Golden Autumn - Repost

Our initial conversations were limited to exchanging opinions on the topic of sadomasochism, at most sharing information about the sadomasochistic websites I had discovered. She was indeed an expert; from the websites she recommended, I learned a great deal, and the pictures—every single one—made my blood boil and my heart surge. Winter eventually came, and in that season of fluttering red leaves, nearing the end of autumn, I suddenly realized how beautiful this autumn truly was. Passion arose from a conversation we had online: She (calmly to me) whispered: "You like it so much, why don't you find an opportunity to try it?" I (smiling at her) whispered: "To be honest, I'm afraid that if I actually tried it, I'd suppress my sexual urges. After all, I'm still just a girl who has just turned twenty." She (calmly to me) whispered: "Are you very concerned about your virginity?" I (smiling at her) whispered: "We're both women, don't you care?" She (calmly to me) whispered: "Hehe." I (smiling at her) whispered: "My family upbringing has made me very self-respecting; I'm very traditional and conservative." She (calmly) whispered to me: "Yes, there aren't many girls like you these days." I (smilingly) whispered to her: "Is that a compliment or sarcasm?" She (calmly) whispered to me: "Hehe, both." I (smilingly) whispered to her: "Then you still don't understand me." She (calmly) whispered to me: "Maybe. Then you could try doing it with your boyfriend?" I (smilingly) whispered to her: "Before I get married, I won't do that kind of thing with any man. My body belongs to my future husband, and I have to be worthy of him. Besides, my current boyfriend isn't necessarily my life partner." She (calmly) whispered to me: "If I were a man and had the honor of becoming your husband, I would be very moved." I (smilingly) whispered to her: "Thank you, as long as you don't make sarcastic remarks about me in the future." She (calmly) whispered to me: "Have you ever thought about how unfair it would be if your man betrayed you in the future?" I (smilingly) whispered to her: "My motto is 'I'd rather be wronged than wrong others.'" She (calmly) whispered to me: "That's a manifestation of your servility." I (smiling at her) whispered: Objectively speaking, yes. She (calmly) whispered: There's something I've been wanting to ask you. I (smiling at her) whispered: Just say it. She (calmly) whispered: I've seen many methods of sadomasochism on some websites, but I can't try them out. I'm a woman myself, and I'm too embarrassed to ask a man to try them. I wonder if you could? I (smiling at her) whispered: What did you say? I didn't understand. She (calmly) whispered: I want to play a game with you. I've tried this kind of game with some girls before, but their quality isn't as high as yours. I (smiling at her) whispered: Are you being sarcastic again? She (calmly) whispered: I'm serious. Maybe I can give you some money. I (smiling at her) whispered: What do you take me for? A prostitute? She (calmly) whispered: Don't rush me. I just want to express how urgent my desire is. I (smiling at her) whispered: This is too sudden. Can I think about it? She (calmly) whispered to me: "Of course, of course, I'll wait for your reply. If possible, tell me next week."... After this chat, I was truly caught in a dilemma. Of course, I wanted to experience the game firsthand, and she was a woman, posing no threat to my body. We met online, so she wouldn't cause any unnecessary trouble for me. All these conditions made it impossible for me to refuse this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But we had only known each other for a short time, and I didn't know what kind of person she was. Could she be a human trafficker? Even if she wasn't the bad person I imagined, were her methods suitable for me? Would she leave any marks on my body? These concerns swirled in my mind, intertwined with my desires, leaving me unable to make sense of it. During that period, I often went for walks alone by the small lake on campus. Rather than a poetic stroll, it was more like a heavy, unsteady gait. My footsteps drew many questioning glances from classmates, and even greedy stares from graduates. Like a long-lost plaster, my boyfriend would occasionally appear by my side, making my already chaotic thoughts even more complicated. Only when he gently pulled my head into his arm did I feel a little relaxation. After all, I am a woman, and although I forced myself to avoid physical intimacy with him, I still longed for that tender, orange-red romance. A woman must have someone to rely on! The day to reply to her was drawing closer. I was still hesitating between right and wrong. Until one day, I returned to my dormitory, lay on my bed, and flipped through a collection of poems by Wang Guozhen. Suddenly, I came across a sentence that shocked me: "Since you have chosen the distant horizon, then just brave the wind and rain." I thought that even the poet himself might not have written such lines under the same difficult choice as me, so what was there for me to hesitate about? I finally convinced myself, and suddenly felt a sense of relief. I was ready to agree to her reply, immediately, yes! Immediately. When I rushed to the dormitory building, I found the door locked. I angrily ran to the dormitory management office, only to suddenly notice the clock in the hallway showed 3:30 AM. I couldn't help but chuckle at my own lapse in composure and tiptoed back to my room. Soon after, we met in a chat room, and I agreed to her request. I sent her my photo so she could spot me in the crowd at the station. She asked me in detail about my height, weight, and even my shoe size. Then she told me she needed to prepare some props and would be able to come to my place in about four or five days. She asked me to prepare and help her find a decent hotel near the station and book an apartment. The rest of the time was filled with anxious waiting. I don't know how I got through those days. There was excitement and a bit of fear. Finally, she informed me in the chat room that her train would arrive at my place at 5:32 PM the next day. That evening, back in my dorm, I told my classmates I had some family matters to attend to and needed to rest for four or five days, asking them to help me get leave. Then I called home and told them I was going out of town for a competition (I train for high jump on the school track and field team), and that they shouldn't worry. Everything was ready, but my anxiety only intensified, as if I were about to do something terrible. I really didn't know what I would do. I didn't even know if I could endure it, since I'd never experienced anything like it before. I also thought about what would happen if others found out; that would be incredibly embarrassing. That night, I couldn't sleep. The next morning, I got up very early. I changed into my sportswear and went for a jog on the school's track, so much so that my coach praised me so much I felt embarrassed, because since the day I started university, I'd never been late for morning exercise. After my morning exercise, I took a shower and went back to my dorm. I found a pair of faded jeans and a black jacket, because I'd told her what I was going to wear yesterday, so I wanted to dress like that. Finally, I took out my favorite pair of high heels and put them on. I grabbed some toiletries, packed them in my small backpack, and left the school. It was still early, so I booked a room for her at the CapitaLand Hotel. Then I started wandering around the city. The weather was lovely today; I discovered the beauty of this city for the first time. I strolled along the bustling city streets, letting the autumn breeze tousle my long hair. I felt carefree, even my exhale was filled with exuberance. A day of my own, escaping the comfort of home and the strictness of school. I let my freedom soar in McDonald's coffee, in the boutiques, in the sea of books on Twin Peaks Road, and in the movie theater where I sat alone. Time flew by; it was already 5 pm. I rushed to the train station. In the instant I bought my platform ticket, I reflected on my actions and realized that all I felt was urgency. I reminded myself to be more composed; after all, she was fifteen years older than me. She said her surname was Qiao, and I had already decided to call her Aunt Qiao when we met, but I didn't know if she would agree. It went so smoothly; the train stopped at the platform precisely on time. I searched for her carriage, looking for her among the disembarking passengers, even though I had never seen her before or seen her picture. I still tried my best to find the Shandong woman I'd learned about in our conversation—1.67 meters tall and weighing 73 kilograms. Finally, we faced each other. My surprise made me forget all the lines I'd prepared. She spoke first, still with that silly smile: "Are you A-Jie?" Her question abruptly brought me back to reality, leaving me somewhat bewildered. "I think… ah?… Yes, I am." She still smiled and asked, "What's wrong? Nervous?" I composed myself and said, "Oh, no. Excuse me, are you Sister Qiao?"Unconsciously, I had lowered her status. "Yes, I'm Qiao Yu." Instinctively, I said politely, "Oh, let me help you with your luggage." As I bent down to take her luggage, I was stunned. She was actually carrying two tattered backpacks on a shoulder pole—the kind only farmers probably don't even use anymore (I don't mean to disparage farmers). She seemed to notice my surprise and hurriedly said, "No need, no need, I'll carry them myself." I thought to myself, what's going on? With this kind of appearance, she wants to stay in such a high-class hotel. Can she afford it? Is she a scammer? I started to feel conflicted again. "Let's go. Did you book a hotel for me?" I only then realized that there was almost no one on the platform. "Oh, of course, but hotels are very expensive." I said sarcastically. "Is that so?" Only then did she revert to the expression she often used in chat rooms—calm. And I realized that during the time I had met her, I had never used the expression I was used to in chat rooms—a smile. I forced a smile: "Let's go, it's not far from the station." She was incredibly strong; she carried the carrying pole behind me with just one hand. I secretly thought: Good heavens, she's going to wear me out! I'm a little taller than her, but I only weigh 92 pounds, and standing next to her, I look pitifully thin. If we really slept together, how could I possibly compete with her? I felt inferior and regretted not training harder every day to build up my physique; then I wouldn't be in this awkward situation. However, I felt I should still be polite. After all, I come from an intellectual family, and the influence of my family has instilled in me some manners—that's the kind of air she felt about me. I regained my composure and started chatting with her to ease any misunderstanding I might have caused. "Was the journey tiring? I hate trains." "It was alright, not too long. I just took a nap and we arrived." She even had that silly smile on her face. "Really? Have a good time here for a few days; I'll be your guide." I, on the other hand, seemed quite calm. “Oh, thank you!” Her English, with its strong hometown accent, just didn’t sound right. I almost burst out laughing. Amidst the banter and polite formalities, we arrived at the hotel I’d booked that morning. “Are you satisfied? A four-star hotel.” I really hoped she’d say it was too luxurious and she couldn’t afford it. But I was completely wrong. “It’s alright, this is fine.” As she smiled and pulled money from her clothes, I suddenly had an indescribable feeling, as if I were blaming myself for looking down on her. After prepaying for three nights, we took the elevator to room 1102. I knew why she chose such a high place—for peace and quiet, to avoid being noticed. After she put down her luggage, I made arrangements according to my plan. “Let’s go downstairs for dinner, it’s on you.” Although she was different from what I had imagined, I felt she was much older than me, so I addressed her with great respect. “Okay, I’m really hungry.” Her smile seemed cheap and casual. We ate at the CapitaLand restaurant downstairs. We ordered a few dishes, probably too much for us to finish. She actually asked me what I wanted to drink, and I said I never drink. She smiled foolishly and said, "Then I'll have to drink!" I said, "Suit yourself." So, she ordered a bottle of baijiu (Chinese white liquor) and poured herself a drink. After a couple of glasses, she became more talkative. "You're thinner than I expected," she said, putting down her glass. "Really? Maybe I've lost weight recently," I replied casually. "Hmm, you're whiter than I expected," she said, putting a bite of food in her mouth. I didn't continue her conversation because I couldn't think of anything else to say. "You don't seem to have slept well today?" "Yes, I went to bed too late last night." "Shall we start tonight? If you'd like." "Today? Don't you want to rest?" I regretted asking her in a questioning tone. I should have suggested it. "No, I noticed you seem very nervous. How about some wine?" She still had that foolish smile. "No, I don't drink," I refused. "Have a drink, it really works," she urged me earnestly, pouring me a small glass. I felt I had eaten enough, so I rested my chin on my hands, watching her eat. A long silence followed, until she broke it. "Here, I wish you… what? Happiness!" she said, raising her glass. I raised mine too, feeling a sense of self-sacrifice. I closed my eyes and downed the small glass of liquor. Immediately, a burning sensation shot from my stomach to my throat, and I coughed violently. Tears streamed down my face, and I felt ashamed of my behavior. "Excuse me, I need to use the restroom," I said, staggering away from the table. "Oh, do you need help?" she asked calmly. I shook my head, indicating she didn't need anything. When I returned to the table after washing my face, she was paying the bill. I rushed over. "I'll take care of it," she said, handing the money to the waiter. She smiled at me and asked, "Are you alright?" "I'm fine. I promised to treat you. How come..." "There's always another chance. You'll be able to treat me." "How can I? You're a guest." I was about to go find the waiter to get her money back. As I passed her, she grabbed my arm. "Come on, why are you so stingy? It doesn't matter who treats." She squeezed my arm so hard it hurt. I had no choice but to give up and return to my seat. "Do you want to rest a bit more?" she asked. "No," I said. "Then let's go back to the room." She seemed impatient. "Okay!" I replied. In the hotel lobby, I checked my watch; it was exactly 8 pm. We sat on the sofa in the small living room. I often travel for competitions. Rooms like this are very expensive in other cities. I've never stayed in one before. "Okay, rest a bit, then let's begin," she said. People often get nervous when something they've been longing for finally arrives. I was no exception, but I subconsciously replied, "Okay." "All my gaming partners used to be prostitutes, except you. You're educated and well-mannered. I wonder if I can satisfy you?" At this moment, her smile turned terrifying, chilling to the bone. "Really?" I looked around the room to hide my unease. She took out a slender cigarette, lit it, and offered it to me. "You don't smoke, do you? I suppose." Objectively speaking, her smoking posture was quite elegant. "Yes, I don't." After finishing her cigarette, she took a package that looked like toiletries from a worn-out satchel at one end of a carrying pole and went into the bathroom. I turned on the TV to chase away the loneliness. About 15 minutes later, she came out. It was almost unbelievable; she had her short hair pulled back with hair gel, plastered to her scalp. Her face, cleansed of the journey, had a wine-red glow. Although her figure still resembled a medieval beer barrel, she exuded a mature competence, no longer the country bumpkin I disliked. "What? Don't you recognize me?" She was still smiling, but now her smile held a more solemn and dignified air than a silly one. "You should take a shower too, and then change your clothes." "I need to change clothes?" I asked, surprised. "Yes, otherwise the effect won't be as good. I brought some for you." She took a plastic bag out of her tattered backpack. When I opened it, I was shocked. It was the kind of clothing girls wore in those BDSM pictures. It was less like a bra and more like a pair of artificial leather straps used to bind the breasts, along with transparent stockings and transparent panties with holes in the front and back. "Go ahead, and I'll help you change." I mechanically took a shower, dried myself with a towel, and walked out of the bathroom naked. While I was showering, she had already changed into leather underwear and tall boots. "You look really cool," I said to her with a smile. "Really? To match the atmosphere." Her leather underwear seemed quite small, clinging to her round body like a sausage. “Come on, let me help you change.” She drew the curtains, walked to the sofa, and picked up what she called a bra. I turned over, and she put two circular straps around my breasts, then tightened and fastened them from behind. I put on my underwear myself, then put on high stockings. “Would you like your hair down?” she asked. I reached down and took off the hair clip at the back of my head, and my hair fell to my shoulders. “Okay, I’ll give you specially made high heels according to your shoe size.” As she spoke, she took out another plastic strap. The shoes were black, with heels at least 12 centimeters high."Really? I think I'd better not wear them." "Whatever, but it'll definitely increase your interest." I reluctantly slipped the high heels onto my feet. "They seem a little small?" I said. "Really? Maybe the shoemaker misremembered the size. Aren't you a size 35.5?" "No way, I wear a size 36.5." "A little small, it should be fine." I struggled to push them in, my feet feeling very uncomfortable inside. "Stand up." Her tone now sounded somewhat commanding. I stood up, trying to maintain my balance. But a piercing pain still shot through my feet. "Good, that's great." She sighed. "Sit on the sofa, I'm going to tie you up. You can choose the rope." She rummaged through her tattered bag, pulling out a bunch of ropes. "As long as you don't leave any marks on me, you can use any rope." I didn't care anymore. "Okay, use these." She said, picking out a few that looked like cotton rope. "Put your hands behind your back." She commanded. I obediently put my hands behind my back. I don't know how she did it, but she made a noose around my wrists and tightened it, binding my arms tightly. Finally, she brought the two ropes together over my shoulders, crossed them through my chest, returned behind me, folded them back over my wrists, and then tied them horizontally across my chest. Finally, she tied the remaining rope around my waist. My arms were now hanging behind me. "You're really thin," she said breathlessly. "When I used to tie other people up, I'd only wrap it around their waist three times at most, but I wrapped it around yours five times and more. You're very economical." She was incredibly strong. I bit my lip to keep from crying out in pain. The rope rubbed against my collarbone as it crossed my shoulders, and it dug into my ribs as it tied around my waist. It wasn't just ordinary skin pain; it was the agonizing pain of bruised bones. I struggled and pleaded, "Could you be a little gentler? This is my first time, please go easy on me." "What? I'm not using any force!" she said, pressing her knee against my back and pulling hard on the rope. "Besides, if it's not tied tight, it won't be effective." I didn't speak, because I had sensed her madness the moment she started drinking. Rather than begging her, it was better to save my strength and endure it. Perhaps the more I begged, the fiercer she would become. After my upper body was tied up, she sat on the sofa opposite me, panting heavily. I buried my head in the back of the sofa, enjoying the pleasure of being tied up for the first time—or perhaps it should be called enduring torment. "Aren't you going to admire yourself in the mirror?" she said slyly. "I can't stand up, let me rest for a while," I said, making excuses. "Can't stand up? Let me help you. You'll regret it if you don't see yourself bound for the first time." She stood up, walked to my side, grabbed the ropes behind my back, and practically lifted me up. I groaned softly. The bindings on my body, combined with the pain of the high heels on my feet, drove me almost insane. I wanted to scream. She half-dragged, half-pulled me to the dressing mirror. She swept the long hair that was obscuring my eyes behind my head. I saw my body, purplish from the ropes. I still gritted my teeth, trying not to scream. I felt this suffering was a kind of happiness, an unnamed pleasure coursing through my body. Suddenly, she released me, and my body, freed from her grasp, fell heavily onto the scarlet carpet. I tried to sit up, but whether from the physical pain or the blurring of my consciousness, I couldn't. In the dressing mirror, I saw my prominent collarbone and underdeveloped breasts covered in ropes. To be honest, my breasts are small, which is the only thing that makes me feel inferior compared to other girls. As winter approaches and the weather grows colder, my body feels numb. She crossed her arms over her chest, seemingly admiring me. Then, she picked up a small piece of rope from the floor and walked over to me. She gathered my feet together and bound them around my ankles until my feet were completely numb. "Your feet are so beautiful, so delicate. They'd look even prettier tied up," she said. I didn't know if she was teasing me intentionally or just talking to herself. "Your high heels already cause me pain, why tie my feet up?" I struggled to speak. "For perfection," she said. I struggled, constantly shifting positions on the carpet, trying to find a comfortable one. I knew, in reality, that any effort was futile. I saw myself in the dressing mirror writhing like an eel. “Stop struggling. Save your energy for the rest of the show,” she said, a hint of helplessness in her voice as she watched me roll around on the ground. Realizing it was only the beginning and I was about to endure even more intense torture, I obediently stopped struggling. “Are you tired? Do you want some water?” she asked, seemingly still concerned. I shook my head; I felt I had no strength left to speak. “You can still hold on now, but I’m afraid you’ll scream during the next game, so I’m going to gag you.” She took out two brand-new white towels, rolled one into a ball and stuffed it into my mouth, then tied the other around my mouth and behind my head. As she tied it, she said, “I’ve been wanting to buy a gag, but I haven’t been able to find one. Oh well, this way is more direct.” I felt like I didn’t want to live anymore; the feeling was unbearable, the gag making it hard to breathe. Being bound and humiliated like this, I really didn’t want to continue, but now I had no way out but to be at her mercy. Unable to speak, I lost all desire to confess my feelings and end the relationship. I suddenly felt incredibly wronged; why would I neglect my studies, leave my warm home, and come to this place to suffer like this? Something crawled onto my face, tickling me—I was crying. "How are you feeling? Not bad, right? Keep going," she said, squatting down on the ground. She couldn't possibly have missed my tears. She was just pretending not to know, otherwise she wouldn't be able to play the game anymore and couldn't torture me any further. She turned around and took out another bag from her schoolbag. She looked at it and said, "I guess it's the one she used to drive away livestock back home." I writhed desperately on the carpet, trying to dodge the whip, but she skillfully avoided my cover, each lash striking the most exposed part of my body. In fact, I was practically naked; the touch of the whip against my delicate skin gave me a satisfying pleasure, but the subsequent physical pain was unbearable. I guess this was the sadomasochistic feeling I craved. I rolled on the carpet, feeling the force of each swing of the whip gradually increase. After a few minutes, I could hear the crisp "crack" of the whip against my skin. Her force grew heavier and heavier; I felt I couldn't take it anymore. I strained my eyes, trying to signal her to stop, but she seemed not to see me at all, or if she did, she pretended not to. I used all my strength to curl up under the desk in the living room, trying to huddle together. She actually grabbed my hair and dragged me out from under the desk. I began to fear her cruelty; I wondered if she would torture me to death. Tears of grievance welled up in my eyes again. She probably realized she had gone too far, so she picked me up and placed me back on the carpet in the small living room. Having struggled so fiercely, I felt exhausted and drowsy. At that moment, I understood the meaning of humiliation in the BDSM dictionary: being bound and whipped without being able to scream. I tried to turn my head away and looked at the clock on the wall; the hour hand indicated 9:15 PM. I wondered how much longer I would have to endure this torment. I lay down on the carpet and actually fell asleep; perhaps I was too tired. As I drifted off to sleep, I suddenly felt a piercing pain in my chest. I opened my eyes and saw her stepping on my nipple with the thin heel of her tall boot. If my mouth hadn't been gagged, I would have shouted at her, "You've gone too far! Let me go! I don't want this anymore!" But all of that remained just a fantasy. I vaguely heard her reciting her lines: "You stinky woman, how can you seduce men with such small breasts?" I felt my face burning. I hate it when people say my breasts aren't pretty, because that's definitely my flaw.“I’ll teach you to seduce me.” She recited her lines as she stomped hard on my breasts. I struggled to roll over, using my back to withstand the pressure from those terrifying thigh-high boots. I shook my head frantically; at this point, I didn’t even have the right to surrender. She effortlessly flipped me over, picked me up, and placed me on her lap. I felt the chill of her leather shorts. I lay there on my back on her lap, staring blankly at the ceiling, my expression helpless, my body numb. My arms and ankles felt broken. The ropes binding my body were the heavy price I paid for my so-called ideals. I couldn’t help but think of the poem that had moved me: “Since I’ve chosen the distant horizon, I’ll brave the wind and rain.” I just hadn’t imagined the horizon would be so far, and the wind and rain so fierce. “Shall I give you a simple breast augmentation?” she asked with a cold smile. Actually, she didn’t even need to ask if I wanted to; her question was tantamount to asking a mute person to speak. I looked at her with a questioning gaze. I wondered what kind of breast augmentation surgery it was. She took out a pair of metal contraptions from her tattered bag; it looked like a thin chain connecting two objects, one end of which resembled an iron ball, and the other end connected to a clamp. She clamped the two clamps onto my nipples, leaving the two iron balls suspended in the air. The clamps were tightly gripped to my nipples, weighed down by the two iron balls, and an indescribable pain spread throughout my body. I felt as if my breasts were being torn apart, as if they were bleeding. I looked down and saw the two metal contraptions tearing at my flesh on my bound, bruised breasts. I tried to shake my body, trying to escape the pain, but I couldn't. After a struggle, my breasts were stretched to their maximum extent; although they were small, they were still pulled a certain distance, perhaps looking like two tiny teardrops. She held me and stood on the carpet. Every muscle in my body felt congested with blood. Despite the cold season, I was drenched in sweat, whether from the struggle or the bindings. I glanced at myself in the dressing mirror; I looked like a madwoman, my long hair cascading over my shoulders, my body bruised and battered from the thick ropes. I felt my thighs trembling uncontrollably; I knew it was from exhaustion, not from fear. In the mirror, I saw my breasts stretched almost to my stomach—the limit for a woman like me with a modest bust. She laid me down on the sofa, and two metal balls rolled beside me, pulling my breasts to the sides. This pain seemed slightly less intense than the previous vertical tugging. I dared not move, for every movement would aggravate those small metal balls, their joyful tumbling bringing me excruciating pain. She took out several metal clips from her bag and playfully clipped them onto my shoulders, breasts, lower abdomen, back, thighs, calves, and ankles. With each clamp she applied, I let out a groan. Nearly thirty more clamps were added to my bound body. Perhaps I was too thin; the clamps were practically embedded in my skin and exposed bones; there wasn't an ounce of fat on my body. She slowly helped me to my feet and then released her grip. I had to struggle to stand upright; if I fell, the clamps would injure me. I curled up, like a thorny bush, my body contorted in fear. I felt a chill run down my spine, my body trembling, my breath rippling. I could barely move, my body trembling ... She stood up and kicked my body with the toe of her boot, kicking indiscriminately. I felt her kick my breasts, lower abdomen, and buttocks. There was no other way. To avoid her kicks, I had to roll around on the carpet, but this only intensified the torture of the metal clamps on my body. The two metal balls kept spinning. I struggled and rolled from one side of the carpet to the other, then back again. After several rounds, I was completely exhausted. This was far more brutal than the training at my school. During this rolling, most of the clamps scattered on the carpet. The last moment after they left my body was the most painful; their sharp jaws bit into the last bits of skin. I was too weak to move, so I lay on my side in the middle of the carpet, letting her kick me frantically. I didn't move, and tears welled up in my eyes again. She seemed exhausted too. She sat on the carpet and lifted my chin with her hand. Her eyes held the same ferocity as when she had kicked me. My body slumped to the ground, and when she released her grip, my head drooped onto the carpet, as if my neck were broken. She sat beside me, scrutinizing me, and I felt like a leopard on a nature documentary scornfully eyeing its prey—that poor little antelope. "Take a break," she said, her tone softening considerably. "I'll ungag you, but please don't scream, okay?" I nodded with all my might. She slowly untied the towel binding my mouth and removed the gag. A feeling of relief washed over me; it felt wonderful. I gasped for breath, trying to fill my lungs, but as I inhaled, the ropes binding my ribs began to work their magic, causing excruciating pain. I swallowed hard, sobbing softly. She slowly removed the remaining metal clamps from my body. "Good boy," she complimented. Perhaps I would have felt better if she hadn't said those words, but hearing them overwhelmed me. All the grievances and humiliation surged within me, and I began to sob deeply. "Let me go." These were the first words I uttered after my mouth was freed. "We're not over yet, are we? Don't you want more pleasure?" she asked, looking at me with a questioning gaze. "Let me go!" I almost shouted. She put her index finger to her lips, gesturing for me to be quiet. "Aren't you afraid someone will hear?" she said. I stopped sobbing; my hands and feet ached from being bound. She helped me up, and I struggled to lean against the sofa, panting heavily. "Didn't you say you wouldn't hurt me? Didn't you say you wouldn't leave any marks on me? Look at my body, it's riddled with holes. You lied to me." I looked at my bruises, some even bleeding, and said fiercely to her. "Trying something always involves sacrifice. I'll arrange for you to stay here for a few more days, firstly to regulate your emotions, and secondly to recover." Her plan was much more meticulous than I had imagined. "Can you let me go and let me rest? My hands and feet are almost broken. You don't need to bind me so tightly, it's unnecessary." I almost begged her. She glanced back at the clock on the wall. "It's 10:30 now. I plan to play with you all night. Hang in there, don't disrupt my plans, okay? You're amazing, much stronger than my previous girlfriends." Hearing her plan to end at 2:00, I was on the verge of a breakdown. I simply didn't have the strength or energy to endure any more torture. "Could you loosen the ropes a bit?" I continued my pleading. "They're too tight, I can't take it." She stubbornly shook her head. "Then let go of my feet, let me move around." She looked down at my long, slender feet, encased in high heels, my ankles tightly bound by ropes. She muttered to herself, "What a waste to let go." I finally snapped, because my pleas hadn't worked. "You're a complete pervert." She turned back, looking at me with a strange gaze, stroking my cheek with her gloved hand, and asked with a smile, "Aren't you one too?" I was shocked that I'd asked her such a question. Really, am I not? To experience the taste of masochism, I endured countless humiliations and even felt a sense of ecstasy. Aren't I an undeniable pervert? I remained silent for a long time. My utter fascination with the whip marks and clamp scars on my body was an undeniable, perverted fact. "Shall we continue?" she asked, seeing my thoughtful expression. I nodded. I truly couldn't control myself anymore; even after enduring such madness, I still longed for her continued humiliation. She picked up the two towels again, and my whole body shuddered as if electrocuted."Please don't gag me, okay? I won't cry, I won't shout. If I cry or shout, then you can gag me, okay?" I pleaded, my voice trembling with tears. She stood there, seemingly pondering something. "If you don't gag me, I think it'll be easier for us to communicate, won't it?" I was truly impressed with my own brain; I had actually come up with such a plausible reason. "Okay, I won't gag you anymore, but you have to be good. If you shout, I'll gag you again." She finally agreed to my request. I nodded deeply, feeling satisfied. "We're out of cotton rope, so I'll use some nylon rope for you." She picked up a nylon rope from the ground. "Why do I need to tie myself up? It seems like there's nowhere else to tie myself up." I looked at her in confusion. She knelt at my feet and tied the rope around my thigh. "Here, here needs to be tied up properly." "The nylon rope felt much harsher than the cotton rope. She used a lot of force to tie my legs together. The nylon rope dug deep into my flesh, directly contacting my thigh bones. I think anyone who hasn't experienced masochism couldn't bear that feeling. My body was numb; I no longer cared how she tied me up. She flipped me over, making me lie face down on the carpet. She found a short piece of rope and tied it securely to the rope binding my feet. Then she made me bend my knees and pull the other end of the rope forcefully towards the rope binding my back until I couldn't pull any further. The pain made me bite my lip and groan incessantly. She took off my high heels, and I felt my toes almost touching the back of my head. 'I didn't expect you to be so flexible,' she clicked her tongue in amazement. 'By the way, when we were chatting, you seemed to have mentioned practicing track and field at school. What event did you practice? Not gymnastics, right?'" "She asked. I didn't answer her because I had to try my best not to scream, so I could only gag my lips and couldn't speak at all. "I remember now, you're a high jumper, no wonder your legs are so long and slender, without an ounce of fat. Much prettier than mine." I really wanted to laugh because those weren't legs at all; if they were legs, they would be hams. My body was bound into an O shape. She clapped her hands, stood to one side of my body, and admired her masterpiece. "Can you still hold on? The next program might be very painful, are you sure you don't need to gag yourself?" She still doubted my willpower. "No." I tried to squeeze out the two words through my teeth. "That's great." "She moved the two sofas so their backs faced each other, then picked up the carrying pole she used for her luggage and passed it behind my upside-down body. She placed the two ends of the pole on the backs of the sofas. I was now suspended face down. Pain shot through my entire body to the nerve endings in my brain. The ropes that had been binding me tightened involuntarily, piercing my collarbone, my chest, and making it hard to breathe. The ropes binding my wrists and ankles, because my entire weight depended on them for support, felt as if they had broken. Despite the excruciating pain, I endured it without screaming. She then clamped my nipples with the two clips with small iron balls and lashed my body mercilessly with a leather whip. Each lash made me let out a small groan. The small iron balls clamped to my nipples swayed incessantly, tearing at my breasts with each swing—the pain was unbearable." She whipped me like that for about 15 minutes. She was tired, and so was I. She sat on the sofa, half-drinking water and watching me. When I was first hoisted up, my whole body was tense, but now, because I didn't have the strength to tense up, my whole body relaxed, and the pain seemed to lessen a bit. However, I was definitely sobbing, because I saw my tears and possibly my snot on the floor. She stood to one side of me and gently pushed my body with her hand. I swayed back and forth in the air in the direction she pushed. The two small iron balls also swung violently with my swaying. My long hair fell onto the carpet, sweeping back and forth like an unkempt broom. "I want water." "I said weakly. She paused for a moment, then immediately picked up a water glass from the coffee table, but with my face facing the ground, I couldn't drink at all. She steadied me, pulled me to her side so my face was up, and temporarily shifted her weight onto the carrying pole. She brought the glass to my lips, and I drank a few sips. Perhaps I was too hasty, because quite a bit of water splashed onto me and onto the carpet. I leaned on her, sitting on the carrying pole, panting heavily. "Are you done drinking?" she asked. I nodded, and she suddenly pulled away from me, throwing me heavily forward. At the highest point, I was pulled back by the rope. The violent swing caught me off guard, and I screamed in a completely irrational way. She quickly covered my mouth with her hand. My body continued to sway, and the two small iron balls almost hit my ribs. My groans gradually subsided with the swaying, and finally stopped with the creaking of the carrying pole. "How could you be so cruel?" "I complained the moment her hand left my mouth. "Don't you like the feeling of swinging?" she said, giving me another push. "You can try it too!" I said irritably. "Still being stubborn, fine, I'd like to try, you swing me then." She knew perfectly well that I was tied up like a dumpling and posed no threat to her, yet she still teased me like this. I ignored her. She then rummaged through her tattered schoolbag, and I was starting to get scared. Every time she rummaged through it, she brought out something new to torment me. This time, she took out more than twenty needles of varying lengths, like the kind used in traditional Chinese acupuncture. "No, you can't prick me, you'll hurt me. I'm a medical student, you can't do this, this, this is too weird." Hanging in mid-air, I couldn't find a better word to describe my fear, and I actually used "weird." "It's okay, I'll be careful, I won't prick your acupoints, I won't prick any fleshy parts." "She took those terrifyingly large needles and began searching for fleshy spots on my body. Actually, for a woman as thin as a skeleton like me, there wasn't even a suitable place to insert the needles, not even on my buttocks. She pinched my skin on my back and slowly inserted the needles. These needles were specially made; they didn't bleed when inserted, but pain was unavoidable. Then she inserted several needles into my buttocks. The stimulation on the buttocks was much less than on the back, since the buttocks are the fleshiest part of the body, so she inserted them quite deeply. The most painful were the needles in my thighs, calves, and feet. The muscles in the thighs and calves, unlike the buttocks, have a very dense fibrous structure, resulting in a high concentration of nerve endings and more pain points. Through the stockings on my bound feet, she inserted the needles into the crevices of my toenails and the fleshy parts of my feet. As she inserted the last needle into my body, my body trembled violently; I felt I couldn't bear it any longer. 'Gag me!'" "I told her. She quickly grabbed a towel from the carpet and stuffed it into my mouth. My teeth felt like they could tear the towel apart, and I groaned in pain. She kept rubbing the needles on my body with her hands. Every time she touched them, my body would tremble in pain. And that mischievous little iron ball would sway from side to side. My only feeling at that moment was helplessness. It was probably midnight when she put me down from the carrying pole, removed the needles, loosened the clamps on my nipples, and untied the small section of rope connecting my hands and feet. She also took the towel out of my mouth. She untied the ropes binding my hands and feet and laid me down on the carpet. Freed from the ropes, I lay limply on the ground in the position I had been in before being tied up. I didn't have the strength to turn over. "Take a good rest. We'll start in half an hour." She handed me a glass of water, looking at me as she spoke. I shook my head, too weak to even speak, indicating I didn't want water. About 15 minutes later, I began to stroke the deep rope marks on my body, wondering if my sacrifice was worth it. She, however, was still busy, constantly putting things into the bathroom. Finally, she sat beside me, helping me remove my stockings, which were already snagged and torn at the ankles by the rope. As she removed them, the stockings felt cool, soaked with my sweat. "Let's continue," she said, seemingly without needing my consent; I had no strength left to resist. She picked up a thumb-thick hemp rope from the floor and began to bind my upper body. To be honest, her binding technique was only average, though it was very tight. This time, she first bound my chest with the rope, then wrapped it around my back and lower abdomen, finally splitting the rope into two strands, wrapping it around my shoulders and around my wrists.She tied me very carefully and with great force, even stepping on my back with her leather boots to increase the tightness of the rope. She tied my upper body very smoothly, my wrists hanging high behind my head. The hemp rope was rougher than the cotton rope, so the feeling of it binding me was very peculiar. The cotton rope felt tight and constricting, while the hemp rope, in addition to being tight, also had a prickly feeling from the friction. "Can you stand up?" She helped me slowly stand on the carpet. Instantly, a pain like that of a sprained ankle spread from my feet throughout my entire body. I tried to take a few steps and felt a little more relaxed. She then took out a pair of handcuffs from her tattered bag. "It would be nice to have two pairs. I originally wanted to use them to cuff your hands. But I found that handcuffing your feet would work better because your ankles are very delicate." As she spoke, she had me sit down and put the two iron rings of the handcuffs on my ankles, locking them, and then put on the pair of high heels that were specially made for me. The two iron rings were connected by a chain of only about 15 centimeters. She handcuffed me tightly, almost into the last slot of the mechanism. "Stand up, move around a bit," she said, helping me up. I tried to stand, but I overlooked a detail: when a person's feet aren't supporting their weight, they're in a relaxed, most slender state. When you stand to support your body weight, the ankle bone protrudes, and the shape of the ankle changes. So when I stood on the ground, a nameless, sharp pain shot through my ankle, causing me to fall heavily to the ground before I could even choose a position. My shoulder hit the ground first, feeling as if it were dislocated. "Try to stand up," she urged, pulling me forcefully. I rolled my eyes at her, twisting my body forcefully, signaling her to leave me alone, that I could stand up myself. I finally managed to stand, curled up like a shrimp, inching along the carpet, groaning in pain with each step. She sat on the carpet, laughing incessantly at me. Suddenly, she grabbed the carrying pole on the floor and swept it towards my feet. I instinctively jumped up, but the moment I landed, my heels were too high, and my feet were no longer free. I fell heavily onto the carpet again. I couldn't hold back anymore; tears of grievance streamed down my face. "I've already tried so hard to cooperate with you. Don't do these sudden attacks. I'm only doing this to satisfy you. I've already experienced what abuse is. I quit." Actually, my words were useless; I had no choice but to quit. She crawled over and hugged my bound upper body, wiping my face with her gloved hands. "You're so old and still crying like that. You're so pathetic." "Those handcuffs are iron! Look at my feet!" I argued. Indeed, after these two falls, my ankles were bleeding. The iron handcuffs had chafed the skin off my ankles. “Okay, no need for metal. It’s my fault, okay? Don’t cry, it’s not good if others hear.” She coaxed me while unlocking the handcuffs on my feet with a key. “Have you ever seen a tiger bench?” She seemed to be comforting me, deliberately changing the subject. I didn’t speak; I knew what kind of punishment I was about to endure. She tied me to the small desk in the living room, then tightened my knees with a leather belt, and tied my ankles with a short piece of hemp rope. She started looking for something in the room; I guessed it was something to put under my heels—hotels wouldn’t keep bricks in guest rooms, of course. After searching for a while, she found several books in my backpack that she had just bought from the bookstore that day. She put all the books under my heels at once, but I didn’t feel any pain. Maybe she put them a little too low. She opened the door and went to the balcony, and surprisingly, she brought back several small, square pieces of wood, as if she knew we were playing games here today and had prepared them specially. She placed them under my heels one by one, and finally used a carrying pole to pry up my calves to put the wood under them. This time, the pain was excruciating. She watched as my feet, clad in high heels, trembled uncontrollably. She picked up a rope from the ground and tied my feet together, soles and heels. Even this small freedom to struggle was taken away. My legs were truly broken; I could hear my knees cracking. I desperately shook my long hair to ease the pain, but she came over and pressed my head down tightly, grabbing my hair to prevent me from moving. When a person is deprived of even the right to struggle, it's tantamount to death. With her other hand, she used a small wooden stick she'd picked up from the balcony to strike my knees and ankles. Finally, she struck my body forcefully; my breasts, lower abdomen, thighs, and calves were covered in splinters left from the blows. In my final moments before losing consciousness, she began to untie the belts on my knees and the ropes on my feet. She put me on the ground, letting me catch my breath. "Let's go somewhere else, not always in the living room," she said, helping me to my feet. Blood from my ankles flowed down my feet into the inside of my high heels, leaving a sticky feeling. "I don't want to wear these shoes anymore, help me take them off," I said, my voice trembling with tears. She nodded, helped me take off my shoes, and even used the towel she'd used to gag me to wipe away the blood. "Not in the living room, where to?" I asked, regaining my composure. "To the bathroom," she said. I walked to the bathroom door and found that she had already rearranged the space. The towel rack was covered with ropes of varying lengths, and a section of the ceiling above the toilet had been opened, revealing a thick drainpipe. A thick hemp rope hung from that pipe. "Stand on the toilet," she said, closing the toilet lid. I stood barefoot on the toilet, and she stood on the edge of the bathtub, tying one end of the rope hanging from the drainpipe to the rope behind my back. "Get it right," she said, pulling hard on the other end of the rope, stretching my body as far as possible. When I could only touch the toilet seat with my toes, she secured the other end of the rope to the faucet in the bathtub. I let out a low groan, looking down at my toes touching the toilet seat, making a thumping sound. She grabbed a rope about the thickness of a thumb, squatted down at my feet, and tightly bound my ankle, still bleeding from a wound. I groaned in pain mid-air, trying to straighten my feet to ease the agony. She then found a short rope and tied it around my feet as well. Blood trickled from my wounds onto the toilet seat, a faint reddish hue. I couldn't move my feet; she even tied my big toes with a shoelace. She watched for a moment at the bathroom door, then took a whip from the side room and closed the door, beginning to lash me wildly. I held back my screams; I knew it wouldn't look good if I alerted others and was discovered. Her blows grew stronger, relentlessly striking my sides and groin. Nearly 20 minutes of frenzied whipping left my body covered in welts, some bleeding. I sobbed incessantly in the air, pleading softly, "No, no..." She stopped, lifted my feet, and opened the toilet seat. My toes lost their support, dangling in mid-air like a piece of meat being sold. The ropes seemed to tighten even more. My screams seemed even more desperate, so much so that she stuffed the towel she had used to wipe the blood from my feet back into my mouth. I was hung like that for a while before she lowered me. She placed me in the bathtub and retied one end of the dangling rope to the rope around my feet. I seemed to understand that she was going to hang me upside down. I shook my head desperately, but it was no use. She pulled on the other end of the rope, and my 92-pound body was suspended swaying in the air. My head was facing the toilet, my hair scattered in the filthy sewage. She whipped me again, then brought a small stool from the house and sat on it, panting heavily. She seemed exhausted too, and even dozed off, leaning against the edge of the bathtub. I couldn't let her sleep; if she really fell asleep, I would surely be hanged to death by tomorrow morning. I struggled to twist my body, the rope around my ankles screeching against the pipes, waking her. She put me in the bathtub and turned on the cold water. It was late autumn, and the cold water hitting my naked body made me feel chilly. Once the cold water had submerged my body, she pulled on the rope around my feet and turned me over in the bathtub, making me face down. I tried to hold my breath to prevent water from getting into my mouth, but I forgot about the towel that was gagging me; that towel left me without my last line of defense.Cold water was poured into my mouth continuously and forced down my throat. The rushing sound of the water in my ears proved that my body, except for my feet, was completely submerged. I was terrified; I was afraid she would kill me. I wanted to cry, but the more I tried to cry, the more forcefully the water poured into my mouth. After about a minute, she lifted my bound feet, allowing my head to emerge from the water. I struggled to breathe through my nose, and as I regained some consciousness, she pushed me back into the water, repeating this six or seven times—I can't remember exactly—but I was on the verge of death. The torture finally ended, and she lifted me out of the bathtub and placed me on the bathroom floor. She hung me upside down again. I had no strength left, and no matter how she manipulated me, my eyes were tightly shut like a dead person's, only a sliver of consciousness reminding me that I was still alive. I vaguely heard her tell me to empty the water from my body, and I was hung upside down. Water streamed down my body, onto my face, and finally dripped into the toilet. When she hoisted me up, I was almost completely still, and I didn't struggle after being hoisted up. Perhaps my submission confused her; she thought I was really dead because I felt my breathing wasn't so strong anymore. She poked me with her hand, and I felt a faint, lifeless gasp. She looked at me with a strange, trembling voice, and then at me again. She seemed to be holding me in her arms, her breath coming in short gasps. She looked at me with a strange, lifeless voice, and then at me again ... K苋ツ美匆恢幻剩谖业慕诺装径喜煌5幕牛沂艿秸庵执炭ぃ硖蹇寂ざ鹄矗?椅淮螅蛭颐挥辛ζ恕W詈蟾纱嗳嗡趺磁遥叶枷笳娴乃懒艘谎欢欢摹? She was probably really tired, which was evident from the fact that she untied me from the rope that was hanging me upside down. It took her a lot of effort to lower me down from the air. My ears were ringing, but I could hear things again. I heard her say, "Okay, let's stop here for now. It's past 4 o'clock." She carried me, bound hand and foot, back to the carpet in the small living room. She took out a rope as thick as a child's arm from her tattered bag and haphazardly tied it around my body. I gave up any chance to struggle; I knew struggling was futile. Perhaps this would give me some experience later. I shouldn't have struggled in the first place. Once she was certain I couldn't move at all—in fact, I wouldn't have been able to move even without being bound—she took out a burlap sack and put me inside, leaving only my ankles outside. Then she tightened the sack opening and tied it to my ankles. Inside, it was pitch black; I couldn't see anything. I felt like she was carrying me, as if she had thrown me into the closet near the entrance to the guest room, because I could hear the closet opening and closing. I paid the price for my attempt; I didn't know if it was worth it. Now my body was as limp as noodles. My blood circulation was extremely poor, and my bound body had gone from numb to completely devoid of feeling. I tried to move my body to confirm that I hadn't suffered any physical injuries. God, I felt my arms and ankles were broken. I was gagged and sobbing softly in the sack. Slowly, I fell asleep, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I passed out. When I woke up the next day, I found myself on a large bed, all the ropes binding me removed. The setting sun outside the window told me it was afternoon, though I didn't know if it was a few days later (I later learned it was the afternoon of the following day). I moved my wrists and ankles; they were fine. I was wearing a white nightgown. Aside from the whip and rope marks from the abuse and the intense pain in my joints, I seemed better than I had imagined. The small table beside the bed was filled with food and nutritional supplements. Was I in a hospital? Had I been discovered? I struggled to sit up, looked around, and then lay back down, relieved, because I knew this was still the same guest room we used for our game. Next to the pillow was an envelope. I opened it. On it, written in crooked handwriting, were these words: Jie'er: You're awake. I want to say you're an outstanding girl, and you make me proud. Your patience and resilience put me to shame. I gained the greatest satisfaction of my life while fulfilling your desires. My next target is men, because you've already reached the pinnacle among women; no woman can surpass you. I'm leaving now. By the time you read this letter, I may have already returned to my hometown. I've booked a 15-day stay for you to recuperate and recover. If you haven't left after 15 days, my account will be automatically credited to the hotel, so don't worry, make sure you heal completely. I've instructed the hotel staff not to clean the room without your permission. I've bought some food and put it in the refrigerator in the lobby, so you can recuperate comfortably without leaving the room. I know you're afraid of others seeing your injuries, but I still suggest you go out for a stroll at night when appropriate, instead of always staying in bed. Okay! That's all for now. I hope we can truly become good friends. Thank you again for your efforts! (Joe) I struggled to get out of bed and walk out of the bedroom into the small living room. Everything was back to normal, as if nothing had happened. The slanting sunlight outside the window shone golden on the carpet in the living room. I staggered to the bathroom, where I was back to normal, except I still found my bloodstains on the toilet seat. I lay on the bed quietly thinking that my efforts were truly worthwhile. I had achieved the greatest satisfaction. I silently recalled an old song lyric: "No rainbow without rain." I had gone through the storm to achieve satisfaction, and I had no regrets! On the third day of my stay at the hotel, I went to check out. It was the first time I had gone downstairs in three days. At the hotel reception, the receptionist mechanically said to me in Mandarin: "Miss, your bill is 2400 yuan. You booked a room for fifteen days, so after deducting the cancellation fee, we will refund you 7982 yuan..." I interrupted her: "Didn't my aunt leave you her account number? Could you transfer the remaining money to her?" "Please wait a moment, let me ask." The receptionist seemed to be calling her manager for advice. "Miss, it's like this, if we transfer the remaining money, there will be a 300 yuan handling fee..." "Oh...okay, miss, let's do it your way." I turned and left the hotel. The night felt wonderful, especially the autumn night. I limped down the street, oblivious to everyone around me, enjoying the night view. Suddenly, my gaze fell on the back seat of a taxi, where a graceful and elegant woman sat, staring intently at me. No way, I rubbed my eyes. How could I be wrong? It was Joe. When she realized I saw her, she waved, and the car quickly disappeared into the night. I waved goodbye to her with a satisfied smile, because she was my true friend; she had been waiting downstairs for me to come out and admire the night view. I couldn't help but sigh at how beautiful this autumn was, how golden it was... [The End]She took a rope, about the thickness of a child's arm, from her tattered schoolbag and haphazardly tied it around my body. I gave up any chance to struggle; I knew it was futile. Perhaps this would give me some experience later. I shouldn't have struggled in the first place. Once she was certain I couldn't move at all—in fact, I wouldn't have been able to move even without being tied up—she took out a burlap sack and put me inside, leaving only my ankles outside. Then she tightened the sack's opening and tied it to my ankles. Inside, it was pitch black; I couldn't see anything. I felt like she was lifting me up, or perhaps throwing me into the closet by the guest room entrance, because I could hear the closet opening and closing. I paid the price for my attempt; I didn't know if it was worth it. Now my body was as limp as noodles. My blood circulation was extremely poor, and my bound body had gone from numb to completely devoid of feeling. I tried to move my body slightly to confirm I hadn't suffered any physical damage. God, I felt my arms and ankles were broken. I was gagged and sobbing softly inside the sack. Slowly, I fell asleep, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I passed out. When I woke up the next day, I found myself on a large bed, all the ropes binding me removed. The setting sun outside the window told me it was afternoon, though I didn't know if it was a few days later (I later learned it was the afternoon of the following day). I moved my wrists and ankles; they were fine. I was wearing a white nightgown. Aside from the whip and rope marks from the abuse and the intense pain in my joints, I seemed better than I had imagined. The small table beside the bed was filled with food and nutritional supplements. Was I in a hospital? Had I been discovered? I struggled to sit up, looked around, and then lay back down with a sense of relief, knowing this was still the same guest room we used for our game. Next to the pillow was an envelope, which I opened. On it, scrawled in crooked handwriting, were these words: Jie'er: You're awake. I want to say you're an outstanding girl; you make me proud. Your patience and resilience put me to shame. In satisfying your desires, I also gained the greatest satisfaction of my life. My next target is men, because you've already reached the pinnacle among women; no woman can surpass you. I'm leaving now. By the time you read this letter, I may already be back in my hometown. I've booked a 15-day stay for you; you can rest and recover there. If you haven't left after 15 days, my account will be automatically credited to the hotel, so don't worry, just make sure you heal completely. I've instructed the hotel staff not to clean the room without your permission. I've bought some food and put it in the refrigerator in the living room, so you can recuperate without leaving the room. I know you're afraid of others seeing your scars, but I still suggest you go out for a stroll at night when appropriate, instead of always staying in bed. Okay! That's all for now. I hope we can truly become good friends. Thank you again for your efforts! Joe (Grass) I struggled to get out of bed and left the bedroom. In the living room, everything was back to how it was when we first arrived, as if nothing had happened. The setting sun shone golden on the carpet in the living room. I staggered to the bathroom, looking normal again, but I still found my blood on the toilet seat. Lying on the bed, I quietly thought that my efforts were truly worthwhile. I felt utterly satisfied. A very old song lyric came to mind: "No rainbow without rain." I had weathered the storm to achieve my satisfaction, and I have no regrets! On my third day at the hotel, I checked out. It was the first time I'd gone downstairs in three days. At the front desk, the receptionist mechanically said in Mandarin, "Miss, your bill is 2400 yuan. You booked a room for fifteen days, so after deducting the cancellation fee, we'll refund you 7982 yuan..." I interrupted her: "Didn't my aunt leave you her account number? Could you transfer the remaining money to her?" "Please wait a moment, let me check." The receptionist seemed to be calling her manager. "Miss, it's like this, if we transfer the remaining money, there will be a 300 yuan handling fee..." "Oh...okay, miss, we'll do as you say." I turned and left the hotel. The night felt wonderful, especially the autumn night. I limped down the street, oblivious to everyone else, enjoying the night view. Suddenly, my gaze fell on the back seat of a taxi, where a graceful and elegant woman sat, staring intently at me. "No way," I rubbed my eyes. "How could I be wrong? It's Joe." When she realized I'd seen her, she waved, and the car quickly disappeared into the night. A satisfied smile spread across my face as I waved goodbye, for she was my true friend; she had been waiting downstairs for me to come out and admire the night view. I couldn't help but think how beautiful this autumn was, how golden it was… [The End]She took a rope, about the thickness of a child's arm, from her tattered schoolbag and haphazardly tied it around my body. I gave up any chance to struggle; I knew it was futile. Perhaps this would give me some experience later. I shouldn't have struggled in the first place. Once she was certain I couldn't move at all—in fact, I wouldn't have been able to move even without being tied up—she took out a burlap sack and put me inside, leaving only my ankles outside. Then she tightened the sack's opening and tied it to my ankles. Inside, it was pitch black; I couldn't see anything. I felt like she was lifting me up, or perhaps throwing me into the closet by the guest room entrance, because I could hear the closet opening and closing. I paid the price for my attempt; I didn't know if it was worth it. Now my body was as limp as noodles. My blood circulation was extremely poor, and my bound body had gone from numb to completely devoid of feeling. I tried to move my body slightly to confirm I hadn't suffered any physical damage. God, I felt my arms and ankles were broken. I was gagged and sobbing softly inside the sack. Slowly, I fell asleep, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I passed out.

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