Real Cases by Lawyers

I am a graduate with a Master of Laws degree from a prestigious university, currently working as a lawyer in a coastal city. I've been registered on Pinse.com for over three years, only replying to and reading posts, never contributing anything. Many times I thought Pinse would succumb to censorship, but it stubbornly survived, bringing joy to everyone!
Looking back on these years of trials and tribulations, I deeply appreciate the hardships endured by the unsung heroes behind Pinse. Therefore, I'm writing this article hoping everyone will share it. If you like it, I'll share more in my spare time later.
As a relatively new lawyer, I've dealt mostly with the mundane divorce cases. Of all these divorce cases, Xiao H left the deepest impression on me.
When Xiao H arrived at our firm, she had an urgent matter to attend to and had to leave hastily, only leaving her phone number. Seeing that the court hearing was approaching, I called to arrange a meeting to discuss the details. She said she was only free in the evenings, at her home.
Her apartment was in the suburbs, but it was very large, 180 square meters, which was quite cramped for one person. After some pleasantries, we got straight to the point and asked about her family situation. She said she had been married for five years, had no children, and her husband lived in a city apartment, while she lived here, conveniently close to her workplace. When asked about the reason for the divorce, she said it was due to irreconcilable differences. As a lawyer, I wanted to know more details because in my experience, most divorces aren't due to irreconcilable differences, but rather to infidelity, with the husband usually being the one at fault. As the wife's lawyer, I naturally wanted to find this leverage to secure a larger share of the assets for my client in court.
I repeatedly pressed her about whether her husband had been unfaithful, but to my surprise, she insisted he hadn't, only that their relationship had simply broken down. I was puzzled. She was attractive, with fair skin, a gentle demeanor, a pleasant voice, and clearly well-educated. Even if she didn't love him, she wouldn't divorce him; who could guarantee she'd find someone better? I told her that if it was just about irreconcilable differences, she didn't need a lawyer. Finally, she glanced at me, lowered her head, and said, "Actually, I wanted to hire a female lawyer, but your firm didn't have one. I couldn't just say there was nothing wrong when I went." What an adorably naive woman. I immediately suspected this was a privacy issue, so I advised her: "Don't even mention female lawyers, can you guarantee that all the judges and court clerks in court are female?
Be open and honest, don't be afraid." Finally, she agreed; it turned out her husband was a sadist. She couldn't take it anymore, and after filing for divorce, every time they had sex, her injuries worsened. Her parents lived in the countryside and thought their daughter was living a good life in the big city; she didn't want them to be heartbroken. As we spoke, she showed me the marks on her shoulder—clear strangulation marks on her fair skin—which made me very uncomfortable. I felt this sick man didn't know how to cherish women. She said there were actually more marks elsewhere, and I immediately understood she meant her private parts. Embarrassed, I composed myself and immediately told her, "You need to keep the evidence; it's very important." She asked, "How do I keep the evidence?" I told her, "First, take pictures of the marks on your body, then prove it was your husband who did it." Taking pictures of the marks wasn't difficult—just look in the mirror—but how do you prove it was my husband? Install a camera!
Soon, we installed the camera in her bedroom. She called her husband, saying she missed him, didn't want a divorce, and hoped to have sex. Men are all so easily tempted, especially this woman; she readily agreed. While setting up and installing the equipment together, and discussing key points, I increasingly felt that this woman was truly a good woman, understanding and reasonable. It was a pity that all she wanted was a normal man and a normal life, but that wasn't possible. My thought at the time was to rescue her from this predicament no matter what. That evening, I waited in the parking lot of the complex, assuming her husband had arrived and was tormenting her. I could only sigh silently. At 11 pm
, she called me, saying the man had left, they had another argument, and she wanted me to come pick up the videotape the next day. I said I hadn't even left her complex yet, and I was coming right away. She was surprised. She
opened the door; her hair was a little disheveled. She smiled politely at me, but I stared at her with a heavy heart. She seemed to sense my sympathy and helplessness, then lowered her head, turned, and went into the room. I followed her in, brought out a ladder, and took down the videotape.
"Why are you making noise again?" I asked.
"He burned me with a cigarette... there," she said, head down, trying to calm herself, "I just can't take it anymore..."
"Oh, did you film it?" "
I think so..."
"Do you have a computer?"
"Yes." She immediately realized I wanted to watch what had just happened in her house, and she blushed instantly.
I didn't realize this; instead, I was focused on preparing evidence as quickly as possible to rescue her.
I turned on the computer, started the disc, and she sat quietly behind me in her pajamas.
Her man, slightly overweight and not very tall, seemed normal at first, but it was clear she wasn't really engaged, knowing the camera was recording. A few minutes later, the man pulled out his belt and began lightly whipping her body, then the blows became heavier, accompanied by lewd laughter, while she cried and clung tightly to the wall.
"Do we really have to show this to the judge?" she asked me anxiously.
At that moment, I was captivated by a pristine white body. Although the camera's quality was poor, I couldn't deny being mesmerized. I didn't even realize she was asking me. She noticed my intense focus on the footage and immediately fell silent. The atmosphere was awkward. I swallowed hard and said, "No, don't worry, I'll blur the image. As long as it's clear it's your husband who did it, that's fine."
She finally nodded.
About half an hour later, her husband started smoking, and she nervously watched the cigarette butt. Sure enough, after just two puffs, the cigarette was taken and thrust directly at her private parts. She immediately sat up as if electrocuted, and began pushing and shoving, arguing. What followed was a bitter argument.
I turned off the camera and looked at her. She was wearing a light-colored nightgown and gave a bitter smile. "I don't need a larger share of the assets, I just want to leave. I don't want too many people to know about his problems. After all, he's not a bad person, it's just this side of him that I can't stand."
Even at this moment, she was still concerned about her husband. This is completely different from the mentality of the female homeowners in previous cases, who would usually want to castrate their husbands and publicly shame their "little brother." For some reason, I gently rested her head on my shoulder, and she began to silently weep.
We didn't speak for a while; I knew she couldn't share this trouble with anyone, keeping it bottled up inside for years. I let her cry it out. Finally, she noticed my shirt was soaked with tears. Oh no, how was I going to explain this to my wife when I got home? She immediately said, "It's okay, take it off, I'll iron it and it'll dry." I
took off my shirt; since it was summer and I wasn't wearing anything underneath, she looked at me shyly and said, "You're really strong." I'm not bragging, but even though I'm married, I still go to the gym 2-3 times a week to maintain a strong physique. You can't do a good job as a lawyer without a good body; I didn't expect she'd maintain her physique along with it. I immediately struck a playful gym pose, showing off my biceps, and she laughed, instantly lightening the atmosphere.
Ironing the clothes, quickly. She was clearly a woman skilled in housework. But as I got dressed, I noticed a hint of reluctance in her eyes. She suddenly said, "Your wife is so lucky." I was speechless for a moment, then said, "You're good too." The atmosphere suddenly became awkward. Her face flushed. "You're home so late, isn't your wife worried?"
"In my line of work, I often work through the night organizing materials; she's used to it and never asks."
"Then chat with me for a while, I can't sleep."
So we sat on the sofa, turned on the TV—not very loud, I didn't know what was on—and started talking about trivial things.
I suddenly asked her, "Was this man your first man?"
She said, "Yes."
I immediately pressed, "Have you been with other men?"
She looked at me with surprise and said firmly, "No, I'm not that kind of person.
" "Then you've never had normal sex!"
she exclaimed, looking at me in astonishment. "Yes."
We immediately fell silent. It
would be a lie to say I didn't want to sleep with her then; the lighting was dim, all because of this awful modern minimalist style of decor, with all those spotlights.
We sat closer, speechless, looking at each other. I suggested we have some red wine, and she agreed. The wine would cleanse her breath, especially mine.
I put my hand on her shoulder; I knew I had to be gentle, something she lacked. Sure enough, she closed her eyes and leaned into my arms. Everything felt natural; we were like long-lost lovers, beginning a deep, passionate kiss. I gently stroked her hair. Her breath smelled sweet. Slowly, our body temperatures rose. I took off my coat, and she took off her pajamas, revealing only underwear underneath, with visible marks, especially on her breasts and inner thighs.
Her breasts weren't large, and her nipples were pale pink. They weren't deformed because she hadn't given birth, but they bore many marks—rows and teeth marks. I kissed and caressed them gently, and she began to move in my arms, showing a long-suppressed comfort. I pulled down her panties; her pubic hair had been trimmed. "My husband did it," she said softly. To be honest, I also liked the feeling of cleanliness, which was somewhat similar to her husband. So I bent down to gently kiss her labia, but she suddenly pushed my head away, saying, "Wait, I haven't showered yet. I just…"
I suddenly realized that I had just been ravaged by that fat man. So we went to the bathroom, turned on the water, and stood in the shower, caressing each other's bodies. Her body was indeed wonderful—fair-skinned, and although there was a little bit of fat on her abdomen, it wasn't unattractive at all. Her hair wasn't long, and there were quite a few marks on her buttocks. I gently stroked them. I knelt down and pressed my lips to her buttocks, kissing and caressing them. She braced herself against the wall, slowly raising her buttocks higher and higher until I finally kissed her vulva—salty, slightly astringent. I greedily sucked on it. She trembled all over, her shower ruined. I quickly grabbed a towel and hastily dried her off, then carried her into the room.
On the bed, with the lamp on and the mess from before still there, I kicked the blanket off the bed for a cleaner feel. She lay there, eyes closed, legs gently together. I sat beside her, stroking her hair, her face, kissing her neck, slowly and gently biting her neck and earlobe—using every trick in the book, hoping to make this woman, who had endured years of violence, understand how wonderful sex could be. My tongue roamed her entire body, returning to her vulva, which was already soaking wet. I gently bit her clitoris and licked her labia minora, which were thin and pressed against her labia majora. As I sucked and nibbled, she began to close her legs, clamping my head between them, letting out soft moans. Those who moan desperately during sex are prostitutes; this kind of woman is a true, virtuous woman.
I didn't want to rush things, because I knew this opportunity might only come once. This woman was rational; she rarely lost her mind. Therefore, I spent a good half hour on foreplay.
Seeing that the time was right, I parted her legs, and she knew it was time for me to enter. I kissed her lips, my penis gently rubbing against her labia, then thrust in forcefully. It was incredibly lubricated, incredibly hot, and the tightness was just right. The key was the lubrication and the fiery temperature; it made me feel like I was melting. I began to gently thrust in and out. She opened her eyes, wrapped her arms around my neck, and breathed heavily. Her eyes were full of urgency, and I began to thrust harder.
She began to completely relax, opening her legs, sweat beading on her forehead. I started thrusting rapidly, but within minutes I felt I couldn't take it anymore; it was incredibly stimulating. Having years of experience, I immediately slowed down, switching to slow, deep thrusts. Sure enough, she couldn't hold back much longer, whispering in my ear, "Faster, faster..."
I was drenched in sweat, thinking that if I came too quickly, it wouldn't do to be so weak on my first time. I'm a Virgo, a perfectionist.
Her lower body grew increasingly hot, as if a furnace was enveloping my penis. I immediately took a deep breath and pulled out, instead licking her clitoris with my tongue, inserting two fingers into her vagina. She trembled, opening her eyes to look at me; I saw fear in her eyes. I immediately realized that her husband's hands there were bringing pain, not pleasure. I immediately kissed her gently, telling her to relax, that I would be very gentle, that it would feel good. She nodded with difficulty.
Slowly, I felt her legs opening wider and wider, and my hands began to move more and more relaxed. I started rapidly shaking my fingers up and down. She gripped the sheets tightly with both hands. This was a technique to induce a woman's orgasm, one she clearly hadn't tried before. Soon, I felt her juices flowing like a flood onto my hands. Her voice trembled, and she kept looking up, panting. Sweat streamed down her forehead as she gasped, "Mmm... mmm
, faster, faster..."
I knew she was about to climax. I'd always wanted to see a woman squirt, but my wife wasn't one. I wondered if she was. So I shook my fingers faster and harder. After about five minutes, she clung tightly to my neck. I knew she was close to climax, so I
thrust my fingers in and out even more vigorously. Suddenly, she said, "No, I need to pee." I held her legs down tightly to prevent her from moving. Suddenly, she gripped my hand that was inside her with incredible force. To be honest, I couldn't believe such a delicate woman could have such
strength. Her grip hurt. Her whole body convulsed, and she even rolled her eyes back. I hadn't expected her orgasmic reaction to be so intense. I immediately pulled her into my arms. She was panting heavily, too weak to speak.
It turned out she wasn't a woman who could squirt, although she was very wet and sticky, the fluids running down to her wrists.
My penis had rested enough, so I gently parted her legs and inserted it, still wet. She let me do as I pleased, and after two
minutes started to respond again. After orgasm, a woman's vagina contracts strongly, and I thrust hard inside her for a few minutes until I felt I couldn't take it anymore. I asked her, "Can I ejaculate inside?"
She suddenly opened her eyes and said, "No, I didn't use contraception."
So I
thrust hard a few hundred times, and suddenly a wave of pleasure surged up. I immediately pulled out my penis and ejaculated hard on her stomach
.
Then we lay there like we were dead.
About half an hour later, I got up to shower and get dressed. She looked at me on the bed without saying a word. As I turned to leave the room, she said, "Lock the door."
Then she fell silent.
I turned back to look at her and said sincerely, "You're amazing!" She smiled, very
happily.
The court hearing went smoothly, the judge granted the divorce, and the husband, not being a scoundrel, insisted on getting a larger share of the property from the wife. The matter was settled.
As I left the courtroom, I asked her what her plans were for the future. She glanced at me and whispered, "I can't stay here anymore, because I think I kind of like you, really. But I don't want things to continue like this. I want to go back to my hometown, find a job,
marry an honest man, and take care of my parents."
I felt a pang of sadness, but I knew she was right; things couldn't go on like this.
She paid the court fees for the firm, and I insisted on returning my share, but she refused. So I bought her a set of high-end cosmetics.
Although we occasionally talked on the phone for the next two months, we stopped using that number afterward, and she didn't even tell me she was leaving.
Two years later, I had a chance to go to a county near her hometown on business, so I deliberately went there, even though I knew the chances of running into her were almost zero. Looking at the lonely streetlights, perhaps...

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