cherished her like a girlfriend. Perhaps beautiful women always enjoy this kind of treatment, because she didn't react much, which spurred me to be even more persistent. Until one day, when I finally mustered the courage to confess my feelings, I learned she already had a boyfriend. We met at a hotel, dated for over two years, and were planning to get married in a year. This was naturally unexpected, but I was already deeply in love with her and couldn't turn back. I repeatedly emphasized how much I loved her, hoping she would give me a chance. She said that many people had told her they liked her after she started dating her boyfriend, and she was very disgusted by such things, but for some reason, she didn't dislike me. However, she also advised me not to be foolish, that it was useless. I begged her, "Please, let me take care of you. I just think it would make me happy." She said, "Whatever you want. I just don't want to hold you back."
Even after being rejected when I confessed my feelings to her, I remained stubbornly in love with her, only intensifying my efforts. This stemmed from an argument she had with her boyfriend. She said that when she lost her temper with him, he never seemed to understand her, and they argued about it frequently. I figured she was probably a very strong-willed girl, so I started intentionally showing how humble my love for her was. At work, we had to change into uniforms, and she always preferred to wear sneakers there for comfort, while wearing high heels outside. Because the weather was already quite cool and she was wearing many layers, she didn't hesitate to change outside the changing room. I noticed she always had to bend over when changing her shoes, which made me uncomfortable. So one day, when she was sitting on the locker changing her shoes, I ran over, knelt on one knee at her feet, and took her shoes off with my hands on my knees. She was initially surprised, not expecting anyone to do that, and seemed a little uncomfortable. I said with a grin, "Look, in Japan, women kneel on the ground to change men's shoes. Chinese women have a higher status, so why can't I kneel down to change your shoes?" She smiled and said, "That's true." She didn't say anything more, but looked down at me as I slowly unzipped her shoes, placed her small, sock-clad feet on my knees, and then put her sneakers on. I don't know how she felt, but I thoroughly enjoyed the process. The feeling of being looked down upon by the woman I loved was incredibly exciting, especially when I held her high heels in my hands, feeling the warmth of her feet through the shoes, which made me even more excited! I felt some strange changes happening within me, and my lower body began to arouse. From then on, I did it tirelessly, and kneeling at her feet every morning to change her shoes became an essential part of my routine. Then one day, I offered to polish her shoes, boasting about how well I could polish them. She laughed and said, "I'll believe you this once, but I didn't bring my sneakers today. Where will I put my feet while you polish my shoes?" "You can't expect me to step on the floor, it's so cold, I won't do it." I said, "How could I let you get cold?" I took out my coat, folded it, and placed it under her seat where her feet should be. She said, "You really are something, aren't you afraid of getting dirty?" I chuckled and said, "What are you saying? It's an honor for you to step on my coat, others would only dream of it." She seemed quite pleased and didn't say anything. When I held her delicate little leather shoes in my hands, my whole body trembled with excitement! At that moment, I truly felt that this was the most beautiful thing I had ever received in my life. As I diligently polished her shoes, I secretly watched her. She sat in the chair, her feet on my coat, listening to music with her eyes closed, her toes playfully twitching on my clothes. My lower body shamefully hardened again…
I always manage to come up with all sorts of strange reasons to express my love for her, while also satisfying my own desires. Once, during a chat, I said to her, "Beautiful lady, I think your feet are really pretty. I suddenly really want you to step on them, what should I do?" She said, "Are you a pervert? I don't know what to do, you figure it out yourself." I said, "I do have an idea, I don't know if it will work." She asked curiously, "What idea? Don't dream that I'll really step on you, I'm not that perverted." I said, "That's true, you're a great beauty, how could your sacred feet step on me?" She said somewhat angrily, "If you keep talking like that, I won't talk to you anymore." I quickly said, "Don't be angry, don't be angry, I'll tell you my idea, okay?" She said impatiently, "Just let it go." I said, "How about this, I'll give you a pair of leather shoes as a tribute, and then I'll seal my soul into those shoes, wouldn't that be the same as being stepped on by you?" She laughed loudly and said, "You're really something, what were you thinking?" If I step on your shoe, your soul will run inside. Stepping on my shoe is the same as stepping on you, right? Then you buy a pair of shoes, I'll wear them for a day, and then return them to you. You can wear them on your head every day, how about that? I quickly said, "That won't do. That only counts as stepping on you for a day. I want to be stepped on by you for a lifetime. Besides, your feet aren't even inside, how can that count? Or, as you say, you can wear your shoes and step on my head." As I spoke, I got up from my seat and knelt at her feet, preparing to put my head down beside them. She was startled and said sternly, "XX, get up right now, or I'll never talk to you again! Are you sick?" I stood up dejectedly, pretending to be very aggrieved, and said, "How can you blame me? Who told you to be so perfect? I admire you so much." She snorted disdainfully and didn't say anything. It was clear she wasn't very angry. After a while, she said softly, "Actually, I did see a pair of really pretty shoes while shopping. I've liked them for a long time, but they're too expensive, so I haven't bought them yet. Even after the discount, they're still over 1500 yuan." I excitedly said, "That's perfect! I'll just give you these shoes as a gift." She said, "No way! Why should I accept something so expensive from you?" I thought for a moment and said, "How about this? We've been colleagues for so long, but we've never exchanged gifts. How about I give you these shoes? And then, I need a hat. You see, even though it's autumn, the sun is still quite strong sometimes—it's like the 'autumn tiger'! I need a hat to shield myself from the sun." She said, "Okay, then let's go shopping together sometime."
I was so excited I almost jumped for joy. You see, I've never dated a girl before, and no girl has ever gone shopping with me, especially not such a beautiful girl like the one I like!
Before going shopping, I took a nice shower, changed all my clothes, and dressed up nicely. I was hoping to make a good impression on her, but when we met the next day, she had no expression at all, which made me a little disappointed. However, the excitement of shopping with her quickly overcame that disappointment. We successfully bought the shoes at the mall. When she tried them on, I considerately knelt down beside her to help her take them off. The sales clerk even said, "Beautiful lady, look how good your boyfriend is to you!" My face turned red with embarrassment, and she just smiled and didn't say anything. I have to say, beautiful women look good in anything. If these shoes were just sitting on a shelf, I wouldn't even glance at them as I walked by, but they looked different on her. They fit her perfect feet perfectly, like a work of art. I so wanted to kneel at her feet, press my face against her feet, and passionately feel the warmth emanating from them. But she wouldn't allow it; I wouldn't dare even if I had a hundred lives. After we finished shopping, I noticed her mood had improved significantly. The crisp, rhythmic sound of her footsteps on the marble floor of the mall was delightful, and she clearly enjoyed it too. She skipped and hopped along, her face beaming with smiles, her shopping enthusiasm noticeably higher. I, like a little shadow, followed her closely, carefully attending to her every need. It wasn't until we were almost back that she seemed to remember something and said, "Oh right, where's the hat? I haven't bought you a hat yet! Do you have any you like? Come on! Let's go back and look." I quickly replied, "Oh yeah, I almost forgot." Then I led her to the women's clothing section. She frowned, puzzled, and asked, "Didn't we agree to buy you a hat? Why did you bring me here?" Looking at her adorable expression, I said seriously, "Didn't we agree beforehand? Why would I give you shoes? These shoes are meant to be stepped on by you, meaning I'm a pair of shoes right now. How can shoes have hats? Unless, you're wearing a skirt!" The skirt hem gently draped over your feet, doesn't it look like a hat?
She laughed heartily, suddenly realizing, "You're really something! I admire your logic so much, no wonder you graduated from a top university." I didn't care if she was being sarcastic or mocking, and continued shamelessly, "Since you've already agreed to let these shoes be trampled under your feet in my place, I have to repay you, don't I? Besides, since I'm kneeling at your feet, and you've taken pity on me and allowed me to wear a hat, I have an obligation to maintain your overall image
, right? So, I have to buy this hat; I can't let you spend money, can I?" Obviously, buying the shoes she'd been eyeing for so long had put her in a great mood, and she didn't care whether I was weird or not: "Alright, alright, stop talking, I admire your logic too much. I'll treat you to dinner later." I said, "No problem!" So I bought her a very pretty dress nearby. I don't know what brand it was, but it was quite expensive, over a thousand even after the discount. At the time, I did have my own selfish motives. I hoped she would have more of my things around her, so she would think of me more often.
Time passed little by little in these days. To express my love for her, and also to make her accept my foot fetish, I came up with many ideas like giving her shoes and dresses. Of course, I would never admit to being perverted; instead, I would shower her beauty with praise and express my adoration for her. I guess all women are vain, right? The more beautiful a woman is, the stronger her vanity. And she was a very domineering girl, so she gradually accepted many things. For example, sometimes she would say she had walked a lot while shopping, and I would take the opportunity to flatter her: "My grandma used to have leg pains, and I would massage her legs for her. She said I was the best at it, and the pain would go away in no time. I bet you, if I don't do a good job, I'll treat you to dinner, or you can kick me." I thought to myself: "Whether I win or not, I'm the winner!" She said disdainfully: "Don't give me that. You try massaging me first." I imitated the manner of palace servants on TV, kneeling on one knee and saying, "Your Majesty, please!" I quickly helped her sit down on the sofa, then took a deep breath, knelt at her feet, and reverently lifted her feet with both hands, placing them on my knees, and gently began to massage her legs. I must say, I was very excited to serve her in such a humble way; to me, it wasn't serving someone, but rather a form of enjoyment. She had already become accustomed to my attentiveness, closing her eyes to enjoy my service. When she felt that one leg had been massaged enough, she would let out a soft hum, and I would quickly and gently lower that leg to massage the other.
This continued for a long time, and gradually, she seemed to accept my humility before her, perhaps out of pity. Sometimes I would say, "Your leather shoes are a bit dirty, let me polish them for you." (At this point, I still didn't dare suggest licking her shoes.) Then, I laboriously knelt down and used my sleeve to wipe her leather shoes. She would quietly watch me for a while, then turn around, cross the foot I was wiping over her other leg, making it easier for me to wipe them.
During this time, I gave her many gifts, including handbags, wallets, bracelets, necklaces, earrings, cell phones, and so on. Each time, I could come up with a whole bunch of strange reasons to give her, in short, there was no denying that I had to give them to her, otherwise my conscience wouldn't be at peace!
Faced with my smooth talk and persistent pleading, she didn't say anything, but silently accepted them with a smile. Sometimes she would say wistfully, "If only I had met you sooner, you would be the perfect husband in my heart, but unfortunately..." Every time this happened, I would be so moved that I wanted to cry, feeling that all my efforts were worthwhile, and I vowed that I didn't care about the outcome, as long as she was happy, I was happy. Sometimes she would tell me that her boyfriend didn't know how to give in to her, while I always indulged her in everything. I said, "Then give me a chance, even if it's just one percent!" She smiled bitterly and said, "Okay, here you go, I'll give you one percent of the chance."
Deep down, I knew a one percent chance was practically nothing, since they were getting married in less than a year. But I kept telling myself that something was better than nothing. So, during this time, I continued my relentless pursuit of her. Sometimes, when she wasn't looking, I'd sneak a peek at her text messages, just to find out how far things had progressed between her and her boyfriend. When I opened them, they were all sweet nothings from her boyfriend, and some rather vulgar ones—I can't remember the specifics, but one of them was, "You deserve to be fucked to death." I felt terrible. I thought she must have already slept with her boyfriend. During this period, she would always go to her boyfriend's hotel after get off work. When I asked her if she wanted me to buy her breakfast the next day, she said, "Don't buy it now, I might not be going home tonight." My heart was bleeding. I imagined those erotic scenes I'd seen on TV: her boyfriend passionately kissing her, stripping her naked, pressing his hand against her smooth, white body, her clinging to him tightly, moaning with pleasure as he thrust into her. Every time this happened, I found myself shamefully hard, unable to distinguish between pain and excitement. I felt deeply ashamed of myself. I was a man only qualified to kneel at her feet and serve her, not even qualified to kiss her feet. Her boyfriend, on the other hand, could kiss every part of her body, ride her, and perhaps even have his penis in her mouth… I surrendered completely. I was truly a worthless person, destined never to experience their pleasure.
It was under these circumstances that my adoration for her slowly began to evolve into my admiration for her and her boyfriend. Her boyfriend was someone I could never catch up to in my entire life. My goddess could kiss his penis, but wouldn't tolerate me kissing her feet. His penis was a million times more noble than my mouth!
But despite these thoughts, and my fantasies, I still deceived myself: maybe they hadn't even had sex yet; she wasn't that kind of promiscuous girl. Besides, maybe she went home tonight? But lately, a constant stream of unfavorable news has been battering my "Ah Q spirit": She was on the phone with her boyfriend, saying, "What time did you turn off the MP3 last night? I fell asleep while listening." (Back then, MP3 players couldn't play music out loud; they only had two wires, so each person could only listen with one wire
. If they listened together, how else could they listen if they weren't lying in bed together?) "Hmph, I don't believe you. Tonight I'll pretend to be asleep and see who falls asleep first." "Haha, it's a deal today, rock-paper-scissors, whoever loses listens to their favorite song." "I caught a bit of a cold last night, you pig! Always whining and squirming at me."
Actually, she's usually quite careful when answering the phone, finding a secluded spot, but she's just that kind of carefree girl. Sometimes she forgets in a moment of joy, and since I've been listening closely, I still overheard a lot of it. I admit I have a bit of an "Ah Q spirit"—even after all this, I can still comfort myself: What does this prove? This suggests they slept together, but maybe nothing happened? It's so cold; maybe she was wearing thick clothes, so she might not have touched me.
Ah Q is Ah Q, she keeps talking to herself until she believes it's true!
Since her boyfriend is a hotel manager, holidays are usually his busiest time, so she always goes if I invite her to Christmas. This surprised and delighted me. Actually, knowing I'm just a backup option is fine, because I'm over 20 and I've never had a girl spend a holiday with me. That Christmas, she agreed to go out for Western food with me. I specifically chose a newly opened, most expensive restaurant because this was the first time a girl had spent Christmas with me! Such a milestone event naturally deserved a good location. That afternoon, she told me she'd always wanted a digital camera, but her boyfriend hadn't received his salary yet, so they couldn't buy it, and she was very upset.
I panicked. How could she be upset on such a big holiday? This was my first Christmas! So I gritted my teeth and spent over 3000 yuan on the digital camera she mentioned. Although I knew perfectly well that it was likely meant to capture their sweet moments together, I still bought it for her, just to make her happy!
When she saw the digital camera at the Western restaurant, she was stunned; it was indeed a huge surprise. She played with it happily for a long time, saying it was the happiest Christmas she'd ever had. I silently thought to myself, "Me too."
She said, "You gave me such an expensive gift, what do you want?" I'll buy it for you. "I can't afford anything too expensive, and don't even think about a one percent chance. My boyfriend and I are already engaged, and I'll take back that one percent of yours sooner or later." A wave of sadness washed over me. Looking at her long, slender legs in jeans and delicate little leather shoes, I shamefully got an erection again. I swallowed hard and said, "Can I kiss your feet?" Her face immediately changed: "No way! What right do you have to kiss my feet?" I shamelessly said, "Look, it's like this. You're wearing such thick leather shoes, so if I kiss you, it'll be on your shoes, not dirty your feet. What's wrong with that?" She said, "That's not what I meant. I just don't like it when people kiss my feet. What kind of behavior is that?" I said, feeling wronged, "Why should I? Your boyfriend can kiss your lips and your face. I may not be as good as him, but don't I even have the right to kiss your feet?" She shook her head and said, "That still won't do. I think that's disgusting. How about you kiss my hand? Is that alright?" I immediately perked up. This was truly a pleasant surprise! I never thought I would have the right to kiss her hand! What an honor! Because this Western restaurant was the most expensive and had only recently opened, plus the lighting was dim, no one around noticed us. I quickly slid off the chair, knelt at her feet, and gently kissed her alabaster-like hands, afraid that my crudeness would frighten her. Her cool, smooth little hand touched the skin of my lips, and I shivered with bliss! In the dim light, she looked down at me like a holy goddess, her eyes filled with a mixture of emotion and helplessness. At that moment, I truly felt like the happiest person in the world. I secretly resolved once again that even if she got married, even if she slept with another man, I would still be loyal to her, belong to her, and forever grovel at her feet.
For many years afterward, I recalled that tender moment, savoring the look of emotion and helplessness in her eyes. I often wondered: Did she love me then?
But that moment was fleeting. While I was still lost in my reverie, she pulled her hand away, playfully scolding, "Look at your mouth! So much spittle! You've made my hands dirty." Then she picked up a napkin and carefully wiped her hands, as if she were genuinely afraid of getting them dirty. A wave of sorrow washed over me: In your heart, am I such a lowly creature? Your boyfriend ejaculated inside you and you were so happy, but when a little bit of my saliva fell on your hand, you reacted so strongly! But I didn't dare show it. I chuckled and grabbed a bunch of tissues, saying, "Let me wipe it for you." She snorted and said, "You? You still want to touch my hand? You gave me a digital camera, and I let you kiss my hand. That's settled. Don't even think about touching my hand again."
I felt bitter inside, but I obediently said, "How can it be settled? I never even dared to dream of kissing your hand in my life. I was already hoping to kiss your feet, and that was through those thick leather shoes! I've hit the jackpot! No, I owe you so much!" As I said this, I bent down and kowtowed to her three times. She was clearly very uncomfortable and disgustedly hid in her seat, saying, "Don't be so pathetic. Get back to your seat!"
2.
For a long time afterward, life went on like this, a bittersweet existence.
Later, on her mother's birthday, I ordered a bouquet of flowers from a florist and had it delivered. When I called her to tell her, she was in a bad mood and said seriously, "I'm telling you, no matter what, don't let me see this bouquet!" Then she hung up. I smiled bitterly to myself. Who did I think I was? How could I be qualified to send flowers to her mother? I went to the florist myself, took the flowers, and pretended to deliver them, then threw them in the trash. That cold, windy afternoon, my heart was as gloomy as the weather. I don't know how I got home. The first flowers I ever bought in my life were thrown into the trash by myself.
However, later, I overheard some colleagues chatting. She said that her boyfriend was inconsiderate; he didn't even bother to show any appreciation for her mother's birthday. What a blockhead!
Haha, my heart has been agitated so many times, I feel nothing now: you eagerly await your boyfriend sending flowers, he won't, I send them to you, and you refuse to accept them no matter what. Haha, that's human nature. Since Heaven has the virtue of cherishing life, creating so many people, why does it give them such vast differences?
Next, the Spring Festival is approaching, and I was hit with another blow: she asked her boss for leave, saying she was going to spend the Spring Festival at her boyfriend's house. Haha, she's already staying at his house, and she still says nothing can happen? But I still haven't given up: her boyfriend's family is from the countryside, maybe people there are more traditional and won't let them do anything inappropriate.
The thought of not seeing her for more than ten days makes me extremely sad. I don't know how I'm going to get through such a long time. I've never been away from her for so long. She sensed my loneliness and confusion, and hasn't said much these past few days. On the afternoon of the 29th of the twelfth lunar month, the last half-day of work at the office, I couldn't bear it any longer. I knelt at her feet, hugging her legs and crying hysterically, "Master, don't go, don't go!" (Here I inadvertently called her "master," but for some reason, she didn't mind.) She was silent for a long, long time, then sighed and said in an unquestionable tone, "Get up. Don't make me say it a second time." I let go, kneeling there blankly. She kicked me down and stepped over my head.
After a while, she came back in, took a jade Buddha from her neck, and said, "Here, take this jade Buddha. I prayed for it when I was a child. My wish was to be happy and joyful. I hope you can be happy and joyful too." I silently crawled to her feet, looked up, and let her put the jade Buddha on my head. After she put it on me, she shook her head helplessly and smiled, saying, "You really look like a mangy dog."
Perhaps it was truly the Jade Buddha's blessing, but my mood improved considerably. I was no longer in a daze, my mind blank as before.
Before leaving work that afternoon, the branch office delivered the New Year's gifts: a box of Harbin red sausage for each employee. Friends in the north know that Harbin red sausage was quite expensive a few years ago, and even ordinary families in the city rarely ate it. This box was quite valuable.
My mood had improved a lot by then, and I was truly grateful to her. She had given me the Jade Buddha she had worn for so many years; for someone as lowly as me, this was an immense favor. I had to repay her and make sure she had a happy New Year. Suddenly, I had a bright idea. I picked up my portion of red sausage, knelt at her feet, and held it above my head with both hands, saying, "Master, this is a small offering to you and the Master. Please take it to the Master's house for the New Year." She seemed not to understand and asked in confusion, "What Master? What Master? What are you talking about?"
I said, "Didn't I just call you Master? You didn't object." I've resigned myself to my fate; I'll never have you. But I still want to love you silently. There are only three kinds of selfless love in this world: parents to children, children to parents, and slaves to masters. Master, please accept me as your slave. I beg you, I'm willing to serve you forever.
She smiled bitterly and said, "What are you talking about? When did you call me master? (So you didn't notice earlier?) What kind of nonsense are you thinking about all day? No wonder so many educated people went crazy during the Cultural Revolution; the things you think about are truly terrifying."
I said, "No, it's just the truth. Besides the three situations I mentioned, can you find any one-sided love? How about I recognize you as my mother, and your boyfriend as my father? I'll be filial to you for the rest of my life."
She shivered: "Okay, okay, stop talking. I'm getting goosebumps. What? I'm a year younger than you, and my boyfriend is three years younger than you. We're your parents?" "Where did we get such a big son? Let me tell you, I didn't agree to take you in as a slave. Even if I did, you'd only be my slave, no other master. Understand? I can accept this box of sausages, but you're not my slave. Give it to me if you want, or don't."
I knew her temper; she was always a woman of her word. Begging her wouldn't help. I was just trying to give her the sausages to make her happy. I could only say, "Okay, XX, this is for you. Your boyfriend lives in the countryside and might not get these things. Take them with you; it'll make you look good."
She smiled and said, "How could I bear to make you my slave? I want you to be my best friend, or rather, my confidante. I'll accept the sausages, thank you. My dad will come to pick them up in a bit; please carry them upstairs for me."
I felt a surge of emotion: she actually cared about me; she couldn't bear to humiliate me, especially not because of the humiliation her boyfriend had caused me. But, my beloved little XX, this humiliation... Just because you don't want to give it to me doesn't mean I can't feel it!
I shook my head and gave a bitter smile: "Okay, have fun during the New Year."
"Yeah, you too," she nodded with a smile.
We chatted for a while longer, and the afternoon felt incredibly long. Finally, it was time to leave work. I watched her leave with reluctance. She said she was going to the supermarket across the street to buy something else. I offered to go with her, but she said no, her boyfriend was coming to pick her up. She had to wait for him. "You go first, and I wish you a happy Chinese New Year in advance."
Naturally, I didn't say anything more, so I rode my bicycle home silently. Suddenly, I seemed to remember something—I hadn't given her a New Year's gift yet! Red sausage? What's red sausage? This noble goddess, I'm giving her red sausage as a New Year's gift?! I suddenly remembered that she had mentioned this afternoon a bright yellow down jacket we had seen while shopping before. She liked it very much and regretted not buying it then. I remembered that one. A surge of unknown strength welled up within me, and I frantically turned around and rushed towards the mall. I had to buy it for her! They say the New Year brings new beginnings! This was my first Spring Festival since I met her, and my goddess had to have a happy holiday!
Finally, amidst the astonished gazes of the mall's customers, I bought the down jacket. On my way back, pondering how to give it to her, I saw her board a number 8 bus as I passed her workplace! So her boyfriend hadn't come to pick her up? Great! I suppressed my overwhelming joy and frantically chased after the bus on my bike. The wind howled, and I suddenly felt like crying. I felt like a stray dog abandoned by its owner! I had to keep chasing her; I couldn't let her disappear from my sight!
But how could a bicycle catch a car? I admit, even the male protagonists in romance dramas are better than me. After a few blocks, I realized the bus had disappeared, but I knew it couldn't be far. Our small city isn't that big; it must be somewhere ahead! I continued riding my bike with renewed enthusiasm, looking for the No. 8 bus. But then, an unexpected scene unfolded. At the No. 8 bus stop around the corner, the bus was nowhere to be seen. She and her boyfriend were embracing intimately. Although I had imagined this scene countless times, seeing it for the first time today still broke my heart. My face burned with an indescribable feeling. Then she got on her boyfriend's motorcycle and clung tightly to him on the back. I immediately deflated like a punctured balloon, realizing I was soaked in sweat.
I don't know how I got home, but it didn't really matter. Ever since I met her and learned she had a husband, I'd often walked home in this daze. It took
me a long time to recover after I got home. I suddenly remembered I hadn't given her the down jacket yet. No matter what, I couldn't let those 800-plus yuan go to waste. I forced myself to send her a text message about the down jacket. She said, "Bring it to my building, I'll come down and pick it up in a bit." She never lets me go upstairs. Her family used to live in a very ordinary three-bedroom apartment in our workplace's staff quarters, but now the dark, gaping entrance to her building looks like a stairway to heaven to me; every time I get close, I get breathless.
That night, after I delivered it, she sent me a text message a long time later, just three words: "Hahaha."
That was enough to express how happy she was, because I had already told her not to say thank you to me, because I felt it was my duty to show her respect.
Although she did say thank you, she generally tried to avoid it. And usually, when her boyfriend is at her place, it's already a rare occurrence for her to say even a few words to me.
Holidays are like that; they make the happy even happier and the unhappy even more unhappy. Even with the jade Buddha she gave me, I still couldn't bear it. That's when I realized what it meant to be heartbroken and unable to breathe. That night, I imagined what she was doing at her boyfriend's house—was she having New Year's Eve dinner with her family, or were they happily watching TV together? Or were they making love? I went crazy like a drug addict, I became hysterical! At my lowest point, I knelt heavily in the direction of her boyfriend's house and frantically kowtowed to my beautiful mistress and her boyfriend! I don't know how many times I kowtowed, until my head bled, but I couldn't stop. Perhaps they were making love, while their slave could only kowtow to them from afar!
That Spring Festival is still a nightmare for me now. Since then, I often dream that I'm in a dark village, and the instinctive human fear of darkness makes me run without thinking, desperately searching for a glimmer of light. But no matter how long I ran, how many streets I crossed, it was still an endless, eternal darkness.
This dream has haunted me ever since, I can't escape it. So I know I can't live without her, and the day she leaves my world, my death will probably be near. So no matter how humiliating it is, I have no choice but to stay by her side. Countless nights, I would sneak downstairs to her apartment building alone, silently looking at her window. She and her husband lived inside, sleeping together. I would kneel on the ground, desperately kowtowing to them, begging for their protection like I was praying to a god. It was as if the whole world was dark, but there was light in their place.
After the Spring Festival, she came back to work, bringing back many photos, mostly pictures of her with her boyfriend's family.
She pitied me and wouldn't show them to me, but my other colleagues didn't know about us. Many people casually mentioned to me
that she was wearing a bright yellow down jacket, and her boyfriend's family praised her for being beautiful, saying that her boyfriend was very lucky.
Have I done something for someone else again? I think so, although I've done it many times before.
My beautiful mistress hasn't replied for ages again, as always, and I've gotten used to it over the years. The male mistress gets off his night shift at 9:30. Later, I worked as their slave for a while, witnessing firsthand what happened when the male mistress came home: no matter what she was doing, he'd grab her and start roughly tearing at her clothes, then penetrate her after very little foreplay, sometimes five or six times a night. But that's a story for later, and I won't go into it now.
Now I want to begin recounting how I became their slave. I should say, without that incident, I think she wouldn't have been willing to accept me as her slave, let alone make me their slave. That incident caused her pity for me to waver, turning into hatred, and her husband hated me even more. Otherwise, who could accept a man serving them and his wife sexually? I, for one, couldn't imagine it.
It was an ordinary evening; I was still texting her about sending her cosmetics. Her boyfriend seemed to be out that day, so she kept replying to my messages. We chatted for a while and then stopped. I figured she'd fallen asleep. I was worried she'd change her mind the next day and not let me send her the cosmetics, so
I sent her a final message: "You promised, and once you promise, there's no going back! Long live XX!" About an hour later, it must have been past 11 pm, and I was almost asleep when the phone rang. I opened it and saw it was her number! I was terrified! Even with text messages, getting a reply from her was extremely difficult; a phone call was out of the question.
My hands trembled as I picked up the phone, unable to contain my excitement, and said, "Hello?" I heard a man's voice say, "What do you want?" In that instant, I felt dizzy. I knew this was definitely her boyfriend. What should I do? Argue with him? Tell him how much I love her? No! My mistress is still with him. What if he hits her? I stammered, "What...what do you want?"
He said, "Why did you send her a message like that?" I said, "You've misunderstood, I didn't mean anything by it." He sneered, "Didn't mean anything by it? She already told me, you spineless beast, and you still say you didn't mean anything by it? Are you even a man?"
I knew things were going badly, so I quickly changed my tone and said, "Please don't be angry, this is all my fault, it has nothing to do with her. Where are you? I'll come over now and we'll talk in person, okay?" He sneered, "You dare come over? Fine, come to her building, we'll wait for you."
In the dead of winter, I was only wearing a thermal undershirt and a coat, and I practically scrambled downstairs to her house. Luckily, it wasn't too far. When I got to her building, I saw them standing at the door in the light of the courtyard lamp. She was dressed neatly, still wearing that bright yellow down jacket, but her hair was a little messy, and her eyes were red as if she had just been crying. Her boyfriend was dressed very casually, about my height, but much more handsome than me. Now that I think about it, he looked a bit like an actor named Ming Dao. I mustered my courage and ran over, my heart pounding. I didn't know what to say, and I didn't even need to say anything. As soon as I stood still, her boyfriend punched me. I'd always been raised to be a good student and a good child, and I'd never been in a fight before. I only saw a flash of white light, my head buzzed, and I was already on the ground. Her boyfriend rushed over and started punching and kicking me, hurling insults at me. For someone who'd never fought before, the pain in my face, stomach, and back was excruciating; I could barely breathe. I felt dizzy, like I was about to die, so I couldn't just stand there and fight back. I was much heavier than her boyfriend, so I couldn't be defenseless. I gritted my teeth, grabbed his legs, and pushed him away with all my might. He stumbled and fell to the ground. I took this opportunity to quickly straighten up and try to get up. But then, she, who had been too quiet to speak, came over and kicked me in the chin. I fell to the ground again. She stomped hard on my neck with her foot, grinding it back and forth until I couldn't move. Actually, she didn't even need to stomp on me; I was completely stunned. This was the foot that had been kneeling and serving me, wearing the leather shoes I'd saved up to buy her. It hadn't even tried to stop her boyfriend earlier, and now it was pressing on my neck! My heart felt empty, as if my consciousness had drifted away. Her boyfriend tried to kick me, but she stopped him. Hmph, I think it wasn't that she could stop him; he was probably just tired of hitting me. He was panting heavily. She coldly said to me, "Didn't I tell you I have a husband? Didn't I tell you I wouldn't give you a chance? Didn't I tell you not to bother me? Didn't I say I couldn't give you anything? And what about you?"
Her voice was trembling with tears; I knew she must have been crying terribly. My heart broke. At that moment, I would do anything to stop her from being sad. I hurriedly said, "Manager Du, I'm sorry, it's all my fault. It has nothing to do with her." It's always been one-sided on my part. If you're angry, hit me. She loves you so much; it really has nothing to do with her. Her husband remained silent, fuming. She released her foot from my neck, stood on tiptoe, and kissed her husband's nose, mouth, and forehead, sobbing uncontrollably: "Husband, don't you know how much I love you? I've given you everything, don't you believe me? He's never received anything. I even refused when he wanted to kiss my feet." She pleaded desperately for a long time, but her husband remained silent, still fuming. She glanced back at me helplessly. In the light of the hallway, I saw the resentment and cold helplessness in her eyes. My heart trembled, and I stood there, unable to look at her. She turned back and knelt at her husband's feet, hugging his legs and crying loudly! Even though I've endured countless humiliations, this terrified me. This was a scene I could never have imagined! She was such a proud and domineering person. She'd argued with her husband so many times, yet he always bowed and scraped before her. How could this be?! How could this be?! Why?! I simply couldn't understand it. Her husband was somewhat moved and reached out to help her up, but she struggled and refused. I knew I had to do something. This was the power dynamic between the three of us—she knelt at his feet, and I knelt at hers! What dignity did I still hold onto? I endured the humiliation and knelt before her husband, repeatedly kowtowing: "Manager Du, I'm kowtowing to you. I truly know I was wrong. You can do whatever you want, please forgive me this time. I really won't dare to do it again; I'll never dare to contact her again!"
Her husband was also surprised that a grown man would kneel on the ground and kowtow to him so shamelessly. He watched silently for a while and said, "Forget it. Looking at you like this, you're not even a man. I don't believe you took advantage of him. Heh, we're colleagues, we'll have to work together in the future. If I find you bothering her again, I'll beat you every time I see you! Get out of here."
I kowtowed to him desperately, as if I had been granted a pardon, to show my piety: "Manager Du, thank you. Don't worry, I won't dare to do it again." He snorted, pulled her into his arms, and the two of them walked up the stairs, leaning on each other. I remained kneeling on the ground for a long time, not daring to move. The moment they stepped onto the stairs, I kowtowed heavily and said obsequiously, "Manager Du, take care!" They seemed not to hear me and went upstairs, leaning on each other. It took me
a long time to come to my senses. I slowly crawled, kissing the places where their feet had stepped, tears streaming down my face.
I spent a sleepless night, struggling in a light sleep, dreaming of her and her husband making love, then of me being trampled underfoot by him like a dog. The next day, I got up and went to work at the crack of dawn. As usual, I cleaned the house and waited for her to arrive. Her husband brought her on his motorcycle, arriving much earlier than usual. After parking the motorcycle, he didn't move, just silently stared ahead. She got off and didn't move either, but went over and hugged him tightly. A pang of sadness struck me. Yes, she knew her husband was unhappy and went to comfort him. What about me? What am I? Who has ever comforted me when I'm sad and upset?
After a long while, she turned and walked inside, and her husband started the motorcycle and drove away. I hurriedly went to greet her with a forced smile, but she didn't even glance at me before walking straight to the counter to change her shoes. I hurriedly knelt at her feet as usual, reaching for her foot. She kicked me in the head, making me stumble. I got up and shamelessly tried to reach her foot again, but she flinched and coldly said, "Take your filthy hands away!" I absolutely dared not disobey her, so I could only stand up with an awkward smile. She changed her shoes and started working. I didn't know what to do, because if she was unhappy, I wouldn't even dare to kneel and kowtow to her! The day passed in this sullen silence. Near the end of the workday, she said to me, "XX, let me tell you, from today onwards, we're just ordinary colleagues. We won't talk about anything outside of work. If you can't do that, I'll ask for a transfer." I hurriedly said, "Okay, okay, whatever you say."
These past few days she hadn't said a word to me, and I couldn't shake the loneliness in my heart. Having no other choice, I had to find a solution myself. I thought of stealing her things to relieve my loneliness... ZW, steal what? Underwear? Are you kidding me! That's practically suicide! After observing her repeatedly, I noticed that the insoles in her shoes were the ordinary kind with a bear pattern, the kind you can buy in supermarkets. I already knew she wore a size 37, so I bought a lot of identical insoles at the supermarket. Then I made up various excuses to go to the dressing room, like it was too cold and I needed to put on an extra layer, it was too hot and I needed to take off an extra layer, or I was tidying up my locker. Later, I realized these excuses were completely unnecessary, because she never even glanced at me. She was either busy with work, texting on her phone, or reading horror magazines.
I secretly went to the dressing room, gently knelt down next to her shoes, and imagined her standing in front of me wearing those shoes. I kowtowed repeatedly to her shoes, kissing the toes, the uppers, and the heels. Later, I even picked up her shoes and imagined her stepping on my head while wearing them. Or I'd put the heel of her high heels in my mouth and suck on it until it was spotless. If that didn't work, I'd turn it over and lick the dirt off the sole and eat it. Whatever was on it, being stepped on by my goddess's noble feet made it supreme to me! Later, feeling that wasn't devout enough, I changed it up: from the moment I entered and closed the door, I'd kneel on the floor, imagining where my mistress's feet might step, crawling a step and kissing her footprint, then kowtowing three times to it, until I reached the front of her shoes. At this point, I'd usually get an erection, and I'd ejaculate in this fantasy, then secretly change her insoles and put them in my closet to take with me that night. She wouldn't contact me that night, so I had to treat her insoles like sacred objects, kowtowing to them every morning and evening. When I felt really uncomfortable at night, I'd frantically kiss her insoles while fantasizing to pass the time.
Sometimes I wondered: Didn't she ever suspect anything? Why were her leather shoes always brand new and never even a speck of dirt? Why were her insoles always pristine? I never asked her these questions, attributing it to my mistress's purity and nobility; her things simply couldn't be dirty, so naturally, she wouldn't notice.
However, even the insoles she'd stepped on weren't always available. As the weather gradually warmed, she often stopped changing her shoes, so I naturally couldn't steal the insoles, which bothered me for a long time. Then I thought of another way: what's most abundant in a bank? Paper. Paper is often scattered everywhere, even money, so it's become commonplace. So I secretly tossed A4 paper under her seat, near her footrest, making it look like it had fallen there accidentally. When her shoes stepped on it, a footprint, deep or shallow, would be left. These were the footprints of my beautiful mistress! I could imagine her feet stepping on them, perhaps even retaining the warmth of her feet! I secretly brought home the paper with her footprints on it, and these papers replaced the old insoles as sacred objects I worshipped daily. But now I dare not kiss them recklessly anymore, because these footprints are hard to come by. Often, when she finds a piece of paper under her feet, she'll kick it away (given her laziness, she would never bend down to pick it up; that's my job). So, my mistress's footprints are actually very precious! And every time I kiss them, my lowly saliva might get on the footprints, fading them. I only allow myself to lightly kiss her footprints when I'm in a very good or very bad mood, or when I'm so tired and drowsy at work that I can sneak a sniff or a kiss when no one's looking, and I immediately regain my energy! Hehe, really, you might not believe it, but to me, a single footprint of my noble and beautiful mistress on a piece of paper is a thousand times, ten thousand times better than any Red Bull, chocolate, Nestlé, or expensive tea! Later, I even offered her a Pu'er tea cake worth several hundred yuan per kilogram, asking her to stomp on it so I could take it home and drink it—but that's
another story. If things had continued like that, perhaps none of this would have happened, and I wouldn't still be so devoted to my master.
But sometimes fate is so wondrous. My master didn't ignore me forever; our relationship began to gradually improve! At the time, this was an incredible stroke of luck for me! I think the main reason was that my master was a young, active girl. We worked together every day, and we never had anything to say to each other. I couldn't stand it, and she wasn't having an easy time either.
So, as spring arrived and the grass grew, our relationship gradually improved until we could talk about anything, just like before, as if that incident had never happened. However, I vaguely sensed that I had lost something from my master, but also gained something else. What it was, I couldn't say at the time. It wasn't until seven years later that I realized: what I lost was my master's pity and compassion, and what I gained was her hatred and cruelty! Although the former didn't lose much, my master still sometimes felt melancholy and hoped I would be doing well. The latter didn't gain much either, and my master still didn't want to take me as a slave. But like the straw that broke the camel's back, in our story of life and death hanging by a thread, this small change triggered a cataclysmic upheaval!
3.
I went to dinner with my boss today. He said he would promote me and give me a raise, so I had to treat him to dinner.
I know I'm a living dead, but I still have my master, my only reason for staying in this world, my only light in this dark world.
My biological mother raised me, but she doesn't understand me. She beat and scolded me since I was little, and even now, knowing I came home so late to drink with my boss, she still scolds me and doesn't say a word to me. I am heartbroken. It's not that I can't let go of my master, but I can't find a trace of warmth at home. So I have no choice but to follow my master and treat her as my mother. Only her smiles and frowns, only she can give me a little bit of happiness, let me know that there is still a little bit of color and warmth in this world that I cherish, and give me a reason to strive, just to honor my master who bestows happiness and light upon me.
To be honest, I'm not an unfilial person. I've been incredibly good to my mother. Since I started working, I haven't spent a single penny of her money, yet when she was hospitalized, it cost me over ten thousand yuan—almost all my savings. But my own mother can't give me even a sliver of happiness. Just now, after exhausting myself with flattery and fawning over my boss, I returned home to find my own mother, my mother, with a sullen face, ignoring me and even scolding me for being inconsiderate. I don't know what I did wrong. I've done everything for this family. My heart is broken.
In my world, even my own mother occupies a space of darkness, a vast, terrifying darkness. But my other mother, the one a year younger than me, leaves a glimmer of light worth pursuing, a faint starlight. Was I wrong? My heart was in turmoil.
This was about two or three months after that incident. My master's attitude towards me gradually softened. She would still eat with me. She was indeed a very greedy girl; she could pout her cute little lips and eat five pounds of crabs in one go without gaining weight at all. Haha, I'm the kind of person who gains weight even from drinking water, so I believed in fate even more. Maybe my master really was a fairy descended from heaven. I was happy to humbly grovel at her feet. I felt that the fact that my master could take even a little time to be with me behind her beloved husband's back was an immense favor to me, even though I was still a pitiful creature in her eyes who needed her permission to even kowtow to her.
Her wedding day was getting closer and closer, and I felt like an ant on a hot plate, deeply experiencing the feeling of the world slowly approaching. But what could I do? If my beautiful master ignored me and married her husband and had children, that would be understandable; she hadn't done anything wrong. But she was still willing to take time out of her busy schedule to pay attention to me. Shouldn't I be grateful?
So I was willing to accompany her to buy her wedding supplies—curtains, lamps, tablecloths, shoe cabinets, even bedding. I carried all the bags for her. When she got tired of shopping, I would take her to a private room at a seafood restaurant I had booked, to eat her favorite seafood. The table full of delicacies whetted her appetite, but in my eyes, nothing was as tempting as crawling under the table to massage her legs. She knew what kind of person I was, so she let me have my way.
I couldn't give my beloved mistress any happiness, but there was another man who could make her incredibly happy. I had no right to complain; I could only offer them my endless blessings and gratitude for him bringing my mistress happiness. So when my mistress mentioned that she was worried about not having enough money for her wedding, I offered to give her an extremely luxurious Proven?al double wooden bed. She blushed and said no, no, it was too extravagant. She said she only needed me to lend her 1500 yuan to buy a plasma TV, and she would pay me back as soon as she had the money. Heh, I chuckled inwardly. If she wanted, even without a large bed, she could still be passionately intimate with her husband on his simple single bed. Even with the best double bed, the most she'd do would be sit on it while I kneel and massage her legs. Isn't that right? Since it's all her choice, why not make her comfortable? So I made up all sorts of strange reasons, like how a bad double bed would put excessive pressure on the cervical spine and affect her figure, or that my friend's fast-paced work in the south required buying the best bed to relieve fatigue. Basically, I relentlessly begged my mistress to grant my request. She was used to my smooth talk and, besides, cared a lot about her figure, so she agreed, but promised to pay me back as soon as she had the money. I thought to myself, "Would I tell you this double bed actually costs over 20,000?" My beloved woman, you won't even let me kiss your toes, so what can I do? I only want you and your husband to be able to make love happily on this bed. Even if you kneel on this big bed with your buttocks high up, letting your beloved husband ride on top of you and fuck you hard, this soft bed won't cause you any discomfort. After he forces you to do it many times, you can still sleep on this soft and comfortable bed, peacefully falling asleep in the throes of orgasm. Meanwhile, I can only devoutly kiss your footprints and masturbate, or desperately kowtow to you in my humble home. My beloved little XX, as long as you are happy, I'm willing to do anything.
But even after I bought her a lot of wedding supplies, they still didn't have enough money for the wedding. Because she is a woman who really knows how to enjoy life, she has to buy the best of everything, and she gets upset if there's even the slightest flaw. So I had to pretend to lend her 1500 yuan for the wedding, as agreed, promising to pay me back when she had the money.
On Arbor Day, I've been desperately trying to get her to spend every holiday with me, even the ridiculous one like Arbor Day. I just wanted to see her. When her angelic face appeared before me (even when she was cold and expressionless), I felt all my worries vanish, as if I could fly freely in the sky. After dinner, she wanted me to go shopping with her. I knew perfectly well that she was focused on her wedding, and she wanted to prepare things for it, or at least look around. This time, she was interested in pajamas. She told me she'd always wanted to buy lots of beautiful pajamas, for all four seasons, so she could comfortably stay home and play computer games. I thought so too. Every morning, under the warm sunshine, the owner of the pajamas would stretch after waking up, put on a beautiful silk pajama, and let the soft fabric tightly wrap around her fair and delicate body. What a beautiful and comforting scene this was! How could those cheap, low-quality pajamas be worthy of touching my master's noble body? It would be blasphemy against my master! In a moment of impulsiveness, I felt this matter was far too important and urgent! So, I took it upon myself to buy all the pajamas my master had her eye on—two for spring, two for summer, two for autumn, and two for winter—and presented them to her. After shamelessly threatening to kowtow to her in front of everyone in the mall if she didn't accept them, she finally reluctantly accepted my gifts. Heh, but only later did I realize that only her husband was truly entitled to see my master looking so beautiful in those pajamas. Wouldn't those pajamas, so revealing of her curves, only further arouse his desire? I don't know; it's not something a slave like me should worry about. It's said that intimacy with men makes a woman's skin better and more beautiful—perhaps it's true? As long as my master is happy, that's all that matters. Since I'm not qualified to be the man who brings her happiness, shouldn't I thank the man who can?
Hehe, on second thought, why did my master allow me to treat her to dinner and let me see her beautiful face for four hours? Shouldn't I pay the price for this? I feel like I still owe my master something; I can never repay her kindness in my lifetime.
4.
It rained all day here today, and my master hasn't contacted me for two days, no matter how much I begged her. Because of my heart condition, I feel very depressed on cloudy days, so you can imagine how terrible today was.
Then this afternoon, she suddenly texted me saying her phone was broken, and I couldn't help but break out in a huge sweat. My master's broken phone almost killed me.
Today's rain reminded me of two rainy days I spent with my master, both of which are unforgettable. So, let me tell you about those two rainy days.
The first time was when I treated my master to barbecue. She would eat with me every now and then. I knew very well that my master didn't owe me anything; she could have cruelly cut ties with me, which would have been the best way for her. But what that meant to me is self-evident. The sky was still overcast that day, but I really didn't want to give up the opportunity to see my master, so I kept praying that it wouldn't rain and I didn't want to cancel my appointment to have dinner with my master.
Halfway through our meal, the rain started again. In early spring, the torrential rain was accompanied by a strong wind. My petite host felt a bit cold, so I had to give up on the barbecue and go with her to a KFC. Never before had I so desperately wanted a car, so my host could be spared even a little bit of the rain. We sat inside for a long time, but the rain still didn't stop. In our small city, it's almost impossible to hail a taxi when it rains. I knew her husband would be off work at 9:30. It wasn't that I wanted to do anything behind his back, but I felt that since my host had given me the opportunity to eat with her, I should at least ensure her life wasn't affected. So I suggested we go back, and she didn't say anything; we both understood.
That was a night I'll never forget. I was riding my motorcycle with my host as a passenger, and she was holding an umbrella for me from behind. Because of the strong wind, I quickly got soaked, and I figured my host wasn't much better off. The wind, mixed with raindrops, howled against me, sending shivers down my spine. Rain poured down my head, blinding me. I repeatedly wiped the rain from my face, struggling to see clearly through the downpour. In the bitter wind and rain, we trudged forward with difficulty. At that moment, I suddenly felt a sense of disorientation. I realized: to weather the storm with the woman I love, to share our joys and sorrows—wasn't this the happiness I had always dreamed of? The petite figure sitting in the back seat no longer seemed like the master I idolized, but still my beloved little XX. What an unforgettable happiness this was! I couldn't help but burst into tears. If I weren't worried about her getting sick, I truly wished those ten minutes could have lasted longer, much longer, ideally frozen in time, even if it meant the end of my own life.
This world is so strange; this stormy night was the happiest night of my life. The biting wind brought me not cold, but a warmth I had never felt before. When I got home, I texted her: Thank you, this is the happiness I've always dreamed of. She replied: Actually, I really hope you can be happy forever.
The second rain was near the height of summer (originally, this would be later in the narrative, but since I've mentioned rain, I'll put it here). At that time, I had a Shih Tzu. I adopted it partly to alleviate my loneliness, and partly because she loved dogs, and I wanted to cater to her interests and hopefully have something in common. Unfortunately, this Shih Tzu contracted canine distemper and developed a fever of over 40 degrees Celsius (a dog's normal body temperature is 38 degrees Celsius, slightly higher than a human's). I spent a lot of money and did everything I could, but that night it still died in my hands (because the little thing was very sad and could only sleep for a short while with its head on my hand). I was extremely heartbroken at that time, partly for the loss of this lovely life, and partly for my own tragic fate: why was the woman I loved with someone else, and even my dog had to leave me? After she passed away that day, I cried my heart out and then braved the heavy rain to go to the snack shop at the entrance of my neighborhood to drink. They say that drinking to drown your sorrows only makes them worse, and anyone with a story knows that's absolutely true. After downing four 250ml bottles of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor), my mind started to wander, but my grief didn't lessen at all. Looking at the pouring rain outside, the deserted streets, and the pedestrians rushing through the downpour, I suddenly felt a chill, but then I thought of the warm incandescent light bulbs and the pink curtains—those were the most vivid memories of her new house. She and her husband had already moved in together. Suddenly, I desperately wanted to see her, even though I knew it was impossible, even just being close to her would have been enough. So, fueled by the alcohol, I staggered towards her house.
When I got there, I silently stared at her window as usual. The house was brightly lit, but the curtains were drawn tightly, and I couldn't see anything. Actually, I desperately wanted to see something, even just seeing her and her husband being intimate would be better than not seeing her at all. I didn't know if her husband was home, but the gloomy weather and the sadness made my heart ache. I wanted to talk to her, so I sent her a text: "Are you there? I'm downstairs at your place." (This was a fatal mistake I made when I was drunk. Having learned from the previous experience of her husband seeing my text, I wouldn't have said that directly to her.)
As usual, the message went unanswered. This is perfectly normal; replying to a message is abnormal.
People become extreme when they're drunk, more sentimental. I stood in the pouring rain, thinking about many things. I didn't know what I had done wrong, why fate was so unfair to me, why I couldn't have met her sooner, why I loved someone so much yet had to endure so much pain. Then, in a hazy, recurring image in my mind was her husband pressing her smooth, jade-like body beneath him, her tightly embracing him, moaning with intoxicated pleasure. A strong sense of inferiority made me stagger and kneel heavily in the mud, burying my head in the ground, remaining in that position silently for a very long time.
I don't know how much time passed before I heard the sound of the building door opening. I looked up, and as if in a dream, saw her hurrying out with an umbrella. I never imagined she would come out. I rubbed my eyes hard; I was afraid it was just a beautiful dream. She walked up to me angrily and said, "What are you doing? Get up right now! Are you crazy? Don't you want to die?" Overwhelmed with mixed emotions, I couldn't control myself anymore. I lunged forward, hugged her feet, pressed my face tightly against them, and cried, "Lele is dead! Why? Why did even it have to leave me? Why am I so lonely?! Tell me, why? Why?! You don't want me, and even it doesn't want me? You all want to stay far away from me?!" I frantically and incoherently vented my anger. She looked at me silently, letting me hug her feet without saying a word for the first time. She also loved dogs, and she loved my Lele very much. I could imagine she was also very sad. After I finished speaking, she just hugged her feet and sobbed, then said softly, "Did you bury it? Did you leave its favorite ham near its mouth?" Her voice trembled slightly, perhaps unable to control her tears either. I told her I'd buried it by the door of my house, where it wouldn't be exposed to the wind and sun. I wrapped it in my down jacket, with its favorite chicken liver, ham, milk tablets, everything… As I spoke, tears streamed down my face again. She sighed and said, "Forget it. I think after all this trouble for over half a month, this is a relief for it. You've done your best. I hope it can be happy in its next life.
" She paused, seemingly trying to compose herself. "You spent so much money on it. The vet said there was less than a 10% chance, but you still decided to save it. You've done your best. Why torture yourself like this? Go back. It's raining so hard; you've been soaked for over an hour."
I shook my head, pressing my face even closer to her feet, tensing every nerve in my face to feel the warmth of her feet, as if it were the only warmth I could find in this bitter rain. She said, "You don't understand. Who knows the bitterness in my heart? I'm in endless darkness, lonely, lost, afraid, and helpless. Only you are the only light I can find. Please save me, XX, please save me! I will always remember your kindness. I'm willing to repay you in this life and the next, even as a slave. Please, save me!" I released her feet and began to frantically kowtow to her, ignoring the splashing water and the dirty water mixed with my tears streaming down my face. She smiled bitterly and said, "I don't understand? What don't I understand? Do you think I don't know because I don't say anything? But how can I save you? What can I use to save you? I only have one person. I love him, how can I love you too? How can one have both in this world, without betraying Buddha or you! Do you understand? Do you understand my difficulties? To make you a little happier, I go out to eat with you, accept your gifts. What else can I do? Tell me! If you were me, what would you do?!" You suffer because you can't have me, but doesn't he suffer when he gets me and then loses me? You feel I'm being unfair to you, but...

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Falling in love with a girl who already has a boyfriend, parts 1-6, all by Blue-faced Cat's Slave

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